The Inner Darkness

Prologue: The Road to Darkness

Draco Malfoy kicked at the ground with agonizing frustration, a scowl finally free to break out across his face, now that he was alone. He threw off his Quidditch pads, not caring where they landed. Part of the reason he did not care was that he knew he could summon them later. Another part was the feeling of pure humility, burning his veins with unique singeing pain.

The dungeons of Hogwarts were never warm, especially during the thick of winter. Icy shards gathered against the rough, earthen walls while humidity solidified itself against the stone outcroppings.

Unable to face the team again after dropping his third loss to Harry Potter, he quietly descended into the dungeon alone. He knew that he'd have at least ten minutes of peace. No one else would be returning for at least that time.

Damn Harry Potter, he chanted with a fervent mantra within his head. For as long as Draco could remember, the words Harry Potter had interested him. Before his eleventh birthday, his father had taken it upon himself to give Draco a rudimentary education. It was tradition among the more prestigious pureblooded families. From as early as age six, Draco had read about The Boy Who Lived in a children's book designed to teach young wizards through animated pictures and repetitious dialogue.

He had entertained and chased dreams in the darkest hours of his slumber. He was the star, turning the world upside down with the famous Harry Potter. Partners in crime, rising to powers of profound glory, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, two famous and glorious wizards of unimaginable power would change the world. One day, children would be reading about Draco in a book, and Harry would help him do that.

His flights of fancy were short-lived. Once Draco grew to the wizened and knowledgeable age of eleven, he put away his childish beliefs. He was not meant to serve... to be bound to one lord or another person. He would not be bound to one destiny. He would not be bound to Harry Potter. Potter would be his sidekick, for Draco Malfoy was second to nobody.

And so, he made Potter an offer that he simply could not refuse.

Searing contempt for his archrival gripped his chest with a blazing, fiery hand. The shake Potter had refused to give him on the train, so long ago, had kindled within Draco a spark, a lone flicker of hatred that could have gone out at the slightest hint of repent on Potter's behalf. Yet, Potter had refused him. REFUSED HIM! A Malfoy of all people. Over the years, the spark was given fuel in the form of upsets, humiliations, and travesties. What had once been a simple spark had blossomed into a raging bonfire, with every slight Potter committed against him adding fuel. Every time fate seemed to have promised him glory, Potter would ride in on his high horse and have the bleeding day. It happened every time, without fail. Now, even Quidditch offered him little reprieve from the constant strain of loss. Now, nothing short of Potter's unconditional surrender would be sufficient.

Despair set in this year, now growing with every crushing defeat he suffered at the hands of his nemesis. Would he always remain a nobody... coming up short in the end? Would never get the upper hand on Potter... always loosing... while Potter walked away with everything?

Muttering the password and pushing aside the slab of wall leading to the Slytherin common room, he entered his home for the past four and a half years. By now Draco's frustration solidified into concrete anger as hatred boiled in his chest, like an overflowing pot, hissing into the fire below.

One day, I'll show you, Potter. He stalked through his common room and plodded up down the stone stairs, leading to his dormitories. No, wait, that isn't quite correct... I will do anything to show Potter, he rephrased mentally, with more conviction. Yes, that sounds right.

The Slytherin Common Room was situated in the lowest part of the school, and if it was cold in the upper levels, here, the chill was undeniable. Draco's breath came out as puffs of fleeing humidity from his nose and mouth, vanishing after hanging about languidly in the air for a moment or two. No wonder it was that students did not mingle around in the Slytherin common room until a roaring flame was well underway within the fireplace. No one was around and the chimney remained black, devoid of life. The stone floor was slicked over with frost, making a fast gait a dangerous proposal, should he dare try it.

Draco slid his way down the stone steps, leading deeper into the dungeons, pausing for a brief moment before an embroidered drape, deep green in color. He placed a soft, unworked hand against the rich fabric. Neither strength nor magical force could budge this curtain, for magic held it firmly in place. In fact, only one thing could.

"Chimera," exhaled Draco sharply.

The curtain parted swiftly for Draco, allowing him to stomp into the empty dormitory. The atmosphere changed from freezing to pleasantly warm as he passed through the magical blind. It reset itself immediately to prevent the heat from escaping.

Hypnotic flames danced off an everlasting log in the chimney and cast eerie shadows about the room. The flickering light played off the deep verdant sheets of the four posture beds that Draco, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Blaise Zabini shared. The room was well furnished and snug, with a thick and ornate carpet stretching across the stone floor. The insignia of a serpent, with the Slytherin motto "Serv voi stessi" was stitched by glorious, silver needlepoint upon the magically woven cloth. This sight hardly impressed Draco after five years. He skulked drably over to the fireplace, his mind unable to release itself from the shame of today's upset.

At Draco's unspoken command, an armchair rose from the floor, quickly taking form before him. When Blaise was eleven, he used to throw himself into this chair with a laugh. He would then leap off and race back to his bed. Once back, he would then watch the chair collapse back into the floor, only to throw himself at it again. Draco had wanted to say something to this immature child, but when Crabbe and Goyle joined Blaise in this infantile game, he bit back all the scathing comments he was about to throw at the bright-eyed child.

Draco sunk into the chair with defeat, sighing deeply and staring at the flickering flames before him. A rare calm fell over him each and every time he stared into the lively flame, in which he'd grasp at neither the present nor the past. How the hours seemed to fly when Draco was at peace. The crackling fire filled his head with its constant song and lit up his eyes, purging silver and making gold. Thoughts of Harry Potter, the Quidditch game, and all the other frustrations in his life melted away like some distant, odd dream.

As soon as his reverie had it had begun, it was over. Draco felt an icy cold hand run across the back of his neck, startling him. He whipped his head around with a shocked yelp. He searched for the person who must have been directly behind him, to have laid such a cold palm upon his skin. There was a rustling within one of the four posture beds - Crabbe's bed. A light breeze blew across them, rippling the curtains ominously. The curtains were closed, preventing Draco from seeing who might be on the bed.

"Who is there!" demanded Draco, as he rose from his chair.

The curtains suddenly whipped off of the bed, coming to life. Draco gasped and fell back three steps. Yanking themselves off of the banister, they began to envelope a naked vocal point in midair, taking on a human shape. They fell around arms and legs, shaping slowly into a human form. As soon as it had begun, it was over. The curtains were now looked as though they were draped over some invisible man, covering him from head to toe. In total, the being stood well over six feet tall, humbling Draco's five foot five.

"What is this place?" barked a reverberating, dark voice, sounding from beneath the verdant hood.

Draco, who had seen some very strange things in his life, was not easily cowed. "This is my bleeding dormitory! Who are you?"

The being drifted closer to Draco, the bottom of its improvised apparel floating inches off the ground.

"The darkness put me on this world, and your own hatred brought me here."

Draco arched a silvery brow at the figure, but did not take a step away as the creature approached. "My hatred?"

The figure's upper stub bent forward, in what appeared to be a cross between a bow and a nod.

"The darkness in your heart, boy. The Inner Darkness has led me to this unfamiliar place."

The silver-haired boy scowled thinly and locked his arms behind his back. "What are you?"

"I am the Harbinger of Darkness," boomed the loud voice. "You may simply call me Raishoon."

Taking another step back, Draco narrowed his eyes with distrust. "You are a Dark Wizard?"

A grunt of disdain passed through the green curtain and filled Draco with a sense of helplessness. "You know nothing. One who knows nothing, can understand nothing, so said the wise Ansem."

Draco cocked his head to the side, his face fixing itself into a pout. It was true that this mysterious guest had him at a loss. "Then, who are you... Raishoon?"

The reply came quick and sudden. "You have the look of one who wishes to understand. Is this true?"

"Yes," replied Draco at once, beginning to loose his fear of the strange figure.

"Then, help yourself to learn," coaxed the cold voice, breathing softly into Draco's mind. "Open this world to me. Locked it was, so long ago, purged of the Inner Darkness in one, swift stroke."

"Open this world to you?" asked Draco incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"Find the Keyblade... boy." The voice began to oscillate chaotically, as if the speaker was gradually distancing himself from Draco. "Find the Keyblade that can unlock this world, and allow the Inner Darkness to consume it..."

The curtains began to unwind themselves from the invisible being, a clear indication that this meeting was coming to an end.

"Wait!" demanded Draco sharply, outstretching his hand.

"Speak fast," ordered the being, who did not stop unwinding. "The light is forcing me back from this world. I have not much time."

"If I help you," said Draco slyly, but with emphasis, "what do I get out of this?"

The curtains unwound from its legs, revealing nothing beneath them. "I can give you what you've been seeking all your life, boy."

"What is that?"

The curtains parted from the man's waist and his voice began to grow distant. "The power to control the Inner Darkness. I can offer you the power to command its agents to do your wonders. You will have the ability to do great things." The cloaked figure then added knowingly. "Use the Inner Darkness to show your enemies the price of your hatred."

"Wait!" pleaded Draco, his tone becoming desperate. "You mean... I could finally..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the curtains collapsed to the ground, floating down and covering Draco's feet. They landed soundless upon the carpet, concealing half of the Slytherin motto and leaving nothing but a rich looking "S" peaking out from its folds. Yet, he was not alone just yet, as a feeble voice entered his head.

No being of this land will be able to oppose you. All men of this world are limited to powers of this world. You, boy, will not be.

Draco lowered his head and closed his eyes. Visions floated into his mind, visions of himself, sitting upon a throne of gold, a winning smirk upon his face while his own father exonerated him at his feet. He saw himself, in all his wonder, destroying Lord Voldemort and replacing him as the one, true Dark Lord...

... and finally, he saw Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Beat Draco Malfoy At Everything, bowing shamefully to serve his new master. The broken look upon Harry's face filled Draco with an orgasmic pleasure that sent shivers of delight coursing through his system.

"That," remarked Draco to the thin air, as his ambition reached for the clouds, "is a dream worth chasing."

He sighed deeply, filling his chest with the living, electric air around him. A hopeful smile forged itself upon his lips; it was a smile of pure cruelty, sustained by dreams of dark desire. If there was so much as a chance that this mysterious man could deliver him such power, he would help him.

And, with that thought on his head, Draco collapsed back into the chair by the fireplace, loosing himself in quiet delusions of grandeur.

Chapter 1: What did you do, Neville?

"I'm going to die, I'm going to die," chanted Hermione Granger fervently, as she wiped moist anxiety off of her brow and buried her head into her book with fanatic's fury.

Harry sighed and shook his head at the display, all the while casting a skeptic look to his best friend, Ron Weasley. Ron smirked good-naturedly and returned Harry's glance with a knowing expression of his own.

The Great Hall was lulled by a relative calm, filled to only about half-capacity, mostly with older students cramming for term finals before Christmas holiday. Even the Slytherins seemed to be taking a break from their usual gossiping and bantering to focus on stealing the House Cup back from Gryffindor by scoring exceptionally well on their exams.

"You know Basic Apparition like you know the back of your hand, Hermione!" opined Ron with a cheerful tone.

"Yeah," agreed Harry, "if anyone has to be worried, it is Neville. He still leaves his head behind when he tries to teleport to the front of the classroom."

Harry knew that Apparating to locations within his line of sight was not a very daunting task, especially after an entire term of studying. Small steps were taken so that, by the time they graduated from Hogwarts, they would be ready to attain their licenses to Apparate. Needless to say, some of their first lessons in teleporting were rather painful, as Harry had once left his leg behind, trying to teleport three feet to his left.

"But," continued Hermione, maintaining a stressful look, "We ought to have started studying for this in October. It is now the end of December, and we have but one and a half months worth of serious study time under our belts!"

Ron calmly put his face to his plate, with the effect of making a few of his boneless pork chops vanish in the blink of an eye. Harry chuckled, for Ron ate that way specifically to get under Hermione's skin. "It is because of you that we could Apparate bloody well across the ocean if we so desired to," he mumbled, lifting his head and speaking with his mouth full. "Seamus and Dean just started studying and practicing last night, and they say they've got it licked."

"Is that all your education means to you, Ronald Weasley?" snapped Hermione loftily, looking visually affronted by a combination of Ron's attitude and his horrible table manners. She only would break out Ron's full name when she was positively miffed. "You do know that this could very well appear on our O.W.Ls!"

Harry chuckled and resigned himself to a sip of pumpkin juice. Reasoning with Hermione was something like trying to open a bottle of butter beer with your fingernails. It is a painful and futile process. "Hermione, according to you, everything appears on our O.W.Ls."

"Anything could potentially appear in one form or another," Hermione defended herself doggishly, unwilling to yield an inch.

"You know," stated Ron quietly, looking to Hermione. "We really must get back to breaking the rules again. You have become entirely too irritable and uptight."

"I'll just pretend I did not hear that." Harry groaned and gave his prefect's badge a flick. Why did they always have to put his dual nature to the test? While he did not deny his own subtle pride in wearing the silver prefect badge (it actually became clear to him why Percy was so proud of it), he longed for the excitement of sneaking out after hours with his Invisibility Cloak, Hermione and Ron by his side. Ever since he had taken his oath to responsibility, his father's cloak had remained in his trunk, unused.

"And you," said Ron looking then to Harry with amusement written in his kind, blue eyes, "are becoming more like Percy every day."

With a proud grin, Harry buttoned the collar of his robe and adjusted his glasses. Perhaps it was true. He rather enjoyed his job as prefect, not just because he could use the prefect's bathroom (although he exploited that perk as often as possible), but because it was a station of official respect; he got to be more authorative than even the vindictive Hermione. "Oh really?"

Hermione's obvious tension melted away and she closed the book: Basic Apparating: Going from A to B with a P.O.P, by Russell Meers. "I suppose I can perform admirably enough on this test now and study it this spring for our O.W.Ls."

"What time is it?" asked Ron, pushing his now clear plate aside.

Harry calmly withdrew an antique gold pocket watch from his pocket, a gift Sirius had owled to him for his last birthday. He ran his finger across the fine, gold plating and cracked it open, peering down at the ticking hands. "It is time to go. Professor McGonagall will be starting the test in ten minutes."

Hermione and Ron both nodded and the three best friends rose from the table. As they were shouldering their packs and preparing to leave the Great Hall, a familiar voice hailed down Harry; a voice that drove shivers of annoyance down the prefect's back.

"Harry!" exclaimed the still rather high-pitched voice of Colin Creevey from behind him, causing Harry to roll his eyes and paint a smile upon his face. He turned around to confront the freckled face of Colin.

"Alright there, Colin," said Harry, in a strained tone. "I would love to talk, but I am..."

"Oh, no worries," said Colin, beaming brightly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the Slytherin/Gryffindor game last weekend. I did not get a chance to earlier."

"Er... thanks," said Harry, his feeling of annoyance dwindling somewhat at Colin's informal attempt at conversation. "It is really not all that hard to best Malfoy though. Ravenclaw will be a much harder game."

Colin nodded several times. "I shall get the photographs of you developed by tomorrow!"

Ron and Hermione both chuckled quietly while Harry's face turned a bright shade of pink. "I do not need photographs of myself."

"They are not for you," said Colin absentmindedly.

"Er..." trailed off Harry awkwardly, as Colin hooked a left, heading back to the dormitories.

Ron's subtle chuckling turned into rigorous laughter. "I think he fancies you, Harry. He should try flowers."

Groaning, Harry turned and continued at a brisk pace toward the Transformation Classroom. Ron and Hermione followed him, both trying to hide laughs for the sake of their best friend.

* * * * *

Arriving five minutes early, the trio found their seats on the Gryffindor side of the room. The Transfiguration Room, now also the Basic Apparating Room, was rather large, able to accommodate well over one hundred students, with two sections of seats upon each side of the room. In the center of the room was some empty space, commonly used for demonstrations and tests of magical prowess, in front of the class.

Fate worked against Harry this year, for nearly all of his classes were shared with the Slytherins. Every fifth year Slytherin eyed Harry murderously as he and his friends took their seats with the Gryffindors. Clearly, their anger over loosing points in the Quidditch Cup was not sitting too well with them, for they continued shooting Harry dagger-like stares.

Yet, there was one Slytherin who seemed quite lucid and calm, despite the rage of his classmates. Draco Malfoy entered a minute or two after Harry, his face set into a smug, collected expression. His silvery blonde hair fell loosely over his forehead and down the back of his head, rather lax and unstyled today. As always, he was clad in his impeccably smooth and billowing school robes, with a rich, green jumper and trousers that likely cost enough to feed a small country for a day.

Draco strolled collectedly to the front of the table Harry, Ron and Hermione shared, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle, who looked smarter than usual this day, with faint glints of knowing embedded upon their fat faces.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Harry with a tired voice. "I won fair and square."

Malfoy's smirk shifted into what could not be mistaken for anything other than a smile. "Yes, I know, Potter. I just came over to say 'good game'."

Ron's face went from cold indifference to dumbfounded shock, as he pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Hermione was even more taken aback, for she had her head clearly lifted out of her book, forgoing a last minute cram to look at Draco.

"Er... Good game, then?" affirmed Harry, with more shock than feeling.

Draco outstretched his hand to Harry, while Crabbe and Goyle chortled trollishly from behind the sleek looking boy. Only once before had Draco offered a handshake to Harry; he needed no reminder of that event.

Casting a sidelong glance to Ron did little to bolster Harry's confidence, seeing the red-haired boy shaking his head slowly, a look of horror on his face. Nevertheless, Harry would not back down from shaking Malfoy's hand. It was a perfectly sporty thing to do and, should he refuse, he would have stooped to the level Malfoy was usually at. Perhaps being the Slytherin prefect had begun to wear down on Malfoy's malignant spirit.

Harry reached out apprehensively, slowly grasping Malfoy's hand. There was no nasty, electric shock or any life-sapping touch. There was simply skin contact with a surprisingly cold hand, despite how warm the room.

"I'll see you next year on the Quidditch field," said Draco with a cordial tone, withdrawing his hand.

"Yeah..." replied Harry suspiciously.

Draco turned about and walked back to the Slytherin side of the room. His action did not go unnoticed, for every Gryffindor was staring at him stupidly, and every Slytherin with confusion.

"Drugs," declared Ron sagely, "has to be drugs."

Hermione looked to Ron disapprovingly. "He has changed this year. I think he is taking his job as a prefect and a role model seriously."

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron sharply, his voice possibly drifting across the room. "It's Malfoy! It would take a cosmic event to degitify him!"

Harry chuckled uneasily; he was still a bit dazed from the exchange himself. Never before had Harry seen Draco do anything that resembled a genuine act. Yet, it did not seem like Draco gained anything by congratulating him on the game. What else could it be called?

"De-git-ify?" asked Hermione, with a humored tone. "Since when do you make up words as you go along?"

Ron shrugged innocently. "I thought it sounded good."

A large tabby cat hopped through the window ledge and quickly assumed the form of their Head of House, interrupting further conversation. Professor McGonagall was a very strict looking woman, with a face lined with wrinkles of age and black-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Good morning class. I trust I need not remind you of the importance of time in this block. If you all are to have ample time for your examination, there must be no time wasting this day."

Harry, Ron and Hermione fell silent, as did the rest of the class. Professor McGonagall walked swiftly up the middle of the room.

"This will be done simply. You shall start in the purple circle..." The professor waved her wand upon the ground, and with a mystical ding, a magical violet circle leapt up from the stone tiles. "... and you shall Apparate to the yellow circle..." With a second flick toward the opposite wall, a second yellow circle lit up brightly.

"Each of you shall have two chances to Apparate across the room. Should you fail your first attempt, a full letter grade will be deducted from the outcome of the second attempt. A successful first attempt will warrant full marks, while a successful second attempt will still be a passing."

With the exception of Neville Longbottom, the entire class nodded. Neville was clasping his hands together in praying formation, likely invoking any god who might be listening to help him.

"Do we have any volunteers to begin?" asked the thin-lipped Professor challengingly.

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot up. Without even looking toward the Gryffindor section (there was simply no need) the Professor nodded. "Very well, Ms. Granger. You may lead us off, followed by Mr. Malfoy."

Draco also lowered his hand from the other side of the room, content apparently to be going second.

"Good luck," said Harry with a kind nod, as Hermione rose.

"Not that you need it," finished Ron, with a smile.

Hermione nodded seriously and curtly to both of her friends, a thin smile of anticipation crossing her face. She rose from her seat and, with a calm step, approached the purple circle. She took a few deep breaths and raised her wand professionally. Demonstrating the grace of a fencer, she wove her wand in the complex patterns needed to perform the spell successfully.

"Apparate!" she finally declared, flicking her wand toward the yellow circle. With a loud pop that reverberated around the room, Hermione teleported from the purple circle to the yellow circle flawlessly.

"Alright!" exclaimed Harry as the Gryffindors gave her a round of applause.

"Well done, Ms. Granger," noted Professor McGonagall with a small hint of pride. "Successful first attempt. Full marks."

Next, Draco Malfoy strolled up to the purple circle without so much as a smile or an indication of trepidation at all. The Slytherins started up the support effort for their prefect, clapping and cheering. With a flashy display of wand work and a command that sounded more like a hiss than a word, he popped over to the yellow circle, earning hoots and hollers from the Slytherins, and full marks.

Not to be outdone by his archrival, Harry volunteered after Draco. An affirming pat on his back by Ron, a 'go get em, Harry' from Seamus and a kind nod from Hermione did wonders to bolster his confidence. With practiced ease, he teleported from circle A to circle B without so much as a flinch, garnering him a round of applause from Gryffindor, full marks and a kind nod from Professor McGonagall.

And so it progressed, with the very nature of the exam turning into another Slytherin vs. Gryffindor competition. Gryffindors sought to out due their Slytherin counterparts, cheering loudly each time one of theirs scored full marks. The Slytherins fought back, and soon, Professor McGonagall had to take ten points from Slytherin when Pansy Parkinson successfully distracted Seamus Finnigan by throwing an ink bottle at his head. He foiled his wandwork and teleported ten feet directly above himself, landing painfully on his rear.

After Seamus' free redo was performed successfully and full marks were awarded, it was Neville Longbottom's turn. For the first time, the Slytherins cackled with delight, each of them rubbing their hands together in preparation for Neville's expected blunder.

Dean Thomas was quick to lead the bolstering effort and it caught on quick. Harry guessed it was less for Neville's sake and more for Gryffindor's. Everyone in the proud house wanted it to be a Slytherin to blotch up first, though Neville's odds on favor were quite low, for he had never been able to perform the spell successfully yet. Even Crabbe and Goyle, to Harry's disbelief, had succeeded on their first attempts. He secretly wondered if Draco had done something to help them cheat.

"Neville! Neville! Neville!" chanted the Gryffindors, and even Hermione was taking part in it.

Neville, shaking with fear, stepped into the yellow circle.

"Don't lay an egg, Fatbottom," chided Blaise Zabini, flicking his black hair back proudly, "it would be embarrassing to be the first, wouldn't it?"

To Harry's surprise, the comment went without rebuke by a thin lipped Professor McGonagall. She was also on the edge of her excitement, just as Harry was, and felt a bit of negative reinforcement might bolster Neville's resolve.

With a shaking wand hand, Neville closed his eyes and wiped the sweat timidly from his forehead. The Gryffindors stopped their chant, allowing Neville to concentrate. Finally, the heavyset boy huffed, straightened his posture, and began to weave his wand clumsily, but in familiar and remarkably correct patterns.

Come on, Neville, coaxed Harry mentally, as the rest of the Gryffindors leaned forward in their chairs.

"Apparate!" exclaimed Neville firmly as he finished his combination... only to find himself completely unmoved in any way, shape or form.

A roar of laughter erupted from the Slytherin side of the room, while a groan of disappointment chorused over the Gryffindors with the same vigor. Yet, all was quickly silenced as a slight quake rumble the room. It started as a slight vibration that Harry dismissed quickly as unwinding nerves. That idea was prove false as Hermione and Ron both put their hands to the top of their desk.

"You feel that, Harry?" questioned Ron, his eyes rolling about the room suspiciously.

"Huh?" exclaimed Harry, who rested his hands upon the table in panic as well. The quake began to pick up in pace; something was happening. Two inkbottles smashed to the ground, having vibrated off of the desks of two students. He gathered his school supplies to prevent them from sharing a similar fate.

Ron gasped and stood up first, looking around with wide-eyed apprehension. "What is going on? What did you do, Neville?"

"I... I..." stammered Neville who stumbled, nearly loosing his footing as the room began to shake uncontrollably, "I did it right!"

"Apparently you did not!" retorted Professor McGonagall with disgust, as small fragments of stone dislodged themselves from the ceiling, as the incessant shaking continued.

After a moment of fierce rumbling, the tremors stopped, allowing Harry a chance to stand and wipe the dust from his glasses. No longer did anyone mock Neville, as the tension in the air was so thick it could be choked on.

"Sit down, Longbottom," snapped Professor McGonagall. "Study a moment or two before your second attempt. You will need it."

Neville was not allowed to get to his seat, however, before a sudden breeze ripped across Harry's face and blew the pages of Hermione's open book, loosing her place. Without much preamble, the wind began to pick up, whipping Harry's unkempt hair all about his head. Quills and loose papers began to cyclone around the room, as the wind increased in strength.

"What DID you do, Neville!" yelped Ron with more feeling as he grabbed at his textbook, as it began to slide off the desk.

Soon, the wind was roaring fiercely around them. Professor McGonagall grabbed at the front desk in the room shouting, though Harry could not make out her words.

The Slytherins yelled in fear as some of their lighter members began to slide in the direction of the cyclone. It was to Harry's mild amusement to see the lighter Draco, his body already fully off the ground, held in place by Crabbe and Goyle, a look of wide-eyed terror upon his face.

This lost its appeal, however, when Harry felt his own body rising off the ground, as the wind increased with force, buffeting him within the cyclone. The one drawback of being a Seeker on the Gryffindor team was a reduced body weight. Heavier Ron and Seamus grabbed him by his trainers before he was thrown away from the Gryffindor section.

"Look!" cried Hermione, who was flailing helplessly and held in place by Neville. She pointed toward the purple circle emphatically.

Harry, squinting against the rushing wind, looked to the purple circle. It was still there, but it was now no longer purple. Instead of the soft, semi-transparent glow of violet, it was pitch black and no longer intangible. Black, fowl ichor was spewing forth from the circle, almost as if Neville had struck oil upon the spot.

A glob of blackness shot forth from the circle, soaring in a graceful arch across the room, before splattering into the opposite wall. That glob bubbled and hissed, but seemed to be loosing strength. A boy, lying in the midst of the ichor, became more visible as the thick darkness fled around him, evaporating into the thin air. The gushing portal on the other side of the room continued to pull and surge, neither advancing nor fleeing.

The cyclone of fierce wind ended abruptly, causing Harry to fall to the ground.

Panic still written upon his face like words to a book, he rose upon shaky legs and looked from the black mesh of darkness over to the unconscious boy, laying face down in the yellow circle on the opposite side of the room. Without thinking twice, Harry broke free of Ron and Seamus' protective hold and moved with haste to fallen boy.

Lying face down upon the floor of the Transfiguration room, he seemed most unresponsive. Long, bushy auburn hair that brought messiness to new epitome concealed most of his head. Strange, canary yellow trainers gave him a distinctive look as did his torn red t-shirt and equally soiled shorts. He looked to have just gotten off the beach a moment ago, and into the fight of his life.

It seemed that the focus of the room was torn between the fountain of darkness, slowly receding into nothingness, and Harry, investigating the new arrival. Hermione was approaching Harry's side, while Ron stared in awe and apprehension at the strange black liquid. It surged and retracted, expanded and fell in upon itself, like a caged animal trying unsuccessfully to free itself.

Harry gently pulled at the boy's shoulders, rolling his head onto his lap. His eyes were closed and Harry could tell that he was still alive, for a muffled groan escaped his lips. Despite his wild hair, he was a good-looking chap with soft, rounded features. His angelic, young face hinted at one who knew no evil, which only added to the feeling of intrigue he could not help but feel.

He sensed a presence by his side but did not look up to see who it was. His voice was clue enough.

"Does Longbottom loose extra points for summoning the mangled-haired git, with a fashion sense that would make Weasley the new sex model of pop culture?" commented Draco snidely.