Twenty-Four Hours

Twenty Four Hours (1/?)

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, sat unenthusiastically in the Great Hall, pondering his past and just how he ended up in the situation he was in. He was seventeen and far too intense, in his friends' opinions. Never much of a chatter, but definitely not now, Harry appreciated that none of his friends were talking much that morning. He certainly needed the silence.

A mere three months prior, Harry Potter had again looked danger in the face. On a very special banquet to celebrate the last week of school, he made a very unfortunate decision. It might never have been fixed, if it weren't for his friend Ginny Weasley.

***(FLASHBACK- 3 MONTHS PRIOR)***

It was about eight-o'clock on a Friday night in late June, but Harry was not in a bubbly, restless mood like all of his friends. Seamus Finnegan in particular, who became a big brother for the first time the day before, was cheerful and in an it's-the-last-week-of-school mood. Feeling ashamed that he hadn't congratulated Seamus yet, Harry went to look for the sandy-haired Irish boy... and found him levitating himself out of a window in Gryffindor Tower.

"Oi! Seamus, mate! Whatd'ya think you're doing?" Harry demanded. Seamus had responded with a very Irish-y wink in Harry's direction and a very puzzling statement that only encouraged Harry's bewilderment. However, it was too late to shout at the other boy, because Seamus was already hovering down the castle wall... and heading straight for a crowd of Slytherins!

Not that Harry cared about the Slytherins' welfare, particularly Draco Malfoy's, but Harry had always felt a very strange duty to save the world. Although a little voice in the back of Harry's brain told him that knocking out a group of Slytherins could very well save the world, the hero in him ignored this. "Oi! Malfoy!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Look up, dungbrain!"

The blonde boy completely disregarded this order and Harry had no choice but to act- fast. "Seamus!" he tried again, but when Seamus had looked at Harry before, Harry recognized the markings of a Carlistiano curse- one that controlled the victim without letting him or her know what they were doing. "MALFOY!" Nobody seemed to hear him, so Harry knew what he had to do... but he did not like it one bit.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" It was very surprising how little Harry had improved in that particular spell in- could it really have been six years? It seemed like a millenium ago that Harry had saved nerdy Hermione Granger and picked her up as a friend along the way. He did levitate; however- shot up into the air like a speeding bullet would have been a more appropriate description. Mumbling about stupid and uncontrollable spells that were supposed to be on an eleven-year-old's level, Harry waited until he hit the ground... but he didn't.

He knew he must be close to the ground when he felt something jab into his back, but he didn't turn around to look. He only had a split second before everything blacked out and the feeling of being plunged into cold, icy water came over him.

Ten horrifyingly long minutes later, Harry was in a very dark room with apparently nobody in it. "Hello?" he demanded. "Anyone here?" Only the soft echo of his now very manly voice was heard, so Harry decided that a lumos was in order. "Lumos!" he hissed, but nothing happened. "LUMOS!" Still no light appeared, so Harry felt around him for some sign that magic would not work, refusing to believe the other possibility. Professor McGonagall had informed them that it was rare, but possible, for a witch or wizard's power to 'go black,' but there would be a very significant sign and reason.

He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? He had tried to save his friend (and a group of mortal enemies) from danger, and... what? His powers would go black? This seemed like a significant sign, but the reason was pretty foggy. Suddenly a blinding light entered the room, instantly shocking Harry, and nearly throwing him backwards, but it faded as quickly as it had come.

"Potter," a voice echoed in the huge room.

"Who- who's that?" Harry asked, terrified.

"Think about it. Who else would be in Gryffindor Tower during a ball? Not Ron, surely he and Lavender would be dancing the night away. And I believe Dean is in a very serious relationship with Pavarti, is he not? Hermione is, of course, asleep. The exam results will be given to us tomorrow, you know. The seventh-years are all at their own separate party, and the first through fifth years have to be accompanied by a prefect to leave a major party like this. Of course, the prefects would never dream of leaving such an event- Dumbledore is even paying them to stay until Midnight. So who do you think would be alone in Gryffindor tower on the last Friday night of sixth year during a very social ball?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "Didn't you know, Harry? I thought my disguise was far too exaggerated, surely the great Harry Potter would be able to see right through it. Or perhaps clever Hermione Granger... but no, none of you realized? Nobody knew that overly clumsy Neville Longbottom was a Death Eater?" He put an emphasis on the last two words. "I suppose it's been going through your head for the past six years- how did an idiot like that end up in Gryffindor? All part of my disguise, you see. Slytherin would have been, of course, my preference, but... you, Harry Potter, were my target. I could not give up the chance to earn the Dark Lord's respect."

"You- you're joking," Harry gasped. "Surely you can't be a Death Eater. They tortured your parents, Neville!"

"I never even knew them!" Neville shot back. "How can I miss something I've never known? From what Bellatrix tells me, it was a favor. They were Aurors, fools, Gryffindors."

"So?" Harry didn't feel like investing time and effort into thinking of a clever remark. "So what?"

Before Neville could say anything, another cold voice entered the room. "Ah, Neville. You have done well, I see. Harry Potter... welcome!" Harry spat, but in the dark, it was very hard to see if he had missed or not. Judging by the cold voice's laugh, it was safe to assume that he had not hit the bulls'-eye. "So, Harry. How did you come to enter our very esteemed presence?"

"Purely by accident, I assure you," Harry snapped.

"Touchy, this one is," a new voice commented. "Never thought Harry Potter would be the Dark Lord's best friend, but common sense would be appropriate, don't you think?"

Neville laughed harshly, which only went to show Harry how much the trembling, highly unpopular boy had changed by whatever the Death Eaters had done to him. "Well, well, well, Harry. It seems that, even after years of happily-ever-after endings, Good never triumphs over Evil. I thought you of all people would've known that... after what happened to your parents and all."

"Shut up!" Harry commanded, but Neville ignored him.

"Just last year, Harry, I helped you on an adventure. That was not the turning point- White to Black magic- but only a little show to get you to trust me. Not," he assured Harry, "that I would ever appreciate your trust. We needed Sirius Black to die; he was all that was left to protect you. Besides Dumbledore, of course. Now nobody will come if you scream for help- try it." His voice dared Harry, but his blue-gray eyes said otherwise.

Normally, when one lives in a dormitory with four other teenagers for nearly seven years, one gets to know these other people quite well. This is also assuming that one has classes with them all day from September to June and perhaps keeps in touch over the summer. If this were at all true (which it was), it would be safe to say that Harry saw the familiar mixture of fear and determination in Neville's eyes- goodness knows that he had seen it in his own countless times. And in Ron's, Hermione's, and yes, Neville's too. Hadn't he seen Neville risk his life to help Harry and friends just a year ago?

Interrupting Harry's thoughts, Neville laughed abruptly. "Seemingly perfect Harry Potter's greatest flaw will turn out to be his last," he mused to himself.

"Well, unless you're implying that from here on in I'll be perfect, zero mistakes, I highly doubt that I'll be flawless from now on, don't you?" Harry retorted, although he knew perfectly well what Neville was suggesting. And he didn't like it.

"No, no, no, Harry. That's not it at all. Lucius, care to do the honors?"

"But of course," the cold voice replied. "Potter, what a sticky situation you are in. You have three choices towards your fate. First choice- join the Death Eaters and be trained as the Dark Lord's heir. Second option- you will die. And thirdly--"

"He runs off with me, escapes your evil clutches and we all live happily ever after?" suggested a cool female voice from the doorway. "That's what I'm looking forward to, anyway."

Suddenly light spilled into the room, Harry heard the girl whisper something, and soon he saw exactly how amazing Ginny Weasley's Bat-Bogey hexes were. "Ginny! Where are we? How did you find me? What's going on? Neville-"

"Calm down, Harry. I'll answer it all when we get back to Dumbledore's office. Now let's go!"

The hour that followed was one of the longest and most uninformative of Harry's life. The Headmaster had repeated (countless times) about how important it was to be careful of whom to befriend and always to look behind one's shoulder. Harry had scoffed, but he was silently agreeing with the old man. After all, when had Dumbldore failed him before?

Well, except for the whole 'I'm imprisoning Harry Potter by sticking him on Privet Drive all summer' incident.

***(THE PRESENT)***

Snapping back to focus, Harry leapt out of his seat. "Okay, mates," he called down the table. "Time for Quidditch. Let's go!" His dry, toneless tone told Ron and the other team members that Harry was in no mood for jokes or sarcasm. "We don't have all day, come on."

Ron gave his friend a look that clearly said, 'you will tell me about what's going on later, won't you?' but Harry was too focused on shepherding his team out of the Hall and into the locker rooms to care. "Could you six possibly move any slower? I mean, I've heard of saving strength for the game, but this is ridiculous." One of the Beaters, Seamus Finnegan, made a very rude gesture at Harry behind his back, but Harry rolled his eyes. "I saw that, Finnegan."

Harry glanced at the rest of his team, all wearing the new and improved scarlet Quidditch robes with the Gryffindor crest in the upper right corner. On the back, in gold lettering, each player's last name and position was magicked on. As Captain, Harry had planned the design, with a little help from Ginny and Hermione- the only people whose opinions pertaining to fashion he respected.

Catching Ron's eye, Harry smiled. Even in the sulky mood he was in, Ron was his best friend and reminded Harry about all the excellent times they had had together. Especially now, in his last year of school, Harry knew that it was important to stick together with his friends. It was likely that Voldemort would strike towards the end of June, possibly even on Graduation, so thankfully it was only September.

Harry moved his gaze to the three girls on his team- second-years Melanie Patil, Sharon Lormann, and sixth-year Ginny Weasley. All were outstanding Chasers, particularly Ginny, and it was astonishing how differently built they all were. Ginny, small and slender, was the fastest and less impulsive of all of them- which could only be a good thing. Then there was Melanie. She was rather short, curvy, but less thin than Ginny. Of course, that didn't make her any less attractive in Harry's eyes. Melanie was not fashion-obsessed like her sisters, but very athletic and an avid Quidditch fan.

Sharon was very like Ginny at her age- shy, quiet, and romantic. She was madly in love with an equally in love Justin Wood (a second-year beater). Ginny, however, was in a very serious and lengthy relationship with Seamus Finnegan- a fact that the new commentator, Dean Thomas, never managed to keep to himself.

So obviously, Harry had many people to worry about, including himself. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, his teachers, Hermione, Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and... oh, yes- Draco Malfoy. Ah, Draco Malfoy... the Slytherin Quidditch Captain and hero of the Quidditch cup the year before. But this year, the team was even more spectacular than the previous one, because Draco's ten-year-old sister Michelle was playing as Keeper. Harry hated "Mini-Malfoy," or so he referred to her, for many reasons. The most important and passionate reason, however, was the simple fact that Harry enjoyed being the youngest Quidditch player in a century, and Michelle had to steal that title right out from under his nose. Of course, she was a stealing, rotten, spoiled bitch. Did Harry expect she'd end up in Hufflepuff?

Well, he had hoped that she'd be in Gryffindor. She wasn't quite as bad as Draco, and somehow 'pretty' wasn't a strong enough word to describe her.

No. He needed to clear his head. Attraction to a Malfoy? What would Ron say? Well, normally when one dies laughing, they don't have much to say afterwards.

Then there was that day in Potions. "You see, Potter," Draco had drawled, "my sister is far more skilled than you can ever hope to be." Naturally, Harry tossed the minor criticism aside. He thought that the Slytherin was hinting at Michelle's Quidditch skills, but he wasn't.

Michelle Malfoy could communicate telepathically with her brother, and she most certainly took advantage of it. She was different, however, from Draco in other ways. She was part Faerie, and consequently, particularly light and speedy. This also meant that she could read minds, but due to overuse on a particularly brainy classmate during an exam in Michelle's elementary school, this power was strictly limited. Of course, nobody who wasn't a Malfoy knew any of this. Not even Dumbledore.

For the second time that morning, Harry was jolted out of thoughts into reality. "Okay, team. We've been practicing long and hard on our techniques, and we'd better not let those Malfoys screw it up. Avoid them at all costs, okay? Now, on to the quote of the day-- Ginny, Seamus, exactly what are you two doing?" he demanded as Ginny leaned forward across the bench and locked her arms around her boyfriend's neck to giggles from the other Chasers.

"Ugh, Ginny!" Ron yelled, looking sickened. "If you're really going to do that, which I'd passionately prefer if you didn't, please get a room! I mean, what horrible taste you have acquired, little sister. If only you had continued to date Harry after that mishap back in our sixth year, eh?"

Seamus made a very rude gesture behind Ron's back.

"Okay, let's go!" Harry yelled, dramatically marching outside.

"It's Potter, Finne--well, Weasley for the time being--Patil, Lormann, Wood, Finnegan, aaaaaandd... Weasley!" Dean roared as the Gryffindor team emerged from their locker room. "And Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini, Bulstrode, Goyle, Crabbe, and Malfoy!" The boos from the Gryffindor supporters certainly overcame the Slytherin's shrieks of delight, but that was partly what drew Harry's attention to the Slytherin team.

Looking stunning as usual in her emerald green robes, Michelle Elisabeth Malfoy stood with her chin raised to the same arrogant height as her brothers. Prepared to mount her hour-old Shimmer Star (the latest broom model that was created especially for her, believe it or not), Michelle shot gorgeous smiles at the spectators. Oddly enough, Michelle was liked by the Ravenclaws as well as the Slytherins, so the smiles were flashed at not only her male year-mates, James Coltron and Christopher Shearson, but at some Ravenclaws such as twins Ryan and Alex Shecall.

Tearing his eyes away from Michelle, Harry forced himself to stare at Madam Hooch. The eagle-eyed referee kicked off from the ground, blew her whistle, and tossed a red ball never seen in the Muggle World high into the air. As one, fourteen broomsticks rose into the air around her, a certain three going much faster than the rest- Harry's Firebolt, Michelle's Shimmer Star, and Draco's Thunderjet. As Michelle darted to her goalposts and Ron trudged along as if he were fighting through a nest or hornets, Harry and Draco sped across the field, doing loop-the-loops just to show they could.

The very moment Ron reached his goalposts, the Quaffle darted towards him. Caught by surprise, Ron kicked the red ball into Vincent Crabbe's head, but never let it be said that he looked apologetic. Crabbe swayed back and forth, looking positively sick, but nothing happened so the game continued. He grabbed the ball and used the tail of his broom to punch it towards Seamus.

Expecting nothing short of cheating from the dirty bastard Crabbe was, Seamus threw it to Ginny as readily as if Crabbe had told him exactly what he was going to do with the ball months before it happened. Ginny skillfully threw it towards Michelle, but the said Keeper, with an honest-to-goodness smile on her face- threw her hands up and volleyed the ball towards Blaise Zabini. Blaise, who was quite attractive though not all that bright, managed to land the red ball into one of Ron's goal hoops.

The ball sped from Ron to Ginny to Melanie to Michelle- who blocked the scoring again. Draco, whooshing through the air to high-five his sister, quickly soared through the air until he was no more than a foot from the ground. Harry was instantly on his tail, looking around anxiously for a glint of gold or a shimmer of silver. Coming up blank yet not wanting to lose the Quidditch Cup, Harry followed the Slytherin boy as speedily as possible.

Although Harry never saw the satisfied smile on Draco's face, it was there all right. And maybe, hours later, Harry would imagine the cruelty and arrogance twisted on Draco's face to make his trademark smirk, but it would never be the perfect picture. Perhaps it would be physically, but deep down, Draco was only happy half-heartedly. As the son of Death Eaters and an instant Slytherin, he was bursting with joy. But as a human, Draco was disappointed. Sure, his brilliant plan was bound to work, but...

Now less than an inch from the hard ground, Draco pulled up from the dive sharply. Caught by surprise, Harry hit the ground headfirst with a loud thump. But what was even more surprising was that the moment Draco pulled up into the air, the Snitch soared into his outstretched hands.

As the Gryffindors howled in anger and Dean Thomas accidentally caused Professor McGonagall's seat on the bleachers to explode (signature of a good commentator, judging from Hogwarts's Past), the Slytherins touched onto the ground, cheering. Draco, somehow, was happiest of all, despite his mixed bag of feelings only thirty seconds prior. As he ran to hug his sister, he felt an odd feeling rush through his stomach... something he had never felt before.

What could it be?

Well, that certainly wasn't the time to ponder it. He ran and cheered, whooped and clapped. He even sent out Montague, Crabbe, and Goyle to steal food from the kitchens for a celebration! Today, he thought to himself, is the happiest day of my life.

But it wasn't only Quidditch that made Draco so thrilled.

Oh, no. Not at all.