Music of Destiny

+++++

Chapter Seven

+++++

Harry was preoccupied with developing the rough plan he and Malfoy had come up. After Transfiguration, and all though lunch and double Charms (he was good at charms, and Professor Flitwick had his hands too full from keeping the Hufflepuffs from blowing themselves up to bother about the Gryffindors), he had been thinking hard. Now, it was History of Magic with the Ravenclaws, and instead of sleeping like he usually did, he was discreetly scribbling down plans, so as not to alert anyone to what he was doing, particularly not Hermione.

He wasn't sure if the Slytherin had time to think of their plan during the school day, since he had Herbology, Arithmancy, and now Ancient Runes, all classes that he couldn't slack in. And they had agreed to set their plan in motion the next day, so there wasn't much time. They were determined to get their revenge as soon as possible, so that there would be other things to gossip about besides the two of them.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of school, Harry was out of the class in a flash, too fast for his friends to keep up. He breezed through the halls, making sure neither Hermione nor Ron was following him, before making his way to their 'lair', as Draco had sneeringly called it once, and the name had stuck. Draco was already there, lounging before the barely warm fire. He had just gotten there, it seemed.

Harry plonked down on the other couch; glad to drop his indifference after a day of fearful glances and flinches. He looked at the fire and made a face; he wanted to be warm after walking through the drafty castle. Pulling out his wand, he snapped, "Incendio!"

They both gaped as the fire roared, almost alive as it surged out of the grate. Draco was quicker to react, yelling the first spell that came to mind. Which wasn't a very smart thing to do, since the entire fireplace was suddenly swamped with sand, the grains spilling out onto the floor.

Draco looked over to see Harry sitting on the edge of his seat, his face in his hands. Green eyes looked up, glanced over at the fireplace and then turned their gaze on Draco. "Well, at least you put the fire out," Harry shrugged.

"Gryffindor optimism," was the muttered reply.

"I should have been more careful... especially after last night," Harry sighed.

Draco stiffened. "What about last night?" he asked.

Harry made a face, oblivious to the Slytherin's sudden tension. "I tried to conjure a fire using those bluebell flames, since they're safer to control than real fire, but even that got away from me. The wood I conjured burnt to a crisp immediately. If you hadn't done that sand spell, I'll bet this fire's no different, and the woodpile's an ash pile now."

"Oh." Draco relaxed minutely, sitting down.

Harry was amused, but also slightly suspicious. "What did you think it was?"

"Nothing." How could he explain that last night, the anonymous flutist whom he was coming to trust (imagine, trusting someone he hadn't even seen) had almost overwhelmed him, one moment burning as hot as the sun, the next roaring like a million tidal waves crashing onto shore - onto him. Draco knew the music they made must have something to do with their magic, but it wasn't like any magic he had ever known. Because now, he was more... attuned to magic, somehow; his magic was also more potent than before.

During that fight yesterday, he had unthinkingly cast spells and counter spells that he had found difficult to master at first, and some he hadn't even managed to master; yet he had cast them all with the ease of long practice. And during the duel, he could actually feel the magic surrounding him, thick in the air; he could feel magic being cast, being blocked, feel the magic as it hit and did its work.

" - foy? Oi, MALFOY!"

"What the blazes - " yelped Draco as a foot kicked his shin. He jumped up and glared at that insufferable git of a Potter. "What did you kick me for, Scarhead!"

"Be glad I only kicked you, not levitated you out of the window, glass or not," Harry replied calmly. "You weren't listening to me and spacing out. I thought you might need a friendly wake-up call."

"Friendly! Friendly, he says. Then you wouldn't mind if I return that friendly gesture, would you!" So saying, he delivered a vicious kick to Harry's ankle.

"OW, dammit!" Harry nursed his ankle. "You little - " He stopped himself and took a deep breath. Ignore Malfoy. Remember, just ignore Malfoy. "Ok. Now we're even. No arguing, no fighting. Right."

Screw that.

"Our truce is the only thing stopping me from beating you to a bloody pulp, you little shit! I kicked you purely to get your attention!"

"Language, Potter, language. Well, you have my attention now. Go on." Draco sat back down, with that condescending smirk that was purely his.

Harry fought to get his temper under control. He had kicked Draco like he would have kicked Ron, like he would have kicked Seamus. Merely something he had done unthinkingly to a friend. Remember, Malfoy isn't a friend. So never let your guard down around him. He probably doesn't have friends, anyway, he wouldn't know how to be one. With that cheerful reminder, Harry started talking, and soon, the two boys were deep into their discussion.

+++++

Thunder roared, and storm clouds dug lightning claws into screaming earth. Winds tried to raze all in their path, and failed miserably, sending enraged howls to battle against the thunder's cannonball voice. And the rain, ah, the rain, it pummelled every surface it could reach and invaded all that it could, its endless supply of bullets and tiny, tiny arrows seeking death.

And somewhere, lost in the battlefield that could only be a storm destroying itself, a faint sound, a faint plea hung on to life desperately, trying so hard not to drown, reaching for something to anchor itself to, and finding only the death that surrounded the storm.

So tired, and he couldn't hold on any longer.

"Dammit, where are you?"

His playing became violent, the last reserves of his energy crashing out into the notes and out into the storm and out into death because for all his angry melodies and dissonant chords and cacophonic notes it could barely, if at all, be heard above the sound of the rain and the wind and the thunder. And he was already tired to begin with, from all the stress of the day.

"Please..."

His strength was almost used up, his resolve wavering, his disappointment deep. He knew it would be hard to contact the flutist with the raging storm, but *still*...

He decided to try one last time, with only about a minute more to the end of the song. Closing his eyes, he let his fingers embrace the ivory keys and pushed out with his mind, his consciousness shoving through the storm, not just waiting passively, and buoyed by his music, he searched for any trace of lone windblown notes.

Tired piano music struggled through lightning, endured the battering raindrops, and tried to compete with the screaming and screeching and roars. The wind, usually a source of strength, lashed through his mind like it sliced through the rain and the air and the clouds, too strong for him to control. And as for the earth, the pain was unbearable. His fingers faltered, his mouth open and gasping for air, as he tried desperately to hold out for as long as he could.

And then the rain suddenly stopped pounding into his mind, and fire-warmth spread over him, and he could feel numb fingers again. The rain still crowded through the open window in the dusty abandoned classroom, unrelenting as ever (though it couldn't reach him and his piano, safely tucked away in the furthest corner from the opening), but the pressure on his mind had lessened.

He let a smile creep over his face as his notes suddenly soared, wrapping around the storm instead of dying underneath it, rising and falling and laughing. Each note was a smile, a grin, a sigh, not the last whispered breath of a fallen soldier on the battlefield. They revelled in the rain, laughing; nothing could hurt them now, because they had just been swept into welcoming arms and asked to dance.

Crystal piano notes embraced whispery flute sighs as the flute led its partner confidently around the thousand of others crowding the dance floor that was the frigid air. They twirled together to the roaring of thunder drums and the strobe lightning lights, and the clapping and whistling of the rain and the wind. No, the storm could not hurt them now, because they were together, lending strength even as they borrowed.

[Thank you.]

~I'm sorry you had to go through so much pain waiting for me.~

[You must be exerting quite a lot of energy, too, to support me like this. Don't worry, It's alright, now that you're here.]

The flute notes, lost in the rain but not in Draco's mind, seemed to dim, before the flutist informed him hesitatingly, apologetically, ~I'm really tired today, and I can't stay long... I wish I could.~

Draco smiled slightly in relief. [Don't worry about it, I'm drained, too.]

~Sorry.~

[For?]

~You being drained because you were waiting for me?~

[Is that a question or an answer? No, never mind. I was tired before I started playing, that's all.]

~Then, shall we meet tomorrow? Same time?~

[Midnight and a half, then.]

~Promise you'll be here?~

[Yes, promise, but likely I'll be the one waiting. Don't be late.]

~I won't. Tomorrow night, then. Sweet dreams.~

The piano notes strummed in an ending chord, and a comforting solid feeling flickered briefly in his mind, before the connection faded. Harry held on to his last note, the hollow yet strong sound echoing. Then he stepped back from the window, drenched but not minding it; he loved storms, though he could feel how much pain the pianist had to go through because of it, and that made him feel guilty. He'd make it up the next night, perhaps, by being more open with the flutist - not that he hadn't been very open already.

Fighting back a yawn, he made a mental note to make sure his flute wasn't growing mould before another wave of tiredness swept over him, and yawning, he began his trudge back to Gryffindor Tower. He wouldn't miss tomorrow for the world, so he'd better get some rest now.

+++++

At seven thirty in the morning, Harry blearily tumbled out of bed, washed up, dressed, and checked the time. Five minutes to eight. He made his way down to the kitchens, waited, went in, saw that only Dobby served him without any sign of fear or hesitation, got some food and drink, went back out, and made his way to the lakeside.

Draco appeared next to him just as he was halfway through his single piece of dry toast. "Potter. I almost didn't make it through the kitchen door, you shut it so quickly." He sat, grabbed the food from the basket Harry had put on the ground, and started eating. He was halfway through the basket when he realized his companion wasn't eating anything else.

"Potter, aren't you eating?" he asked carelessly. "I'm not saving the food for you, and if you don't get some now - "

"I'm done."

Draco blinked. "What?"

Harry looked at him, annoyed. "I said, I'm done."

"Yeah, but one single piece of plain toast?" he asked disbelievingly.

"I don't eat much."

"I can see that. Why?"

"None of your business."

Draco looked at him critically for a few seconds. "You're trying to starve yourself."

"Brilliant leap of logic, Sherlock."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

Pause.

"You're seriously messed up, Potter."

"Thanks."

Draco sighed. He knew what the other boy was going through. He had done the same thing, before he had given in to Pansy's motherly care and Blaise's brotherly concern. And he felt all the better for it. Though he didn't really like the Gryffindor, he knew that the boy was similar to him in many ways; from the way they isolated themselves right down to the closest friends they had - for Potter, Granger and Weasley; for him, Pansy and Blaise.

He also knew that sooner or later, someone who cared for him would break through his shields, like Pansy and Blaise had done. Not totally, but enough to get him to live properly again, and in time return to normal - as normal as Scarboy could get, anyway. So he'd leave them alone, and hope it happened soon. Because Potter, the epitome of all that was good to many people, couldn't be allowed to fall apart.

They sat in silence, Draco eating, Harry lost in thought. "Class starts in twenty minutes. You think it's worked yet?" Harry said finally.

"No way to know till we go back in," Draco shrugged. He was licking his fingers clean of crumbs when a majestic black eagle swooped down and perched delicately on the basket handle and stuck out a leg to Draco.

Harry looked at the Slytherin, who was paler than before. His face was carefully blank as he took the letter tied to the eagle's leg. The eagle immediately flew off, broad wings surfing the air currents.

"From your parents?" Harry asked curiously.

"My father." He didn't elaborate, staring at the rolled-up cream parchment, sealed with wax and what Harry presumed was the official Malfoy seal - the letter M in flowing script on a shield, with crossed swords behind the shield and a snake around the shield's border, with its head right above the 'M', forked tongue protruding. The effect on blood-red wax was creepy. Harry noticed the pale hand holding the parchment was trembling slightly.

Draco abruptly stood. "See you, Potter," he said coldly, and without another word strode off towards the direction of the castle. Harry stared, then realised the basket was still beside him. He should have known Malfoy wouldn't help him bring the basket back to the kitchens, though he was the one to finish it all. Such a task was probably beneath the great Draco Malfoy.

With a groan, Harry stood. He was curious about what the letter was about, and why Malfoy seemed so... scared? Was that the word? He didn't seem scared, exactly, but how else could he describe the way he seemed to withdraw, to close off so suddenly?

It wasn't his problem. This was most probably one of the off-limit topics they had agreed not to talk about. He didn't care about Malfoy, anyway.

+++++

Draco,

I have just been informed of your current situation. Have I not told you to keep a low profile? It will not do well for our Lord's plans if Dumbledore has his eye on you.

A meeting is clearly in order. Though we have just had one a few days ago, you obviously need to be reminded of your place. Meet me at midnight in the usual way. Do not keep me waiting. You know what will happen if you do.

Lucius Malfoy

+++++

Well, damn.

He should have known Lucius would overreact. This was bad - it was too soon since the last time. But he had no choice but to go. If he didn't - no, he couldn't even think about it. But he knew Lucius would do it.

Draco threw the letter into the common room fire, and watched as it burnt to ashes. If he hadn't done that, the letter would have burnt itself anyway. Lucius was paranoid about that sort of thing.

He was alone in the drafty dungeons, since everyone else was at breakfast. Breakfast. Even the thought of his and Potter's prank couldn't cheer him up now. He wasn't fond of pain, no matter what Blaise and Pansy might think; he wasn't immune to it either. And if he met with his father - Draco's lips curled in a derisive sneer at the word - there was bound to be pain. And -

Oh, no, no, no. If he went, he would miss his nightly meeting with the flutist. It had been, what? Only two nights? Yet it had become habit already. And this night was all the more important, since he promised. Damn Lucius. Damn Voldemort. Damn whatever plans they had for him. Damn Lucius' need to be in control of something, since that damned Voldemort was in control of him.

Draco sighed and stood. It was time to go for class. And a bit of fun laughing at everyone else. Taking a deep breath, Draco banished the letter from his mind. He would see this day through like nothing had happened. He would enjoy his revenge on the school for their cowardly ineptitude. He would lord it over his Slytherins even without speaking a word. He wouldn't mention this to anyone, not even Pansy or Blaise, though they were bound to find out when he came back from his little trip.

And he would continue his fragile truce with Potter. Draco allowed himself a smile at the thought of what his father would do if he found out that his son was actually consorting with Harry Potter. That, more than anything, gave him reason to make friends with Potter. It was a secret Lucius didn't know, and if he did find out somehow, it was something that he would try to stop. And what Lucius Malfoy didn't like, Draco Malfoy tried his best to.

+++++

Snape blinked. And blinked again.

He could have sworn...

"Did you say something?" he sneered at McGonagall, who was sitting on his right.

This couldn't be right. Minerva was looking at him funny. He didn't think she had it in her to look anything other than imposing. But then again, it had been her voice saying those things...

"No, I didn't and stop looking at me like that!" McGonagall snapped, looking a little uneasy. Uneasy? Minerva McGonagall?

He looked back towards his breakfast. It was in his head, then. But how? Did he develop psychic powers overnight? Impossible.

Snape froze as a new voice whispered through his mind, and his head whipped up to stare at Lupin (who was on his left) so fast that his hair hit his face.

"What?" Remus tried to glare back, but failed. He looked apprehensively at the greasy-haired potions master on his right. It had to be his imagination. Snape was acting funny, and his voice was in Remus's head though he wasn't saying a word... was this another side effect of being a werewolf? Mind reading? No, that was absurd...

Snape shook his head and turned back to his food. Good lord, what if it was his subconscious speaking? No way, he didn't think about Lupin like that! It was too horrible to imagine. And not Minerva either - he shuddered at the thought. The only explanation he could come up with at the moment was - he was going mad. He had finally cracked under the strain of teaching idiotic students like Potter.

With an almost invisible smile and a barely audible sigh of relief, Snape decided that he was crazy, and a good thing too.

+++++

Dumbledore frowned slightly at his food, then smiled. So this was why. Ingenious, really. He looked around the hall, noting the rather muted talk amongst the students. They were fidgeting in their seats, staring suspiciously at the people next to them and frowning. There was unease and in some cases, even horror on their faces. Some of those faces were green.

He had to admit, it was disturbing. But, after all, there was no harm in it. In fact, it was fun, admittedly only from the views of those who could see through the... trick? Joke? Either way, he was sure this wouldn't be the end of it. There would be at least one more prank that day. In fact, he found it incredible that they had managed to come up with something so ingenious given the short time he had stuck them together. His plan was working very well, indeed.

It was going to be an interesting day.

+++++

Five minutes later, Ginny Weasley jumped up, face red. "That's it!" she yelled at the two fifth year boys beside her, who looked up startled. "How could you sit here and eat so calmly when you - you - perverts! Disgusting - idiotic - PERVERTS!" She slapped them both and then stormed out of the hall, leaving people gaping after her.

Ginny's outburst was the signal for utter chaos. Everyone jumped up and started screaming at each other, red in the face - from anger or embarrassment, nobody could tell. Soon, the hall was empty since everyone had flounced out, save a few lingering students, mostly Ravenclaws, discussing the amazing new phenomenon that caused people to hear suggestive, graphic, lurid whispers in their minds. They weren't making much headway, though, as they glanced at each other shiftily and avoided each other's eyes.

Snape stared. They all heard voices in their head, did they? Well then, since he wasn't mad, and it wasn't some new ability - it was a prank! He could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner. But still... what kind of spell or potion could do this? Not any he could think of, certainly.

He turned to McGonagall. "Do you know any potion or spell or anything that has this sort of effect?" he asked coolly.

"No, no such potion or spell," McGonagall sniffed. "Disgraceful conduct, whoever did this." She was still a little red in the face.

"A mix of spells and potions. A Pheromone Potion. For the - the contents." Remus's quiet voice caused the teachers to look at him. "Maybe with a Delusion Potion for the voices, and perhaps an Identification Potion for the - the specific voices belonging to those right next to the victim."

"Yes, but Pheromone Potions act the other way round; they cause the victim to think... thoughts... and the Delusion Potion causes not only auditory but visual delusions as well, and the Identification Potion works on a larger scale, not limited only to the adjacent people, and does not have anything to do with disembodied voices," frowned McGonagall.

"Unless the maker comes up with different versions of the spell or the potion, altering them to fit their needs. The potions are all simple ones that can be prepared and made quickly, with basic ingredients, and so they are easier to alter, at least for a skilled potion maker. They can be altered and combined using some tricky spell casting, to make sure they don't mix wrongly and have the wrong result."

The teachers turned to Dumbledore, who wore a bemused smile on his face after his little speech.

"Do you know something about this?" asked Vector, the Arithmancy professor.

"Yes, I do. It's obvious who did it if you think about it, but I'm sure we will find no evidence whatsoever pointing to them. They will have been very careful to not leave any clues behind; it is their nature, or perhaps their habit." With that little hint, Dumbledore smiled enigmatically at them all and departed.

The teachers frowned. That was hardly any help - they knew a lot of good students who were meticulous about their work. In fact, that 'narrowed' the list to about all the Ravenclaws, a handful of Hufflepuffs, and more than half the Slytherins and Gryffindors. And it couldn't be Potter and Malfoy; they hated each other's guts. They dismissed the thought from their minds - there was nothing a little scare during class wouldn't fix. The students behind this would own up, and that was it.

+++++

Care of Magical Creatures was uneventful, as the class was learning about Bowtruckles, small wooden creatures, not very dangerous. Harry and Draco had a hard time keeping a straight face, seeing all the looks being shot amongst the other students. The girls were especially affected; they kept glancing fearfully at the others around them, tugging their robes closer, while the boys muttered to themselves and glared distrustfully around and made sure their robes were loose and baggy. Outbursts occurred less and less frequently as the spell, intended to last only forty-five minutes, faded. However, most people had red faces - quite a few due to slaps delivered in embarrassed disgust.

Harry noted that Draco looked a bit more uptight than usual, and wasn't enjoying the results of their prank as much as he should be - heck, even Hagrid was looking shiftily at the students around him, and he knew Malfoy didn't like Hagrid. Must have been that letter, wonder what it says? Harry mused. But he put it out of his mind - he didn't need to care about Malfoy, after all.

Charms with the Hufflepuffs was next for Gryffindor, and Herbology with the Ravenclaws for the Slytherins. Flitwick tried to find out who the prankster was, but the class kept silent, even when Flitwick praised the spell casting skill of whoever it was. Over in Herbology, Draco kept silent, too, when Sprout asked around. They had no intention of getting caught - and after all, it wasn't over.

Lunch saw Draco eating food (taken directly from the kitchens) in his room, Harry eating one single chocolate frog by the lakeside, and the rest of the Hogwarts students fleeing out of the hall, not all making it in time to the bathroom to throw up, though the bathrooms were all overcrowded anyway.

Dumbledore looked idly around at the empty hall, save for Crabbe and Goyle who were still wolfing down the food and helping themselves to extra helpings. Even the teachers were gone. He looked thoughtfully down at his food, and considered giving the two masterminds advanced courses in what looked like almost all of their subjects. To come up with these pranks and execute them smoothly took a whole lot of creativity and skill, both of which would come in handy during the war that would inevitably reach Hogwarts.

The wise wizard's face darkened slightly at the thought. Even Hogwarts' hallowed halls would not be enough if - no, when - Tom Riddle gathered his forces and turned them on the castle. That boy was smart, extremely so; even now he was learning from his previous mistakes. Even if the walls were impenetrable, it all depended on the loyalty of the people in it. Cases like Peter Pettigrew would seriously weaken the trust that bonded people together.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in pain at the memory of the betrayer. He had lost three - no, four - of his best students, most trusted advisors, and closest friends to the rat. He had lost a faithful and unbelievably strong force in his army when the man was imprisoned for a tragic crime he did not commit. He had lost a natural leader and born commander on the battlefield, one of the bravest men he had known. He had lost a sweet, kind woman with a calming presence and a remarkable healing talent that had saved many lives. He had lost one of the most brilliant minds and tactical planners the Light side ever had when the last true Marauder had retreated in his grief. Yes, Peter Pettigrew had a lot to answer for.

But now... although one was still a wanted criminal, two of them were together. And hopefully, they could rebuild a new life from the scattered ashes of their past, and in the end take flight, reborn like the phoenix, the symbol of loyalty and love. They deserved it; after all they had been through...

But he was digressing. What was he - oh, right. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. No, they did not need advanced classes at the moment - or rather, would not take kindly to having their abilities exposed even more by having advanced classes. More time together would suffice to bring about more peace in the school. More work would be better, though, to keep their minds off such mischief... at this rate, nobody would dare to eat any more Hogwarts food.

Sighing, Dumbledore picked up his fork and knife and neatly cut off a piece of black spider that lay on his plate. Putting one of its legs into his mouth, he calmly chewed. It still tasted the same - delicious lemon meringue pie. He drank some blood - pumpkin juice, actually - to wash it down, before starting on what appeared to be an oozing mass of brain, but was actually some sort of jam tart, judging by its taste. He cast an indecisive eye over the table - should he try those still-fleshy bones that could be chicken, or should he sample the huge cockroaches that he was quite sure used to be chocolate rolls, or maybe he should taste those assorted body parts that were in the plate that used to contain pastries?

Decisions, decisions...

Oh well. At least they were thoughtful enough to leave the taste as it was.

+++++

"And then he asked me if I could please pass the slugs, and I said sure - "

"She froze stiff and screamed and dropped the plate - "

"One moment I was cutting up my pie, the next I was dissecting a frog and I just lost it - "

"He spit it onto his plate and I swear I saw an eyeball in it and what seemed to be a mangled leg and some bloody intestines - "

"Bleargh!"

"Is he still throwing up? I didn't think he had enough in his stomach to throw up, we didn't eat much today!"

The Gryffindor common room was still in an uproar, people gathering together to share their lunch experiences with anyone healthy enough to listen. Neville, and a few younger students, were still stuck in the bathroom, too nauseated to function properly.

Hermione looked at her watch and sighed. Standing up, she announced in a clear voice, "All students please note you have five more minutes to complain to each other before class starts."

Some students got up and went to get their books; others glanced up briefly before starting to bemoan the loss of their breakfast and lunch, and some groaned at the thought of classes, protesting "We're too hungry and sick to do anything!"

"If you want to fail your N.E.W.T.s this year, then that's not my problem," Hermione retorted, and sat down again in a huff. She glanced around her - Seamus was busy complaining to an equally disgusted Ron, and Lavender and Parvati were talking poor Ginny's ear off.

Seamus chose that moment to turn to Hermione, as he asked her with a slight grin, "What can you say for your precious house elves now? They - "

Hermione interrupted him. "Seamus! It's clearly not the elves' fault, it's just a horrid practical joke! How could you even - do you actually think - " she sputtered indignantly, at a loss for words for once.

"Calm down! I was just saying, they didn't take good enough care of the kitchen, and allowed someone to sneak in and do whatever they did to the food." Seamus rolled his eyes at Hermione, adding "Honestly!" in a tone so reminiscent of Hermione that those listening laughed weakly.

"Right," Ron groaned as he heaved himself out of his seat. "Let's get our books for our next lesson. Arithmancy for you, Hermione, right? And Divination for us - that reminds me, gotta go collect Neville, see if he's done yet."

Five minutes later, just as the bell rang, Ron, Seamus and Neville hurried into the warm Divination classroom, slightly winded. Ron immediately sought out Harry and sat next to him, while Seamus and Neville took the empty table next to them.

"Hey, Harry, where did you go during lunch? You missed - "

"I know."

Ron blinked. "What?"

Harry said coolly, "The girls have already tried to tell me about what happened. I got the gist of it."

"Oh. Um, ok, so... yeah. Anyway, you should have been there!" Ron tried to inject some excitement into his voice.

"So that I can barf whatever's in my stomach up?"

"No! That's not what I meant, I was just saying - "

"Mr. Weasley, if you'd kindly wrap up your conversation with Mr. Potter so we can start the lesson?" an airy voice cut in.

Ron immediately turned to face Professor Trelawney, who was glaring at him in disapproval. "Sorry, Professor," he muttered, flushing slightly.

Professor Trelawney sniffed. "My Inner Eye told me of the disastrous happenings during today's breakfast and lunch, and so I avoided going down, in case I was similarly afflicted. My dears, I am so sorry you had to go through that, but it is a trial that will make you all the more appreciate the food you normally eat. It is a blessing in disguise..."

Harry tuned out. He was a little disappointed that Professor Trelawney hadn't been affected, but hey, nothing ever went exactly to plan...

Divination was as boring as usual, with a few predictions of Harry's death scattered here and there and some hints of a terrible tragedy. Which is most likely true, since Voldemort is back, Harry thought dryly. With so many attacks being reported almost daily in the newspapers, it was only a matter of time before something big happened.

The bell rang, homework was given, and they were let off to go to their next class, Herbology. Professor Sprout was slightly peeved, and kept asking if they had any idea who did it. When all she received were blank stares, she huffed and led the class to Greenhouse Three, housing the more dangerous plants, and let them 'familiarize' themselves with the flora in there - without any clear instructions on which to avoid and which not to.

"She's getting her revenge on us, I'm telling you, and it's unfair that we have to suffer when it's not our fault!" Ron whispered heatedly, trying to keep his voice down as he struggled to free himself from a plant that seemed intent on ripping his hand off.

"Now, Ron, I think this is very useful. It tests us on our ability to recognize and avoid dangerous plants, it's a great hands-on exercise...." Hermione trailed off as she gracefully ducked under some vines that were waving about like tentacles, transparent thorns barely visible on them.

"More like hands OFF!" yelped Ron as the plant suddenly let go of him and causing him to sit down hard on the dusty, soiled ground. "Ow!"

"Ron! Be careful! You could upset one of the plants!" Hermione scolded him as he got to his feet, scowling.

"Upset the plants? You're worried about the plants?!" Ron hissed indignantly.

"Yes, since it's your own fault for not reading up on them," Hermione replied distractedly as she tried to get a closer look at a plant that seemed to be trying to bite her nose off. Ron muttered something unintelligible as he kept well out of reach of any and all plants.

Harry sighed, bored, and wished for the day to be over so he could have his nightly rendezvous with the pianist.

+++++

Eleven forty-five.

Draco checked himself once more in the mirror. Hair perfectly gelled back, clothes impeccably neat. All his clothes were made of the lightest material, which barely caressed his skin, so that it wouldn't hurt that much when it brushed against scraped skin and raw wounds. He carried nothing of importance to him, not even his wand - Lucius didn't want him to have anything that would help in defending himself, and he also didn't want anything he valued to be broken when Lucius beat him up.

Finally, when he was sure he looked his best, Draco prepared to leave. A few layers of spells - the outermost a concealing spell that hid itself and the spells worked inside it from notice - protected his room. Also, there was a hidden Dark spell that was powerful enough to cancel out all other previously set magic, so that none of the Hogwarts spells worked inside it.

Which meant that Draco could Apparate and practise his Dark magic spell-casting safely, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to think of what would happen if Dumbledore found out what had been going on in his room, the interfering twat.

Draco sighed and once again considered forgetting about his father's orders. But no - not going would imply he was afraid of his father, and enrage him even more, and his punishment would be even more severe the next time he saw the older Malfoy. Draco didn't really want to be whipped and starved for a week.

So he Apparated to the communication chamber in his house, the room where visitors who used the Floo network, or Apparated in, arrived at. It was bare, save for a fireplace and a lush red carpet underfoot. Draco opened the ornate wooden door and strode into the entrance hallway. A house-elf immediately appeared and squeaked, "Master Draco, Master Lucius is in his study room and he is wanting Master Draco to go see him now."

"Yes, thank you," Draco muttered distractedly as he made his way toward the study room, concealing his fear. He wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction of seeing him afraid, just as he defied every possible one of his orders, amongst which was to treat the house-elves 'like the slaves they are'. Idly he wondered what Granger would have to say about that.

He knocked smartly on his father's study's tall wooden doors and waited, straightening his robes. Moments later, the door opened by itself, and he smoothly glided in, giving off an air of detached inquiry. "You wanted to see me, father?"

Lucius Malfoy sat behind his grand oak desk, straight-backed and imposing. His silver hair was exactly like Draco's, only un-gelled and much longer, and tied at the nape of his neck. His features were stern and unyielding, strong and chiselled. Hard stormy grey eyes with a shot of blue coldly denounced everyone they stared at, including his headstrong son.

"Draco. What excuses have you for this incident with Potter?"

"Only that I am human, like you are, and can feel anger when provoked," replied Draco calmly, fixing his unwavering stare onto his father's.

"As you are provoking me now, I suppose?" Lucius' voice was neutral.

"I suppose so, don't you?"

"Don't get cheeky with me!" Lucius snapped, standing in one fluid motion, though Draco didn't react. "You are a Malfoy, and we do not show such unbecoming barbaric behaviour, such as getting into fights in public!"

"But torturing your own son in private is fine?" hissed the boy, eyes darkening.

"When he needs to be taught his place, I shall do it," Lucius said coldly.

"And you of all people are fit to decide if I need to be taught? You're the one who's grovelling at Voldemort's feet! Is that becoming of a Malfoy?" Draco retorted, anger heating his pale cheeks. This was tantamount to suicide, but he had missed a meeting with the flutist only to face one of the people he hated most, and now he was too furious, too disgusted, too far gone to care. After all, he definitely was going to be beaten up no matter what, why not beaten up thoroughly?

"You will be the one grovelling at my feet when I'm done with you!" snarled Lucius.

"Oh really? How about all the other times you've said that? Have I ever done so? There is no way I'll submit to you or that pathetic excuse for a wizard that was almost destroyed by a baby!" The young Malfoy was screaming at his father now, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

"We are better, stronger than you will ever be if you continue the way you are! You are weak, useless, but in the Dark Lord's hands you will become as powerful as I am, you stupid child!"

"Which is not powerful at all, can't you see? You're blinded by your lust for power, but you will fall in the end like that egoistical master of yours! You're just a dog licking his boots, like all the Death Eater are! A Malfoy reduced to this state - gods, that's what I call shaming our name!"

Lucius whipped out his wand and pointed it at Draco, who stood tall, defiant. "You will submit," he hissed, "and I will teach you how. Crucio!"

+++++

Draco Apparated back into his room, collapsing on the ground in agony. It hurt, oh god it hurt, so much that he felt numb; he almost couldn't breathe, it was a wonder he hadn't splinched himself, he couldn't even think straight and he hazily wondered how he had actually been able to concentrate enough to Apparate and why the world was red and blurred and why there was a high-pitched wailing in the background...

Suddenly the pain was gone, though he couldn't move when he tried - his entire body felt numb. Something soft gently swiped across his eyes, and after a few blinks he found he could see again, to his relief. He hated the feeling of being blind.

Blaise was peering at him worriedly, but he saw Draco's eyes focus on his face and was relieved. Straightening from his kneeling position, bent over Draco, he held up a bloodstained piece of cloth. "There was blood covering your eyes," he explained with a strained smile. "And the rest of you, too."

Draco tried to talk, ended up coughing, licked his lips and tried again. "Thanks," he croaked. "I suppose you numbed me?"

"Actually, Pansy did." Blaise gestured to the blond girl, who was currently giving Draco a critical once-over. She shook her head in resignation when Draco caught her eyes.

"Much worse than before, I suppose you were feeling extra cheeky today?" she scolded him. "But at least as usual, he purposely missed all the... important parts. Your head, heart and... you know."

"I'm grateful," Draco replied sarcastically. Seeing Pansy looking hurt and opening her mouth, he added, "But thanks."

"I'm okay to knock you out with Stupefy, okay? Then we'll heal you. It's going to take a while, and I'm not sure if we'll be able to heal everything in the end. We'll Ennervate you tomorrow early morning so you can wash," Blaise informed Draco.

"Do as you like. And... thanks."

The last thing Draco saw was a beam of red light lancing toward him, and then blessed darkness.

+++++

To be continued...

+++++