Trust Me

Chapter Four--Legends

"I thought you were holding a meeting," Draco said to his father, coolly. "That I can´t even listen to, since I´m under-aged."

Lucius glared icily at him. "We are holding a meeting," he said, his voice even colder than his son´s. "And we are planning some things in general."

Draco yawned lazily, fiddling with his Stanford Wizard Quill. "You´ve already planned the King Cross Bombing," he said. "Among other things. Are you planning to start an evil candy factory with poisoned sweets?"

"The legend of the Dark Wizard," snapped Lucius irritably. "And I did not come here to test your sneering skills, Draco." His voice lowered dangerously. "I have one little sentence to say to you, my son." He lifted his chin, his mouth curling in a very nasty smile. "Nina is coming to Hogwarts with you this year." And with that, he turned around and walked gracefully out the door, not forgetting to slam it on the way out, in--of course--a very elegant fashion.

Draco stared after him, bewildered. "Humph," he muttered. "Maybe she´s not getting her pay raise after all. She´s going to Hogwarts instead. Anyways, I´d like to see what house she´s in. If there were a house for the un-get-along-able, that´d be the one for her. Maybe a Gryffindor, like annoying Potter..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Rose!" he yelled, louder this time.

A stout brunette bumbled in hurriedly. "Young Mr. Malfoy," she said squeakily. "I was on my way here, but Mr. Malfoy was already there..."

"I know," Draco said. "Just give me breakfast."

She quickly ducked outside the room and pulled a cord, opening a shaft above Draco´s bed, and a tray with cereal, toast, strawberry jam, butter, silverware, milk, a bowl, some Sugar Quills and Cockroach Clusters nicely avoided the top of the canopy bed, but swerved around and landed on top of Draco´s Potions essay. "Mmmmm," said Draco, picking up a Cockroach Cluster. "Ok Rose, you can go." But the maid was already gone.

"Damn maid," muttered Draco, distastefully (after biting into one especially sickening Cockroach wing) "What if I needed her for something?"

But instead of complaining, he began eating with rapid elegance. I need to go shopping, for the ball this year. Only fifth-years are allowed, he thought, worriedly. What should I wear? Surely Salazaar Slytherin-like wear was out-fashioned years ago...he was just choosing from the department store of Calv´s Robed Wonders and Tom´s Magnificent Custom-Designwear when Nina entered, smiling as if someone had put one hundred cheering charms on her in rapid succession.

"Thanks, Draco," she absolutely purred, grinning from ear to ear.

"I love to see you smile," replied Draco, rather sarcastically. "It wasn´t even my idea."

She grinned even harder. God, thought Draco dryly, she´s going to leave stretch marks on her cheeks if she continues with that.

"I know," Nina said simply, "But then, thanks anyway." And she flounced off, her knee-length black skirt swishing after her.

And this time, she didn´t slam the door.

Pity, thought Draco, rather despairingly. I was starting to grow on those door-slammings. If she slammed it once more, it could´ve changed the world; I would´ve started practising them. Simply a pity.

Draco sighed and pointed at a little snake figurine on his desk. Tempus, he commanded mentally. "Six o´ four," hissed the snake, slithering its tongue out. He leaned back against his plush pillows, and decided to continue on his Potions essay.

* * *

A/N: This following POV section is not common, only occasional.

Rosa Wilkins was a very manipulative lady. Easily manipulated, yes, but she drove a hard bargain; she was mostly in love with riches she had been denied in her childhood and perhaps if her mother had given her some cosmetics and gowns, she would not have become the person she is today. Perhaps.

She left Draco´s room in a frenzy. She had work to do. Work that paid well. Easy work. For the Dark Lord.

Voldemort had told Rosa of all his plans from the beginning. Lucius had interwoven Rosa in even the most intricate plans. She was haughty and proud of her position--once. But then the truth had flown out of its cage where it had been locked in and smacked her thrice on the cheek.

"Why do you tell me so much?" she had asked the Dark Lord. "You know how easily I give and work for the goods. You won´t think someone will bribe me?"

Voldemort had laughed in her face. "Bribe you, Rosa darling?" he sneered. "Who would ever think to use such a useless, pitiful thing like you? Certainly, you and Wormtail share a very interesting bond. Perhaps he could be your ideal husband?"

"I haven´t sunk that low," she spat. "I didn´t sell my friends..."

"Ahhh," her Master had replied, in mock pity. "Yes, you haven´t sold your friends for your own worthless life. But perhaps, dear, it´s because you don´t have friends?"

And then he turned and left.

And Rosa had been left pondering the truthfulness of his speech. And she had come up with the final answer: it was all too true.

Don´t think of that, she scolded herself. You´ve got people to deal with and lots of work to do.

She had done lots in her career. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were the simplest people on earth to manipulate. Both were stubborn and loyal and determined. It had been so easy for that little encounter in the robe shop and the next on the train. They needed to be enemies--so enemies they were.

They needed to have equal rank amongst the extremities of their houses. Indeed, they were--Harry, hero of Gryffindor, as Draco said; Draco, Gorgeous Prince of Slytherin. Rosa was more than pleased.

Who sent Draco those sweets he always smirked over? Who scribbled inside the wrappers, with more jokes and taunts about Harry than the Slytherins put together (besides Draco, of course) could come up with? Who taught him those shady, underhanded, techniques and spells they would never learn at Hogwarts? And, lastly, who told stories of the great Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, which put him anywhere but in the Hero´s Spotlight? Rosa, of course. Faithful and witty Rosa Wilkins.

Rose Wilkins, the spy for Voldemort. She had been more than insulted when the Ministry had been informed Sirius Black was the Dark Lord´s spy. How could that goody-goody Gryffindor be trusted with such a deed? She was the one who corrupted Draco, who boiled up the tension he had within for Harry Potter, feeding off his traits to the point where he could cheerily hiss Avada Kedavra in Harry´s ear and grin about the Boy Who Lived and Was Then Killed By Arch-Enemy Draco Malfoy.

But she had more techniques than that. Trust Rosa to invent new and ingenious items. The wrappers of the candy were charmed, mirroring and showing her Draco´s every move. She always sent him a surplus. And he always kept some in his drawer. She could watch him, day in day out--as long as he were within a mile´s radius, she could always detect where Draco was. Surely Draco hadn´t noticed that she always hinted to him about his late-night meetings with Pansy Parkinson in the Advanced Muggle Studies classroom in third year? And, later on, more meetings in the Potions Dungeon with more girls than she could count? Of course not. She was too subtle, too ignored and too weak looking on the outside. Who would suspect Rosa Wilkins? A simple Head Chef and Maid of Malfoy Mansion and Young Mr. Malfoy?

No one.

Which was why she was perfect for the job.

* * *

Harry stood in the desolate middle of Hogsmeade. "How are we getting to Surrey?" he asked. "Any suggestions?"

"The Knight Bus," Miyara said immediately.

"No, Harry responded. "That´s only for distressed wizards or emergencies. It won´t work."

"You could try," Miyara insisted.

"Then you go wave your wand," Harry said, starting to get irked.

"I don´t have it."

"Where is it then?"

"I left it in the cave," she shrugged. "I can just do wandless magic."

"You do wandless magic?" asked Harry, incredulously. "That´s very advanced!"

Oh boy, I sound like Hermione, he thought, grimly. What a speech--that´s very advanced magic!! She´s really rubbing off.

"I only got my wand this year. All those other years I´ve been simply doing wandless magic and I´m concentrating now on how to control it well." He gaped at her. "It´s not that hard," she said, blushing slightly. "Back to traveling problem."

"Ummm," Harry said, looking down at the broomstick he was holding. "I guess I could try with the Firebolt. I don´t know if it accommodates more than one person though... If you hold on really tightly...then I guess you won´t fall off or anything..."

Miyara paled. "I´ve never ridden a broomstick before," she said shakily. "Fall off? I--"

"Just hold on really tight, or you can grab my waist," Harry said more confidently than he felt. "This is an international-standard broom. I don´t really think it´d allow a guest-rider to fall off."

She still looked worried and, sitting down, she grabbed Harry´s waist so tightly he thought he´d suffocate. "Ok, I´m putting the cloak on," he announced, draping the cloak over both of them. Harry kicked off more gently than usual, and sped into the sky.

*

They rode for a while, until Miyara was fully convinced she was, indeed, not going to slip off and fall to her death. She released her god-brother´s tummy and wiggled her legs.

"How long will it take?" she asked wearily. "I´ve got cramps all over."

"I never said it´d be a smooth ride," Harry said, rather crossly; he had ridden like this once already and it wasn´t exactly the most enjoyable affair, especially with another person on the broomstick. It slowed it down slightly. "It´ll take a while."

"But it´s nice," Miyara commented. "Seeing the grounds from above."

"It´s like being in an airplane," agreed Harry, who had ridden one on a field trip at school, though at the time he had been busily watching Dudley out of the corner of his eye than watching the sights.

"What´s that?" asked Miyara curiously. "Air-plane? Is that some Muggle thingy?"

"Yeah," Harry replied.

They were silent for a while, until a stray lock of Miyara´s hair flew from her ponytail and tickled Harry´s cheek. It bounced around like a resilient spring.

"How do you fix your hair like that anyways?" mused Harry aloud.

"Simple Curl Charm," said Miyara. "It works for a week, then I have to redo it."

"So your hair is naturally just straight?"

"Kinda wavy. But mainly, yeah."

Soon enough Privet Drive came into view. "I´ll land near the Evergreen Park over there," suggested Harry. "Think of the Muggles who´ll see a person suddenly appearing, with a broomstick besides."

"Keep your Firebolt under the cloak," said Miyara, peering around Harry´s shoulder. "That´s a pretty nice park. I´m afraid we´d probably scare the ducks with our landing though."

"Nah," said Harry. "They used to snap at me when I was younger. I don´t really like ducks anymore."

"Do you think they´d eat a butterfly?" asked Miyara, looking at the quacking ducks.

"Probably, yeah--" then it struck him. "Why didn´t you just fly here?"

Miyara looked abashed. "I forgot," she admitted. "But, still, I can´t fly at 150 miles per hour as a butterfly you know. It´d probably take me a day to get back to Hogsmeade."

They landed in a thick clump of green ivy. Harry sat up and brushed away some dirt, rolling his cloak around his broom. He offered a hand to Miyara, who looked as if she was just regaining use of her legs.

"Bleh," she said half-heartedly. "Either it´s the ride, it´s you, or it´s just broomsticks in general."

"Maybe it´s just you," suggested Harry innocently. She stuck out her tongue at him.

They made their way to Privet Drive, with Harry leading, carefully avoiding the apparently ruffled ducks, who were all looking suspiciously at Harry, as if remembering him from some earlier duck-and-Harry chasing-and-snapping game.

Some neighbors were outside trimming their lawns. They smiled at Harry while he walked through (he had no idea what their names were) so he simply smiled back. Then he met Mrs. Figg, the obsessed cat-and-cabbage lover that used to baby-sit him.

"Hi, Harry," she said pleasantly, rubbing her grayish tabby (which was snuggling against her) around the ears as purred contentedly. "Who´s your new friend? You haven´t been on terms with many people here."

Harry looked at her rather nervously--if he said Miyara came from school, she´d know it was a prominent lie; she´d never seen Miyara before. Her godsister--who knew what Aunt Petunia had told her neighbors?

"Um," he said, "She´s--ah...my mother´s friend..."

Mrs. Figg smiled hugely at Miyara. "Oh, it´s always nice to have some connection if you´re going to have a lasting relationship," she said jovially, then skipped off. Harry felt himself go very red. Miyara looked at her feet.

"Who´s that?" she finally asked, rather quickly.

"Mrs. Figg, my old baby-sitter," replied Harry. "She´s usually very lonely and depressed and sits with her cat all day."

"Oh."

They made their way to the Dursleys´ hastily, in silence. Harry could see Miyara was slightly embarrassed about being called Harry´s girlfriend twice in one day--besides she was his godsister.

I think Sirius just might hack me into little tiny bits, he thought wryly, knocking on the red door. There were some startled cries from inside, and Dudley´s booming voice--"Mum! It´s Harry! He´s come back!" Harry could sense Dudley wasn´t pleased. Miyara shuddered from behind him.

The door was yanked open by Aunt Petunia, who looked completely crestfallen. "Come in," she snapped, and did a double take when she saw Miyara. "Who´s that?" she asked suspiciously. "I´m not just going to let strangers in you know." She surveyed Miyara with narrowed eyes.

"She´s a friend of the family," Harry said coldly. "My family. On my mother´s side; I saw her around when I was visiting Sirius."

Petunia sniffed disdainfully, but her eyes betrayed a slight quiver. With her mouth pursed and her nose in the air, she finally said, "Fine," and shoved both of them inside (muttering "her crowd") and slammed the door behind them.

Harry looked around--Dudley and Uncle Vernon were sprawled lazily on the plush sofa, watching "Hangman Glider II", Dudley´s favorite show. They both glared at him and stared at Miyara curiously.

Miyara smiled sweetly at them. "Let me introduce myself," she said, smoothing her shirt. "My name is Miyara. I´m a friend of the family." She grabbed Harry´s arm hurriedly, whispering, "What´re their names? Who´s your cousin? I can´t tell--they´re both so goddamn fat!"

Harry snorted inwardly. "Dudley, the blonde, he´s my cousin. Uncle Vernon, oh, and Aunt Petunia."

"Harry´s told me all about you, Dumley...and Mr. Vernon." She continued, still smiling. "It´s so nice he has such a wonderful family to return to every year." She turned to Petunia. "And you too, Mrs. Vernon." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Um, I´d like to give your wonderful family something. Harry," she added from the corner of her mouth. "I´ll give them something to eat--you go and get your stuff."

She curtseyed. "Allow me into the kitchen, please--Strawberry Flan Tart with whipped topping and blueberries anyone?"

Aunt Petunia´s jaw dropped. "Kitchen! Flan tart! That´s impossible! Even Chef Donald can´t do that..." but Uncle Vernon and Dudley were nodding eagerly.

Miyara excused herself and walked to the kitchen, closing the door firmly beside her. "Give me ten minutes!" she called.

"Um, I´m going back up." Harry muttered, before running up the stairs. He could hear Petunia saying "rubbish tart" and "probably taste like a load of dung..." No one really paid attention to him. He glanced around his room; Hedwig hadn´t come back.

Probably at Ron´s, seething, he thought, and began stuffing everything into his trunk at alarming speed--his books, quills, parchment, inkbottles, wand, robes, etc., and dragged it downstairs just in time to hear Miyara call--

"It´s done!" and she stepped out the kitchen with a fantastic and delicious-looking tart in her left hand. The edges were golden brown, its grooves and patterns matching the ones on the silver plate she held, with some strawberry slices peaking through the mountain of whipped cream and spotted with quartered blueberries. She set it down in front of Dudley.

"Enjoy!" she said, glancing mischievously at Aunt Petunia who was wordlessly gawking at her in complete shock.

Harry was just about to comment on how nice it looked when Dudley attacked the tart, head on. He held the plate steady with his chubby fingers while he smashed his head through the thick foil of whipped cream. Peeking at Miyara, Harry could see she was distinctively rather taken aback at such violent behavior, but that expression was quickly wiped away from her face when she flashed the Dursleys a dazzling smile once more.

"I´m overjoyed Dumley here has enjoyed it," she said happily. She wrung her hands a little nervously.

The big moment of news, thought Harry.

"Um," she said quickly, "Mr. And Mrs. Dursley, we were wondering if Harry could live with me for this summer...? I haven´t seen him for a while, neither has my father, either..."

Uncle Vernon looked up from licking his lips at the tart, waiting for his son to finish eating. Aunt Petunia was shocked at such ungracious behavior coming from her own family, and stiffened considerably when Miyara mentioned Harry.

"Humph. Her crowd," she muttered to Vernon darkly. But she nodded, solemnly, and jerked her head towards the door, motioning them to go. Harry sighed with relief.

"G´bye," he said cheerily. "See you next summer!" and closed the door behind him. Then Harry broke into a huge grin. "Huh. Some tart that was, eh? What´d you do to it? Charm it?"

She battered her eyelashes. "Oh Harry! Really, it was all my hard work..." she trailed off laughing, her flirtatious mood gone. "Really! I haven´t acted so kickass silly in a while! Smiling and batting my eyelashes like some crazed fanatic!" She nudged Harry in the elbow. "Some healthy cousin you´ve got there, hmm?"

He rolled his eyes. "I haven´t seen him attack something for years. You charmed it didn´t you?"

"Yeah, I charmed it," she shrugged. "It put an Attractiveness Charm on it. They were all attracted to it, except for Aunt Petunia. Only works on the opposite gender. Usually they use that Charm on people, not tarts. It might´ve been a little too strong."

"Talk about it."

They walked back to the park and Miyara insisted on feeding the ducks some nice garlic crumbs. "They´re lovely duckies," she cooed. "Simply a shame they´ve taken a disliking to you."

"Everyone here takes an instant disliking to me," muttered Harry darkly, casting the cloak off his broom. Then he stopped. "How will we get back?" he asked. "I can´t hold the trunk and fly together."

Miyara looked at him briefly, then turned her hand, palm facing the trunk, saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!" It rose and hung besides Harry´s head. She stepped tentatively around the trunk before whispering a spell so a silvery strand grew from her hand and attached itself to the trunk. Miyara sat down and said, "Ok, takeoff please."

Staring at her in amazement, Harry kicked off, saying, "Really--that was just amazing. So it can´t be traced?"

"No," she said, smiling evilly as they flew away, invisible. "I can do magic and more magic, and no trace is left behind."