The Darkest Night

Author's Notes:

Sorry it's been so long since my last update, but I have a really good excuse. To any of you users who like to download music (*cough* illegally *cough), let me tell you that it can come back and bite you in the ass. The programs can anyway. To make a long story short, Kazaa deleted my entire computer operating system, which also deleted this story and ALL of the work that I had put into it. And lucky me, I didn't have an updated copy. So there you go. After a couple weeks of sulking and complaining, I finally kicked myself back into gear and wrote a bit.

A lot of this was written/ thought out before OOtP, so I hope I can keep it correct. If you guys see any mishaps, please feel free to correct me.

If anyone has tried to send me an owl, I'm sorry about that too. I have no idea why it won't work. It says I need an activation code, which I have and have tried to use. It keeps coming up with an error. So if anyone wants me to email them with chapter alerts, could you just send me your email? I'll try to get this fixed, I promise. I'm the technology generation! Why am I having so much trouble? OK, enough of this. Please read on, I'd love to hear your thoughts afterwards. Is the pace too slow? Too much detail? Should I speed it up and bit? What about Draco, do you think he is OOC or doing OK. And is Snape too cliché? Just a couple of things to think about; I have plans for Snape in the future.

Chapter 3: A Potions Disaster

"OK, get a hold of yourself. Take slow deep breaths."

Draco walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his senses flooding and nearly sending him reeling against the walls. His head ached, mostly from the amount of noise coming to his now delicate ears. Madame Pomphrey had given him a sense-deadening potion earlier this morning, just to help with the transition, but it had begun to wear off. Now, as he walked through the halls, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep his hands from clamping over his ears. He stifled a groan, and walked briskly towards the dungeons.

Thoughts of Lucius and Voldemort were still very clear in his head, but Draco didn't feel nearly as confident as he had the night before. He had been in a hospital bed, protected from the outside world. Now, a sense of vulnerability seemed to be seeping through his pores, straight into his very soul. Thinking Voldemort's name and actually saying it out loud were two totally different things. Draco scowled. He didn't like that feeling, not one bit. He knew what he ought to do, but he was still unclear as to how to go about his purposes. He wasn't going to be anybody's lapdog, that was certain, but was he brave enough to stand up against two of the most powerful men in the wizarding world? Undoubtedly, he had some thinking to do.

Pomphrey had given him some basic information about werewolfism. Of course, she warned him against silver, and spoke of how his senses would begin to enhance. Even after she mentioned this, he hadn't been prepared for the cacophony of sounds that reached his ears when he stepped into the Great Hall for morning breakfast. To make matters worse, his shoulder still ached from the assault of two weeks ago. The scars, apparently, couldn't be mended because of its magical qualities, and Draco would wear them for the rest of his life. He just had to be careful in the shower or in his dorm room. If someone saw those bite marks, then it was a sure bet that questions would be raised.

His first class of the day was Double Potions with the Gryffindors. Dumbledore pairs the two houses together on purpose, he thought wryly. I think he actually enjoys it.

Considering how Snape was one of the only teachers in the school capable of handling the two houses at once, that meant that potions would forever be with the Gryffindors. That had always been a shame, seeing as how that was his favorite class. Draco turned another corner, which opened to a thankfully empty hallway.

He smirked to himself. He definitely needed something to cheer him up, and what better way to do so than by watching his favorite teacher humiliate his least favorite person? Now if I could only prevent another firecracker from landing in my cauldron, the lesson might turn out right.

Draco walked into the dungeon classroom, taking in the sights and sounds as if it were for the first time. He paused in the doorway. It was amazing how his sense of smell had been affected too. It was like walking into a perfume shop. He could even distinguish among the smells. Each smell had a label in his mind: Bat wings, dragon scales, leech juice, it really was quite overwhelming. He could have stood there all day, letting the smells wash over him.

"Move it Malfoy!"

Something bumped against his back shoulder, sending him stumbling to his right. He caught a glimpse of red hair, and the strange scent of cedar and earth drifted towards him. Ugh. Eua de Weasley.

Seeing as how it was now too late to insult Weasley, he scanned the seats and let his eyes settle on the two familiar hulking figures in the first row, directly in front of the blackboard. Potter and Granger came in moments later, but Draco had already taken his usual seat beside Crabbe and Goyle. He did his best to breathe only through his mouth around the two goons, but it was becoming a challenge, especially with potions fumes wafting around the room. He'd come across rotting bodies that were less offensive. Check. Buy bodyguards new cologne/soap for Christmas.

He leaned back into his chair, remembering the nearly disastrous events of this morning.

When he had arrived for breakfast that morning, he had been ravenous. Pomphrey had tried to keep him an extra day, but he had flat out refused. Rumors were already starting to spread around school about his disappearance, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught on his first day back.

Crabbe and Goyle had accepted his flimsy excuse easily, as did most of the other Slytherins. Apparently, he had come down with the same flu as Madame Hooch, and had therefore been quarantined to prevent any further outbreak among the student population. Crabbe and Goyle had even sent him a get well card, though they had spelled their names wrong when signing it.

Blaise Zabini, one of his best friends, hadn't been as easily fooled. He had tried to see Draco almost everyday when he had been in the hospital wing, and had thought it strange that Draco couldn't have any visitors. Hadn't Draco been quarantined by magic anyway? It wouldn't have harmed anyone to come in to talk. Of course, he had been ecstatic when Draco had showed up for breakfast that morning, but it was clear that he still had a bad feeling about the whole affair.

Draco eyes narrowed as he remembered his first near miss. He had started to pick up the serving spoon, but had quickly brought his hand back, as if he had touched a hot stove. His sharp intake of breath turned several Slytherin heads around him, and they had looked at him with quizzical expressions.

"It's hot," he had murmured. Ugh, how stupid can I get! Think of something quick!

He continued, this time, a little bolder and with more force. "Stupid house elves, can't even serve a damn dish without trying to kill off one of the students. Just wait till I tell my father," he had snarled.

Those around him seemed to accept the explanation for his sudden outburst, although Blaise did send him a weird look.

They even didn't mind when he yelled to be served on gold plates instead of silver, which were normally reserved for holidays and special occasions. After all, why should it matter if Draco demanded better serving utensils, even after more than six years of eating on silver? He was always demanding something, and this was nothing new.

How could I have been so stupid? He looked angrily at the palm of his hand, which now had a large white imprint left by the serving spoon. It had been made of silver. He had completely forgotten about that important fact of information, and he was now paying for it. His hand burned as if he were passing it over an open flame. This made it extremely difficult to hold a quill, he might add.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned back further in his chair. He'd have to go see Pomphrey about this after class. That was highly embarrassing, considering how she had warned him about silver not an hour before breakfast. He had been forced to eat breakfast with his robes pulled down around his hands, as to avoid contact with anymore silver. Draco had been greatly relieved when two house elves had run to the Slytherin table, carrying a gold plate and full set of utensils for his use. Of course, to show his gratitude, he had gratefully kicked one in the seat of its pants. Who knew house elves bounced that much? He was having a bad day anyway.

Luckily, his appetite hadn't been hindered by any of these occurrences. Talk had drifted at the Slytherin table, and Draco had begun to pile meat upon his plate, rivaling even the mounds of Crabbe and Goyle. They had both stared at him with mute fascination, identical blank looks on their faces. He could have guessed what they were thinking. Probably thought he had started an eating contest without telling them. To confirm his suspicions, both boys began to pile even more food onto their plates.

"Hungry?" asked Crabbe.

Draco had always eaten sparingly. Most thought that he was too vain to risk putting on a few extra pounds. In reality, Crabbe and Goyle ate everything at the table, and it was hard not to lose your appetite when two elephants were drooling and fighting over the food right in front of you.

"Your keen observation is astounding, as always Crabbe," he said icily, voice dripping with sarcasm between bites of bacon. "Please, you must tell me, have you been taking extra classes behind our backs? Perhaps Obvious Statements 101?" He was in no mood for their stupidity today. His insults just weren't up to par either, probably due to the pounding headache centered in his forehead.

Crabbe had looked confused for a moment, but then gave a dumb laugh in response, apparently completely oblivious to the insult that had just been directed towards him.

"You know I take all the same classes as you Draco. I don't think I signed up for any new classes." Crabbe had sat at the table, with a look of deep concentration. Draco could almost see the cogs of his mind slowly turning. Looks like they needed some oil.

"Maybe I did," Crabbe had finally murmured, the same confused look still in place.

Goyle, helpful as always, had quickly come into the conversation. "Yeah, I think it's like a Muggle Studies class, you had better drop it. It might be too late though." Draco had been slightly surprised. A complex sentence from Goyle? That was something to write down for posterity.

"It doesn't matter," Draco had finally relented. "Just eat your porridge."

"I don't like porridge," said Crabbe, eyeing his bowl. "It's too hard to eat."

"I expect you can't get it to stay on your fork, can you? I suggest using a spoon instead."

He had eaten the rest of his breakfast in silence, while trying to ignore the wails from Crabbe as he bemoaned Muggle Studies and his inability to now drop the new class. That, and now both Crabbe and Goyle were now attempting to eat their soupy porridge without the aid of any eating utensils whatsoever. Next time he would introduce chopsticks, and see if they made any headway with those. Sometimes...

Sighing, he raised his eyebrows slightly, thinking back to that incident. At least he didn't have to worry about those two buffoons finding out about his secret. He could have hung a sign around his neck and enchanted it to glow and shriek "Draco Malfoy is a werewolf!" and they still would have been confused. Those two were as porous as diamonds.

The door slammed behind him, and he almost fell out of his chair, arms and legs flailing, as the deafening noise hit his ears. Draco felt just as ridiculous as he was sure he looked. He heard snickering in the background, but chose to ignore it. He'd have to work to get used to that. And maybe he wouldn't lean back in his chair that far anymore. He quickly changed his startled expression to one of complete detachment.

Robes billowing behind him, eyes narrowed, and a frown set on his waxen features, Professor Snape walked towards the front of the room. He walked down the aisle, glaring at the entire room, although saving his best for the Gryffindor side. It really was a dramatic entrance. Draco briefly wondered if Snape charmed his robes to billow in that fashion.

He began to write potions ingredients on the board. The scratch of the chalk grated against Draco's ears, and made him grit his teeth in turn. Scratching quills around him didn't help either. He spent the rest of the lesson in much the same way, trying to block out the whispering from the other side of the room. Was Snape deaf? It sounded like they were practically shouting!

"And if any of you spill so much as one teaspoon of your potion's ingredients, you will be having detention." Snape paused and narrowed his eyes, letting the words sink in. "With me," he sneered at last. "Longbottom, I expect you here at 8 p.m. sharp."

Neville let out a squeak of terror.

"What was that Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville worked his mouth wordlessly, but eventually settled on another squeak as his only answer.

"Hmm. Considering how Mr. Longbottom has lost his, admittedly limited, vocal capacities, we will continue with the lesson." He turned back to the board. The Gryffindors were furious, but they dared not make a sound, while the Slytherins merely snickered.

Class carried on in much the same fashion. Students continued to work on their potions, with only a few minor mishaps; Neville managed to melt another cauldron, not that this was new. Draco briefly thought about investing in cauldrons. With the way Longbottom went through them, he'd be seeing profits within a week!

Another of the Gryffindors caused a short disturbance. About halfway through the period, Lavender Brown had practically jumped up on the table, shrieking insanely about a rat on the dungeon floor. It took at least another ten minutes to get the class back in order, since most of the female population of the class had ended up on a desk or stool. Snape hadn't been happy.

"If you'll kindly refrain from another outburst Ms. Brown, I would like to continue this lesson."

Lavender now had two feet firmly planted on the ground, although she still seemed a bit pale. "Sir, there was a rat. A huge, ugly, disease-infested-"

"I am quite familiar with the nature of rodents, Ms. Brown. I would also like to call your attention to the fact that this is a dungeon, and that such creatures are quite common."

Lavender flushed, and muttered a short apology. She turned back to her cauldron, but continued to glance at the floor every few seconds for any other stray creatures lurking in the shadows.

And then two voices caught his attention. They were coming from the very back of the room. Draco stirred his potion and glanced behind him. Potty and Weasel, he should have guessed. They had their heads together, whispering as quietly as possible while appearing to work. Weasley haphazardly threw a frog spleen into the potion, which caused it to turn a sickening green color. Potter stirred, mindless of the color change.

Draco couldn't help but sneer at their sheer stupidity. It was plainly written on the board that frog's spleen was to be added after the potion came to a boil. He looked back to his own, which was red-orange in shade, exactly as it should be. His ears twitched, picking up more of the whispered words from across the room. The conversation was getting interesting.

"Are you sure you don't mind? If we get caught, we're risking a week's worth of detention with Filch. That's what? Scrubbing bed pans with a tooth brush, polishing the kitchen silverware...

"Oiling rusty manacles, cleaning bloodstains off the dungeon walls..."

"I'm serious Ron!" hissed Harry.

"So was I," said Ron vehemently, although a little too loudly to be considered a whisper. He quickly checked Snape's location, but turned back when the greasy Potions professor was out of range.

Harry began again, but in a much lower volume. He leaned in closer to his friend, dark brows furrowed slightly.

"I've got to get it soon, Ron. It's already been down there for a week! What if it somehow gets damaged? I could never forgive myself."

"But how could it get damaged? No one even knows where the secret passage is. That's why they call it secret you know."

"Ever heard of condensation Ron? Mildew, mold? It could all be lying on my cloak and the map as we speak! They're the only things I've got that belonged to my Dad," murmured Harry, looking a bit dejected.

The redhead looked skeptical, but, not wanting to anger his best friend, went on in a relaxed voice. "Remind me again why you can't just use the map as a look out instead of me?"

"IlentittoGinny," he mumbled in a hurried whisper, stirring the cauldron forcefully.

"What mate? Couldn't quite hear that. Could you speak up a bit?"

"I lent it to Ginny," said Harry, going faintly red. He turned his face back to their potion. "She's pulling a prank, and needed a bit of help."

"When were you thinking of doing it?"

"Wednesday, around midnight." Ron nodded and chewed thoughtfully on his lip, then began to sort through his cockroach wings.

A silence followed. Draco was very interested at this point, although he kept his eyes riveted to the front of the room, even if he really wanted to see the Weasel's reaction to the news. What map? And what kind of cloak? What were they plotting this time, and how could he ruin it? He committed the time to memory, and promised himself that the Gryffindorks would have company.

He had matured since first year. He wasn't about to run off and tell a professor, but what true Slytherin would pass up a perfectly good chance to humiliate and utterly destroy a Gryffindor?

"But Harry, you can't go back to it now," said Ron finally, speaking out of the side of his mouth. Common sense had won over his sense of adventure. That, and he didn't want to scrub bed pans anymore. "If Snape sees you prowling around there again, I don't even want to think about what will happen. It seems like every time you try to make a move, Snape is right behind your back, in all his greasy glory."

"Ahem."

Ron, Harry, and Draco all turned, only to find that had Snape quietly slithered behind the two Gryffindors, and was now listening to them intently with an icy glare. An evil smile fixed itself upon his face, and Draco was glad that he wasn't on the receiving end.

"Indeed. Would you to be so kind to share the topic of your conversation with the rest of the class? It's obviously much more interesting than this potions lesson, seeing as how your attention seems to be riveted upon your conversation and not your cauldron.

Snape walked towards the cauldron, a look of disgust clearly written upon his face.

"And look, this potion appears to be green. Are you two colorblind as well? Maybe doing more than one thing at a time is simply too hard for a pair of ignorant Gryffindors such as yourselves? It seems that brawn over brains would be a proper assessment of your skills, wouldn't you agree?"

Snape again stared between the two, lip curling with distaste, while each boy looked extremely nervous and fidgeted slightly. Harry became extremely interested in his hands, which were clutched in front of him. Ron was merely staring at the floor.

Draco smiled, glad that his potions lesson was becoming a bit more interesting. Watching those two in various states of helplessness always brought Draco out of even his worst moods.

"I'm glad to see you're not letting your education get in the way of your ignorance. Ten points from Gryffindor, each, for being dim-witted imbeciles. Maybe you should ask Longbottom for some help." Snape carefully enunciated every word, intent on making the conversation become as long as possible. He too enjoyed their nervousness, that much was evident.

Neville had sunk low in his chair, eyes wide with fear, trying to hide from view. The terrified boy practically whimpered when Snape shot him a contemptuous look. Snape, satisfied that Neville was close to tears, turned back to the teenagers before him.

The two boys both gulped, and mumbled something unintelligible. They quickly turned back to their cauldron and hastily added more ingredients, trying vainly to return the now useless potion to its proper color.

If Snape could have skipped back to his desk, Draco knew he would have. Draco turned his eyes back to Harry and Ron who were still feverishly working, intent on joining in on the fun.

"Hey Weasley, Potter" he hissed at them, barely loud enough to attract the attention of the two Gryffindors. "Try this, it might help you practice."

Draco rubbed his stomach and patted his head at the same time, smiling nastily as he did so. Ron and Harry were fuming and eyeing him with severe dislike. They kept quiet though. They didn't want to catch Snape's attention again. He laughed under his breath, and went back to stirring his potion.

He heard it coming long before he saw it. A slight whistling noise reached his ears; he could almost feel the vibrations coming from whatever was making the noise. He ducked his head to the right instinctively, moving so fast that the colors around the room became an instant blur. Draco barely registered the fact that a handful of rat's intestines had just nearly hit the back of his head. In that same movement, he spun to his back and crouched near the ground, searching for whoever dared to assault him.

His eyes fell upon Ron, who still had intestines juice dripping from his hand. An apprehensive looked crossed his face, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Draco realized that he was still crouched on the ground, snarling at Ron and baring his teeth at the other teenager. Harry too was looking at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Luckily, something else distracted the two boys.

"AGHHHHH!!"

A roar of rage came from the potions master, who looked livid with anger. His right eye twitched, and his mouth worked wordlessly. A vein throbbed at his temple, threatening to burst. Was Snape having an aneurism? Had he finally snapped after years of brainless students? He was plainly in some sort of distress.

Draco immediately saw the reason for this distress when Snape turned to look for the culprit. The back of his head was now covered in rat intestines, and it was slowly dribbling down the back of his neck and seeping into his high-necked collar. If Snape didn't look like he was about to perform the Avada Kedrava curse, it would have been extremely funny. As it was, the entire classroom became silent.

"Who. Threw. That?" he said menacingly.

Snape was so furious that he could barely speak. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he had just run a sprint. He was almost shaking with anger. His searching eyes scanned the room, and then fell on Ron Weasley, hand still dripping, looking like he was about to faint. Then his eyes flashed to Harry Potter. Spittle flew from his mouth as he talked, and his coal black eyes glinted madly.

"You two! 50 points! Detention ! AND GET OUT!" Snape roared the entire time, and looked as if he was about to burst.

Draco quickly wondered if he should duck under the desk to avoid the flying pieces of Snape, as it looked inevitable that Snape's head would indeed explode. Instead, Draco sat calmly, if a bit apprehensively, at his desk, watching the entire scene unfold before his eyes. That is, until the wrath of Snape was directed toward the entire class.

"Didn't you hear me?" he shouted, clenching and unclenching his bone white fists. "I SAID GET OUT!" Snape pointed towards the door, eyeing them dangerously.

The scraping of chairs and desks filled the room, and a mad dash was made for the door. Everyone was trying to get out at once, still fearful that Snape might turn them all into flobberworms. Even Draco didn't waste time feigning indifference, and hurried out into the dark corridor with the rest of the pushing crowd.

Well, Snape will definitely have to take a shower now, he thought to himself, eyes glinting in amusement. True, he did like the potions professor. He was Draco's favorite teacher, but that didn't mask the fact that Snape was undeniably greasy. And it wasn't everyday that you saw Snape nearly lose control. Moreover, the class had been released 20 minutes early, without homework!

Even the thought of Snape being carted off in a straight jacket could only distract him for so long. He didn't know what to think about what he had done in the dungeons. Strange, he hadn't even known that he was snarling at them until he saw Weasley's face. It had just...happened. The rest of the class had been too busy watching Professor Snape to notice his strange antics. It must be some sort of side effect. Somehow, the lupine instincts were starting to merge themselves with his thought processes. That was certainly something to keep an eye on as well.

Draco shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and ran up the dungeon steps to the hospital wing, hoping he could get his hand fixed before the start of Transfiguration in a half hour.

What Draco didn't see was two figures standing in the dark shadows of a doorway, conversing in low tones. A pair of eyes followed his ascent as he ran up the stairs.

"Bloody Hell! The man's gone nutters! How are we supposed to go back to get our detentions? He'll curse us the second we enter the room. Harry? Hey Harry, are you listening?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's eyes, just for good measure.

Harry's head snapped back to face his friend Ron. He had been watching Draco, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hmm? Oh, maybe we'll wait till he cools off a bit. I don't want to go back in there either," he replied offhandedly.

"But did you see his face? It was priceless! He looked like someone just threw a jar of fleas down the back of his robes. Or, OK, a handful of rat's spleens at his head, but it was still great," said Ron cheerily. His eyes were wide, and a rapt expression of pleasure was on his face. He looked nothing like a boy who had almost been cursed off the face of the planet not minutes before.

But Harry's heart wasn't into the conversation. He still stared at the stairs that Draco had run up not moments before. Draco's behavior in class had definitely been strange, even for his usual standards. No, it was something more than that. He had been different, somehow...

Across the hall, a large rat with a silver paw scurried away from the potions dungeon.