They Shook Hands: Year Two (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Two

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Ten - Assault

Almost before Harry knew it, the end of October had arrived. Everyone seemed to be in a festive mood as Halloween approached, even the professors. In the spirit of things, there had been no homework assigned over the weekend, and the young Slytherins were looking forward to relaxing.

It was almost guaranteed that there would be no trollish visits this year. So far as Harry could tell, none of the teachers was possessed by Voldemort. Lockhart was certainly too full of himself to allow any other presence to inhabit his body, not to mention the fits he would throw if his hair all fell out like Quirrell's had.

The only troll in residence around the castle appeared to be Weasley. He'd been downright nasty the whole week long, and nobody had been able to figure out why. The red-haired lout practically snarled at any Slytherin he saw. Whatever was bothering him must have been a family issue, because his older brothers were decidedly out of sorts too.

Even the perfect swot of a prefect was in a foul mood. Harry and Draco left breakfast on Halloween morning to find the fellow reading the riot act to the Slater twins. The long-haired firsties seemed to wilt under the barrage of verbal abuse the older boy was freely handing out.

"That'll be quite enough of that," Draco commanded, interjecting himself on the scene.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Harry asked under his breath.

"This is none of your concern, Malfoy," Percy told him in clipped tones. "Move along."

"Just because your knickers are in a knot doesn't mean you have the right to take it out on innocent firsties," Draco sassed back.

"I don't recall asking your opinion," Percy snapped.

"You, those twin batshits, and that other wanker have been downright unbearable for a week now, even more unbearable than before," Draco noted carelessly. "If I had to guess, you're all hacked off because your father now has an even less important job at the Ministry. You should just accept that you're poor, your family is in the dust, and you are still second rate."

Percy turned pink with rage. "You impertinent little," he started to say through clenched teeth.

"I know you think you're some kind of big shot around here now that my brother's gone," Draco continued mouthing off, "but you're not. You're not even a medium shot. You're an arsehole."

"Draco, shut up!" Harry hissed. They were going to be dead if this kept up.

Percy's face reflected his absolute shock at a lowly second year student daring to talk to a sixth year prefect in such a disrespectful tone. "Ten points from Slytherin, Malfoy. You will mind your tone, or I will be forced to inform Professor Snape of your unseemly behaviour."

"I'm all afright!" Draco sneered. "Can't discipline me yourself because you're not Head Boy, and if Elan were here, you'd never even be able to dream about that gold badge."

Percy's flushed face paled. "That settles the matter," he half-growled, clearly pushed beyond his patience. He grabbed Draco by the arm. "I am heartily tired of your insolence, you little tearaway. You will come with me to Professor Snape. I am sure he knows how to deal with impudence like yours."

Draco waved casually to Harry. "I'll be along soon." As Percy began to haul him away bodily, he looked up and kept running his mouth. "Mark my words, you wouldn't see Elan taking out his grief on a pair of scared little Gryffindorks."

"I'm not scared!" Lucas Slater piped up as the pair turned the corner.

"I know," Harry comforted him, still trying to make sense of what had gone on. "I think we'd all better get back to the common room."

"Why was that boy so angry?" Lucas wanted to know. Harry assumed it was Lucas, because Laine had always been too nervous to speak in front of him.

"I don't know, Lucas," Harry answered. "His family and Draco's family just don't get along."

"Why?"

"I don't know that either."

Draco's belligerence had truly shocked Harry. He'd almost been asking for trouble, barging into the situation like he had. "What were you two doing, anyway?"

"We were just standing in the hall talking," Lucas explained. "Were we doing anything wrong?"

"Just standing around?" Harry pressed. "No mischief?"

Laine blushed and looked away. "Well, nothing serious," Lucas corrected himself. "We were only looking for secret passages."

Harry shook his head. Were all Weasleys snots? "Just keep an eye out for Mrs. Norris," he said by way of parting advice as they passed through the wall.

When Draco swaggered into the common room a short time later, Harry motioned him to sit down. "Have you gone spare?" he demanded.

Draco grinned at him. "Someone had to take that twit down a peg or two."

"And who appointed you?" Harry demanded. "How many points did we lose, and who do you have detention with?"

"None, and not applicable." Draco reached for a pack of cards. "Did you find out why the Slaters were being yelled at?"

"They were just looking for secret passages," Harry replied. "How are you not in a world of trouble?"

"Because Weasley Eld brought me to Snape," Draco said, shuffling the deck.

"And?"

"And what? Weasley interrupted Snape while he was brewing, which almost got him into more trouble than I should have been in. Snape gave me a little lecture and let me off. I've got to turn in the essay about moonglow one class earlier."

Harry shook his head. "Unbelievable," was all he could say.

That incident was not Slytherin House's last run-in with the Weasley clan that day. When told the story, complete with all of Draco's witty insults about the twin Weasleys, Slytherin's two Beaters, Bole and Derrick, had laughed uproariously. Sticking their heads together, they began to hatch some nefarious plot. It was only to be expected that members of the house team would try to antagonize the Gryffindor team, because the first Quidditch match of the year was only a week away.

Gryffindor had booked the pitch to practice that day, but Bole and Derrick went sneaking down to infiltrate the broom shed before the team arrived. They charmed the twins' Cleansweep Fives to a lovely pattern of green and silver, then found some excellent concealment in the stands. As they later told the story, outraged shouts had been heard, and the whole team looked for the pranksters. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's captain, tolerated none of it, though, and ordered them back to practice.

The whole idea was to shake the twins' confidence in their brooms. To that end, Bole and Derrick applied a super-slick wax that sealed in the new colours, but also made a secure grip on the handle extremely difficult and sitting properly nigh impossible. Then, just for fun, all through the practice, they cast jinxes that caused the brooms to twist at inopportune moments. Since they hadn't actually bewitched the brooms, there was no trace of tampering. At lunch, Wood looked extremely panicked. If his two Beaters were riding unpredictable brooms, well, Harry could only imagine how Flint would handle the situation, and Wood was reputed to be even more of a fanatic than Flint.

"Green and bloody silver!" one of the twins cussed as he left the hall in the company of the Quidditch commentator, Lee Jordan. "And slicker than Snape's hair! I could barely stay on the thing."

"Too bad you don't have even half of Potter's skill, eh Weasley?" That voice belonged to Miles Bletchley, Slytherin's Keeper. "He certainly has no problem staying on a wild broom."

Weasley turned to glare as the team laughed. They were all grinning impudently up at the two Gryffindors. "Considering how slimy Slytherins are, I imagine you all have to use Permanent Sticking Charms to keep upright," Jordan said acidly.

Miles ignored that and turned to his teammates. "So I think I've persuaded Father to get me my Christmas present early," he announced.

"And what present would that be?" Dezzy Montague inquired, playing along.

"A Nimbus Two-Thousand," Miles shrugged. "I didn't ask for anything else. It should be here in a few days."

Weasley's jaw dropped. "Not an Oh-One?" he asked sarcastically. Despite his tough talk, the look of envy that crossed his face was unmistakable. The Nimbus 2000 was the best broom available; the best broom, that is, aside from the 2001 model. The new design had come out at the beginning of the Quidditch season and received nothing but praise.

"That's my birthday present," Miles bantered back.

"When you get it, you should use the Two-Thousand as firewood," Dezzy suggested.

Both Weasley and Jordan looked sick. Harry shared their feelings. Dezzy's idea was truly horrible. No good broom deserved that sort of treatment.

"The Oh-One is only available to professional teams right now," Flint chimed in. "If you do manage to get one before summer, Dez, it'll be a bloody miracle."

"I don't think I'll need it. It's not like we're playing the Holyhead Harpies or anything," Dezzy chuckled.

"Yeah, these clowns are more like the Chudley Cannons," Adrian Pucey snorted, spawning howls of laughter that chased the two Gryffindors away from the table.

* * *

The first meeting of the Hogwarts Choir had been an uneventful gathering in the middle of October. Their conductor, the Sorting Hat, had sent them away with instructions to think about what songs they might want to sing. They were to report back on Sunday evening with at least two ideas each. Now, having put it off until the day before, the Slytherins sat around in the common room discussing it.

"What about Scarborough Faire?" Pansy suggested as she tossed bits of wood into the fireplace. "It's about a wizard who needs to do well in school in order to win the love of his sweetheart."

"If you were the sweetheart, you'd be waiting a very long time," Tim said flippantly. "That wizard would be telling the Headmaster what to go do with himself just to keep from leaving school."

Pansy threw a stick at him. "Not that any witch would wait more than five minutes for you, Nott."

"Greensleeves?" Blaise made this suggestion. "It was composed by a queen, and it's just so romantic."

"Very romantic," Pansy agreed.

"Which queen was this?" Harry asked. He'd never been much of a history student, but the wizarding aspect of it made it more interesting.

"Anne Boleyn, the second queen of Henry the Eighth," Blaise told him. "She gave birth to only a girl child, so he had her head chopped off."

"An eminently suitable fate for Pansy," Tim interjected, then dodged another stick.

"That princess' name was Elizabeth Tudor," Blaise continued.

"Queen Elizabeth the First was a witch?" Harry was completely shocked. He wondered what the Dursleys would think of that.

"Of course. She attended Hogwarts, and she was a Slytherin just like her mother. My sister Jamie showed me her portrait in the prefect's lounge. How do you think she survived all those attempts on her life, if not by magic?" Blaise asked rhetorically.

"She was the last witch queen to reign over England," Tim added. "She died in sixteen oh-three, the same year the Lord High Wizengamot proposed to break away from the Muggle world. The split wasn't finished until sixteen ninety-two, though, because of the revolutions."

"Elizabeth was also a half-blood," Draco sneered. "She and her mother were embarrassments to our house."

"I'm a half-blood too." Harry was suddenly stung to lashing out. "Am I an embarrassment as well?"

Draco choked. "Of course not," he sputtered, back-peddling for all he was worth. "I- I- Damn it, don't put me on the spot like that."

"It's okay, Draco," Pansy soothed with fake sympathy. "You let your mouth speak without consulting your brain first."

Draco hung his head. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't even think. I'd honestly forgotten."

Harry didn't know quite what to say. He didn't talk much about his parents, but his mother had been Muggleborn. That made him a half-blood by any definition, though pure in that he was the child of a witch and wizard.

"'Blood matters,'" he quoted from the unofficial rules. "'Ability matters more.'"

Draco nodded, and for the first time all day he kept his mouth shut. There was a bit of an awkward silence, which Goyle broke.

"I think we should have a religious song," he suggested, going back to the original discussion.

"Who gave you permission to think?" Jenna asked, poking the bigger boy in the side. He squirmed away.

"I did," Crabbe spoke up, coming to his friend's defence.

"We're doomed," she sighed dramatically.

* * *

It was nearly time to go up to the Halloween Feast, and Draco had been silent most of the afternoon. Clearly, he was still bothered that he had unthinkingly offended his friend. He was, as the teachers in Harry's Muggle school had often said, considering the feelings of others. He quietly scratched away on a sheet of parchment.

"I'll see you at the feast," he said, breaking his hours long silence. "I've got to go up to the Owlery."

"Want some company?" Crabbe asked him.

"And hear you bellyache about missing out on the food?" Draco joked lightly. "I'd never dream of getting between you and a meal. I value my health."

Crabbe glowered at his friend, but he laughed after a second. "He can be taught."

"I'll be back before you know it," Draco promised. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and left through the wall.

"Was that a promise or a threat?" Jenna snickered.

"Threat, I think," Millie replied, smirking.

"He's a prat sometimes, but he's not so bad," Pansy spoke up.

"I think you're biased," Jenna pointed out. "Aren't you two supposed to be engaged?"

Pansy made a face. "It's not formal," she said. "And thank Merlin for that. Our parents just sort of expect that we'll fall in love and get married. I know they want it more than Draco and I do."

"The feast starts at half six," Crabbe informed them. "We should head up now."

The Great Hall had been decorated even more extravagantly than it had for last years Halloween Feast. The usual black bats were present, a thousand in number. Orange and black streamers were strung up everywhere, swirling gently in the air currents. Hagrid had been raising huge pumpkins in the patch outside the castle, and now they were big enough to seat three men comfortably. Some had been carved into lanterns and were hung up in the sky, but others sat on the floor, and various games were set up for after the meal.

Golden plates sat on the tables, brightly burning candles filled the hall with a golden glow, and Lockhart wore golden robes that made him look even sillier than normal. Dumbledore stood at the centre of the High Table, waiting for students to finish arriving.

"Welcome to our Halloween Feast," he announced. "I'd like to introduce the Bonesborough Dancing Lazarii, who will be entertaining us throughout the meal."

As the students applauded, the rumours that had been flying around the school proved true. Too many skeletons to conveniently count clattered through the door. A small orchestra followed and settled into the giant pumpkins that were on the floor.

"This is no time for speeches, so eat, drink, and be merry!" The food appeared on the plates, and Crabbe was the first to dig right in. Harry set about filling his plate. The Hogwarts feasts were second to none.

"Where's Draco?" he asked.

Nobody had seen the blond boy arrive yet.

"Probably dawdling," Tim said knowingly.

"Maybe he had to visit the loo," Goyle suggested.

The Dancing Lazarii were definitely the highlight of the night. They danced all around the hall, between the tables, and even grabbed students up to join them in their merriment. One made an attempt to grab Professor Snape as he rose suddenly and strode from the hall, but he backed it off with a snarl and a scowl.

Harry had just begun to take second helpings when he saw Professor Dumbledore also rise and disappear through a side door. He didn't get a chance to wonder at it though, as a skeleton grabbed his arm, and he was slung about like a rag doll to the merry laughter of his friends.

He was quite breathless when he was finally released, and he gulped pumpkin juice gratefully. "Your turn, Draco," Harry said, trying to smother his laughter. He got no answer.

"Where is he?" Harry asked again.

Nobody knew where Draco was.

"This isn't right," Tim observed. "He'd never miss the feast."

Just then, Sam Palce, the sixth year prefect sat down nearby. "Guess what I just saw, Jamie." The blonde girl turned a wan expression towards him. She'd been mopey all day. Harry presumed she was feeling sad because she had gotten a letter from Elan. She didn't answer Palce with words.

Palce, by contrast, was smiling. "This should cheer you up a bit. I just saw Percy Weasley getting dragged down the corridor by Snape, and Snape looked livid."

The notion of perfect Percy prefect being chopped up and used as Potions ingredients elicited a slight smile from Jamie, but soon she settled back into her melancholy. "I just wish," she sighed, staring despondently at her plate. It was pretty obvious what she was wishing for.

One of the skeletons bounced over and grabbed her by the arm. It tried to tug her to her feet, but Jamie was having no part of it. She jerked her arm away roughly. The skeleton made another grab, but Jamie had clearly been pushed far enough. She drew her wand and pointed it at the dancer. "Immobulus!" she snarled.

Blue light flashed from the tip of her wand and struck the skeleton direct in the face. It stopped moving instantly. She turned to Lawrence Derrick. "Get this thing away from me."

The burly boy, older brother of a team Beater, jumped right up. He grabbed the skeleton by the neck and hauled it off to the edge of the hall.

"Of all the Weasleys to get in trouble," Jenna marvelled to Harry.

"Who would think it was the prefect?" Harry agreed. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table. "Hey, speaking of Weasleys, where are those prats?"

Sure enough, not a single head of red hair was to be seen at the red and gold table.

"Maybe they're all in trouble," Pansy suggested.

"Have Gryffindor been losing points?" Millie asked.

They all looked at the big hourglasses that proclaimed the House points.

"Not yet," Tim answered. "But if Snape was dragging off a prefect, it's only a matter of time."

That thought was satisfying to them all.

In due course, the students all finished their dinner and started in on pudding. There was more than just pudding, of course, but the big bowl of chocolate seemed to be calling Harry's name. He took a great spoonful of the stuff and passed the bowl on.

Lockhart stood up at that point to tell one of his many tales. Harry wondered if anyone would care were he to grab the pompous professor and hold his head under the water in one of the round wooden tubs set up to bob for apples. Not enough to drown the sot, but just enough to make him swallow some water.

"If I mussed his hair, Lockhart would drown me," Harry grumbled, not realizing until Jenna started giggling that he'd spoken aloud.

"I wish you'd lay off him!" Pansy sounded exasperated. "He's a right hero, you know. Just because he cares about his appearance, you lot all think there's something wrong with him."

"There is something wrong with him," Harry answered back. "No normal person needs a hundred pictures of himself hanging in his office."

"Look, there's Snape," Blaise pointed out.

The black-haired Head of Slytherin House entered via the same side door that Professor Dumbledore had left by and returned to the High Table. Surprisingly, he did not sit, but went immediately to Professor McGonagall and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Though she had been looking quite merry, she immediately pursed her lips, and an unhappy frown settled into place. She stood abruptly and hurried from the hall.

Something was definitely going on. Where was Draco? Where were the Weasleys? Where had Snape been? Where was Dumbledore, and where had old McGonagall gone to? It all smelled worse than rotting fish to Harry, and he was agitated until Snape stood up and dismissed them all.

He held onto Tim as the students filed out. Fighting through the rush, they went up to the High Table. "Professor Snape?"

The man nodded. "Ah, there you are. I was about to come find you. Mr. Malfoy is in the Hospital Wing."

Harry gasped. "What for?" Tim demanded.

"He was ambushed by the collective Weasleys," Snape informed them. "Thankfully, he will recover under Madam Pomfrey's excellent care, but he is very hurt. I have no time to deal with questions now, but I shall come to the common room before ten. Excuse me."

"Poor Draco," Harry commented, as Snape hurried off.

"Poor Weasleys, by the time Snape gets through with them," Tim corrected. "And that's not even counting what Draco's father is going to do."

Harry winced. "You're right," was all he said.

They would likely never get in to see Draco, but Harry convinced Tim that they should try anyway. As they climbed up the steps to the second floor, Harry came to a dead stop.

"...rip...tear...kill..."

It was the same cold voice, the same spine-shivering, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office.

"What is it?" Tim asked.

Harry shushed him. "Listen!" He stared around wildly, trying to pinpoint the source.

"...so hungry..."

"The voice!" Harry whispered. "I heard it again! Come on!"

It was moving, he was sure of it. The chilling whisper was growing fainter. He craned his neck, trying to follow.

"...kill...time to kill..."

It was moving. Upwards! How could that be? Did this voice belong to a phantom to whom stone ceilings didn't matter? A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him. He clutched Tim's sleeve and pulled him up the stairs.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Tim tried to reason with him.

"Can't you hear it?" Harry demanded.

From the floor above, he could hear the sibilant voice faintly. "Blood...I smell blood...I SMELL BLOOD!"

Harry's stomach lurched. "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and he ran.

Despite his apparent bewilderment, Tim's footfalls pounded alongside Harry's own as they ran down the halls. They turned the last corner, into an empty, deserted passage.

"Harry, what's going on?" Tim gasped.

"Look!" he cried, pointing down the hallway.

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering red in the light cast by the flaming torches.

Tim's jaw dropped. "W-what's that thing? There, hanging underneath?" His voice was quavering.

Together they edged nearer, and Harry almost slipped in the puddle of water on the floor. Tim grabbed him to prevent him from falling, and they inched ever closer. Their eyes were fixed on the dark shadow beneath the bloody message. As one, they came to comprehension, and they fell back, landing in the puddle with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the pet cat of the caretaker, Argus Filch, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they couldn't move. Then Tim scrambled to his feet and pulled Harry up as well. "We've got to get out of here," he said shortly.

"Shouldn't we try to help-" Harry began awkwardly.

"No," Tim insisted, pulling him down the hall. "We don't want to be found here."

They ran from the hall as fast as they could. Down the polished marble steps they ran at breakneck speeds. It wasn't until they reached the entrance hall and nearly collided with Mr. Malfoy that they stopped.

"Boys, boys, what's all this about?" he asked. His silver cane was tucked into the belt of his robes, and he held a broom in his hands. He had clearly just arrived in the castle.

"Missus Norris!" Harry gasped. "Dead! Writing on the wall!"

"'Enemies of the Heir beware!'" Tim wheezed. "'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!'"

Mr. Malfoy's expression, which had been curious, turned very serious indeed. "Say nothing of this, boys," he ordered them. "Tell no one. Were you seen?"

"No," they said together.

"You must have a clear alibi. Come with me to the Hospital Wing. I have only just learned that Draco has been assaulted."

"Weasleys," Harry said as he gulped air, struggling to calm his pounding heart. "They attacked him during the feast. We heard that Snape dragged off Percy earlier. He must have been in on it."

Mr. Malfoy's expression darkened even further. "The Liaison Office was too good for that blood traitor," he snarled vehemently. "I'll hang his bloated corpse from a yardarm and see his sons rot in Azkaban for all eternity."

There was too much going on for Harry to comprehend it all. Draco was hurt, Mrs. Norris was dead, and the Chamber of Secrets, whatever that was, had been opened. He had to practically run in order to keep up with Mr. Malfoy's long strides.

"Mister Malfoy, good, you're here," Madam Pomfrey said as they walked through the door. "Draco is resting comfortably." She looked at the two boys. "You two are not permitted at this time. Back to your common room. At once."

"Thank you, boys," Mr. Malfoy said to them. "I shall be in touch."

Dismissed, Harry and Tim shuffled out into the corridor. It must be pretty serious if they weren't allowed to see him. Harry hoped Draco would be okay. His first wizarding friend had to pull through, he just had to.

"Potter, Nott, where are you coming from?" Professor Snape's voice sounded ragged, as though he had been dealt one too many unpleasant surprises that day.

"Hospital Wing," Tim answered. "Madam wouldn't let us see Draco."

"Certainly not," Snape observed. "Malfoy has been seriously hurt. I was on my way up to meet his father in the entrance hall."

"He's already here, sir," Harry told his head. "We brought him to the Hospital Wing."

"I think we can say goodbye to Prefect Weasley," Tim smirked. "Did you see him lying on the bed towards the back?" he asked Harry. "How come he's not in the dungeons, sir?"

Snape's face paled. "Great Merlin!" he exclaimed as he dashed away.

Tim looked at Harry. "What was that all about?" he asked, bewilderment plain in his voice.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "But I'm exhausted. Let's get back."

to be continued...