Gorgons Wake

Gorgons Wake

Chapter 2

It wasn't working.

The wax dripped down his chin, and Harry stifled a scream. It wasn't supposed to end this way. It wasn't fair.

He remembered the last transformation. It had been hideous to say the very least. And thoughts of what they were doing to her now? Harry Potter shuddered and tried not to scream.

They had called her Sthennos. When they took him away, when they took him to the room with the red candles, he hadn't cared about their black masks or their harsh voices. All he could think about was Sthennos... Where had he heard that before? And Ginny... When she had opened her eyes...

Harry wouldn't humour them with screams. But he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to.

But they didn't know about the dreams.

Bitterly, Harry swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat. He concentrated on the small clanging noise just above him and realised that it emanated from his hands shaking in their chains.

Accepting this, he closed his eyes and tried to think of her.

Harry didn't like monsters. Especially when they had made one of the person he loved. But maybe... Just maybe...

Ginny. They'll be here soon. Please. Wake up and listen to my dreams.

Please.

* * *

Harry faced Ron and bowed, smiling rakishly.

"What'll it be, then, partner? Shall I have a go first? Or do you want to try?"

Ron swallowed a nervous giggle. "Erm. Uh. You know... How about I go first? I've studied more thoroughly than you, you know. You'd just turn me into a bat and laugh at me. I have the skills, Potter. Maybe you'll learn something?"

Harry started to reply in kind but halted mid-comeback when he realised that a very small, padded, and strangely menacing professor was glaring at him.

"Did I say you could talk, Potter? Lemme see," Professor Flitwick began, recalling his instructions, "What is the Giddy Geas, Goyle is a moron, Malfoy stutters some inane answer, Granger says something mildly intelligent and menacing, gasp gasp, 'oh know!' squeals some blond Gryffindor in the corner, I sigh, face your partners; but first, Potter please do a little dance and amuse us... Aha! I didn't say the last! Did I? Potter? Did I?!"

Harry gulped as he witnessed Professor Flitwick go, evidently, mad. The diminutive teacher had never been flippant in the past and had always treated Gryffindors well--this new mood swing was something completely different.

The Slytherins laughed in the corner, none more loudly than Draco Malfoy. However, they kept their laughter small as to not incur the wrath of the cushioned instruction, the face of whom was busy employing an array of various nervous ticks.

"I'm sorry Professor," Harry muttered, cheeks going red.

Flitwick let out a massive sigh and once again faced the class, snarling at the giggling Slytherins, who promptly ceased their tittering.

"Your partners, please," the teacher continued, "Face them. There's a good class. Alright, we remember the charm, do we? Good, good. We trace the pentagram like so -easy on the left point, Neville, I'm sure Miss Brown doesn't want to end up with a good case of Twitchy Feet--better, and then we say in a clear even voice... come on then, say it with me now--wands down, first Longbottom! Keep that thing down!--"

"Gratus Hilirium Sophis!" the class screeched.

"Not half bad," Flitwick muttered. "But Miss Parkinson, if you say 'saw-fis' instead of 'soh-fis,' Miss Bullstrode will--" the professor stopped mid sentence to blush like a scarlet ember--"will... erm... hate you and your children and your children's children. Erm. Clear?"

"Crystal," replied the Slytherin girl, quailing in the shadow of her suddenly looming partner.

"Good. And the Reviving Serum is..."

"Taped to the wall!" chorused the class.

"Good. And you have your list of pre-approved questions?"

"Yes, Professor!" chorused the class.

"First partner! Raise your wand like so! And... wait wait! I'm not ready. Okay. And... Ack no! Neville... just... it's a bloody star, not an octagon! Right. And... Go!" Flitwick covered his eyes, nearly dashed underneath his desk, but ultimately stood his ground, wand out and ready.

"Gratus Hilirium Sophis!" half the class screeched.

It was quiet at first. Harry held his breath, just having cast on Ron. The latter stared at him bleakly.

All around the class, no one breathed.

"Well?" said Hermione expectantly, prodding her intended.

"I'M A LOVERLY TEA COZY! MRRRAH!" Seamus Finnegan exploded in response.

And the rest was madness.

Dean Thomas launched himself at the floor mat to the protestations of Parvati Patel and started waving his arms and legs frantically.

"Look Mum! Snow Angels! Mrrah!" he screamed triumphantly.

Harry ducked a tap dancing Slytherin and watched breathlessly as students started flying off the padding.

Vincent Crabbe was sitting cross-legged in the corner, spouting off a fluent stream of French curse words, giggling inanely. "No, Crabbe!" yelled a furious Draco Malfoy. "That's disgusting! Pick yourself up... wait wait... Um, no, Vincent. I don't want to cuddle. No Vincent! Stop crying now! What would Fa-"

"Neville you slut!" roared a red faced Lavender Brown. "How dare you look at that window the way you do! It's a disgrace to Britain! Neville, I'll never forgive you, you, you--pagan princess!" And she burst into tears.

In all the noise and action, Flitwick could be heard yelling instructions.

"Control! Students, we studied this on Wednesday! Wands! Stu--get off my bleeding leg Horatio!" Flitwick paused to shake a Slytherin grasping his left ankle.

"But Father Christmas," the Slytherin was saying, wide-eyed, "I haven't told you what I wan--"

"Off!" screamed the teacher, "Mister Ludinson, claim your intended before he demands reindeer! Students! Eye-level, focus! It's a lost cause, Miss Grayson. Dickie won't stop slobbering like that--Ooo, watch him Miss Grayson, he's coming for you. No! Horatio! Biting is clearly off limits! STUPEFY!"

Shaking his head, Harry turned warily to Ron, who had yet to make his move. In the distance, he could pick out Hermione scolding Seamus until he was somehow under control.

Ron still wasn't moving.

"Um. Okay. Ron?" Harry began, keeping strict focus on his intended.

Ron stared back at him.

"Ron?"

"Teeeeee."

"Ron... Look at me... I don't like that grin, Ron. Stop that!" Harry held his wand out, mimicking Hermione as she seemed to have Seamus in hand. But then the Irish student kissed her soundly on the lips, dissolving her concentration, and was off doing his tea cozy dance once more. Harry sighed.

Ron's bewildered look suddenly turned grim.

"Oh. Harry," Ron began. "I'm a wicked, wicked boy, I am."

"Um. That's too bad, Ron. Listen, I have these questions for y--"

"But Harry!" the taller boy suddenly screamed, tears gathering in his eyes.

Harry jumped back, wand down. Ron seized him around the waist, clenching him in an inescapable bear hug.

"Oh Harry! I must confess! You're my closest friend. I'm wicked, Harry! Bill has been sending me this magazine, 'Naked Nymphs and the Wizards Who Watch Them' and well. Last night, after you had gone on your Prefect rounds, no one was around and I... well, you have satin sheets and your own room and all, and so I got some Lichen flavoured GoldWizard's Medicinal Ointment and--"

"Ronald Weasely!" Harry screeched in desperation, holding his wand steady once more. "I don't want to know at all!"

The taller boy, looking contrite, albeit very, very crazy, dropped his caster and stared down at him with apologetic--albeit very, very crazy--eyes and nodded once.

"Now the que--" Before he could finish his sentence, he was tackled to the ground by a sobbing Lavender Brown.

"Harry you slut!" She began, pulling at her hair with one hand, tears streaming down her face. She was sitting on Harry's chest, her other hand clutching his nose. "We meant something to each other, Harry Potter. Why, just two years ago, before the Winter Ball, I sat up all night long, thinking about us. And do you know what I thought, Harry?" She started to undo her robe. "I'll tell you exactly--"

"Enough!" roared Harry, pushing her off, mid button. As she came crawling to him, he raised his wand, aimed, and then--she was gone before he could disarm her, off doing the tea cozy dance with an oblivious Seamus Finnegan.

"Teeeeeee," cooed Ron. "Harry, I think Lavender likes you. In fact, three months, two days, and 17 hours ago to this minute, I saw her j-"

Harry gave a battle cry and once more leveled his wand at Ron.

"QUESTIONS!" the disheveled boy screamed. I have questions, and YOU WILL ANSWER!"

Ron stared blankly into Harry's eyes as the latter felt a sort of change. His wand glowed softly at the end, or maybe everything else in the room lost some sort of lustre. Regardless, suddenly Harry saw Ron, and Ron understood.

"Proceed."

Harry sighed shakily, at once snorting laughter and hiding tears.

"Er, uh," Harry struggled to remember his question, "What are the three cycles of Jupiter, their meanings, and how did they relate to you on August 25^th, 1985?"

Ron's eyes clouded, and he started to rock softly. Fearing the worst, Harry hastened to call up a disarming spell; but just as he was about to stupefy his best friend, Ron focused on him and spoke in a clear voice:

"The three cycles of Jupiter, as we were taught in Arithmancy are: Logos, Ethos, and Pathos, each named after or in spite of--it was never clear--the three tiered argumentative theory. Logos represents the logical side of one's psyche. When it rises, one is turned to keen rational awareness, looking at a problem from every angle, tearing apart all fallacies and flighty thoughts. Ethos is the ethical side of the psyche, where one weighs aptly their moral fortitude and weakness. If Jupiter rises in Ethos, one is said -in the case of the Morose Wizard of 1783--to contemplate his own standing on moral dilemmas and to weigh his or her understanding of those closest to him or her. Pathos is the emotional side of one's psyche, always present though hardly understood. It is said to be rare when Jupiter Rises in Ethos alone, though it has reportedly happened. In such a case, one must face his or her own inner demons, weighing them against all he holds dear. If the balance of his or her evils can be outweighed on a silver moral scale by a feather, reportedly, that person's life is forfeit to Jupiter. There are no documented cases; however, there was a Temple of Jupiter discovered in 1421 by Edgar the Edifying in a remote location in Southern Italy, where a tarnished silver scale was unearthed. When Edgar's assistant, Maribel De La Solisidad touched the scale, she disappeared promptly, as well as the scale, Edgar, the temple, and the remote location in Southern Italy. On August 25^th in the year nineteen hundred and eighty five, according to arithmantic calculations, Jupiter was indeed rising, and rising strong in Ethos with an ever-present Logistic undertone. Taking this into consideration, because Fred had just turned my favorite stuffed bear Roderick into a wicked, evil spider, it can be concluded that I, after deciding that our morals were indeed mismatched, painstakingly plotted my revenge by kicking my offender swiftly in shin while he was in the romper; thus causing him to fall on a metal bar and lose one of his baby teeth. In anguish, George ripped out his corresponding tooth, and the two were once again united morally, physically, etc. There has been a rift between us ever since."

Harry stared at him unblinkingly for several moments. "That's fucking fantastic, Ron. You put Hermione to shame entirely! Ha! That's bloody brilliant!"

Ron returned Harry's unblinking stare. "Mmmyesss. I like to think so. Now, about this Lavender thing, I--"

"END SPELL!" screeched Professor Flitwick, his cushion armor tattered, bleeding from his lower lip where the tap dancing Slytherin had shuffled off to Buffalo all to eagerly a moment ago. "TOGETHER, STUDENTS! TOGETHER!!"

And who was left standing in the room chorused desperately: "FINITE INCANTUM!"

It was as if a wizard cracker had just exploded. Smoke emitted from several wands, hurling their casters into the padded walls. Intended students dropped to the floor in the midst of their wacky antics: Seamus, in the middle of the third refrain from his tea cozy dance, promptly shut his eyes and keeled over; Dean stopped his Mad Fairy elaborations by turning on his side and emitting a loud snore; several Slytherins dropped from their perch on the window after nearly clawing their way through the padding that shielded it, one boy in particular lay on the mat with a large chunk of blue stuffing clenched severely between his jaws; Crabbe gave one last sob and dropped a harried Draco Malfoy from his arms before he too fell to the floor.

The tap dancing Slytherin was the last to fall, first proudly saluting the room and kicking of a fervent shuffle before gracefully launching himself to the air in a nearly completed pirouette.

The smoke cleared.

Aside from himself, Ron, and a braced Professor Flitwick, Harry was the only one left standing. Flitwick regarded the two boys solemnly. "I am amazed, Potter. You are the first in three years able to control your intended. Ten points to Gryffindor!"

There would have been more roars of approval if more people had been awake, Harry told himself. He regarded the war torn classroom with barely concealed laughter before nodding his thanks to the instructor.

Ron blinked twice and coughed. Harry whirled on him, wand ready in reflex.

"Easy, Tiger," Ron coughed again, clutching his head. "Owww! What did you do to me? I feel like I've just taken three NEWTs the morning after Charly's bachelor party."

Flitwick raised his eyebrow. "And you managed to ask a Question, Mr. Potter? This is amazing, indeed. Five more points to Gryffindor!"

Harry shook his head and eyed Ron as the latter took in the sorry state of his fellow students and the room.

"Wow," the red haired boy said, hand to his forehead, "must have been some crazy party."

"Tell me about it," chorused Harry and Hermione in unison.

The trio watched the students extricate themselves from various states of disarray and laughed.

"Whoa," said Ron pointing at a familiar figure. "Bullstrode and Horatio Meekims. Who woulda thunk?" The figure in question raised herself from atop a meek looking frightened boy and cornered an equally meek looking frightened Pansy Parkinson. Harry heard Pansy squeak something like, "I said SOH-fis, I swear!" before he turned away and laughed some more.

"It was crazy, Ron. Utterly, utterly crazy. Remind me to tell you about the tea cozy dance, or--" he looked at his friend furtively, "how you're going to replace my satin sheets."

Ron blanched. "Uh, look, Harry--"

"Students, please! You can all talk about it later! And we haven't much time left." Professor Flitwick, looking for the world like a padded Napoleon, surveyed his domain. "That's right. Administer the Reviving Serum. You know? Over-all, it could have been a lot worse."

That moment, a large chunk of padding chose to fall soundly from the window onto the head of a reviving Dean Thomas.

"Now. Intended! You are the casters! Let's go! Get in your positions! Now! Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Oh, yes, Crabbe is indeed your partner. Now, face your--"

"Pro-professor, please," squeaked Malfoy. "Crabbe is like a loveable child... you can't possibly expect--"

"He's your PARTNER, MALFOY!" screeched Flitwick triumphantly.

"Now, listen Professor. My father--"

The bustling classroom went stark silent.

Angry murmurs started from the corners of the room--murmurs they grew to more than whisperings. Draco, clearly wishing he hadn't made the mistake of mentioning his father in so hostile an environment, immediately put his back to the wall and crossed his chest with his arms.

"And what would your father do, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Flitwick asked, jaw clenched, suddenly, despite his attire, looking very menacing indeed. Draco just as suddenly remembered that the little man had been a reigning dueling champion before he was born--all in all, not a good fight to pick. But they were all looking at him...

" My father would register his deep disapproval, sir," Draco seethed with as much venom he could.

Flitwick blinked twice.

"Right then. Goyle, face Malfoy. Hope you've been practicing," the Professor sneered, watching the students snarl and gather. "Ah good, nothing like some healthy anger to resuscitate the unconscious. We haven't got all day, you know! Come on! On the count of three then! One.. two.. THREE!"

Ron gave Harry a mock bow, then:

"Gratus Hilirium Sophis!" the other half of the class screeched.

Harry stared at Ron for a bit... and then, it all got blurry. The room softened, and it was hard to concentrate. Suddenly, Harry felt wonderful. He felt relieved, refreshed; he felt that all the stress of the past year was... nothing. Harry smiled happily. He reached out to hug Ron, but then realized that Ron didn't have red hair anymore. Now it was long and curly... a bit brown. And when did Ron shrink? No matter, Ron hugged back. Harry felt like singing a happy tune, but suddenly forgot all the words in the English language. Somewhere in the background he heard some crashes and some shouting, but that was far, far away.

Suddenly, Harry was on the ground clutching his forehead as a spear of pain lanced his scar. He screamed.

Through a tunnel of noise and pain, Harry heard Ron.

"Professor! Quick, I don't know what to do-"

"Someone catch him!" came from the centre of the room, but it was hard to tell through all the white lights.

There was laughter. Evil, horrible laughter, and pain.

Ginny whispered in his ear, "The gorgon, Harry." And Harry screamed his rage and his pain. He stood up, searching frantically for his wand.

"Kill it!" he roared. His scar blazed crimson, and he realised it was blood. "Kill it! Kill it!" he chanted.

Wands pointed at him, but he found a sword in his hand--Gryffindor's Sword--and to the tune of some Phoenix song, Harry screamed some more, running at the Gorgon.

"Finite Incantim! FINITE INCANTIM!!" came some noises.

Harry roared through the meaningless words, sword thrust, pain in check. He reached the Gorgon, hair entwined with snakes, fangs and claws sharp as a thousand knives. The Gorgon had red eyes. It shoved the lifeless bodies away as Harry neared, narrowing its red orbs and laughing--and Harry had a moment to think, "Why aren't I turning to stone?" before rage took over again.

"You will leave her alone!" Harry screamed at it, pushing its chest as hard as he could with his free hand while lowering the sword.

The Gorgon glared at him. Raised its hand. Pushed.

"I don't know what the devil you're talking about, boy," it spat as Harry once again crashed to the floor in a heap. The pain was monumental. Harry tried to clear his head and failed. A million miles away, someone was crying.

And then it all went dark.

* * *

The statue of the hag was indeed very, very ugly.

Ginny noticed this for the thousandth time in the last twenty minutes as she sighed and waited. If he didn't show by the next time she was forced to study the wall-eyed, warted statue, she was leaving. There was only so much assault on the aesthetic senses that a person could take, after-all. And she didn't want to lose all of her appetite before lunch. Which was in... she scanned the sundial in the solarium... seven minutes? Where was he?

It was a beautiful winter day; the sky was a clear icy blue, and the wind was crisp. Ginny took a deep breath and felt it burn her lungs just a bit. The lake was almost frozen--it was at that point where she could hear it struggle with nature, the water protesting audibly about the thin layer of ice struggling to contain it. The crackle of the air and the water had her shivering, almost like someone was chewing on some ice cubes right in her ear. And damn, but that hag was u--

That's it.

She got up to leave, shivering and upset when there was a whoosh, an impact... and suddenly her back was pressed to the wall and she got a much better view of the hag. And much more besides.

"Whaa--get off me!" she screamed, struggling against who--or what--was pushing her to the wall.

"You--you have to hide me..." a voice breathed in her ear. She thought it was Tom at first until...

I... I don't believe it. It's--it's--

Reacting to her Witch's Defense studies, Ginny kneed her assailant in the groin, brought her elbow down hard on his back and ran to the hag's shadow, mind racing, adrenaline pumping.

I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE!

She clutched her throbbing head, trying to shake it clear. The figure was still doubled over, but it started to raise its face. In the shadow where she was, Ginny could make out white blond hair, a pointed, consternated visage... and screaming red eyes.

"D-draco Malfoy?" she whispered.

I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE!

With his red glare, Draco watched her, a sneer dying on his face. He blinked, suddenly dropping to the ground on his knees. His robes were torn, and there was blood leaking through a hole on the knee of his trousers; his normally immaculate hair was tousled, and what looked like oil smudged his cheeks. Draco looked at her again, fear playing in his crimson eyes. "I... They... They wouldn't... shut up." He looked as if he were about to cry. But then, alarmingly, she saw another expression run through his face--an expression that clearly wasn't his--

I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE!

Ginny stumbled from the force of the outburst inside her head; it was as if something were trying to get out. "What the hell is going on?" she whispered.

In the winter light, Draco looked like a fallen angel. He was beautiful like something poisonous and delicate, his red eyes glowing softly in the pale sun. The expression on his face was serene--it was horrible--but soft and strong.

Ginny held her head and started to back away as if she had found herself in the middle of Hagrid's menagerie. Pulsing through her brain, she thought she heard footsteps, but the screaming was so loud she couldn't tell--

Red eyes followed her every move hungrily. They even followed her as the half dozen teachers caught up to them. As the half dozen voices screamed, "STUPEFY!" as one.

NOOOOOOOO!

It took her a moment to realise she had shouted as well.

When Draco fell, Ginny's head exploded in pain. Shakily, she edged away from the shadow of the hag and ran before anyone would notice where the noise had come from.

WHY DIDN'T HE SEE ME? WHY?

Ginny reeled down the stone stairs, falling to her knees on the cold floor of the main corridor. When she opened her eyes, she gasped.

The halls were littered with destroyed paintings. Over the staircases, on all the walls, there was nothing.

It took her a couple of moments to figure out that the wailing was coming from the disembodied portraits and not her own head.

* * *

The first thing Harry saw was the worried face of Albus Dumbledore. Harry blinked into focus, willing his eyes to make sense.

Dumbledore watched Harry regain consciousness, his hand resting on the bedpost.

Bedpost?

When sight was finally an option, Harry scanned the room, taking in the familiarity of the Hospital Wing. His eyes again turned to Dumbledore, and he thought he saw something very weary hiding in the crevices of the old wizard's wrinkled face.

"Awake, are we?" the old wizard smiled. "Heard you had quite an adventure. Ah, Giddy Geas quarter. Isn't nearly so bad as last year, you know. Last year, a young Hufflepuff actually managed to get Professor Flitwick in an excellent headlock. Took three teachers to pry him off. We actually thought we had lost our Charms Instructor... but no; those of Dwarven stock are more hardy than they look."

"Dwarven stock?" murmured Harry, surprised at the wooden feel of his mouth.

"Oh, yes. His great great grandfather on his mother's side, I believe. However, Harry, I must advise you: advancing on an enraged geased student wielding naught but a pillow feather is not the most wise of actions." There was laughter hiding in his eyes this time.

Harry snorted, or tried to, remembering the crazy antics of the students he had witnessed geased.

"Is that what happened?" he asked.

The laughter in Dumbledore's eyes shifted into an expression that Harry couldn't read. "More or less," was the reply. Dumbledore looked out the window, watching the Whomping Willow just behind the lake dust itself of a layer of encroaching ice.

"It's been hard lately, Harry."

Dumbledore rarely spoke of events negatively, and Harry startled a bit to see the old wizard's knuckles white from their grip on the bedpost.

"There is a lot happening that doesn't get back to Hogwarts. It seems that whatever I say or do to persuade otherwise falls on deaf ears. Harry..." the old wizard sighed.

"Yes sir?"

"Please be careful. If anything happens that you can't explain, that you don't feel is right... please don't hesitate to tell me. I--I know that you like to solve things for yourself, and I know that you are capable of doing so... But you've been so lucky in the past, Harry. I don't want that luck to run out..." Dumbledore continued staring out the window, evidently lost in thought.

Harry considered telling the headmaster of his dream but decided that he might be jumping to conclusions. It was just a silly dream after all, compounded by a geas that went wild.

"Yes sir," he said instead.

Dumbledore smiled again. "I believe there are some people who wish to see you. I mustn't stand in their way any longer, lest I be trampled--and I'm sure a flat old wizard wouldn't much impress the first years, eh?"

Harry smiled in response.

"Be careful, Harry," Dumbledore repeated and took his leave. Not a moment later, a very concerned Ron and Hermione came bursting into the room.

"Oh Harry, it was awful!" started Ron, "You'll never believe--"

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, not meeting his eyes.

Harry blinked. "Yeah. I've had worse. Have all my bones intact at least. I think."

Ron couldn't hold his story much longer. "Malfoy, Harry! Malfoy went mad! Started hurling people about, knocked Flitwick out cold, he did!"

"Wha?" started Harry?

"Yah! Who do you think you attacked? With a goose feather, nonetheless; and humming some strange Muggle song triumphantly--"

"That would be God Save the Queen," murmured Hermione.

Harry snorted. Then Hermione gave a small laugh. Ron looked at them both and burst out laughing, soon followed by the rest. After a good fit of giggles, Ron continued his story.

"Anyway, Malfoy whacked out. Then you sort of crumbled, did the feather bit, and he flicked you against the wall. It was the scariest thing ever, his eyes all red like He-Who--Voldemort." Harry had been trying to rid his friends of giving the Dark Lord the prestige of having a fearsome name. Whenever he heard someone not up to spitting out "Voldemort" he assumed they were referring to Martin the Mad Muggle unless persuaded otherwise. It was simple as tactics go, yet very effective.

"He had red eyes?" Harry asked, suddenly more aware.

"Yah, he did; and then he just ran out the hall after you passed out--and get this--all the wall hangings started screeching. Then we heard Malfoy shouting something, and suddenly it went all quiet, like scary quiet. When I peeped outside to take a look, all the paintings were lying on the floor, utterly destroyed."

Harry gasped.

"Well, not utterly," Hermione countered. "Just the big ones, really. Still, it's surprising to think that someone as stupid as Malfoy knows how to destroy a large piece of space. I for one would definitely not think he had it in him."

Ron nodded. "I, personally, blame Crabbe entirely. Pillock with a wand, it shouldn't be legal."

Harry grinned, but his thoughts were still with the red eyes and the destruction. He considered telling them that his scar had hurt, but decided against it. They just got too freaky when they heard that... like Voldemort was in the next room or something, and Harry would not give Draco Malfoy the satisfaction of having anyone be afraid of his wizardly powers.

The trio talked for a while longer, then Ron excused himself for having to go to his Wizarding Chess meeting. Since the Attack on the Ministry, chess had become a very popular sport indeed. Though none really knew why, Hermione had speculated that chess was the most realistic to strategizing for war that a game could get. Ron had snorted at her and then taken her queen. Whatever the reason, Wizard Chess was now a sport almost as popular as Quidditch among Hogwarts students, and Ron had his own arena. As title champion, he had a record to protect.

When Hermione was alone with Harry, she immediately clammed up.

"There something wrong?" Harry asked.

"Erm. Well. Harry, I don't know how much you remember from the Geas..."

"Not much really," Harry answered truthfully. "I started out real happy... ha! I believe I hugged Ron like a fool for a bit... And then... you know... the whole feather thing... God Save the Queen... and then splat. Heh. What did you do?"

Hermione turned crimson.

"Well Harry. Firstly, you hugged me."

"Did I? Ha! Sorry 'bout that," Harry grinned and was somewhat surprised that Hermione wasn't grinning back.

She forced a smile to her face. "Yeah well, I don't remember much, either. According to Ron, I went around cursing people out. Of course, he could be lying... He says that I called Draco a name that made his eyes turn red."

It was Harry's turn to force a smile. Suddenly, it was quite awkward in the room, and Hermione made an excuse of having to go to the library to re-study some Charms work. Although the Giddy Geas wouldn't be in the exam, its properties and practical uses would be.

Alone, Harry kept coming back to Malfoy's red eyes. He didn't like that at all... especially since he remembered them in geas. What did they say? Those acting under influence of geas follow a higher cognition about events? He couldn't remember and almost decided to visit the library himself.

However, it was at this time that Ginny knocked on the door. She came in looking a degree of her usual fiery self, and Harry once again thought that she looked tired. Everyone looked tired. But Ginny... looked off, and this more than anything else caused him to worry about the dream.

Harry looked so serious that Ginny couldn't help but smile. His hair was standing on end, glasses askew. Most endearing, he was sticking just the corner of his tongue out again, like he was mentally diving for the snitch.

Ridiculous fool.

Shut up, Tom. I'm not talking to you.

Just look at him! He looks like a porcupine that swallowed a flobberworm--

Shut up now!

Ginny bent down to kiss Harry perfunctorily on the cheek, but he turned his head. He didn't kiss her, but kept their faces as close as a breath. This close, he studied her, watched the stray thoughts run through her head... watched the small ticks that she had been developing lately. He worried. Increasing his frown, he reached and smoothed a wild red lock away from her mouth.

Ginny smiled at him in response, reached down and turned his furrowing frown forcibly the other way, making him look bunny toothed and silly. She snickered at her cleverness, and he laughed too.

"I heard you all had a party, and I wasn't invited," she smirked.

Ooo, that's a clearly intelligent thing to say.

It's called humor, Tom. Grow some.

"Yeah, some party," Harry snorted again. "I evidently went after Malfoy with a feather, clearly bent on tickling him to death. I really hope that some strange Austrian psycho-mediwizards aren't hiding behind the door over there."

I really hope that there are some Dementors hiding there instead, you stupid git.

Ginny forced a laugh. "If there are," she said, "I get to watch them take you through your 'inner struggles.'"

Merlin, no.

Harry raised an eyebrow right before kissing her soundly.

Ack! You even taste like flobberworm!

Ginny jerked back in disgust before she realised what she was doing. Harry sat up, concerned and a little slighted.

"Is there... a problem?" he asked, ears going red.

Ha! Your girlfriend finds you repulsive, you sorry bastard.

Ginny gasped; she had never let Tom get so strong before... Always, she could push him away... and that's when she even chose to think of it as him. Tom wasn't real. He couldn't be.

Keep telling yourself that, love. Makes it easier.

Unconsciously, Ginny started backing away. Her feet scuffed at the door before she even realized what she was doing. She looked back at Harry in the bed, red faced and strangely weary. Looking at him, she noticed that he had a mirror above his bed.

"I'm sorry, Harry... I just get so worried," she blurted, tears coming to her eyes.

Harry immediately softened, taking her tears for concern. "It's alright, Gin. I'm fine. I'm just so tired, I guess it's from this whole Prefect thing and the Quidditch; not to mention keeping up with your brother. I think chess has gone to his head, Ginny. Just yesterday..."

Ginny nodded.

"And Hermione, Ginny... She's acting sort of strangely again... I wonder if she's using some sort of stimulative ink like last time? Ha! Remember..."

Ginny nodded, not listening to a word he said. In the mirror, Tom Riddle stood next to her, staring back at her. He was angry; his eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. Slowly, he looked at Harry. Then, he looked back at her and grinned a slow, wry smile that in no way touched his eyes.

"...Oh Ginny! You should have seen Dean! He was lying on the floor like a special child, arms all like he was fanning some massive snow-angel... only obviously, there was no..."

Ginny nodded.

In the mirror, Tom leaned into her, one hand lightly resting on her arm and the other cupping her ear. She shivered, like someone walked over her grave. In her ear, she heard seductively, "It won't be long before you know I'm real. I'll prove it to you." He paused to slide his hand up to the nape of her neck. Ginny shivered uncontrollably, until Harry shut the window.

Soon, Ginny. I saw him. I felt his power. Soon.

Ginny laughed at one of Harry's jokes, reached over and took his hand, purposely moving herself out of the field of view in the mirror.

Darling. You'd better believe me.

She did.