Harry Potter and the Champion of Darkness

Chapter 3: The Weasel and the Ferret

Harry kept his face down at the eggs in front of him the next day. There were a series of conflicting emotions running through his brain at that point, and he was not sure which, if any, had merit. Part of him thought that he was at fault for the previous night; he should never have been eavesdropping within Ron's dream.

The icicles that hung suspended in the air above them gave a sort of luminescent quality to the Great Hall as they emitted a light of their own.

Yet, as he stared at the yellow yokes in front of him, he could not help but feel angry. Were those really Ron's thoughts beneath the surface? Did he really feel that Harry would do something as low as date or love Hermione behind Ron's back?

He had been unable to return to sleep that night, as the feeling of conflict flowed through him like a raging river. There was nothing worse in the world than feeling as though your best friend did not trust you. He had experienced it fourth year and did not like it.

At that moment, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall together.

Harry found that he was unable to look at Ron, for he was afraid that the swelling of anger in his cheeks would give him away. What right did he have to believe that I would stab him in the back like that?

However, Harry was foolish to believe that simply hiding his eyes would conceal the truth of the matter from Ron. At once, he could feel Ron's eyes fix to the top of his bowed head.

What's eating you, Harry? his voice asked, inside of his head.

"Nothing," he said out loud, trying his best to sound magnanimous. "I did not get much sleep."

Hermione obviously took Harry's words as the answer to the verbally unasked question that she was wondering as well.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked, sitting across from him. Ron also took a seat, next to her.

Harry looked up to Hermione and offered her the best smile he could put on, for that early in the morning.

"Not too good," he said coyly. "Bad dreams again."

"Oh?" asked Ron, seeming genuinely curious. "Voldemort?"

Harry grunted softly, rubbing his scar absentmindedly. "Sort of... but, he was not the main focus." Harry wracked his tired and lazy brain for the details. "He was calling something else 'Lord' in the dream."

Hermione and Ron stared across from the table at Harry, with concern. "You-Know-Who called who 'lord'?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know," admitted Harry. "But, he said something about rising a Dark Champion that was close to me, or my worst enemy, or... something I felt love or hate... or something..."

"Harry," stated Ron, "you are babbling."

Harry looked at Ron with a slight pout visible at the corners of his mouth. In lieu of a more mature and thought out reply, Harry settled for something blunt and rather concise.

"Am not..."

At that, Ron could not help but smile.

"Are too."

Harry glared at Ron. "Am not!"

Ron raised his finger at Harry. "Are too!"

Harry opened his mouth to formulate another concise if not redundant rebuttal, but it was Hermione that beat him to the punch.

"Ok, as intellectually stimulating as this is, I think we should talk about more pressing matters, maybe?"

"Like what?" said both boys, turning their heads to Hermione at the same time.

"I liked the level of our pervious conversation," added Ron dumbly. "I can actually follow something like that in the morning."

"Well," said Hermione sagely. "It appears that if You-Know-Who is going to rise a Dark Champion, and he must be stopped!"

"Well, that's all I need to hear," retorted Ron bluntly. "Let's circle the grounds with a slab of steak. Hermione can whistle while I blow on my high-pitched Dark Champion caller... and we can lure him into a trap and win the day."

"Ron Weasley," snapped Hermione, her anger visibly growing. "You of all people, I expected to be more supportive!"

Ron jerked his head up from his plate. "Well, I'd love to stand by your side, Hermione... but that is sort of hard when you are in California and I am at Hogwarts, no?"

"Ron," said Harry drably, coming to Hermione's defense, (more for Ron's sake, however, as she was flushing the very uncomfortable shade of magma... clearly ready to blow) "We already told you that we would try our best."

It seemed as though Ron's mood had visibly darkened, as well as internally, for Harry could feel a strong wave of depression building within Ron. Apparently, he had done a good job of hiding it, but now, it was painfully made clear.

"Dumbledore said that it would be an impossibility for him to reopen the Floo Network anytime before the day we are supposed to return," explained Hermione. "He's breaking enough rules opening it twice for a few minutes."

Ron's expression soured over, as if he had bitten into a lime. "Yeah," he said faintly. "The prospect has you most discouraged, I see."

"Hey!" said Hermione forcefully. "Don't you get snide with me, Ron. We tried our best!"

Ron glared down at his plate.

"Yeah," snapped Ron coldly. "Your best. Give Sean my regards."

Harry sighed and just decided now was a good time to stare out into space and pretended he wasn't there.

"And just what," hissed Hermione, loosing what was left of her cool in the near empty Great Hall, "is that supposed to mean?"

Ron seemed to look at Harry for some support, but found none within his eyes. Harry's mind had, again, wandered back to Ron's dream. At last, Ron's will faltered and his face pulled itself into a frown. He stood up, leaving his breakfast all but uneaten.

"It means nothing Hermione... not a bloody thing."

With that, Ron walked out of the hall with exaggerated steps. Harry's mood was immediately brought down two notches as he heaved as deep sigh. The bond that Ron and Harry shared forced him into a funk of his own.

"He is so infuriating!" fumed Hermione, nearly burning a hole in her table with her eyes.

At that, Harry sighed again. He tried his best to fight off his unnatural depression. "Don't worry about him. You know him as well as I do. If he wasn't like this, he just wouldn't be Ron."

Hermione fixed Harry with a kind, yet critical look... the type of look she always had when she was looking to a professor in class. All she was missing was a notebook here.

"It does not mean I have to like it, Harry. He can be a real jerk quite often."

Harry could not help but laugh with a bit of irony. "Well, seeing as how I nearly killed twenty-eight people in cold-blood a little less than a month ago, I think we all have our good days and bad days."

The look on Hermione's face became a bit more condescending. "You know what I mean, Harry Potter. That was not your fault; Slytherin possessed you! Ron cannot claim evil demon possession every time he is a prat!" She gesticulated broadly. "Hell would simply run out of demons!"

"He just feels left out, Hermione," said Harry simply. "I cannot say that I can blame him, seeing as how... well... he is left out."

Hermione frowned visibly. "It still doesn't give him the right to be a jerk!"

At last, Harry finally lowered his eyes, back down to his food, and continued eating. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

As quickly as Harry had lowered his eyes, he lifted them again in response to a weight on his forehead. Hermione had continued to stare at him, and Harry could not help but stare back, with concern.

"Hermione," began Harry. "Are you alright?"

She sighed and flicked a strained of hair from her eyes. It was an interesting observation for Harry to realize this motion. It seemed like something she'd never done before, and Harry had only now discovered that her uncooperative hair was a part of who she was.

Harry blinked that thought aside. He'd have to think about that observation later.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Look, Harry, can I tell you something?"

Harry smirked slightly. "Well, that is a suspect phrase, is it not?"

"I mean," continued Hermione, checking herself, "without you telling Ron."

Harry spooned some eggs into his mouth and wiped his chin. "Sure."

Hermione trailed off for a moment, as if trying to find the best way to put an awkward testament into words. Remaining patient, Harry took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

"It is so strange for me to be in love with Ron," she began, seeming a bit nervous. "It's even stranger when he has your face and body."

Harry shrugged, seriously not sure what to say.

"Well," he began, as the words he looked for seemed to fall in place. "He may have my body, but he's who he always was."

"I know that, Harry," said Hermione, with a slight smile. "But... I mean... does it feel wrong to you... I mean... to have..."

Harry could not remember the last time Hermione had ever stuttered or fumbled over her words. This was a sure-fire indicator that she was about to either incriminate herself, or embarrass him to no end.

"For me to be roaming your body while... doing things with Ron?"

At first, Harry's cheeks took on the lively shade of a rose, but when he saw the complete violet swelling within Hermione's face, he knew she was talking the worst of this line of questioning.

In the end, Harry could not help but laugh. "I won't ask what sort of 'roaming' you've been doing," he replied with a cool and kind tone to his voice. "But, when I made the simulacrum and gave it to Ron, it became his. It is not my body anymore. He is free to do whatever he wants with it."

Hermione, in lieu of an immediate reply, seemed to loose herself within his eyes for a moment. Harry also stared at her, as if unable to place his own current feelings on the matter. It unnerved him a bit more than he led on to have Hermione exploring the more personal areas of a perfect replica of his body, however, it was one of the small downsides of being a twin.

"I wish some of your patience and understanding would rub off on Ron," said Hermione with a sigh. "You really are a great person, Harry."

Harry tried his best to be open and aloof to the situation, despite that personal praise. "He is who he is, and I hope nothing will ever change that."

"I suppose you are right," said Hermione, a smile finding its way back on her face as her ugly, purple blush faded away and was replaced by her natural color. "Anyway, let us go. I'm certain that the headmaster will be waiting for us."

With a nod, Harry pushed his half-eaten plate of eggs aside and both friends rose. They walked down to the end of the Gryffindor table and out of the all but empty hall. In fact, Harry only noticed two figures sitting at the Ravenclaw table and handful of Slytherin second years.

One of the Ravenclaws was Cho Chang.

Harry swallowed a nervous lump and quickly looked away before she could see him watching her. She seemed to be doing well enough and was talking to a girl that was in Harry's year... likely either Mandy Brocklehurst or Lisa Turpin. Harry was not sure, for he never associated with Ravenclaws very often. Harry was sure that he'd never speak to her again.

"Harry?" asked Hermione as the met up at the end of the Gryffindor table.

Harry shook his head and offered her a simple smile. "I'm alright."

"Are you certain?" pried Hermione. "You have seemed rather down all breakfast."

"Dreams of eternal darkness consuming the world tend to take a toll on my feel- good spirit," commented Harry. This drew a disapproving look from Hermione, however, in the end, she smiled.

Harry had never noticed before how clean and how white Hermione's teeth were.

"So, tell me," Harry continued, trying to shift the focus off himself as the two friends left the great hall. "What is California like, anyway?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but it was another voice who replied in her stead... a drawling, rolling and seemingly amused voice.

"Have you not read the Wizard Weekly's top twenty Vacation spots, Potter?" asked Malfoy, who seemed to have a tendency to appear out of nowhere, during a perfectly good moment. "California is the land of women, sex, drugs and surfing. I, for one, cannot wait to dive in headfirst."

Harry and Hermione turned their heads slowly in the direction of the voice.

Draco Malfoy watched them with the look of snide but aloof hawk; his stormy eyes showed the gleam of cunning and the work of a mind always in motion, but his posture and position was of a non-threatening nature. He lazily leaned up against a pillar in the main hall, his arms crossed over his chest in relaxation. Slouched in the way he was, with his right leg over his left, he seemed to not have a single care in the world. Even his physical attributes were relaxed today. His hair drooped down below his eyebrows; Harry had never seen him with low-riding bangs before. On any other person, it would be considered messy, but Malfoy had an unscrupulous way of making every part of him seem so deliberate and planned out.

"While you are diving headfirst into things, do try a shark tank," countered Hermione testily.

Draco slowly uncrossed his arms and waved a teasing finger her way. "Now, now, Mudblood. If we are tearing into each other now, how do you think we'll be getting along these next few weeks?"

Harry remained silent, and did not voice his own curiosity about what Malfoy meant by that. He knew Draco well, it was a given that he'd be getting to the point rather quickly.

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" demanded Hermione.

The corners of Draco's mouth pulled into a smirk. Harry always thought it was funny; a simple smile or a downright frown was too infra dig for Draco Malfoy. If he was angry, he always scowled, if he was happy or amused, he always smirked. Never would he smile or laugh genuinely. It was clear to Harry that this smirk was Draco's way of beaming with amusement.

"Oh, I'm coming with you," he said offhandedly, as if such information was available to any fool who spent a minute to look up at the sky for it.

"Er," began Harry, reacting to Malfoy's bold proclamation with his startling eloquence. "No you aren't."

"Oh yes I am," said Draco with a continued smirk as he turned to Hermione. "This one promised I would be able to spend Christmas Break with her... bloody hell, I even thanked her... when a Malfoy says thanks, that is the point of no return."

Harry did in fact remember Hermione's invitation to Draco a few weeks ago; it was a difficult sight to forget, for Draco spent the better part of five minutes trying to cough up the two words "thank you" at the Gryffindor table.

"Malfoy," said Hermione factually. "We are going to visit Sean. There... there is simply no room for you!"

Draco shrugged, as if the notion of him not being able to come along was absurd. "Nonsense," he said lightly. "Look, I'll even take Sean's bed. I'm used to making sacrifices for the greater good."

Harry failed to see how this helped the matter.

"And where will he sleep?" demanded Hermione.

Draco shrugged a second time. "There are plenty of good places... the floor, the bathtub, the doghouse... it is really up to him."

Hermione mumbled something under her breath before continuing. "Look Draco, you... ugh!" she groaned.

"You promised," said Draco airily and teasingly.

"Look, Draco," said Harry, trying to make him see reason. "Ron isn't coming, ok? And he isn't that pleased about it."

"Oh!" gasped Malfoy, feigning total disbelief, "so that's why he left the Great Hall, stomping like a little girl toward the Gryffindor tower. I just thought it was his time this month."

"You are detestable," said Hermione with a frown.

"So," said Draco, his brows narrowed. "Are you lying to me?"

"No..." stammered Hermione. "It's just...

"You are doing the opposite of what you said you'd do," countered Draco, a cruel grin plastered all over his pasty face. "In what way is that not lying?"

Hermione stomped indignantly. It seemed that Hermione only ever lost her cool when she was talking to Malfoy and Ron. It was a strange observation for Harry to make, but he dismissed it outright.

"But... Ron would be shattered!" she stated.

Draco shrugged uncaringly. "Well, did you promise him that you'd spend the holiday with him?"

"Well..." began Hermione.

Draco simply smirked. "That's what I thought. I'll meet you two in the headmaster's office... my bags are already there."

"But Malfoy..." stated Harry.

"Butts are for nancy boys, Potter. If that is what you like, I think California will more than compliment your desires."

Harry flushed red, as Draco skulked away slyly, heading toward the headmaster's office.

"This is ridiculous!" stated Harry, loosing his calm temperament. "We aren't actually going to let him come, are we?"

Hermione heaved a deep sigh, and stared up at the ceiling. "Ugh... I wish I did not promise him anything! I should have known he'd milk any cookie I gave him until the glass was brown!"

"So?" demanded Harry. "A promise to Malfoy is no promise at all. Just tell him he cannot come, and you don't care what you said before."

Hermione looked at Harry deeply, her brown eyes drawing his attention from her face like a magnet.

"Is that all your word is worth to you, Harry Potter?" she said sternly. "I... promised him. I feel sorry for him!"

Harry was about to speak, but Hermione cut him off with a raised hand.

"Think about it... his family disowned him! He's has no friends and now, no family! Ron has friends and family who love him! Don't you feel a little bit sorry for him?"

With a puff of his cheeks, Harry tilted back his head a let out a long sigh from between his closed lips.

"If Ron finds out..." trailed off Harry forebodingly.

Hermione did not need Harry to finish the rest of that sentence. She just nodded quickly. "Look, I'm going to say good-bye to him quickly. It won't take long."

Harry shook his head. "Take a half-hour."

"What?" exclaimed Hermione. "Why?"

"He's your boyfriend," reminded Harry. "You are going to miss him, and as much as you don't think he will, he is going to miss you twice as much."

Hermione rolled her eyes and tilted her head from side to side, stretching out her neck muscles as if she was preparing for a boxing match. "Good-bye cannot be stretched for thirty minutes."

"Then," said Harry, starting after Malfoy. "Think of something else to say. But, I don't want to see you come down for at least thirty minutes."

Hermione grunted and shook her head. Harry could hear her calling after him. "You are completely irrational, Harry Potter!"

All Harry could do was smile contently to himself.

* * * * * *

Ron listlessly pointed his wand to a square on his chessboard. In a slightly delayed response, one of the white pawns uprooted itself from its square and marched ahead two squares and then fell stationary again.

There was something about chess that Ron could fall back upon during times of trouble. To the formerly redheaded boy, chess was always right. There were no emotions, no arguments, no complaints, and no fights. All that was present was a still mind and plenty of time to consider ones next step.

Ron silently willed the black pawn of the same rank forward two squares, locking the pieces in a head to head struggle in which they would never land a physical blow. The pieces would simply stare at each other, perhaps toss a few insults, but would never be able to touch each other.

He forced himself to think of his next move. Whether it was playing against another person, or playing against himself, he felt like the strongest person in the world for the duration of his stay behind sixteen pieces. Upon this even battleground, he could decimate any foe that dared to stand against him.

But, not today.

Ron, unable to think of white's best move, put his elbows upon the table and buried his face into his hands.

It is just not fair, he thought. Not fair at all...

Ron had not cried since the night before his first year, when he was leaving the protective Burrow for the first time. He remembered that night like it were yesterday. Ginny had come into his room, late that night in her pajamas, and told her that she'd miss him. To this day, Ron was not sure why that made him cry, but it had. In a house with five older brothers, Ron had been forced to hold back his emotions out of a instinctive fear of seeming weak. But then, at that moment, with only his sister around, he had decided to release all his tears.

Now, not even Ginny was around. Where she was, Ron did not know... she did not even tell him where she was going.

Loosing the last bit of control he had, Ron sent all the pieces flying off the board with a sudden swipe of his left hand. They screamed in terror and scattered across the floor with an unsatisfying clatter.

No one will know... realized Ron as his eyes watered up. No one will know because no one cares enough to check up on you.

"Ron?" asked a probing voice from the entrance of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Ron nearly fell out of his chair with a start as he whirled around nervously.

Hermione was standing in the entrance of the room. A draft blew gently across Ron's face as the Fat Lady reset herself, closing off the common room once again to the rest of the world.

Now, it was just Ron and Hermione.

Ron furiously dried his eyes with a robe sleeve, trying his best to conceal his weakness. "Hermione?" he asked in an amazingly calm voice, free of sobs.

Without replying to his obvious inquiry, Hermione knelt down and began to pick up some of the chess pieces that Ron had scattered about. Wasting no time, Ron joined her on the ground and silently helped her. Within moments, every one of the pieces was accounted for. Hermione and Ron placed them upon the board, and they began to set themselves back up in starting positions, muttering something about temper tantrums and bruises.

Hermione and Ron both paused for a moment, standing side by side and watching the board reset itself. Ron wanted to ask her what she was doing here; he wanted to break the ice in a nonchalant way.

However, the only sentence that stood out in Ron's head leapt off his tongue unwarrantedly, no doubt from a canon set off by his inner warrior, which refused to let him be weak.

"Aren't you late for your trip?" he said coldly.

Hermione looked to Ron, but he was not sure she even heard him. She continued to stare down at the chessboard.

"Want to play a game, before I go?" she asked.

Ron opened his mouth to reply to the scathing insult he felt he was about to be on the receiving end of. However, when all that he heard was a simple, kind question, his inner warrior's cannon backfired. He simply stared at Hermione, his jaw agape as he searched his head for the word 'sure'.

Yet, without his inner warrior, even the word 'sure' was difficult to find. Finally, he located it within his head and closed his mouth, with all intension of reopening it to say it.

Instead, what came out was the irresistible desire to grab Hermione in an embrace, without speaking.

Hermione, at first, stiffened uncomfortably, totally taken aback by this unrestrained show of affection. However, it was not long before she put her own arms around him in an embrace just as tight.

Whenever Ron was that close to Hermione, he could smell the unique and fragrant odors that made up the girl he loved. There was a soft familiarity about the pleasant blend of herbal shampoo that played with his nostrils, in addition to what could only be the ancient, rustic smell of old books collecting must. It did not surprise him, as she spent nearly all her free time in the library.

"I'm sorry," said Ron softly into her ear, his eyes watering up uncontrollably, "I'm sorry for everything... I didn't mean to be so mean to you... I didn't mean the comment about Sean... I'm so sorry..."

Ron felt Hermione loosen the tension in her body, melting within his arms.

"I don't care how long it takes," she said softly, her lips touching his ear ever so gently as she spoke, "I'll make this up to you. No one should be alone on Christmas, and I'm sorry for that."

At that point, Ron felt his inner warrior honorably fall upon his blade in suicide. Tears ran down his cheeks and absorbed into Hermione's black cloth robe as all his pent up frustrations, from his near-death on the summit of Ben Nevis, to his constant fights with Hermione, to his sneaking suspicions of Hermione liking Harry or Draco Malfoy more than him.

They all simply dissolved into a salt-watery mess upon Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione lifted her chin off Ron's shoulder and looked into his watery eyes. With a gentile motion, she ran the back of her hand tenderly across his cheek, wiping the tears away from his eyes.

Without another word, Hermione closed the very small distance that separated their faces and locked her lips with his. Ron closed his eyes, loosing himself in the moment. He ran his hands through her silky soft hair coiling a small tuft into his finger as he always did, in a playful manner.

While Hermione and Ron had kissed many times before in the past month, there was something special about this kiss. Usually, Ron could not help but feel very domineering, and always insisted upon the upper hand. Yet, Hermione was always the same way... and often, it turned into a wordless argument; who kissed better or who made the other feel cowed.

They even fought about who kissed better.

Yet there was something so monumental about this kiss that made time activate its age-old curse; the minutes passed by as seconds. For once, there was no competition or struggle. It was a total submission to each other, a soft and cooperative lip-lock that was both extremely pleasurable and absorbing.

It felt like his first kiss all over again.

After what seemed like thirty seconds, Hermione stepped away from him. "I... I'm sorry, Ron! It's been forty-five minutes... um... Harry was expecting me in the headmaster's office fifteen minutes ago."

"Do you need help with your bags?" offered Ron softly.

Hermione nodded and smiled, pushing a loose strand of black hair from his face with care. "Please."

* * * * *

"What's the matter, Potter?" asked Draco with a smirk as Harry finally caught up to him. He was standing next to Dumbledore's gargoyle, waiting for him with a snide look. "You look a bit peevish."

Harry unbuttoned the top button of his collar, as sweat ran down his brow. "No... it is nothing, nothing at all."

Draco smirked. "You look like you just came from a make-out session. Did Millicent pull you into a closet or something? I know she's been wanting to do that for awhile."

Harry nearly retched at that. While it was true that Harry was currently along for the ride, as Ron's strong, erotic emotions had flown through his body, this was enough to snap him back to reality. "She... she does?"

"No Potter," muttered Draco. "Even she has better tastes than you... a Gryffindor and a Slytherin... that'll be the day."

"Right," snorted Harry as his glower shifted from Draco to the gargoyle. "What's the password?"

Draco shrugged. "I was just planning on kicking it until it let us in, but if you have a better idea, let it rip."

"Chocolate Frogs," said Harry, to the gargoyle, with the intensity of a warrior preparing for battle.

If the gargoyle was animate, it would have smiled at him. Nothing happened.

"Acid Pops," tried Harry drably, while Draco simply watched and smirked. "Every Flavor Beans! Pepper Imps! Sherbet Balls!"

And so it went on for a minute or two, Harry reciting off every single type of candy he could possibly buy at Honeydukes, until finally, he seemed to take Malfoy up on his advice.

"Open... the... door... you... bleeding... grr!" panted Harry as he kicked the gargoyle repeatedly on each word.

Malfoy now was no longer smirking but arching a silvery brow his way. "Having fun, Potter?"

"Ow," murmured Harry as he grabbed his toe.

"Keep kicking, Potter," said Malfoy with pure amusement. "Maybe it'll eventually eat you."

Harry grumbled and shrunk away from the gargoyle. "It's not like you have any better plans! You Slytherins just sit back and wait for opportunity to present itself!"

Draco shrugged. "Better than the virtuoso, 'if it don't work, kick it' technique."

"Well, what do Slytherin's do?" countered Harry hotheadedly, "is it the 'be an annoying git until you get your way' routine?"

At that, the silver haired boy simply smirked. "Nah, it's called a password." With a sly motion of his hand, he waved at the gargoyle. "Canary Creams."

With that, the gargoyle stepped aside with a bow, revealing the way to Dumbledore's office, and lighting up Harry's face like a cherry.

"Why the heck didn't you just save us the trouble if you knew it all along!" exclaimed Harry.

Draco looked to Harry and gave a simple, mirthless, cruel chuckle. "Because you are so amusing when you are frustrated."

Harry didn't think it was possible for a human being to annoy him so much.

"I hate you," Harry said firmly.

Draco smirked. "I hate you too, Potter."

"No," said Harry, staggering over his words. "You don't understand... if my hate for you was the ocean, it'd... be that big."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm left flabbergasted by your poetic prowess."

"Sod off!" snapped Harry, as he stormed past Draco and the gargoyle.

"Oh, but Potter?" began Draco with sympathy so fake that it could substitute for the bosom of many a Hollywood star, "if you are so testy now, how do you think you'll be after two weeks with me?"

Harry continued stomping up the stairs. "Can you take a hint? I don't want to talk to you!"

"Which is precisely why I continue to speak!" countered Draco, as he followed after Harry, looking smug.

Harry spun around, his fists clenched at his side. He wanted nothing more than to pound Draco savagely, yet his own temperance and wisdom kept him from doing such a thing.

"Why are you doing this, Malfoy?"

Draco crossed his arms authoritatively. "Because my brain tells me too. Who am I to question that little voice?"

Harry sneered visibly. "No, I mean doing this... feeding off Hermione's promise like a damn leech and coming with us, with the sole goal of ruining our holiday!"

"Gosh," said Draco, with wide, gray eyes, feigning surprise. "Well, gee, I was also planning on getting a tan and seducing women as well. You know me; I'm a multi-tasker."

Now, Harry's anger seemed to all but drain out of his face. "I am seriously going to punch you in a second, Malfoy."

"Just try it," countered Draco, his smirk becoming a scowl of his own.

Harry seriously was not sure who'd kill who first on this trip. All of his Hogwarts life, he had dealt with Malfoy by ignoring him and taking his antics with a grain of salt. This is how it would be. He would not let Malfoy get to him; he would follow the pattern he had done for years before.

Harry stood down and roughly pushed on, as Draco skulked behind him... all too slyly.

A fight with Malfoy will only lead to serious trouble...

* * * * * *

"Ah, good day," said the headmaster with good cheer as Harry and Draco entered the office. "Judging by the look upon your face, Harry, I trust Mr. Malfoy has told you the news."

Harry huffed and grumbled.

"I told him I was coming along," said Draco coolly. "That is all they need to know."

Harry glanced over to Draco suspiciously. "Not if there is more to tell."

The headmaster held up his hand calmly. "Easy, Harry, easy. It was I who suggested to Mr. Malfoy that he should vacation with you."

Draco stared at Harry and nodded slyly.

"I have already spoken to Mrs. Camaradi," continued Dumbledore in his soothing voice. "She said that Sean spoke rather highly of Mr. Malfoy and said he would not be against him coming along as well."

"He did?" exclaimed both Harry and Draco at the same time, both with the same level of shock.

The venerable headmaster's eyes twinkled as he nodded.

"What about Ron?" asked Harry, with a slight glimmer of hope.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I did not mention Mr. Weasley, as I had no reason to."

Harry blinked with disbelief. "No reason too? He's spending Christmas alone and feels miserable about it."

The headmaster sighed lightly and scratched his long, white beard. "Harry, I will level with you, dear boy. You and Mr. Malfoy are at risk, both of you."

Draco and Harry exchanged perturbed looks, but held their tongues.

"Harry, you are Voldemort's unicorn... and he will never stop trying to catch you until he succeeds, or is slain."

Harry nodded, this information really not coming as a shock to him.

"Draco," continued Dumbledore. "You have betrayed Voldemort, much in the way Professor Snape had done. Voldemort has placed a death mark upon your head as well."

"I'm flattered," said Draco with a snort.

"Like it or not, boys," said the headmaster, his calm tone never fluctuating. "You are in this together..."'

The headmaster trailed off for a moment, staring at Harry and Draco. If that was the prompt for Harry to speak, he failed miserably at answering it, for nothing came to mind to say.

"If the recent warning you scar has given you, Mr. Potter, matches the actual severity, I do not know if Hogwarts is safe for you anymore. This is why, I feel, California will be a good place for you to stay."

Harry sighed, but accepted the news with a grain of salt. "It beats the Dursleys, for sure."

Professor Dumbledore nodded frankly. "If Hogwarts is not safe for you, Mr. Potter, I feel the Dursleys will not be either. The only complete safety for you is a place unknown to the Dark Lord. In fact," he continued, "I will be sending a letter to your uncle and telling him that he might want to consider moving."

That brought a bittersweet laugh to Harry's lips. "Good luck."

Dumbledore did not respond to that. "Ms. Granger will be along shortly, I am certain. In the meantime, I shall prepare you some proper attire."

Draco arched his brows at that. "Proper attire?" he snorted disdainfully. "I'll have you know that I brought my entire summer wear wardrobe; high quality Japanese designer robes. I have 'proper attire' coming out of my ears!"

"He is talking about Muggle clothing," explained Harry.

Draco's jaw dropped. "Oh, by Merlin, no... I will suicide myself before I submit myself to disgrace of dawning Muggle attire!"

"You promise?" countered Harry, with only a very small hint of a smile.

Draco pat the back of his hand three times.

"You are heading in the right direction for a prat-smack."

Harry allowed himself to smirk.

Professor Dumbledore stood up from his chair and reached for one of the books upon his shelf, entitled Hasslevek's History of Hamburg, and opened it to a random page. "Now, let's see here..."

To Harry's shock, Dumbledore withdrew a second book from the History book... a book that was no book at all, but a magazine with a shiny, still cover and a smiling girl on the front in a cute pink bathing suit. It was labeled "Seventeen"

Draco raised his upper lip in disdain. "Professor... you look a bit older than seventeen."

Harry blinked twice, with a stunned look upon his face. I knew Dumbledore was strange... but not THIS strange.

"You are as young as you feel, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, with twinkling eyes. "In truth, my reason for having this magazine is so that you can choose a few outfits for yourselves. If you are to be spending time in the Muggle world, it is important to be able to blend in."

Dumbledore held out the magazine and Draco snatched it disdainfully and opened it to a random page.

The image on the front was a boy dressed in a sleeveless dim orange t-shirt, with a skateboard under one arm and very baggy jeans.

Draco's jaw dropped as he stared up at Dumbledore. "By Merlin! Potter... give me a knife. I need to end this now."

Harry quickly grabbed a quill from his pocket and handed it to Draco. "This is all I've got. Be cunning and make it work!"

Dumbledore however, smiled. "A fine choice, Mr. Malfoy."

"What!" exclaimed Draco. "I did NOT..."

"Skarpas!" said Professor Dumbledore, pointing his wand at Draco. With three flicks of his wrist, three bolts of purple lightning shot out of his wand, striking Draco in the head, in the chest and in his left thigh.

Instead of harming him in anyway, each blast caused a small flash of light and a swishing sound. By the time Harry lowered his hands and blinked the spots of out his vision, the transformation was done.

Draco stood horrified, dressed in a backwards' navy blue baseball cap, with the same shirt and pants he had seen in the picture, revealing his fairly scrawny pale arms. Another addition (likely the creative work of Dumbledore) was a thick, golden chain, hanging around his neck and shimming in the torchlight of the headmaster's office.

"You look... interesting," managed Harry, putting a hand to his lips and trying hard not to laugh.

Malfoy grumbled and looked down at his feet and saw a new pair of sneakers in place of his high-quality leather loafers. He then looked at his arms.

"The last time I was this exposed to the sunlight, I was coming out of my mother!" he snapped.

Harry arched a brow. "Malfoy, you are exactly THAT exposed. Wait til you try on a bathing suit, if you want to go swimming on this trip."

This caused Malfoy's already pale countenance to drain even further. His face seemed the gray shade of death.

"As long as I live... I will never try on a bathing suit!"

Harry chortled to himself, but said nothing.

"Your turn, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore kindly.

Harry shrugged and flipped the magazine back over to Dumbledore's desk. "Whatever you want is fine. All of that is much better than anything I have to wear."

Dumbledore smiled thinly and scratched his beard. He turned to a random page and then nodded. With a slow motion, he lifted his wand and pointed it at Harry.

"Skarpas!"

Three rays of purple lightning hit Harry and exploded with color. After they finished, Harry glanced down to look over himself.

And nearly fainted away.

He was dressed in a grossly thin white half-shirt with navy shorts passing his knees. There was so sort of strange constriction around his neck. Harry felt it curiously, and saw that it was a hemp necklace. The shirt, however, kept his attention. He had never seen anyone where it before outside of a dinky little magazine he had found jammed under his cupboard at the Dursleys when he was nine. His arms were completely shown, as well as his lower chest.

"A wife-beater?" gasped Harry, his face turning the strangled color of plums. Draco seemingly forgot about his own outfit and began laughing himself hoarse, pointing at Harry.

Professor Dumbledore simply smiled. It was clear he was enjoying this to no end.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. It is rather warm in California, so I am told."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "I'll suffer... something else please. This is just... not me."

Dumbledore scratched his beard for a moment, and then lifted his wand. After another Clothing Transformation, Harry could safely say that he was satisfied. His half-shirt had turned into a full white T-shirt (Harry had to talk the entertained headmaster out of the phrase 'skate or die' on the back, as was illustrated on page 31 of his magazine)

"Potter," said Malfoy, laughing himself pink while his thick, golden chain continued to glimmer as his body convulsed. "I didn't think it was possible for you to look any uglier. Congratulations."

Harry raised his upper lip. "I wouldn't talk, Malfoy... that necklace makes you look like a pimp."

"Really?" asked Draco, looking down at himself appraisingly. "Blimey, I guess it does... wicked."

All Harry could do was roll his eyes.

The door to the headmaster's office opened a few minutes later, as Harry and Draco were in the middle of another toned down insult competition.

"It's about time, Hermione," said Harry good-naturedly, as he looked away from Draco to the opening door.

Hermione entered the office with a smile on her face. "Sorry Harry," she began, when suddenly her eyes fell upon Malfoy. "But... I... oh no..."

Harry pondered her strange reaction to seeing Malfoy. Sure, he was a bit strange looking in Muggle clothing, however, it was a funny strange, not a horrifying strange.

And then, Harry realized the truth behind her reaction as Ron entered behind her, carrying two bags.

"Harry," began Ron as he entered the room. "I just wanted to say... what the...?"

Horror gripped Harry with a chilling, cold hand as he felt the blood fleeing from his face. With a stunned, disbelieving gape, he stared at Hermione. What the heck was she thinking... letting him come in here?

Even the headmaster seemed to hold his breath, for he knew well of Ron's temper and it was painfully clear that it was about to flare.

The only person who did not seem gripped with hesitation and shock was Draco, who smirked snidely at Ron, as if relishing in the boy's hatred and confusion.

"Why, hello Weasel," said Draco nonchalantly, crossing his pale arms across his bright shirt, as he leaned back against one of Dumbledore's bookshelves, as if making a conscious effort to appear aloof. "My friends and I were just preparing for our vacation... forgive us if we don't have much time to talk to you."

Ron's jaw dropped as his fiery green eyes turned to Harry, his voice trembling with restrained anger. It was clear to Harry that Ron was telling himself that there must be some reasonable explanation. "What is HE doing here?"

Draco calmly took full stance, and stalked up to Ron with the foreboding ferocity of a panther ready to strike. "I'm going on vacation. It's a shame you aren't coming, but after all, your company is about as valuable as your bank account, so we won't really miss you or anything."

It was so surprising to Harry that Ron did not punch Draco right then in there. Instead, he turned his focus to Hermione, his eyes underneath his golden glasses glaring with a cold emerald fury. Harry could feel his lungs constricting as Ron's pain became a tangible force within his chest.

"So, let me get this straight," said Ron, his voice hissing deeply. "I am not invited to California and not allowed to come, but behind my back, you guys invite that creep," he gave Draco an angry flick of his wrist, "who was not invited either!"

Again, before Harry and Hermione could formulate a defense for themselves, Malfoy continued with the only sort of defense he knew... a vigorous offense.

"Bang on," said Draco, with an evil smile. Harry, not for the first time, wondered if Draco was part dementor, for he seemed to feed off of Ron's negative emotions and become even more elated. "Actually, Sean said that he'd like to see me again... do you really think anyone would say that about you?"

"Mr. Malfoy," called the headmaster, his tone becoming serious. "That will do."

But the damage had been done. Harry could now scarcely breathe as Ron's anger and pain girded his neck tightly like a bone caught in his throat.

"Oh," said Ron, in a harshly whispered tone. "Doesn't this make a world of sense?"

"Ron," said Hermione with pleading eyes. "This isn't how it looks!"

Ron, however, was in no mood to see any logic that Hermione might present to him.

"Why did you even say good-bye to me... it isn't like you'll miss me!" snapped Ron, his voice hard and firm. "Not when the Slytherin is coming along."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Wh... what?!" she exclaimed, with the same indignity she might have used had Ron slapped her.

Draco simply smiled maliciously, savoring the moment.

"You've had it bad for him ever since your little kidnapping in the cave," Ron continued, snarling like a wild animal. "So, now isn't this perfect? The boyfriend stays at Hogwarts, and now, you have the Slytherin all to yourself."

"Ron!" exclaimed Harry, rasping for air. "Please, calm dow..."

"And you, best friend," barked Ron, rounding on Harry like a low-life culprit he was about to apprehend, "I suppose you wanted to have a run at her with the boyfriend out of the equation, huh?"

Harry now, could not even rasp a reply, for it was hard enough to breathe.

"Pearly white sands, long walks on the beaches, and a low-life Slytherin that will, hopefully, make her feel so bad that she'll run to the big Alpha male Harry to protect her. Isn't that what you want?"

The look of horror upon Harry's face was more than enough to voice what Harry couldn't. He had absolutely no idea what Ron was talking about, yet Harry expected something like this would happen. The ramifications that would occur should Ron find out about Draco traveling with them were painfully clear to Harry, and as weighty as Dudley at a pork roast.

His one chagrin was why the heck she allowed Ron to come down with her. How could she have forgotten that Draco was here? He would definitely need to talk to her about that...

... provided they escaped from Ron's savage anger alive.

Dumbledore remained stony silent during this exchange, perhaps realizing that it was not his place to get directly involved here.

"Are you quite finished, Weasel?" asked Draco calmly. "Or am I going to be the next "victim" of the Weasley "I didn't get my way, so I am going to blame it on everyone but myself," temper tantrum?"

"You, Malfoy," sneered Ron, "you are just a parasite who needs to leech onto others, drain their strength, and then betray them at your earliest convenience."

Draco cocked his head, rested his chin in his hand and rolled his eyes skyward, considering Ron's words.

"Actually," he said. "I think I go for the more symbiotic relationships... I latch onto people, drain them of strength, but I give them the benefit of good-looking company. Sort of like an old Malfoy motto: 'scratch my back, and I won't scratch yours... but look on the bright side, at least I won't drop you into an alligator tank.'"

It seemed as though Malfoy had just added more gasoline to the bonfire, as Ron's cheeks went from fiery red to languishing purple.

"I don't care anymore!" he shouted, childishly. "You guys treat me as a second! When it is not convenient for me to tag along, you guys leave me in the dust!"

The angry Weasley turned around melodramatically and made for the door. In a quieter, almost heart wrenching voice, he added. "I never want to see any of you again! I'm through with you, Granger... and you too, Potter!"

Time froze right there for Harry. While he had expected all hell to break loose, he never expected Ron to take his anger and jealousy this far. Harry fell to his knees, not really out of his own angst or depression, but due to his suffocation. Ron's anger, sadness and pain were acting on Harry as a tangible force, much as it had done to Ron when Harry's scar had erupted with pain last night. Yet, despite Ron nearly choking to death and falling unconscious, there had only been one thought on his mind... looking back Harry knew it what it was, seeing as how Ron had fallen unconscious right next to him.

Make sure Harry is ok...

And now, Harry has returned this favor by turning his back on him the very next day. To make matters worse, not only had Harry turned his back on him, he had taken Malfoy along in his stead. Thinking of it that way, Harry could not blame Ron for the way he was acting now.

He could only blame himself.

He knew the right thing to do now would be to run away from this vacation, throw himself on the ground at Ron's feet, tell him how sorry he is for being such a lousy friend and tell him that he wasn't going.

Yet, even Harry's pride (a subtle thing that it was) kept his feet planted right where they were as Ron slammed the door to the headmaster's office.

Without wasting much time, Dumbledore spoke. "I shall speak with Mr. Weasley over this holiday," he said softly. "In the meantime, I think it is best if you three depart immediately. Ms. Granger, do you have Muggle clothing, or do you need some for the occasion?"

Hermione was too stunned to give a verbal reply; instead, she simply shook her head.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "I shall open the way to California. Try to enjoy your vacation. Mr. Weasley, as you know, is a headstrong boy, but his heart is good and pure. This anger of his will not last long."

Harry sighed and trudged over to the fireplace in Dumbledore's office. He remembered all too well how long Ron could carry a grudge about something so trivial. All he needed to do was think back to fourth year, when Ron had taken to ignoring him for nearly two months simply because he felt Harry did not trust him with the 'hidden truth' about how he had gotten his name into the Goblet of Fire.

That's what you think, thought Harry, with one of the deepest frowns he had ever worn in his life.

* * * * * *

Don't worry folks... this is by no means an attempt to write Ron out of the story. He and his exploits at Hogwarts play just as pivotal a role as the trip of California does. Besides, why would I want to write out my favorite character? He just reminds me too much of... me.

A glimpse into the Crystal Ball: Harry, Draco and Hermione do California and meet up with Sean... as well as Alex. Is the memory charm on Alex strong enough to make him forget his hatred of both Harry and Draco?

And Ron opens up to the second to last person in the world he ever thought he'd have something in common with. (the first would obviously be Draco... but this person is in close second).