Standard disclaimers for Harry Potter apply. In other words, I
own absolutely nothing other than my odd imagination; this wonderful world
with wonderful characters is the property of Ms. J. K. Rowling, etc. etc.
I´m just...trying something, which is something I do rather too well and too
often. The title was inspired by October Project´s song of the same
name; lovely band, lovely song. As a matter of fact, a lot of October
Project´s music makes me think of HP....
Contents: An AU undertaking (though all HP fics are AU since the
series isn´t complete) from after year four, picking up in sixth year.
This story will contain Draco Malfoy in liberal doses, as well as Harry,
Hermione, and Ron, plus subsequent other characters as I see fit. It will
have foul language--teenagers tend to swear a bit, in my experience. It
will have intimate/sexual situations--teenagers tend to end up in these
situations whether they intend to or not, in my experience. As far as
sexuality goes, why, people could be homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual,
non-sexual, or closet hermaphrodites for all I know. Okay, seriously, I
know where I intend to take the story, and if you know me, you probably
know where I intend to take the story, but I´m tired of biased readers, so
I´m not saying for now.
Overall Rating: R, of course--due to sexual situations, violence
with people and creatures, and language. And because of the author, of
course. My mere existence calls for an R rating.
P.S. If you recognise most of the dialogue from this prologue, don´t be
surprised: it´s taken from TGoF directly.
It was either going to be the bravest or the stupidest thing he´d ever
done in his life--at the moment, he wasn´t sure which. It was probably a
bit of both, actually, a fact that made him scowl fiercely at his own
hands, knotted together in his lap.
Too bad he wasn´t in Gryffindor; then both adjectives would have fit
perfectly without equivocation.
But something drastic needed to be done; he´d decided that during the
Leaving Feast, when his whole world had been turned topsy-turvy in a
moment of almost nauseating vertigo. He tried everything he could think
of, and nothing had worked so far. Not curses, not flagrant attempt at
expulsion, not cruel and cutting words, not Dementors, not attacking his
closest friends... No, the boy just had to be a hero, despite all
protestations otherwise. Despite all of Draco´s attempts to keep it from
being so, the stupid, stupid boy had nearly met the fate that he had tried
to hard to keep the boy from.
Harry Potter had almost died again.
More frightening than that, though, was Dumbledore´s open admission
that the Dark Lord had been resurrected, and that it had been he who had
killed the Hufflepuff seventh year, Cedric Diggory. The news had come like
a comet, crashing hard without warning and leaving a deep crater in his
soul. All of his previous plans, his four years worth of work to prevent
such a thing from happening in the first place, seemed so pointless, so
fruitless now. What was left, then? What else could he possibly do to
frighten the boy away? It wasn´t as though his attempts in the last four
years had been half-hearted; he´d been trying very seriously to get the
boy expelled or make him leave of his own volition!
His latest plan was spontaneous, a last-ditch effort at best, and he
had no real reason to think that it would work. But he had to at least
try, or he´d really feel as thought he last four years had been for
nothing. And, what could it hurt, really. The gods alone knew that he´d
tried every other nasty trick he could think of, all to little or no
effect.
Surprisingly, it hadn´t taken much prodding on his part to get Goyle
and Crabbe to go along with his plan. Lately, trying to get anything out
of his brute squad had been like trying to listen to veela song
without becoming entranced. Well, he could accomplish that just fine, but
everyone else-- Oh, bother, so it was a ruddy awful analogy. Getting Crabbe
and Goyle to do anything of late was as hard as jerking Potter´s chain and
getting a reaction other than a blank stare. There, that was a bit better.
Of course, they both thought that his intentions were malicious, which was
probably why they had deigned to stir from their doldrums and return to
the world of socialisation.
Well, perhaps they were, a bit--his intentions being malicious,
that is. He certainly could attempt to be more tactful in his actions than
he planned, but that would ruin their purpose. He wanted to hurt the boy,
wanted to make his eyes dance with the flames of anger and fear, wanted to
make them spit the serpentic venom that he was certain lay beneath the
tarnished Saviour exterior.
Not that making the emerald eyes go dark would be hard. Since
that incident at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, there hadn´t
been a moment that a black haze hadn´t clouded the ebon-haired boy´s gaze.
Truly it was frightening, given how much life and passion and mischief
used to dance there.
Maybe, at least, fury would clear them for a bit.
He sighed, untangling his hands and pillowing his chin on his fist as
he thought his plan through one last time. As far as plans went, it was
rather...boring, rather cut and dry. Not that he was usually one to come up
with elaborate plans--if asked, he was the first to admit that his
creativity levels weren´t particularly high--but this was rather more
fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants than even he was used to.
"So, when´re we gonna do it, Draco?"
Draco cast a quelling look on Goyle, lips pursed together. "When I say
we will, Goyle. Now, please, give me a moment to think. I realise this is
a foreign concept in some areas for you, but some of us try to do it more
than once a day."
Goyle´s face darkened at Draco´s words and tone, but the bulky boy
turned away to stare out the window without another word.
His father would probably slap him silly when he found out what Draco
had done. True, the man hadn´t caught on completely in four years,
but there was always a first time. He supposed, then, than he would just
have to take steps to insure that his father would have as little reason
as possible to think that Draco had provoked the reactions of his fellow
students on purpose.
Gods above, he really was being quite stupid.
"You do realise that we´re only doing this because I want to see
Potter squirm, correct?"
Goyle nodded solemnly, while Crabbe offered up a hesitant smile.
"Yeah. He´s been kind of boring, lately."
Of course he has, you twit! He watched a student die--die!--and he
watched the Dark Lord be reborn! You try being all bubbly and cheerful and
Gryffindor goody-goody after that. Instead of saying these words
aloud, he replied, "Which is why I want to do this. It´s no fun to pick on
the Hufflepuffs; they either burst into tears or threaten to sic the
Ravenclaws on us. Though I suppose it would be rather funny to watch the
Ravenclaws try to take us on with books and quills and rolls of parchment.
No, it´s much more fun to provoke the Gryffindors."
Yes, it was fun, but lately... What was there that was "fun," of late?
Was he the only one that didn´t find the unfolding series of events
reassuring in the least? Was he the only one that was worried about his
life, his family, the ones he had deemed his charges to protect?
Did they think that Voldemort was going to turn the other cheek and
invite them all to tea?!
He drew in a sharp breath, forcing himself to relax. It wouldn´t do
for him to get all worked up, not yet. Save the hysterics for the moment
that he would need them.
"I think that we should go."
Crabbe´s voice was quiet, and it startled Draco, though he was careful
not to let it show.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Draco arched an eyebrow, turning to glare at the
boy. "And why do you say that?"
Crabbe blinked, chewing on his bottom lip, hazel eyes distant behind
the lenses of his glasses. "Because...because it feels right."
A year ago, Draco would have made a snide comment for such an inane
reply, but he knew better than to do so, now. Crabbe occasionally said
things that, though they sounded incredibly dim, were quite correct to
follow. If Crabbe said that the time was now, then the time was now.
Even with Crabbe´s assurances, it was still very, very stupid to being
doing this.
"All right, then, let´s go."
They rose, pushing aside the compartment door and heading towards the
back of the Hogwarts´ Express. He almost smirked as he passed an open
door, glancing inside to find the Weasley twins and their sister, as well
as Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan. Finnigan sneered
at him and managed to flip him the bird before Dean was able to grab the
feisty Irish boy and pin him to the seat, attempting to stave off anything
worse.
"Thank you for putting your dog on a leash, Thomas," he drawled,
continuing on his way, ignoring the snarled epitaphs that trailed after
them.
The Gryffindor Trio was extremely predictable: they always chose the
compartment that was the last before the baggage cars. And after seeing
who all was in the open compartment, he surmised that it was the Trio
alone that was inside. Motioning to Crabbe and Goyle, he leaned forward.
He pressed his ear to the door with a slight grimace; it certainly
wasn´t the cleverest thing he´d ever done, eavesdropping in such a way,
but now wasn´t the time to be clever.
Now was the time to be cruel.
Don´t forget stupid, his mind pointed out once again. Draco
rolled his eyes. Yes, now was the time to be cruel and stupid--and hope
that he survived both.
"...saw Malfoy under that tree...."
Ah, the Weasel. Being as clever as he ever was, Draco supposed. The
boy seemed intelligent enough, but more often than not, his phenomenal
temper got in the way of reasonable thinking.
"He was talking to her in his hand."
And Granger, of course. The girl really was more intelligent that he
verbally gave her credit for; then again, usually when he was doling out
credit aloud, he tended to use his father´s directives rather than his
own. A bad and nasty habit, that.
"He knew, of course. That´s how she´s been getting all those nice
little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn´t care than she was
doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff
about us and Hagrid."
Well, she had it partially correct--at least in Draco´s case. He hadn´t
exactly been trying to protect the reporter bitch; he´d even gone so far
as to give the Gryffindor Trio plenty of hints as to Skeeter´s Animagus
identity. Really, it wasn´t his fault that they´d been so dense about it.
"I´ve told her I´ll let her out when we get back to London. I´ve put
an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can´t transform. And I´ve
told her she´s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she
can´t break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."
Draco gave Hermione a moment to gloat--and a moment for himself to
think about her words. He decided at last that the truth, as was usually
the case, was in the eye of the beholder. Though the things the Slytherins
had said--that he had said--were, to most, lies, there were also bits of
truth laced through it all.
Again, it wasn´t his fault that they´d been so dense about it.
However, he judged the moment to be right, and he slid back the
compartment door to make his grand entrance.
"Very clever, Granger."
He smirked at the surprised looking group, feeling Goyle and Crabbe
move to stand directly behind him. He knew that he wasn´t very physically
intimidating, but Crabbe and Goyle more than made up for him in that
aspect.
"So," he said, drawling the word as he moved into the compartment and
looked at each of them in turn. "You caught some pathetic reporter, and
Potter´s Dumbledore´s favourite boy again. Big deal."
He narrowed his eyes, twisting his lips into a slightly more menacing,
more calculated expression. "Trying not to think about it, are we?" He
spoke softly, glancing at Hermione, then Ron, and, at last, Harry. "Trying
to pretend it hasn´t happened?"
He could feel the tension dancing in the air, currents that were both
tangible and intangible. Rising magic laced the compartment, flavouring
the atmosphere to the point where Draco could almost taste it, spicy like
Thai food. He stared at Harry, watching the green eyes flare from dimmed
forest-green depths to something bordering brilliant malachite. He noted
the difference in the boy, wrought by the hardships of the last month and
year; typically, when provoked, Harry´s magic levels dropped. Currently,
they were rising to the point where Draco was actually feeling fear.
"Get out," said the Boy-Who-Lived.
Such command was in his voice, in his expression, such unchecked
loathing and hatred and malice colouring both, that Draco almost complied,
despite his plan. No, he decided, firmly checking his emotions and his
courage. No, I will go through with this--just like I´ve gone through
bloody everything else.
"You´ve picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you
ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the
train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff
like this!" Distantly he knew that he jerked his head at Hermione and Ron,
knew that he was practically signing his death warrant with his words.
And, briefly, he also noted that he sounded more than a touch hysterical;
at least, now, his melodramatics were correctly timed. "It´s too late now,
Potter. They´ll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord´s back! Mudblood´s
and Muggle-lover´s first! Well--second--Diggory was the f--"
And then, like fireworks in an enclosed container, the world exploded
in howled curses, hexes, and bright lights, and Draco knew no more as he
let the darkness beckon him with a bitter smile.
The things I do for you, Potter... I´ll follow you as deep as you go,
just wait. Into that darkness, that deep water, I´ll follow you down until
I drown if I have to. Just try... I followed as you led, and, now, here I
am.
Come on, Potter, my perfect counterpart, undesired salvation and
beloved damnation: let me drown in you.
[Journal
Entries, Year One]
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