Harry Potter and the Champion of Darkness

Chapter 5: Black Takes Pawns... Check

The congregation in Malfoy Manner was indeed a sour and depressing one, as the shades were drawn low, blocking out the evening sun outside. A ring of robed figures, the highest and most elite Death Eaters, sat around the table, each with a goblet carved out of indigo crystal.

"And so," continued Wormtail, standing up to his full, unimpressive height. "Our Lord has instructed me to inform his faithful that he will be away, making some final preparations for the rise of the Dark Champion..."

This brought a murmur of voice from the cloaked Death Eaters present.

"... as well as provide you with a task that will prove both your dedication to his cause, as well as pave the way for our Lord's new champion. As Death Eaters, we have a solemn task, and that is the serve Our Lord in any way that he deems fit. Furthermore, we have a civic responsibility to..."

"Wormtail," called out the cold voice of Rufus Mulciber, cutting off the fat man. The cowl was drawn low about his face, hiding his features from view. "We did not gather tonight to hear you babble. Get to the point."

Wormtail blinked twice and glowered at Mulciber, as did most of the other Death Eaters. Mulciber was one of the few Death Eaters that was a mystery in every way, shape and form. Very rarely did he speak, but when he did, he commanded the attention of every Death Eater. So secretive was his way that Lucius had never seen him once without his cowl; he had no idea what he looked like.

"Very well," said Wormtail clearing his throat. "Our master demands that, this night, we Apparate to the village of Little Hangton and take captive all children of the age twelve and under."

No Death Eater seemed to react at first as Wormtail rolled his beady eyes around the table. At long last, a Death Eater spoke aloud. His name was Garlen Flammel, one of the more enigmatic Death Eaters of the lot, who came up with brilliant ideas and even created some of his own powerful spells.

"What is our Lord planning on doing? Opening a nursery?"

This earned him a few chuckles from those gathered around the table, but Wormtail clenched his metallic fist in anger.

"Crucio!" cried out Wormtail, pointing his metal fist at Garlen.

The Death Eater fell out of his chair, screaming in painful agony as he rolled upon the ground, bumping into Walden Macnair's chair and nearly shattering one of the table legs with a spasmodic kick.

After a few seconds, Wormtail unclenched his metallic hands. "The next comment like that will earn you a Killing Curse, got that?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes dangerously. That fat, pathetic man was putting such edicts upon his guests in his house. He hoped, one day, he would outlive his usefulness in Lord Voldemort's eyes.

"To answer Flammel's question," continued Wormtail, as the whimpering man stood up on weak legs, righted his chair and took his seat again, his head bowed real low, "our Lord is planning on feeding these children to his Dark Champion, when he rises."

All of the Death Eaters present turned their heads to each other in confusion.

"What exactly do you mean, feed them to him?" asked Macnair.

Wormtail tapped his metal finger upon the table. "Simple... our Lord must nurture the newly risen Champion as a baby at first, giving him only the feeblest and weakest lives to harvest. There is nothing more defenseless and helpless than a muggle child."

"And," continued Macnair, "just how are we to enter an entire village clean of children, and not be noticed?"

Wormtail clicked his lips. "The Imperius Curse will do nicely," he said with enthusiasm. "As the children sleep in New Hangton, we will steal into their rooms and charm them to come with us silently. We are then to lead them back here, our base of operations. Lucius, I trust your dungeons will be most accommodating until the children are ready to be absorbed."

Lucius nodded, hoping that his own disgust at the notion of this plan was well hidden.

"Yes. They are more than adequate."

"Very well," said Wormtail, who finally sat down at the table. "That is all... let us eat, prepare, and bring the Dark Mark over Little Hangton this night."

Lucius glanced sidelong to Macnair, becoming aware that the other Death Eater was doing his best to get his attention. Upon attaining Lucius' glance, the Death Eater nodded briefly to only exit of the room. Lucius furrowed his brow and stood up.

"The house elves have been working all day on our meal tonight. They know your favorite dishes, so ask away when you are ready," said Lucius Malfoy with a bit of pride. He then looked to Macnair, and nodded.

The other Death Eater stood up, and the two men walked out of the room, as the rest of the group began to listlessly call out their meals. They appeared in front of them a moment later, steaming and ready to be eaten.

After stealing out into the well-decorated and carpeted hallway, Macnair spun on Lucius, looking positively spooked.

"I know what we are committed to, Lucius, but... is this for real?" asked Macnair, his tone full of disbelief.

"Yes," said Lucius, with an indifferent tone of voice. His face was set in a cruel, imposing frown. "Our Lord demands the children of Little Hangton, and that is what we will give him."

"But, Lucius!" snapped Macnair, "killing Aurors and eliminating the son of Lily and James is one thing... but innocent children?"

Walden Macnair was a middle-aged man, the same age as Lucius. As a result, they went all the way back to their preteen years, as Hogwarts students in Slytherin together. They had continued their friendship after Hogwarts; Macnair also had a job at the Ministry as an executioner of dangerous animals... the board upon which Lucius currently was the head of. A neatly trimmed goatee lined his face, which were accented by his cruelly thick, arching eyebrows. His brown hair was long and styled into a pageboy cut, the tucked in curly tips seemed to tickle the nape of his neck.

Lucius glared coldly at Macnair and nodded his head in the direction of the Peter Pettigrew, who was sitting at the table.

"Tell Wormtail that, Macnair," said Lucius firmly. "Our Lord asks, and we must deliver what he promises. We have done similar things in the past."

Macnair scowled at Lucius, knowing what he was referring to. "There is a fine line between having some fun with Muggles during the Quidditch World Cup, and giving over fifty children to our Lord's new pet to be devoured!"

"Walden," hissed Lucius, scowling deeply. "We are no longer talking about wealth and power. Do you know the implications of this new Champion of Darkness are for us?"

Macnair scratched his goatee in consideration, but said nothing.

"Immortality, Walden," said Lucius, clenching his fist. "To pave a legacy as strong as Salazar Slytherin himself in the years to come."

"Dabbling with ancient druidism is not the way to immortality, Lucius!" countered Macnair. "It is the way to destruction. Our Lord does not know whom he is dealing with! Maldaras was the scourge of the world for nearly a thousand years! He is in way over his head!"

Lucius was certain, had any other Death Eater said this, he would have thrown the Cruciatus Curse on them, right then and there. He would not have done it because they were disrespecting his lord, however, he would have done it to make it seem like he was fanatically loyal.

Yet, Macnair, his best friend since he was eleven, was worthy of more respect than that. This loyalty, and only this loyalty, stayed Lucius' hand.

"I think you best check your feelings in front of the rest, lest you suffer the same fate as my son... branded a traitor and given a deathmark."

Macnair lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Lucius."

Lucius, while keeping his face pulled into indifference, nodded once without speaking.

"How is he?" asked Macnair.

Lucius shrugged, trying his best to be aloof. "I have not spoken to him in a month. My wife has gone to visit him, wherever he is spending his holiday. I made sure she brought a couple of thousand galleons with her."

Macnair nodded. "He's a brave kid... reminds me of his father at his age."

At last, Lucius allowed his face to slip into a slight smirk. "Young and dumb. I think it was how all of us were when we pledged our loyalty."

Macnair glanced back to the Death Eaters and saw them engrossed in their meals. Lucius knew that not a single word would be overheard.

"It is strange to hear you say that, Lucius," said Macnair. "Do you ever regret the decision?"

Lucius pressed his lips together into an ironic smile. "Not a day goes by that I don't. We made the wrong choice so many years ago... and now, we are bound to it."

Macnair nodded. "Yes, I know. The moment I felt the Dark mark reappear on my arm after these thirteen long years... I was hoping that I was in a nightmare."

"I think all of us did," continued Lucius. He finally let go of his emotional wall of what seemed to be 'unbending loyalty to the Dark Lord'. "Our lives were going strong after his departure. We worked our ploys, bent our rules and made our own luck. Now, he returns with scorn for us because we did not try to resurrect him? It is not like he would have done it for us."

Macnair nodded, again glancing over to the Death Eaters to make sure they were distracted. If but one word of this flowed over to Wormtail's ear, they would both be slain without question.

Lucius knew that he could always invite Macnair over sometime that the Death Eaters were not around, however, Lucius' own reservations about killing children was only adding to a fire of disloyalty building within his chest. First, the Dark Lord had demanded his only child to become Voldemort's... and when Draco turned his back upon the Dark Lord, he ordered Lucius to disown him. Now, this outrage... this undignified slaughter of children was demanded of the Dark Lord.

Even the coldhearted Lucius Malfoy was approaching his breaking point.

"Is it not enough to see our Lord cowed by Potter four times?" asked Lucius with an amused grin upon his face. "A boy, with no ordinary powers... just a keen mind and bravery to stand up against him. I can almost guarantee that whatever our Lord tries to do to him will not work."

Lucius crossed his arms across his chest. "Potter is a unicorn and will never be caught."

"You almost speak of the boy with reverence," noted Macnair, with neither prejudice nor hostility.

Lucius shook his head. "Not reverence, Walden, just respect. When he was twelve, he outwitted me and it cost me my best house elf. It was such a clever ploy for one so young. Now, to escape us all, Macnair, after the Tri-Wizard Tournament... how can you not respect him?"

"At times," confessed Macnair, "I almost feel sorry for him. It was not his fault for who his father was."

With a shrug, the blond-haired man looked back to Macnair. "Maybe not, but you know as well as I do the reason for his actions that night, so long ago."

"Fear," nodded Macnair. "Only a Potter would ever be able to challenge him."

Lucius smiled at the bitter irony of that. "Indeed, Walden, indeed."

Macnair looked back into the hall containing the Death Eaters. "Hush, no more, old friend. We best get back, or they'll suspect something."

Without another word, Lucius and Macnair returned to the table and resumed their seats. Be it out of fear, or out of his own weakness, Lucius knew that tonight was going to go off without a hitch. Despite their bold words out of the scope of prying ears, he knew that they would stop at words, as they always had done in the past.

Both Malfoys and Macnairs had the same mottos: it was better to aid evil than to try and stand it its path.

* * * * * *

"So this is California, huh?" commented Draco indifferently, as he stared out the window of the Jeep. "How charming."

While Draco's voice was laced with his dire need to always sound bored, Harry found that the passing palm trees positively transfixed him as they zoomed down the large boulevard. It seemed as though everything was catered to perfection here, for even the trees that dotted the sides of the road did so as an orderly line.

Alex drove the Jeep, and shrugged indifferently at Draco's comment. Sitting next to him was the girl named Pamela, who was speaking to Alex in hushed tones and glancing back at Draco every now and then.

This made Harry want to retch.

Then, Draco, Hermione and Harry shared the back seat rather comfortably, with Hermione splitting the former archrivals.

And finally, behind them, Sean sat in the open trunk, his hand draped over the back seat and in between Harry and Hermione, for stability.

Hermione leaned over Harry to watch out his window. If there was one thing he could say about Hermione before was that he had never seen her dressed in Muggle clothing before. Harry had always pictured Hermione as a witch and never really gave much thought to the fact that both of her parents were Muggles.

Yet, here she was, dressed in a conservative light-pink tank top and stonewash blue shorts that revealed her pale, but slender legs. With her long, wavy hair billowing in the back as the wind raced through the jeep, Harry could not help but notice her.

"I'm dying to see the ocean," said Harry with a slight smile. "I've never really seen one before."

Sean looked at Harry with a disbelieving look and made a quick hand signal. During the week of Sean's stay at Hogwarts, after he had once again fallen silent, he had taught Harry and Hermione a little bit of sign language. While they were by no means proficient in speaking with their hands such a short instruction, they were familiar with some of the more basic gestures and could easily reply to short sentences.

Really? He had signed, but then he had signed something else Harry did not remember.

"Er..." said Harry, scratching his chin.

Hermione smiled at Harry. "I think he said, that stinks..."

Sean smiled and nodded.

"Ah," said Harry kindly. "Well, I am certain by the time I get out of here, I will have nearly drowned in it a dozen times."

Sean cocked his head and flashed a few symbols at Harry.

Don't you ... how...

Even Hermione shook her head, unable to understand.

Sean then made a swimming motion with his hands, his eyes shining with amusement.

"Oh, don't I know how to swim?" asked Harry. "Er... well, I had to swim a bit last year, but that wasn't too hard. It is easy when you can breathe underwater and have webbed feet and hands."

Draco seemed to stop staring out the window and looked back on the conversation. Yet, he said nothing.

"I can swim fairly well," said Hermione loftily. "Though, I don't know the more advanced strokes and such."

"The doggie paddle ain't gonna help you with the Pacific undertow, babe," called Alex from the front of the jeep. "It'll suck you right under."

Harry winced. He was not sure what was worse... the scary thought of the undertow, or Alex calling Hermione 'babe'. Both seemed to have their severely negative connotations.

"Babe?" hissed Hermione with her darkest and most indigent voice, the kind of voice she used with Ron and Harry when she was about to explode. "How dare you take such a familiar tone with me! That is about the..."

Alex decided at that point to blast the radio very loudly, some American rap with a heavy base drowning out Hermione's voice. Harry could not help but catch Draco smirking at Hermione as she turned purple with anger.

Sean and Harry exchanged glances, for both of them knew Hermione well. They shared an unspoken message and both grinned.

Alex had just about signed his own death warrant.

* * * * * *

The smell of the ocean was very strong in Harry's nose as the group left the fast food restaurant, after Harry and Draco tried their first cheeseburgers (though Draco did not submit without a fight)

One major shortcoming that even Hermione had not anticipated, in light of Ron's temper tantrum was their complete lack of Muggle money. Sean had been more than happy to cover for Harry, Hermione and Draco, for he knew that at least Harry and Hermione were good for it.

And so, despite being slightly indebted to the red-haired boy, Harry was still in high spirits. There was something so brilliant to Harry about this place; it just seemed so right to him. He could feel the warm sun above his head for the first time ever, in the thick of winter. It was neither hot, nor cold... a comfortable room temperature. The welcoming cries of seagulls swam though his head as a light breeze blew back his hair.

Harry could not help but stare in the direction of the wind. The parking lot was built upon an outcropping cliff, with metal rails hugging the parameters. Without much conscious thought, Harry meandered over to the side of the ledge and placed his hands upon the warm metal railing a drew in a long breath.

Beneath him, a stretch of pearly white sand seemed to coil around the base of his rocky cliff, drawing a platinum line between where he stood and the water's edge.

As far as the eye could see, rolling white water churned within the infinitely large body of water beneath him. Long, powerful fingers of water shot out from the surface of the water as they neared the shore, tumbling over themselves like powerful gymnasts in their own little circus. The roar of churning water lulled Harry into a considerate calm as he stared at the water beneath him. Like an army, a wave would land upon the beach, march in a constant formation for several dozen feet, before retreating back to the deep blue depths mass.

He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Harry became aware of someone standing next to him, though he did not want to take his eyes off the spectacle beneath him. A voice drifted into his head, weaving seamlessly in with the gargling of the ocean.

"Seems like a big waste of energy, doesn't it?"

Harry tilted his head to see that it was Draco who was standing next to him. At first, he was tempted to tell Malfoy to sod off. It was painfully clear that the pale boy was just trying to get a rise out of him.

"No," said Harry, with enthusiasm in his voice. "I think its perfect. It's almost like magic."

There was a momentary lapse in between the boys.

"Potter," said Draco firmly. "It's just a stupid ocean. Get over it."

Harry turned to view Draco, keeping his face a stony mask.

"Look, if you don't want to enjoy the view, then go away."

Fixing Harry with a condescending glare, Draco placed his hands against the railing. "You really get all choked up over this sentimental stuff, don't you? Too bad Creevey wasn't here... he could take a picture of the sunset and we could all have a good cry together later tonight."

There was simply no way to fight him, thought Harry, as the rage built up within his head. If you show him fact, he'll counter with fiction; if you show him passion, he'll counter with aloofness, if you show him dismissal... he'll just stay around for longer, and finally, if you ignore him, he will make certain you can't.

Before Harry could try the only thing he could think of trying, Hermione, Sean, Alex and the Pamela joined them, cutting off their conversation.

"Can you surf, Potter... was it?" broke in Alex, with a snide sounding question.

Harry turned back to Alex, but not before succumbing to the irresistible urge to scratch beneath his hemp necklace. Leave it to Muggles to find it fashionable to tie a rope around their necks, thought Harry dejectedly.

"No," said Harry truthfully. "But Sean said he'd teach me."

Alex looked over Harry once and put his arm around Pamela, who still had yet to say a word to Harry, Draco or Hermione. Harry was beginning to wonder if she was mute herself.

Sean smiled and nodded enthusiastically. He made a quick motion with his hands that Harry had understood, for it was a simple gesture to read... a subtle point to his heart.

I'd love to.

Hermione finally joined Harry by his side, overlooking the ocean.

"Harry, wouldn't you say that it is a bit dangerous?" She seemed to be staring out over the ocean, at the imposing waves below them.

Draco looked to Hermione and let of an amused, yet disdainful chuckle. "Oh yeah, sure. Like Potter isn't used to recklessly endangering his life by now."

"Dozens of people drown every year," said Alex chillingly, his arm around the very silent Pamela. "The pull of the water is so great, that they are often hundreds of feet out to sea before they can surface... by then, it is just too late."

Harry could not help but feel the cold hand of trepidation gripping the back of his neck as he swallowed a nervous lump in his throat.

"You seem most distraught over that, don't you?" said Hermione, in an equally chilling tone.

Alex shrugged, very slowly and deliberately. "Survival of the fittest... the fit can take it, the surplus are absorbed back into the sea again. That is the way of things, Granger. Live with it, or die with it."

"Wow," said Draco, as he glared at Alex down his nose. "I think I just might find a soft spot for you after all."

"It's almost like you see the sea as some sort of god," observed Harry, also looking to Alex, with neither a hostile tone nor a confrontational one.

Alex rolled his eyes over to Harry. "It's the most powerful entity that I've ever seen with my own eyes. Once I see something more powerful, it is welcome to have the title."

Sean rolled his eyes and took up Harry's flank, staring out into the sea. He looked back to Harry and shook his head, and made a quick flash with his hand, and gesticulating toward his ear in a sort of 'layman's sign-language'. After having to discern colorless blobs in Divination for more than two years, Harry picked up on his meaning.

Don't listen to him.

Harry nodded and whispered to him. "I hadn't planned on it."

With that, Sean winked at him and smiled.

* * * * * *

Seth Redetyor slammed down his king with a dissatisfied grunt, causing the piece to yelp in pain.

"Three times in a row, Weasley! How did you get so bloody brilliant at this game?"

Ron smiled slyly. After more than an hour of playing chess with Redetyor in silence, he had all but forgotten the betrayal of his best friends; it was as though it was last night's nightmare. It was terrible at first, but as the day went on, it dwindled into the back of Ron's subconscious.

Now, he barely even remembered it.

"Again?" asked Ron, with a lick of his lips.

Seth looked up at Ron with defiance. "You bet your bollocks. I've never lost this game more than twice in a row, even to Clegg Dumbledore!"

Ron waved his wand as the pieces set themselves up again, but not within a moan of protest.

"To your credit, Seth," said Ron, "you put up a much better game than any Gryffindor I've played with."

Seth looked at Ron and smirked. "Well, naturally... for my short stay as a student here, I was a Slytherin, remember. It takes a certain amount of guile and cunning to play this game."

"You sure don't seem like a Slytherin," said Ron factually as he pushed out his king pawn two squares to open the fourth game.

Seth shrugged and countered with the French Defense, as he tentatively advanced his king's pawn forward a single square.

"What exactly is a Slytherin supposed to be like?" countered Seth.

Ron shrugged as he pushed his king's pawn further another square, to assault Seth's defensive start.

"Thoughtless," suggested Ron. "Careless... 'existing only to sow evil in the world'... that sort of thing."

Seth laughed as he brought his queenside knight out to threaten Ron's advanced pawn.

"And what part of the whole 'Wizards of Narhassa' situation did you miss?" asked Seth with a degree of amusement.

Ron shook his head and pushed his king side bishop pawn forward two square to protect his wayward pawn.

"That was different," said Ron coolly. "You were under the throes of You-Know-Who, as well as Narhassa. I mean, now, you seem like you could fit in with Gryffindor."

Seth smirked and pushed his queen's pawn forward a square, into a rather precarious gambit with Ron's king's pawn.

"House Slytherin houses those who put their own passions first," explained Redetyor. "During my stay there, I made friendly with a few of the sixth years. They realize what kind of forces act against them... and realize they can only depend upon themselves. How do you think Voldemort and his Death Eaters became such a tight knit group? He went to school with half of them, or their fathers."

Ron was put back on his heels, in consideration of the curious gambit before him. Either he could take Seth's queenside pawn, and loose the only protection in front of his king, or he would need to work defensively to protect it.

"Gryffindors do the same," countered Ron as he, perhaps foolishly, took Seth's gambit. "Though, we don't turn into Death Eaters."

Seth, taking back with his king side bishop pawn simply smirked. "And they are not afraid to sacrifice themselves."

The game continued on (their best game yet) for a long while, as the pieces began to fall away from the board as their sixteen-piece army took their own tolls.

"Hey Seth," said Ron, as he slide his rook across the board to threaten one of Seth's past pawns. "You know just about everything concerning You-Know-Who, right?"

Seth was just about to move his own rook in to check Ron's king, but his hand faltered slightly.

"You could say that," he said, holding the rook in midair, looking at Ron. "Why do you ask, now of all times?"

Ron sighed. "Harry has been..." he trailed off at that moment as a surge of anger broke through the makeshift barrier his inner warrior had erected within his mind, separating his friends' betrayal from his conscious thought. Seth seemed to notice the strange shift in Ron's face, but did not speak on it. "... having bad dreams. You-Know-Who... is serving someone now."

Seth nodded slowly. "Now this makes sense... Dumbledore had asked me something on the same line." Seth finished his move. "Check."

Ron lazily moved his king aside. "Well, do you know anything?"

Seth took his second rook and drove it forward, checking Ron's king again. "Yeah," he said firmly. "Does the name Maldaras mean anything to you? Check."

Ron shrugged and drove his own rook in between the checking rook and his king, forcing a gambit of his own. "No... who is he?"

"Well," said Seth as he retreated with his rook, not calling Ron's gambit, and instead, working on protecting his passed pawn. "Maldaras isn't so much a 'who' as an 'it'. He was banished from the earth nearly twelve hundred years ago."

Ron stared up at Seth, moving one of his own rooks in to protect his own passed pawn. The game was now down to whoever could turn their pawn into a queen first.

"An 'it'?" asked Ron for clarification.

Seth nodded, looking up from the board for a moment. "Maldaras was no longer a 'he' when he traded his own life and flesh for immortality and powers beyond our wildest comprehension."

"How'd he do that?" asked Ron, now becoming curious.

Seth shrugged. "No one knows for sure the details, but what is known is that Maldaras was a druid."

The word 'druid' clicked a strong note of recognition within his head. "Blimey... Professor Dumbledore, Hermione and I were just talking about druids yesterday!"

"Druidism, like wizardry, is broken into two parts... light and dark. Maldaras, in his decades of study, turned into a dark druid."

Seth looked back down at the board and pushed his pawn forward.

While Ron considered his next move carefully, Seth continued to speak. "Rumor has it that Maldaras became so consumed with the dark side of Druidism that his body, mind and soul became the perfect incarnation of evil... capable of neither dying, nor feeling anything, anymore. What parts of his body he did not need peeled away, leaving only a skeleton."

Ron decided to push his pawn forward to, realizing that he would get a queen first at this rate.

"So, what happened to him?" asked Ron quizzically.

"Funny you should ask," said Seth as he slid up his rook to the back row, preventing Ron's pawn from becoming a queen. "Salazar Slytherin ended both him and Narhassa." Seth continued and answered Ron's unasked question. "How he did this... no one will ever know. He spoke little of the success of his plan, according to the diaries of the other founders."

Ron pushed his king in to protect his pawn. "So, do you think that this... Maldaras is who You-Know-Who is serving now?"

"He dreams of him," said Seth, as he suddenly pushed his rook away, in a seemingly random direction. "It is his inner most desire to become a lich... if Voldemort cannot have eternal life, he will seek eternal un-life."

Ron eyed Seth wearily, but proceeded to queen his pawn.

"Was that a mistake?" asked Ron in sincerity. "I'll let you take it back..."

Seth quickly took hold of his second rook and pushed it into alignment with Ron's king. Due to the random positioning of the first rook, he now had Ron where he wanted him. Ron's new queen would have to be taken again to prevent checkmate, which would allow Seth to queen his own pawn.

"I never make a mistake," said Seth, his smirk widening, as Ron played four or five moves ahead and saw that his loss was inevitable. "Good game."

Ron flicked his king over disdainfully, causing the piece to grunt. "Ok, so you were bound to get one."

It was now approaching one in the morning, and Ron could not help but yawn loudly. Seth gathered his black robe about him and rose from the table.

"Well, good games, Weasley. They were certainly a nice break from the dull monotony of failing at first year magic."

Ron nodded, and offered him a nod back. "If you want to sleep in one of my dorm mates beds, it should be ok."

Seth shrugged, but seemed enthusiastic at the prospect. "Sure, why not. Hagrid's cabin is exceedingly drafty in the dead of night."

* * * * * *

Harry sat up late that night from his position upon the sofa. Today had been one of the most unique days of his life. Sean and Alex had taken Draco, Hermione and him all around Southern California on a sightseeing trip. To Harry's amazement, Alex's father had secured them tickets for an Angels game a few days later. He had, once or twice in his life, heard of the famous American pastime of baseball, while Draco was positively clueless.

Sean snored quietly on the floor next to Harry, having offered his bed to Hermione (much to Draco's distress). Draco slept in the second sofa in the living room, seeming in the throes of an unpleasant and uncomfortable sleep. Harry was grateful that Draco had given up on his threat to demand Sean's parents' bed without a single mention of it.

The sofa was just large enough for Harry and fit him snuggly, but sleep was simply not coming to him tonight for reasons he did not understand. He was positively wiped out from his tour and Sean had told Harry that he was waking up earlier than Draco and Hermione... that is, if he wanted to learn how to surf.

Low-tide, Sean had communicated, was the best time to learn. Low-tide tomorrow started at five-thirty, and Sean had promised Harry that he'd drag him out of bed if he needed to. Quidditch practice was always a very early affair, so Harry was not all that concerned about the early time.

But, before tomorrow could occur, tonight would have to finish, deduced Harry. Realizing that sleep was not in the near future, he dismounted the sofa, taking care not to step on Sean.

Snatching his glasses from the coffee table, Harry quietly prowled through Sean's house. Outside the back was a simple deck with a cozy lawn, similar to that of the Dursley's, though lacking the pool his uncle had put in the summer of his third year. Tied to two trees near a small garden was a worn looking hammock that looked as inviting as possible in the pale moonlight.

It was especially inviting because Hermione was sitting upon it, one hand draped over her face as she stared up at the sky. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but it seemed that watery streaks under her eyes and down her face reflected rays of silver back at Harry. After hearing a soft sob, it was clear to Harry that it was no trick of light, however.

"Hermione?" asked Harry softly, slowly moving over to the hammock.

The soft voice of Harry neither startled her, nor caused her to panic. Had Harry been approaching Ron, he knew well that he'd have furiously dried his eyes, in a tizzy, and managed a calm voice to speak to Harry, burying his emotions deep down. It was not the same with Hermione, who neither hid her tears, nor flaunted them.

"Can you not sleep either?" asked Hermione, her eyes shifting back up to the moon.

Harry shook his head. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Hermione sat up on the hammock, giving Harry plenty of space to sit down as well. Taking that as an invitation, the Boy Who Lived sat down.

The night was warm, such a change from the freezing nights at Hogwarts that he was used to. There was a sort of life about in the air, as if nature did not sleep at the same time as humans did, if it slept at all in this place of vitality.

"Are you ok, Hermione?" asked Harry, looking at his friend with concern.

Hermione shook her head. "I guess it took awhile to sink in."

Harry paused for a minute, staring out over the dimly lit lawn. Finally, he nodded. "He just might not forgive us for this one."

"I've never lost a friend, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "It is something that just never happened in my life."

Harry wrinkled his lips into an obvious frown. "I never even had a friend before Ron."

"Neither did I, before you and him," said Hermione softly. "I think to all of us Muggle-raised or Muggle-borns, Hogwarts has more meaning: an unexpected escape to a good life we did not expect."

Harry nodded. "Ron was raised to know that he would, one day, follow in his family's footsteps and wield powerful magic."

"For us," continued Hermione, "we just knew, even if we didn't think it at the time, that'd we would lead boring, uninteresting lives. We knew there was no magic in the world... or at least I did."

Harry looked to Hermione with tender concern. "You never really told me much about your life before Hogwarts."

"You don't want to know, Harry," explained Hermione softly, shaking her head.

Harry smiled and looked up to the moon. "Well, it seems neither of us is going to sleep for awhile. Of course, I do."

At that, Hermione smiled at him weakly. It was clear to Harry that she wanted to tell someone tonight, for some reason. His own patience and understanding of Hermione ran deeper than he knew on a conscious level.

"Well, I was as you know me... smart for my age. I was the bratty little know-it-all in kindergarten that the teachers would always say is 'so special'. Though, it was really the teachers who stopped at that. There was this one boy... Donnie McClaire... who made sure of it."

"Donnie McClaire?" asked Harry, with curiosity. "You never mentioned him to me before."

Hermione puckered up her face strongly. "There was never any need to. He was a Muggle bully who was jealous of my brains and wanted someone to pick on."

"Go on," said Harry quietly...

* * * * * *

"Donnie!" cried out Hermione indignantly, after being hit by a piece of a colored pencil. "I'm going to tell the teacher on you if you keep it up!"

The teacher, however, had just stepped out of the classroom after receiving an urgent phone call.

"Oooo" muttered the lean, snide boy named Donnie McClaire from another round table. His brown hair was cut short and fuzzy at the top and his blue eyes were deeply striking, even to Hermione, who did not consider herself, even at the age of nine, very easy to win over.

"Granger," snapped Donnie coldly as he tossed another colored pencil fragment at her face. This time, he hit her in the forehead. "You are such a little tattle-tale. Cry, cry cry..."

"Donnie!" wailed Hermione morosely. "Stop it... I mean it!"

Donnie turned to his group of friends, snickering. "Ok, Granger... we will stop."

"Good," said Hermione proudly, as she went back to work on the drawing in front of her. While she was not a good artist, especially a paintbrush, she always put in her best effort to appeal to the Art teacher, as she always did.

And suddenly, she heard a laugh from behind her. Before she could react, she felt something wet dripping all over the back of her head. She put her hand to the top of her wavy brown hair, and drew it back... finding it covered and colored green.

Donnie was giggling trollishly, moving back over to his table and high-fiving his friends while Hermione realized he had just poured an entire cup of green paint all over her head. He snidely put a piece of pencil between his lips, pretending to smoke it like a cigarette.

Hermione heard the entire class laughing as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Greenie Granger, greenie Granger, greenie Granger!"

"Stop!" cried Hermione, bawling into her hands. She wanted to run; she wanted to flee this room, but something about her soul kept her in that chair. She did not run, instead, she cried into her hands while the entire class joined in on the insults, laughing and pointing at her.

"Greenie Granger, greenie Granger, greenie Granger!"

But, suddenly, one voice had stopped his jeering. Hermione stared up at Donnie expectantly, with tear-rimmed brown eyes. She knew this would happen; how she knew, she did not know.

Donnie grabbed at his friend, hacking feebly.

"Donnie, what's wrong?" asked his friend James.

Donnie stood up, grabbing his throat and wheezing. Hermione simply stared at him with a dumbfounded, frozen expression. He staggered toward the teacher's desk, as all the students stopped jeering Hermione and watched him. Sprawling out on the desk and clawing at the teacher's papers in vain, he finally fell to the ground, shaking a few times.

Then, he fell totally still.

* * * * * *

"He died," said Hermione, her face drawn in stone, as she stared out over the grass, lit by the moon above. "We were so young... we did not know to call for help. Some of us thought Donnie was kidding, and some of us continued drawing. I watched him, and I did nothing."

Harry's eyes were fixed upon Hermione. "By Merlin, Hermione... he died?"

"That's not the worst of it," said Hermione, her voice barely audibly above the slight rustle of wind across the palm trees above them. "There is a reason I never told you or Ron this in all the years I knew you." She leaned forward, her face blazed over with shame. "I caused it. I'm sure of it."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Of course you didn't, Hermione!"

"I wished him dead, Harry," said Hermione. To her credit, her tears had dried. She was now just speaking the facts; she was being the Hermione Harry always had known... nothing but the facts.

"How did he die?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked down to her folded hands upon her leg, with a somber expression. "He choked to death on a piece of pencil."

"Hermione," said Harry, putting his arm around her. "You did not cause that. You may have wished for it to happen, but you did not cause it!"

"Early wizards can... cause things to happen... maybe I caused that pencil to slip down his throat... maybe by wishing for his death, my early powers granted it," whispered Hermione.

"Look at me, Hermione," said Harry in a very firm tone.

Hermione lifted her head and turned her eyes from her hands to Harry's face.

"You did not cause it, ok?" he demanded. "You were only guilty of being a confused nine-year old who didn't know to call for help."

Hermione continued to fix Harry with a soft stare. "I am sorry I told you this, Harry. I... never even told Ron... I could never let Ron know that I've done something like that."

"Hermione," said Harry, never feeling more empathic with another being, not even Jessica Rennings, the first girl he had fallen in love with. He always gave to her stories of his messed up life before Hogwarts, but never got anything back. "You did not cause this."

He stopped for a moment, his words hanging in the air so tangibly that he thought he might be able to touch them if he wanted to.

"This caused you."

"What?" she asked, a bit taken aback.

"Donnie McClaire made you into the person you are now," said Harry firmly, his emerald green eyes not yielding an inch. "It all makes so much sense now... you study everything, you read everything, you learn everything... so you will never be helpless and disarmed again."

Hermione stared at Harry, without speaking.

"And, the reason you are thinking of Donnie McClaire again is because, once again, you feel helpless, disarmed and alone again... despite our best efforts, Ron does not want to be our friends anymore."

A single tear rolled down Hermione's cheek, but she did not break eye contact with Harry.

Realizing there was only one thing left to do, Harry embraced Hermione tightly, squeezing his body against hers. She willingly accepted the embrace and buried her face into his shoulder. There was no breakdown of emotions for that was not the kind of person Hermione was. All there was tonight was a connection. Harry breathed as she did, he felt what she felt, and worried about what she worried about.

"Hermione, don't feel alone, alright?" stated Harry quietly into her ear. "Not when I'm around."

He felt Hermione's hair against his cheek, brushing his skin with the soft tenderness she would have used, had it been her hand.

"Alright, Harry..." she said at last, breathing out the words into the night. "Alright."

* * * * * *

Glimpse into the Crystal Ball: The Dark Champion is soon to arise... but who will it be? Draco is forced into a bathing suit... and Ron continues to confide in Seth, as strange things begin to occur at Hogwarts... all the while, is Harry being purely sympathetic to his friend, or is something else blossoming between him and Hermione?