Heart's Desire

Ow, ow, ow...

That was basically what was running circles in Draco Malfoy's head as he slowly resumed consciousness. He opened his eyes, but immediately screwed them shut again- there was a bright light shining in his face, and after a moment he realized it was sunlight, streaming from a window.

"Awake now, are you?" Madam Pomfrey said by way of a greeting, bustling over to him and laying her hand on his forehead. "You're cold as ice." Her eyes were expressionless, and the set of her mouth grim.

"Wha... what happened?" Draco asked haltingly, knowing immediately by her expression that it couldn't have been good. The last thing he remembered was scenting the overwhelming smell of blood... and then the darkness...

She shook her head with a closed expression on her face. "You could ask those two, though," she said grimly, indicating Harry and Ron, who were sitting by another bed, about ten feet away. The occupant was an awake, but extremely pale Hermione. "Or," Madam Pomfrey continued, "you could ask Dumbledore, who has asked to see you four as soon as you and the young lady are better."

Draco paled for a moment, before he remembered that this was what he was supposed to do.

"Oh."

Madam Pomfrey squinted at him, and Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that, due to his unconcerned air when told he was being taken to see the headmaster, she now thought that he had suffered some sort of brain damage. "Just lie still, Malfoy," she said as she got up to retreat into her office.

So naturally, Draco sat up.

Luckily for him, Madam Pomfrey did not see him, and he was free to watch the three Gryffindors.

Ron was making violent gestures in the air again, and this time Harry seemed to be agreeing with him. Vehemently.

Um, this doesn't look good for me. I wonder which one of my extremities they're going to snap off first? Draco thought cheerfully.

Hermione was now sipping something from a cup, which was steaming slightly.

And that'll be the Anti-Vampire potion, I suppose, Draco added sardonically, when in truth, he had no idea what Hermione was drinking. Blood restoratives. She's looking better already- rosier, less pale...

Immediately Draco terminated that train of thought- it was threatening to skyrocket into pervert status, and the last thing he needed was for the two grim boys by Hermione's bedside to catch him staring at Hermione with a less-than-pleasant look on his face.

The Gryffindor boys looked over at Draco, (who quickly put away his questionable expression) and their faces darkened.

Oh crap. This is the part where arms and legs are severed and go flying through the air, I presume.

Fortunately, that moment was the moment Professor McGonagall decided to show up.

"Poppy? I'm going to take them up now, is that all right?" Professor McGonagall inquired, her tone of voice implying that there was only one possible answer to the question.

"Alright," came Madam Pomfrey's grudging voice- the woman was nearly obsessive about her patients' health while they remained in her clutches- "but if the girl faints on the way up, it's not my fault."

Professor McGonagall sighed- a long-suffering sound- then turned her transfixing gaze on the four sixth-years.

"Come with me, all of you. The headmaster wants a word with you."

Draco got out of the bed- thankfully, he was still in his normal clothes- and glanced back at the bed he had occupied briefly.

Ooh, they are going to have a job cleaning THAT up, he thought wickedly as he surveyed the bloodstained, muddy sheets.

* * * * *

Dumbledore stared blankly at the little white slip of paper that Professor O'Sullivan had just handed him.

"You see, Headmaster?" the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher murmured quietly, her voice blurred slightly by an Irish brogue. In the seclusion of Dumbledore's office, she pointed at something on the slip of paper. "Of course, there are slight differences... one being that our current Heir is a good deal better looking than him... but still, there is no mistaking them, when they were young, from those who attend our school now."

Dumbledore nodded. "Quite right," he began. "I don't know how we could have missed that. If all goes well, we will not have to end classes early on Friday."

The flickering firelight reflected in O'Sullivan's deep green eyes, casting shadows over her perfect-skinned face, the flawless complexion product of the misty rains and humid climates of Ireland.

"If all goes well," she agreed softly. "We'll know in a few minutes."

* * * * *

Draco blinked as he, Potter, Weasley, and Granger were shooed into Dumbledore's office. Professor McGonagall exited, but the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who had already been in the room, remained. Draco shrugged, and looked around. He'd never been in here before, and the experience was interesting, to say the least.

We've got the office; so where's the Headmaster? he thought, glancing around. Dumbledore wasn't at his desk. There was a phoenix in the corner however, standing on its perch. It lifted its head and gazed at them with an expression of mild curiosity.

"I've been hearing some things, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore began from behind Draco, startling him. "Hagrid told me what he saw happen by his house. Would you care to give me your version of events?"

Draco shook his head, his silver blonde hair rippling softly, catching the firelight and reflecting fleeting slivers of light. "I don't know what happened," he muttered.

"You bloody well bit Hermione, that's what happened!" Ron snapped, before being silenced by Dumbledore, who had seen the flicker in Draco's eyes.

In two strides, Draco had covered the distance between himself and Hermione. Placing his hand beneath her chin with the arrogant air of one not used to being refused, he lifted her face, tilting her head to one side so he could look at the side of her neck. Hermione, lethargic from blood loss, didn't resist. A slight smirk touched Draco's lips before disappearing with the fleeting evanescence of mist pierced by a sunray.

"So I did," he murmured. "I see the marks."

Harry and Ron had started to their feet, incensed at Draco's casual handling of Hermione, but before they could act, Draco had stepped away from Hermione, moving with uncanny speed, and was now standing thoughtfully.

"Yes... I've just remembered..." he murmured. After a pause, he looked up at Dumbledore through his long, black eyelashes. "It's started already," he said, fighting down the sudden desire to be melodramatic.

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap, gestured for Harry and Ron to resume their seats, and fixed his eyes squarely on Draco. "What has, Draco?" he inquired evenly.

"You want me to say it in front of them?" Draco sniffed, enunciating the word them with clear distaste.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, Draco," Dumbledore continued amicably, "but I have a feeling they'll find out about it soon anyway."

"Fine," Draco snarled, taking a seat and crossing his arms. "If you must know, I am a raving, blood-sucking soul cursed with powers that are completely and utterly out of my control. The vampire blood that is already flowing through my veins has been intensified by aforementioned curse to effectively enslave me to the will of my own bloodlust," Draco said in a monotone.

Ron looked as if he'd been bulldozed by an extremely large cow. "Come again?"

Draco gave Ron a sarcastic smile. "I'm part vampire, all right?" he snapped.

Dumbledore didn't look fazed. "Are you anything else?" he inquired, seeming to read Draco's mind.

Draco smirked again. "Does part veela count? Only don't tell the girls' mothers about my little curse."

Woohoo. I've effectively shocked ten years off each of those Gryffindors' lives.

His thought was accurate- Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked stunned.

However, Dumbledore looked as cool as though it were January in his general vicinity. "About this curse..." he said, smoothly leading Draco along through the conversation.

"The Dracen Curse as we Malfoys call it. The Bloodlust Curse, as the ordinary unimportant people call it," Draco offered smugly, as he proceeded to explain all the pleasant little nuances of his curse.

"I see," Dumbledore said, once Draco had finished. "Extraordinary."

"Aren't I just," Draco remarked sardonically. "So," he continued helpfully, "this curse effectively makes me, let's see, forty percent vampire. I'm also forty percent veela, and- will you look at that? Twenty percent human. Only twenty percent. I knew I was just too beautiful to be pure human."

The three Gryffindors still looked shell-shocked. Draco and Dumbledore ignored them.

"You mentioned that the veela blood was bred into your line after your curse..." Dumbledore pondered, "but veela blood isn't as strong as vampire blood, and tends to fade through many years of inheritance. Yet you are forty percent veela. That is quite a lot."

"My grandmother was a veela," Draco said, and his smile was tight now, definitely uncomfortable. Dumbledore let it drop.

Hermione looked askance at Draco. He was simply sitting there, his posture perfect and graceful, revealing no emotions, his complexion pale and perfectly toned. His silvery-blonde hair drifted across his finely-chiseled face, the individual strands rippling across each other, fine and shimmering. The silver-grey eyes hid all emotion, yet also seemed to reflect upon the deep miasma that was his soul. He was beautiful, and it wasn't hard to believe that he wasn't quite human.

Hermione instantly cut off that thought- and not a moment too soon. She'd almost began to think of her enemy in a rather... fond... way. The horror!

Dumbledore had got to his feet in the meantime. The headmaster then proceeded to peruse through the books on the bookcase behind his desk, followed by O'Sullivan. The four sixth-years sat in silence broken only by the scuffling of book spines against wood. Professor O'Sullivan then tapped Dumbledore lightly on the shoulder, and handed him a worn, black book. The two looked through it before glancing up again.

"You said you were afflicted with the Bloodlust Curse, Draco?" Dumbledore finally asked. When Draco nodded mutely, Dumbledore flipped a page, then began to read out loud quietly from the book.

"The Bloodlust Curse. A powerful curse that afflicts the chosen targets with uncontrollable bloodlust. The symptoms are worse if the cursed one possesses vampire blood, for that will be intensified, and the cursed one will become more vampiric. The side effects of this curse- which are additional powers, mostly uncontrollable as well- come directly from the caster of the curse and are transferred to the victim, and vary with the caster's skills, talents, and/or species. The caster has no control over the powers it may transfer to its victims, and cannot stop the transference from occurring, being as it is a natural ramification of the magic. For example, if the caster of this curse was a cockatrice, (a small lizard able to kill with its direct gaze and poisonous breath) the victim may develop the ability to create poisonous mists reminiscent of the poison breath of the cockatrice, and may even, in severe cases, become able to kill by locking his or her eyes with the gaze of another living being.

See also the ContraCurse Potion, page 315 (the only known cure for the Bloodlust Curse)

"Well, young Malfoy," Dumbledore said, flipping to page 315 and skimming the column, "It seems that this ContraCurse Potion will both cure you of the bloodlust and allow you to control your powers."

"So I get to keep them?" Draco said hopefully.

"Heaven forbid..." Ron muttered.

"Unfortunately for Mr. Weasley, yes, the ContraCurse Potion allows you to keep your powers," Dumbledore said in a smiling tone. "It merely gives you conscious control over them. And-" Dumbledore began, to answer the unspoken question in Draco's grey eyes, "you, Mr. Malfoy, must gather the ingredients to make the ContraCurse Potion- as it is the cure to your curse we seek. But we will deal with this later; we are leaving out Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I called you all up here for a reason.

"Draco Malfoy first. Step forward, please," Dumbledore instructed, as he lifted the Sorting Hat from its place on the shelf. "Yes- just stand quietly for a moment," the headmaster said as he put the Hat on his own head.

There was a pause- Draco supposed that the Hat was talking to Dumbledore.

"Yes, it's time. You know what to do," Dumbledore said to the Hat briefly, almost inaudibly, before pulling it back off. Draco suddenly realized that it hadn't been necessary for Dumbledore to speak out loud to the Hat- why had he done so?

Maybe he doesn't want to leave us out, Draco thought sarcastically.

Dumbledore got to his feet, and, stepping forward, plunked the Sorting Hat firmly on Draco's blonde head. The Hat fell down around Draco's eyes, obscuring his vision.

Draco was standing still wondering what was going on when suddenly the Hat whispered, "Oh yes, Child, you're the one," and contracted, abruptly dropping something long and hard on his head.

"Ow!" Draco yelped, pulling off the Hat. As the Hat left Draco's head, a brilliant glitter caught the firelight, and a long, slim, inflexible silvery rapier, its silver crossbar encrusted with emeralds and its hilt wrapped in black dragon-skin leather, clattered to the ground.

Harry gasped. He'd experienced this sequence before, all the way back when they were in the second year. Draco, on the other hand, was just glad the sword hadn't come down pointy end first.

Dumbledore smiled humorlessly at Draco. "It seems you are the Heir of Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. That is the Sword of Slytherin."

Draco's voice was flat. "Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin," he stated tonelessly, ignoring the flinches of Ron and Hermione at the name. "Not me."

Dumbledore's smile vanished. "As Professor O'Sullivan- who professes to be somewhat of an expert on the lives and prophecies of the Four Founders- says, Slytherin prophesied the creation of two Heirs- one to destroy the Muggles and Muggle-borns of the world, and the other to- with the other three Heirs of the Founders- preserve this new, Muggle-free world. Of course, the other Three Founders knew nothing about the Destroyer Heir- the only Heir they knew of was the Heir of Preservation. Which is you."

Draco's mouth worked soundlessly. It was obvious that he was in shock.

"A nearly perfect plot," Dumbledore murmured. " But. Perhaps you would like to sit and look over your new weapon for a moment, Draco," Dumbledore continued, not without a certain amount of kind compassion in his tone. Draco obeyed without protest.

"Hermione... if you would?"

Hermione got shakily to her feet, and advanced slowly. The Sorting Hat was placed on her, and only a moment passed before the skeptical look on Hermione's face was replaced by one of surprise. She gave a short yelp, just as Draco had, and pulled off the Sorting Hat. A slightly curving, long, slim silvery katana threatened to clatter to the ground, but Hermione caught it, staring at it wonderingly. The crossbar- an ellipse- was layered with bronze and inlaid with glittering sapphires, and the hilt, as with Slytherin's sword, was wrapped in black dragon-skin leather.

"The Heir of Ravenclaw," Dumbledore murmured. "I should have known."

Hermione stumbled back to her chair.

"And Ron," said Dumbledore, putting the Hat on Ron, who had gone a nasty shade of nervous green.

The Sorting Hat hesitated, and Ron made as if to pull it off.

"You can't honestly think I'm an Heir. I'm ju-" Ron began vehemently, when his words were cut off. The Sorting Hat had suddenly dumped a slender, slightly curving, silvery fencing sabre on his fiery head. Ron yanked the Hat off, seized the sword, and stared at it. Its crossbar was gold, encrusted with gleaming obsidians, and the hilt was again wrapped in black dragon-skin leather.

"The Heir of Hufflepuff," Dumbledore announced unnecessarily.

"What? You mean that I get to be an Heir, but have to be the Heir of Hufflepuff?" Ron demanded, his face coloring to match his hair.

"Now, Ron," chided Dumbledore, "Hufflepuff is not a bad house. Helga Hufflepuff was a powerful witch in her own right. And quite a good fencer, I might add," Dumbledore said cheerfully, glancing at the weapon.

"But their symbol is a badger," Ron protested feebly.

"Not many know that the original symbol of Hufflepuff House was a black wolf with golden eyes," Dumbledore revealed blithely. "Helga Hufflepuff loved wolves- their loyalty to their packs is renowned, as is their perseverance- both qualities that she favored. But, with the coming of the fear of werewolves, the wolf's noble qualities were overshadowed by evil ones, and the old emblem was replaced by the badger- a more docile animal- but at least the headmaster and staff then thought so! Not many know that the badger can be a very cranky, violent animal," Dumbledore finished, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Oh..." Ron said faintly. "But then why wouldn't they change the symbol of Slytherin? Snakes are pretty evil."

"Serpents are also renowned as symbols of healing and wisdom," Dumbledore said gravely. "These qualities were not overshadowed. Powdered snake scales, blood, and fangs are still used in many wisdom and healing potions.

"And of course," Dumbledore said, reaching behind him for the Sword of Gryffindor- a longsword, straight and slim, its golden hilt encrusted with rubies- and passing it to Harry. "As the Heir of Gryffindor, you were able to pull this sword from the Hat years ago."

There was silence for a moment, as the four stared at their respective blades.

"You four are the chosen Heirs of the Founders," Dumbledore began slowly. "The Founders, before they died, prophesied the coming of great evil- which, unbeknownst to them- even Slytherin- was Slytherin's Destroyer Heir. And, they gathered together, to cast this collective spell, to ensure that four children of the future would be born with special powers. These children would grow, and learn to use their powers, and eventually become instrumental in the defeat of the evil."

More silence. Fawkes, who had been sitting on his perch the whole time, shifted slightly, rustling his feathers.

"You four must learn to work together cooperatively, as I sense there is some tension between you," Dumbledore said quietly, as he watched Ron and Draco glare at each other. "This quest for the ingredients of the ContraCurse Potion for Mr. Malfoy here will be an ideal training round. You must learn to get along and become friends. I trust you know the consequences of not doing so."

Four sets of jaws dropped. Become friends?

"And why," Draco began softly, "should I have anything to do with this Heir business once we have made the ContraCurse Potion? My family- and I- will be glad to see the Muggle-borns and Muggles die. You know this as well as anyone else, Professor."

Dumbledore's eye flashed sparks.

"Voldemort will not stop at the Muggle-borns, you know," Dumbledore said grimly. "Power corrupts his mind. It is a matter of time before he goes mad, intoxicated with power- then the entire world will suffer. It won't matter whether you're pure-blood or not. Voldemort's quest is not the mere eradication of Muggles and Muggle-borns, it is ascension to something very like god-hood. And to get there, he will likely have to sacrifice some pure-bloods as well."

Draco didn't have an answer to that. It looked as if a massive conflict was going on in his mind. Then, as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch off in his mind, his face went blank.

"Alright," he said slowly, his drawl forgotten, his eyes flat grey disks. "Alright. I see now."

"Let me see... all four of you, as Heirs, have stronger magical powers and defenses than normal wizards, and can perform spells without wands- with a little practice and a little extra effort. You are also natural Animagi. Harry, as Heir of Gryffindor, can shift into lion form, and can- but wait, no...."

Harry watched mutely as Dumbledore paced the room. "I was going to say," the headmaster finally admitted, "that you can speak Leantongue- the language of anything with lion ancestry or blood- but that will have been nullified by the Parseltongue that Voldemort unwittingly transferred to you. You will have to be content with snake talk."

Harry, who had a slightly unfocused look in his eyes, nodded.

"Hermione..." Dumbledore began again, turning to her, "as Heir of Ravenclaw, you have the ability to shift into the form of a golden eagle, and the ability to speak Accipitongue, the language of the birds of prey- eagles in particular. It also allows you to speak to anything with bird of prey ancestry or blood- hippogriffs, for example," the headmaster said, eyes smiling kindly at her.

"You mean I could have just talked to Hagrid's hippogriffs in third year instead of having to constantly worry about my head getting ripped off?" Hermione voiced incredulously, remembering at the last moment not to mention Sirius in front of Professor O'Sullivan. Or Draco.

"Well, the Heirs only truly begin to awaken after the age of sixteen," Dumbledore clarified calmly. "That is why we were only going to call up sixth-years and above."

"Oh," Hermione said faintly.

"Now, as for Ron-" Dumbledore began.

"Don't tell me, I can turn into a badger, and I speak badger talk," Ron said woodenly as Draco smirked.

"No," Dumbledore said with a hint of a genuine smile now, "you can shift into grey wolf form, and you speak Lupentongue, the language of the wolves and all related canines. Hufflepuff's spell came before the emblem change, after all. Wolves are actually very wise animals- you can learn much from them."

Ron nodded in a dazed sort of way.

"Now, Draco... this curse has mixed you all up," Dumbledore muttered, as Ron grinned nastily at Draco. Ron certainly thought that Draco was mixed up in more ways than one! "You are supposed to be able to speak Parseltongue, and have the ability to shift into snakes, but you tell me that this curse gives you the ability to speak Dracentongue, language of the dragons. Whether this skill is under your conscious control or not we have yet to learn. But since this curse was set before Slytherin's magic, and since a person can only have one language skill, it seems you are stuck with Dracentongue. But you still retain the ability to shift to snake form, I presume, as well as the ability to sprout dragon wings and control fire."

"I don't know about being able to control the fire and wing things," Draco said wryly as a nearby section of the carpet burst into flame.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said as he put out the flames with a water spell. "Try to control your emotions right now, please. I don't want my office to go up in flames."

"Hang on!" Harry interjected. "Voldemort's transference of Parseltongue to me happened after Gryffindor's magic," he reasoned. "Wouldn't that mean that the Leantongue would nullify the Parseltongue?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not in this case. Voldemort is an Heir himself, and he used a powerful curse. It is possible that the Leantongue was overruled in that case. Magic has many ramifications that we have yet to understand."

"Oh..." Harry slumped back into his chair.

There was a moment's silence, before Hermione took up the torch of protest.

"Is..." Hermione began timidly, "Is this why you were going to end classes early on Friday?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Very perceptive, Hermione. Yes, we wanted to find the Heirs immediately, so Professor O'Sullivan and I decided on Friday, to test the students."

"But how did you know to test us first?" Hermione asked, her voice a bit stronger. "I mean, it could have been anyone. It didn't have to be us."

This time, Professor O'Sullivan answered, her fluting voice causing Fawkes to look up with an expression of intrigue. "Because of this picture we found. Take a look."

She took the white slip of paper from Dumbledore's desk, and passed it to Hermione. The three boys got up to take a closer look.

"Dear God," Hermione began weakly. "Are those the Four Founders?"

The four people standing in what was apparently a ancient picture were young, perhaps about seventeen. But what was most remarkable was their appearance. If the picture hadn't been so old, one could have mistaken three of the people in the picture for Harry, Hermione, and Draco.

"Gryffindor," Harry began in a shaking voice, pointing at the black-haired, green-eyed young man who looked like himself. The only difference was that Gryffindor didn't have glasses, and his hair actually behaved.

"Ravenclaw," came Hermione's voice, as she pointed at the chestnut-haired, brown-eyed woman who looked like herself.

"Slytherin," Draco said flatly as he indicated the grey-eyed blonde who scowled in the background.

Dumbledore got up quietly. "Well spotted," he said mischievously, "though I do believe you're a sight better-looking than Slytherin there, Draco."

Dumbledore grinned as Draco turned a faint red, but held his silence.

"I'm not a woman," Ron said flatly, after glancing at the short, willowy young woman with slightly waved hair and pretty eyes. Helga Hufflepuff.

Dumbledore smiled more widely. "But the woman in this picture appears to have bright red hair and freckles, doesn't she? We felt that, as long as you were here, Ron, we might as well try you. Quite a pretty woman, actually. Most people who hear the description of Hufflepuff House imagine Helga Hufflepuff to be a stout, round woman, but she was actually quite slender and delicate, if a little on the short side. Hufflepuff looked as you might look if you were of the female persuasion, except maybe a little shorter."

Ron spluttered slightly in indignation, but his heart wasn't in it, due to the fact that it seemed to have stopped quite a while ago. Hermione handed back the picture slowly, and the other three retreated to their chairs. Hermione, however, had another question.

"Ron and I are in Gryffindor House," she began. "So why are we the Heirs of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? Shouldn't people from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff be the Heirs?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "It really doesn't matter. The identities of the Heirs were preordained. You two just happened to be the ones that best fit the description of the Founders' ideals. You, Ron, with your endless loyalty and powerful preserverance. And you, Hermione, with your quick wit and clever mind. And, by any chance, were either of you especially keen on getting into Gryffindor when you were being Sorted?"

"Yes," Ron and Hermione answered tonelessly. "We heard it was the 'best' House," Ron added, glancing askance at Draco, who glared at him.

"There you have it then," the headmaster said, glancing warmly at the Hat. "The Sorting Hat would never force you to go into a House you wouldn't want to go into. It analyzes your personality, decides which of the House ideals you have the most of, and then takes into consideration where you want to go. If you have a preference, you will most likely get Sorted there. If you do not, the Sorting Hat will put you in the House that your personality best conforms to."

Hermione backed down, and returned to her chair without another word.

Dumbledore looked around, noting the looks on their faces of complete and utter collapse.

"If you will excuse me," he said, "Professor O'Sullivan and I must go down to Professor Ishida's office to see if he can't tell us more about this potion, and perhaps provide us with a list of ingredients... I suggest that you should talk amongst yourselves... work it out. Untangle the facts..."

* * * * *

that's all for Chapter Two. i will keep stumbling forwards, as long as i receive feedback. ;) review please.

-celeste