Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Chapter 43: Building Storm

---

Draco takes a seat with us at the Slytherin Table for breakfast. "Guess what, guys? I just got the news. I made the Quidditch team! I'm now officially Slytherin's new Seeker!"

"Congratulations," I say disinterestedly.

"Pretend to care, Stormseeker," Draco says, grabbing a plate of food.

I chuckle softly, and say with exaggerated excitement, "That's totally wonderful, Draco! I knew you could do it! I'm totally, like, your biggest fan!"

"Okay, you can stop pretending now," Draco says, smirking. "So, what about the rest of you? You lot going to support me, or what?"

"I'm not really all that interested in Quidditch, but I'll certainly go to your games," Hermione says.

"I don't know if I should be cheering on Slytherin," Neville says. "But I suppose I can support you in your games against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."

Dean says, "I wish we could have a Storm Army Quidditch team."

"Bah, why would we want to do that?" I say, rolling my eyes.

"But Quidditch is important!" Draco insists.

"I'll come and cheer for you, Draco," Luna offers absently.

"Thanks, Luna," Draco says. "I knew I may or may not be able to count on you."

"When's the first game?" asks Theodore.

"October 25th," Draco replies.

"You aren't going to start missing Dueling Club meetings for practices now, are you?" I say.

"Certainly not," Draco says. "Besides, even if the times conflict, I'm the Seeker, so it's not like I need to coordinate with the rest of the team, anyway."

Yet another reason why Quidditch fails to interest me at all. I keep that to myself for the moment, however. But perhaps I shouldn't be so down upon it. After all, it seems a good way to build cooperation between members of a team. And it's not like broomstick riding is a completely useless skill. I could imagine that experience with Quidditch might come in handy for aerial combat, after all.

---

"Professor Lockhart, would you like to join Lion Army?" Ron asks at the next Dueling Club. After the events of House-Elf Appreciation Day, our two groups are pretty much dead even so far as numbers go now.

"Oh, no, no," Lockhart says. "I'll leave you children to your little groups. It would not be fair to the members of Storm Army to have someone of my level involved."

"I'll take you on any day of the week, Lockhart," I put in.

Lockhart casts a glare toward me, and says, "Besides, I was a Ravenclaw when I was in school. Don't you have too many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs to be calling it Lion Army?"

"Yeah, what about us?" Ernie MacMillan says.

"Okay, okay, maybe not," Ron suggests. "I'll try and think of something else."

"Now, Potter," Lockhart says. "I know you think a lot of your skills, but you certainly can't expect to take down a wizard of my caliber on your own, do you?"

"Then duel me, Lockhart," I say. "Put your magic where your mouth is."

"Very well, if you insist," Lockhart says. "I will need to hold back considerably, of course--"

"Don't bother," I say. "Let's see what you've got."

I step up to the stage and face off with Lockhart. I'd dearly love to wipe that charming smile off of his face. We bow to one another, and the duel begins.

"Tarantallegra!" I shout, and Lockhart starts dancing. Merely winning isn't good enough for me. I must completely humiliate him and demonstrate my superiority.

"Vexillum Spirato!" Lockhart exclaims. What in the Abyss was that supposed to be? I've never heard of that, if that's even a real spell at all.

There's a ripping sound from overhead, and I glance up briefly as the Lion Army banner drops on top of my head. I'm sure it was purely coincidence that that happened. There's no way that Lockhart was trying to do that. That'd be too competent.

"Hah!" Lockhart says. "My brilliant spell has disabled you, Stormseeker!"

As I struggle to get the flag off of my face, I realize that it's clinging to me unnaturally and tightening itself around my throat. I try to cry out for help or to cast a Finite Incantatem, but I can't speak a word like this.

"You fool, I think he's choking," Snape says. Too late, however. That's the last thing I hear before the world slips away.

---

I wake as my rooster watch crows in my ear, and I have to sigh a little. Being killed by Lockhart is always embarrassing. It wouldn't be quite so bad if he'd at least do it intentionally for once. Worse that I managed to choke to death before anyone even noticed something was wrong.

I'm so irritated by the whole thing that I sit through breakfast again silently listening to the same conversation, and go through the entire session of Dueling Club without bothering to say a word that isn't casting a spell.

Come evening, I sequester myself away in my dorm and pull out Tom Riddle's diary. "Lockhart makes me so angry sometimes that I could just murder him," I write.

"So why don't you?" Tom replies.

"I would if I thought I could get away with it," I write back.

"So make a plan on how to get away with it," Tom suggests.

"Even so, I wouldn't want to remove him before the end of the school year, anyway," I write.

"Why?" Tom asks.

"Because he's useless, but he makes for a good enough Professor Placeholder, I suppose," I tell him.

"And yet if he makes you so angry, he must be causing trouble for you in some way," Tom replies.

I sigh softly. "You have a point."

"Tell me more about this Lockhart," Tom reads.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," I write. "He's a Mudblood with delusions of grandeur. He's utterly useless as a wizard. The only thing he's good at is Obliviation, and has used that to take credit for the deeds of others. The only reason I ever tried to get on his good side at all was so that he wouldn't have a reason to Obliviate me."

"I see," Tom replies. "And you would like very much to see him dead, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," I write. "I hate him and want him to die."

"Even I can feel your hatred from here..." Tom comments. "Would you like to do the deed yourself, or would you be satisfied that he merely ends up dead?"

"It doesn't matter," I write. "At least if he's dead, he's no longer a threat to me. I just don't care to face any consequences for murdering him."

"Very well."

---

For the first Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin is playing against Gryffindor. We all come along to give our support to Draco. Even Neville compromised and wound up wearing both green and red, making him look like he's preparing for Christmas. Some of the older Slytherins might give us some odd looks for wearing green and cheering them on -- Luna is even wearing a cobra costume -- but they've gotten used to seeing us around the Slytherin table enough that they don't give us a second look.

I try to pay attention to the game, but I never did quite bother actually learning the rules. Ball gets tossed around, ball goes through hoop. Then Draco and the Gryffindor Seeker both shoot off after something at the same time.

"Did they see the Snitch?" Neville says.

"Oh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger," Luna says absently.

"You're such a traitor," hisses Ron's voice in my ear. "Incendio!"

"Gah!" I cry, batting at my burning robes frantically.

"Ron!" Dean cries. "What are you doing?"

"Finite Incantatem!" Hermione snaps, but my hot, burning robes are unaffected. Probably because they're already on fire, I imagine.

As my friends restrain Ron, I dance around in a panic trying to strip my flaming robes off. Hot, hot, hot! I go tumbling out of the stands and fall onto the Quidditch pitch below. There's a crunch and a sickening pain, but I don't immediately die. I must have broken something that wasn't my neck this time. That's a switch. Ah, looks like it was just my left arm.

"Mr. Potter!" Lockhart's voice calls, and I see him approaching me in dread. "What are you doing?"

"Gah!" I scream. Tossing aside the remaining burning fragments of cloth, I proceed to dash naked across the Quidditch pitch to get away from Lockhart, broken arm dangling painfully at my side.

"What are you doing, Stormseeker?" says Draco's voice by my ear. I glance aside, and see him keeping pace with me on his broom.

"Running from Lockhart!" I explain. "Just ignore me. Go... do whatever you're supposed to do."

"But, Stormseeker, the Snitch is right in front of you," Draco says as if I'm an idiot.

I blink and look ahead and see a glittering golden tiny winged ball. "Oh," I say dumbly.

Then one of the large, heavy balls comes streaking toward us, and Draco gets out of the way, leaving it to smash right into my head.

---

My rooster watch crows. I groan softly and roll over, pulling my pillow over my head. That was the most pathetic death I've had yet, I think.

I head down to the common room and see Ron playing chess with Seamus. I'm sorely tempted to get a little payback for that foolishness. My fists clench in anger as I look at him. Does Ron really think himself a champion of the light, playing dangerous pranks upon me? What kind of twisted paragon of virtue does he really think he is?

It's hard to see any trace of the Ron Weasley I once thought of as almost a brother in this boy sitting before me here today.

"Pogontrophus," I mutter, and Ron spontaneously sprouts a full beard. I walk innocently away as he's peering about to see who cast that.

"Potter!" Ron exclaims. "You undo that this minute, or I'll tell Professor McGonagall!"

"Why don't you do it yourself?" I snap back at him. "Of course, you'll need a razor, or a Shaving Charm..." Since the Beard-Growing Jinx actually forces the body to grow the hair itself, it can't be canceled quite so simply. "Or do you want to publicly admit that you are just a child who doesn't know the first thing about facial hair?"

"Harry, that was uncalled for," says Hermione. Then she adds quietly, "Even if he is a bit of an arse sometimes."

This time, when we go to the Quidditch game after breakfast, I mutter a "Locus Timoris" over our spot in the stands, to keep away any unwanted visitors. I might wind up getting some odd reactions from passersby, but I really don't want Ron to set my robes on fire again. At least the entire area within the spell's effect is filled with my supporters, who can pass freely anyway.

The game ends in Draco catching the Snitch, and I stand up and cheer loudly, even though my only indication of what was actually going on was the announcer and the scoreboard. But they said Draco won the game, so I'll take their word on it.

"That was awesome, Draco!" I say as we're clustered around the winning team. "You totally caught that tiny, sparkling thing out of the sky! You really showed those Gryffindors!"

Draco laughs aloud. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?" I ask.

"It's party time!" Draco exclaims.

He drags us all the way back to the Slytherin common room for the after-game celebrations. Even the Neville, Hermione, and Luna. It doesn't take long for one of the upper year Slytherins to notice this and take exception to it.

"Hey, you're not supposed to bring outsiders into our common room!" says the boy.

"Oh, relax, Flint," Draco says. "They can be honorary Slytherins for today!"

A seventh year girl says, "But you even brought in the Mudblood girl, too!"

Draco looks at her darkly. "Don't you go saying anything bad about Ravenclaw's secret heir in my presence, you hear me?"

"Whatever," the girl says, rolling her eyes. "Look, I don't care about your stupid little Storm Army thing, but it's not like these people are actually Slytherins, you know?"

"Oh, leave them alone," says one of the Slytherin Quidditch players. "It's harmless, and we're supposed to be celebrating here!"

"And that one, Longbottom isn't he? He couldn't even decide on who to support!" says Flint. "Come on, we've got to have some standards. At least make him get rid of the Gryffindor colors first!"

"But my trousers are red," Neville protests.

"You should have thought of that before you came in here, shouldn't you?" Flint says. "Off with them!"

A couple older Slytherins grab Neville and proceed to try to remove his pants. I say, "Hey, leave him alone!"

"Oh, this is stupid," says a prefect girl. "Relashio," she mutters, and the others immediately release Neville. "Multicorfors." Neville's offending clothing immediately changes from red to green. "Happy now? Let's get on with the party."

"Thanks," Neville says.

"Don't mention it," says the prefect.

"What a nasty infestation of nargles," Luna observes distantly.

The party continues without any further incidents. The Slytherins don't even seem to mind the presence of a Mudblood too much. It seems to me like they're far more willing to believe that she really is a descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw, than that an actual Muggleborn witch is at the top of her year. Personally, I have no idea whether she is or not, but I'm kind of glad that I started that rumor. All it takes is dropping the very suggestion of it, and the Slytherins drop the subject quickly.

That evening, I find myself curled up with Tom Riddle's diary again. "Ron Weasley makes me so angry, too," I write.

"A Weasley?" Tom replies. "Are they still a family of blood traitors?"

"He thinks I'm a traitor for hanging out with Slytherins all the time," I write. "I don't think he even considers that he is the reason we don't get along. It's not like I ever did anything to him first."

"Be at ease, Lexen," Tom tells me. "The blood traitors and Mudbloods will soon be shown their place once again."

"Oh, no, no no," I write. "It would look really, really bad if anything were to happen to Ron. He's placed himself as my biggest rival, made himself out to be some sort of champion of the light, and gathered about a large group opposing mine. But my Storm Army has been steadily growing."

"Storm Army?" Tom asks.

"Yeah. I've got a group of students gathered around myself, as the Stormseeker. Mostly Slytherins and Ravenclaws, with a handful of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs scattered in as well."

"I see," Tom reads. "And what are the objectives of this Storm Army of yours?"

"Objectives?" I write. "Well, nothing in particular at the moment, but we did have a big event last month with House-Elf Appreciation Day. That was a lot of fun. I got to bake a cake for Hermione. She hasn't doubted me since then."

"Do you feel that you are compromising your principles in order to stay on good terms with the Mudblood girl?" Tom asks.

"Not at all," I write. "It was merely a reminder that we do still share the same principles."

"I see," Tom replies. "Then I commend you on the bold application of your noble cause. So, what do you intend to do about this Ron Weasley, then?"

"Undermine him, for starters," I write. "I'm wearing away his support little by little. But this was more through making myself look good rather than through making him look bad. Eh, I'll think of something. It would be really nice if I could somehow actually sway him to my side, but I really doubt that that's ever going to happen. The entire Weasley family is against me because of my relationship with the Malfoys, and things have just gone downhill from there, what with rumors of me being a dark wizard and all."

"Are there any of them that seem more open-minded than the others?" Tom asks.

"Ginny, maybe," I reply. "She's the only one I've heard express doubt about their assessment of me. And I doubt that would help, anyway. They'd probably get up in arms about me messing with their little sister or something if I tried anything with her."

Things would be so much simpler if I were on good terms with all of my dorm mates and at least most of my house mates. As it is, I can't help but feel sometimes, and not for the first time, that I might have been better off in Slytherin. Why did I want to be in Gryffindor so badly even under the circumstances I found myself under? Wasn't it to try to prove that they were wrong about me? I've done a smashing job of that so far.

"Are you prepared to enter the Chamber of Secrets on Halloween?" Tom asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"Are you willing to do whatever is required of you in order to attain your goals?" Tom asks.

"Yes," I reply. "You know my conditions."

If something somehow goes horribly wrong, and people I care about wind up dead, I will not only look for a way to destroy this diary, but will do so diligently in every other lifetime I spend in this world. But for now, I have no reason to distrust Tom Riddle. And I really want to see the secrets of Salazar Slytherin. And if someone like Lockhart winds up dead in the process... well, I won't feel particularly bad about that, I don't think.