Grab your popcorn and chosen beverage of evil, everyone; it´s LONG.
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. If it´s
a bit more bizarre than normal, blame P.O.D. and Yoh-Chu-Sha--I was
listening to Youth of the Nation and a bunch of YCS´s stuff on
repeat while typing. o_o;
A/N: I can´t take credit for one of the nicknames in this fic.
If I remember correctly, the name belongs to Kristi and Priya from their
days in the FY fandom. However, it´s too perfect not to use. ^__^
And just so you know, I use the nickname every time I watch CoS and
it makes everyone howl with laughter once they get it (I´ve seen it 5
times to far...what can I say, I´m a fan geek? ::nikoniko::)
P.S. Anyone interested in beta-ing for me? -_-; Thorough
knowledge of the canon universe and grasp of the English language is a
must. French and Japanese wouldn´t hurt either.
[August: 1996]
"You´re trying to drive me insane, aren´t you? Well, more insane than I
already am, seeing as how the Dark Lord made sure I was already there in
the first place and I have the certificate from St. Mungos to prove it."
Albus Dumbledore smiled faintly at the drooping man across from him,
reaching over to pat his hand. "Surely you can see that you´re the only
one for the job."
The man sighed, fingers laced tightly through crow´s wing-black hair,
tugging every so often as if they were a touch of house-elf masochism in
him prompting him to punish himself for questioning the one he served.
"Why don´t you send McGonagall? Or Hooch? Or Trelawney?" The last name was
said almost desperately, sloe eyes looking up with a hint of hope.
If the situation hadn´t had the suggestion of sombreness to it, and if
the need hadn´t been serious, Dumbledore would have been tempted to smile;
imagine, the most frightening teacher in the school afraid of an errand.
"I would have asked Hagrid to do this deed, but, alas, he is still away on
business for me. I need McGonagall here to help me adjust the curriculum
for next year. Madam Hooch owled earlier to inform me that she will be
staying another week at her sister´s. And, really, Severus, do you want to
inflict Sibyll on the rest of the world?"
Severus Snape sighed, forehead thumping to the tabletop once again.
"No, I suppose not," he muttered into his sleeve. "But why me? In
some ways I can see why you would want me to go, but in others... I thought
you liked the boy, Headmaster."
"I do. And I would like him even more if I was certain that he would
arrive here, safely, with all of his school supplies for the upcoming
year." Dumbledore sighed, for a moment looking every bit his age. "I´m
beginning to doubt that the familius protections that he has at the
Dursleys´ house are worth the damage to his sanity."
Snape sneered. "Really, the Muggles can´t possibly be that bad."
"Ah, I wouldn´t speak too hastily, Severus," said Dumbledore, turning
his gaze towards the window. It was the first week of August, and Hogwarts
was alive with the lush greenery that had been promised by the heavy
spring rains. Looking out south of the castle grounds, he could see the
faint glimmer of the Quidditch pitch and stands; the repairs to the
Slytherin section were almost complete, he´d been informed, and would be
ready to support the throngs of students by the time the first Quidditch
match rolled around. "After all...things aren´t always what they appear,
hmmm?"
After a moment, Snape caught his meaning and flushed faintly, looking
back down at the table. "Headmaster, you know why I chose--"
Dumbledore held up a hand, smiling faintly. "Yes, Severus, I know. And
I´m not chastising your choice, merely...commenting upon it. Call it a
reminder, if you will, that sometimes you need to look beneath the surface
to reach the heart of the matter." He sighed, shaking his head. "I know
that you don´t like the boy, just as you know that I feel your dislike is
unjust. But I also know that you are a good man, and a good wizard. I
wouldn´t ask this of you if I didn´t feel that you were the best for the
job and I didn´t trust you implicitly."
"Why not send the Weasleys? They´d be overjoyed to take him to Diagon
Alley and have him stay with them for the rest of the summer."
"Harry´s guilt alone will not allow him to stay with them this summer.
And as much as Arthur and Molly love the boy, they do have two children of
their own left at home, as well as five others still in close and constant
contact. The fewer people that know what he is doing and where he is
going, the better."
"Sir, really, don´t you think that people will see this as
preferential treatment? I mean, it´s been a very rare case that a student
has been allowed to Hogwarts during the summer. Potter already has enough
of a swelled head..." Noticing the Headmaster´s stern glance, he rolled his
eyes. "All right, fine. Potter´s already been the gossip of the wizarding
world since his first year of school. Won´t this just be adding more fuel
to the fire?"
"Let them talk," said Dumbledore. "After all, gossip is not just a
condition amongst wizards, it is a human condition in general. He isn´t
doing well, Severus. You may not like the boy, but even you have to admit
that there was something not quite right with our Mr. Potter when he left
on the Hogwarts Express on June eighteenth."
Pursing his lips, Snape thought over Dumbledore´s words. "Surely
you´re just over-reacting. It was all chance that he happened to be
present...the Triwizard Tournament...Stonehenge..."
"Was it coincidence?"
Regarding Dumbledore´s arched eyebrow, Snape was forced to re-evaluate
where their conversation was heading. "You think that the Dark Lord knew
where he would be, and made certain that he could strike through the
students at Harry."
"You must admit that there is a certain amount of ingenuity in his
thinking that he hasn´t shown before," said Dumbledore. "Always Voldemort
has struck directly for the people he loathed, the people he wanted dead:
Never has he bothered to get to know his opponents well enough to discover
what would hurt them...what would break them."
"Diggory..."
"What better way to strike at Harry than through the students? He
takes it all to heart, Severus. And many of the students began to blame
and mistrust him after Cedric´s death. The incident with Miss Chang
mid-year last term...Miss Weasley´s near-fatal injuries at Stonehenge... And
both Miss Granger and Messrs. Black and Lupin have informed me that
Harry´s sketchy letters have been filled with hints that Mr. Ronald
Weasley said some rather...hurtful words to Mr. Potter before he left
on break.
"Surely he´s dealt with that by now!" Snape was surprised to find that
a hint of disbelief--even desperation--coated his voice. True, he didn´t
like the boy, but he was only sixteen...
"Dealing entails acknowledging the events occurred in the first place.
Harry, I fear, has taken those events to heart and uses them to mire
himself in the poisonous words and deeds of Voldemort and his followers."
Propping his chin in his hand, Snape absently began to nibble his lip,
a nervous habit that was a hangover from his student days. "The Dark Lord
has said nothing of this. Granted, I am not a member of his inner circle
anymore--he knew through the others that I had betrayed him, and he also
knows which of his followers still converse with me. My information is
sketchy at best, but I´m not sure if you´re completely on base with your
assumption that this is the Dark Lord´s plan."
"I may be wrong...it´s happened more often that I like to admit."
"But given what you´ve said, I still think it would be better for him
to be with the Weasleys. To be with family..."
"Family? Voldemort and Fudge´s blindness insured that his family is
kept from him--and given that I´ve never heard of the man they appointed
interim Minister, I doubt that he´ll be of much help in rectifying that
situation. No, ass much as they care for him, I don´t think the Weasleys
can reach him."
"If it´s because of the rumours concerning the one in the Ministry,
Percy..."
"No, no. Though I will admit that those rumours helped to cement my
belief that he would be better off with you. In all seriousness, Severus,
I´m not sure that Harry can be reached at this point."
Snape sighed; when the Headmaster had summoned him after breakfast,
this hadn´t been what he´d expected to discuss. "Fine. So you want me to
travel to Little Whinging, Surrey and pick up Harry Potter to take him
shopping. What am I supposed to do with our saviour-in-training after
that?"
Dumbledore tutted briefly at Snape´s name-calling, but simply said:
"Bring him home, of course."
"Home?" An eyebrow arched, thin lips drawing into a tight smile. "Ah,
yes, how remiss of me. Of course I´ll bring him home."
"Excellent, Severus!" Dumbledore beamed, clapping his hands together;
he disturbed Snape faintly with how quickly he went from stoic seriousness
to happy absentmindedness. "I suggest you make preparations, then; I look
forward to seeing our young Mr. Potter at dinner tomorrow night."
Snape waited until the headmaster had swept from the room before
letting his forehead become intimate a few more times with the tabletop.
After a last, particularly satisfying thud, he managed to growl out the
words he´d been thinking for quite some time. "I bloody well hate
the name Potter!"
If someone had told Harry Potter that he would be woken up the morning
of August the twentieth by a large, heavy weight landing quite firmly in
the middle of his chest, he would have said they were barmy. And if they
had said that that heavy weight would turn out to be a snake (found out, a
bit later that day, to be one of the world´s most poisonous), well, Harry
would have suggested they place an application for residency at St.
Mungos.
Reaching for his glasses with fumbling fingers, and restoring them to
their customary daytime perch upon the bridge of his nose, Harry blinked
sleepily up at the blunt-nosed, serpentine face that was rearing over him.
"Um...hullo."
The snake tilted its head to the side, tongue flickering out for a
moment. "Hullo."
Harry blinked again, wondering if it was safe to sit up, wondering
what he should say next. What exactly did one say to a snake that appeared
from nowhere--especially when you weren´t sure if the snake was poisonous
or not? Well, he should probably try to be polite, maybe make light
conversation until his mind caught up in wakefulness to his body--not to
mention it might help him avoid getting bitten. Yes, that seemed like the
best course of action--proper English manners and all that--and he opened
his mouth to begin. Instead of polite nothings, however, what came out
was: "Do you land on people often when they´re sleeping?"
The snake was a decidedly odd colour, which he noted when it began to
dip its head back and forth--a movement that made the unusual sensation of
"fear" dance in the pit of his belly in a brief, momentary flutter of
butterfly wings, dying away almost as quickly as it had come. For a
moment, he tried to recall the last time he´d felt fear--the last time he´d
felt anything--and wasn´t very shocked when he realised he couldn´t.
It was green for the most part, but black appeared while he watched
it, a rippling banded pattern amidst the emerald as the snake moved. And
Hermione had wondered how he could find serpents so entrancing after their
second year...really, the undulating patterns of prominent, ridged scales,
the colours that shimmered with the light... It was absolutely beautiful.
The large, round-pupiled gold eyes seemed almost too large for its
head and in comparison to its body--hmmm, a bit like his own, in a
way--which was probably as big around as one of the lenses of his glasses.
He also noted distantly that the snake´s underside was a lighter
green-yellow in contrast. It seemed to be considering his question,
pausing in its movement after a moment to reply. "No. I think this is the
first time I´ve landed on a sleeping person. I think this is the first
time I´ve landed on a person period, actually."
Harry felt a small smile creep to his face despite the oddity of the
situation; the snake spoke with a no-nonsense accent and attitude that put
him much in mind of Hermione. He missed her bossiness, her
take-no-prisoners attitude...her quiet hugs in dark corners; warm, motherly
arms that could hold the world aloft if necessary; soft curves that
promised momentary safety; her hair, always scented with sunshine and
raspberry; how she was able to cry the tears he could not... Shaking his
head, he said, "All right, then. Do you mind me asking what you´re doing
here, then?"
He felt as though the snake shrugged at him--did being a Parselmouth
include being able to interpret snake body language? "I don´t know,
really. The Cold Man took me out of my bag and made me disappear to up
here."
"The Cold Man? Who´s that?"
"The Cold Man...he smells of many things, sharp and sour and bitter at
once. His skin is cold, so we call him the Cold Man, for when he touches
you, you wish that you could curl back up in the sun-warmed branches of
the trees."
Thinking about that for a moment, Harry decided that if he wanted to
know what the snake was talking about, he´d have to get up and
investigate. "One more question?"
"Yes?"
"Do you mind terribly if I get up so I can see if I know the Cold
Man?"
The snake seemed to sigh in resignation. "Oh, very well. But carry me,
will you? You´re quite warm right now, and I really don´t feel like
moving."
Oh yes, the snake was a lot like Hermione. "That´s only because
I´ve been installed under several blankets for the past few hours," said
Harry, carefully picking up the snake and holding it against his chest.
The snake wrapped its body around his wrist and forearm several times,
settling its head in the dip between thumb and fingers on his hand.
Padding on bare feet to the window, he pushed aside the curtains and
looked down onto the walkway leading up to Number Four, Privet Drive.
A lone figure stood in the middle of the walkway, arms crossed as
their foot tapped with decided impatience. Harry´s lips pursed in dismay
as he watched the head turn and was able to make out the very familiar--and
very unwelcome--hook-nosed profile of his least-favourite teacher in
existence. Though he hadn´t seen the man in over a year, that didn´t mean
that he had begun to feel any sort of charity towards him; once a git,
always a git, as Ron would have said. "Professor Snape..."
The snake´s tongue licked out across his skin, startling him. "Is that
a bad thing? Do you not like the Cold Man?"
Did he not like the Cold Man? Harry chuckled, using his free hand to
rake through his hair. "Er, well, I don´t really know the Cold Man.
But he doesn´t like me--hasn´t liked me for a long time, and I´m not
completely sure why." Sighing, he turned away from the window. "Don´t
suppose you know what he´s doing here?"
The snake looked up at him. "Waiting for you, probably. The Cold Man
doesn´t speak the Blessed Tongue, so I wasn´t able to ask what was going
on."
Great. A snake with no real information and a bitter, nasty professor
outside--wasn´t it just his lucky day. Well, he´d better get dressed and
find out what was going on before Uncle Vernon noticed the black-clad
stranger sneering at their door. Because, inevitably, that´s what
Professor Snape had to be doing; he sneered at everything and
everyone, after all.
"I´m going to have to put you down for a moment while I put clothes
on," said Harry, lowering his arm to the bed. "If you curl up against the
pillow, it should still be fairly warm. I´ll pick you up again once I´m
dressed."
Sighing, the snake said, "Oh, all right." It slid from his arm and
slinked to the pillow, curling itself up awkwardly, as if it wasn´t quite
used to lying on a fairly even surface.
Harry briefly paused to consider that, then shook his head and set
about finding clothes to wear. He pulled off his pyjama top, flinging it
carelessly onto his bed. The breeze that came through the window in
intermittent spurts felt warm on his chest, especially where the heavy
serpentine charm with its unusual gem hung heavy and cold against his
skin.
The snake lifted its head, glancing about. "Serpents?"
Harry ignored her--him? No, it sounded like a female. Divesting the
rest of his pyjamas, he grabbed up clothes to change into. Underwear,
socks, t-shirt...too-baggy jeans and a bit of string to hold them up...unlaced
shoes, easy to stomp into... He grabbed his spare robe, the one with only
the Hogwarts emblem on the breast, and slipped it on. Uncle Vernon would
be furious, but he would just have to get over it, Harry decided grimly.
He was a wizard not a Muggle: There was nothing that was going to change
that.
Turning back to the snake, he bent to pick it up. "All right, let´s go
and see what the Cold Man wants, shall we?"
"Sure." The snake quickly made its way back to its earlier position,
sighing contentedly. "Mmm, warmth..."
Harry quirked an eyebrow but didn´t say anything in reply. It was
frightening that he felt so comfortable with his new acquaintance,
especially given that there had only been three people in the last year
that he could claim to feel comfortable with. Instead of thinking on it
further, he sent his fingers searching under his pillow, emerging with his
wand a few seconds later, palming it in his hand but hiding it up his
sleeve. After the events of the previous year, he wouldn´t be caught dead
without his wand.
Because, if you were caught without your wand, you were as good as
dead anyway.
At last ready, he opened the door to his bedroom and set off down the
hall towards the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. It wasn´t that
he was afraid of confrontation with his aunt in uncle, but it was stupid
to go looking for trouble.
Aunt Petunia was already up, though, and she spotted him as he was
slinking towards the door.
"And just where do you think you´re going, dressed in
that getup?"
Pausing, Harry looked at his aunt over his shoulder. Frighteningly,
she was still a bit taller than him, and she stood in the doorway of the
kitchen, hands on her hips, looking at him with a glare that would have
petrified a Gorgon. "Well, one of my professors threw a snake at me for
some reason, so I´m thinking he´d probably like it back. He´s standing
right outside, you know." Voice hesitant, eyes wide, mouth slightly wobbly
in order to convey a sense of tentativeness due to fear...yes, he was a very
good little actor, he was.
Inwardly, he smiled as his aunt´s eyes grew round, the lines around
her mouth tightening as she pressed her lips into a thin, horrified line.
"There´s...one of those people...outside?" she whispered, a hand
clasped against her breast.
Now he was giggling, all evil hand-rubbing and gleeful
dances--mentally, of course. Like his feelings, he couldn´t remember the
last time he´d been able to really smile. "Yeah." Glancing around, he
turned towards her, dropping his voice so that he spoke just as quietly.
"And, if you don´t mind me saying, he´s a right foul-tempered git, Aunt
Petunia. I mean, he´s been known to poison students in a fit of pique, so
it´s probably best if I go and see why he´s here."
Aunt Petunia´s horsy face paled beneath her morning makeup, making the
recently dyed blonde of her hair look almost brilliant yellow. "...poison..."
"Yup," said Harry, perhaps a bit more cheerfully than he should have,
given the way Aunt Petunia looked as though she were about to faint.
"So...I´ll be back in just a moment. If you stay inside, I´m sure you´ll be
safe."
He heard his aunt fumbling her way back into the kitchen, the door
stuttering shut and shaking into the locked position. He allowed himself a
brief, momentary outward smile--though, really, as far as smiles went it
barely counted, for it was more of a "twist" as the corners of his lips
rose from their flat-lined position--before settling into the sombre and
solemn expression that he gave to everyone.
Opening the door, he stepped out onto the landing, blinking back tears
as the sun caught him at a bad angle through the lenses of his glasses.
Once he could see again, he went down the steps and stood on the walkway,
waiting for Professor Snape to turn and notice him.
Snape seemed agitated, shoulders straightening and then hunching
beneath the voluminous folds of his outer robes, foot continuing its
irregular tattoo, fingers twitching beneath the cuffs of his sleeves--if
Harry hadn´t thought it was a foreign concept to the man, he would have
said Snape was nervous. He was probably sneering out over the quaint,
suburban landscape that was Harry´s Muggle-realm prison, Harry thought.
After all, sneering was one of Professor Snape´s pastimes, and though it
had been a year since he´d seen the man, he´d doubted that much had
changed.
Nothing in his life seemed to change.
Severus Snape was many things, but patient and compassionate weren´t
exactly known to number among his list of traits. In fact, if asked, the
Potions Master of Hogwarts would have admitted that about the only thing
he had patience for was a game of Mah Jong, but he hadn´t had time for
such frivolities in...years.
Really, had it been necessary to send him to fetch Potter? Despite the
discussion--arguments--that had ensued earlier, he still wasn´t sure that he
completely bought the Headmaster´s reasoning. Dumbledore knew quite well
how he felt about the boy...and yet...
He shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward. Since when had the
Headmaster ever done things in a way that was logical? Well, at least, in
a variety of logic in which one didn´t have to be a Gryffindor and of the
line of Dumbledore to understand.
Snape was intelligent, brilliant at potions and possessed of a gift
for the charms of the Dark Arts that very few students had ever rivalled.
Only two students had ever come close to threatening his marks in those
areas, and, well...he´d rather not think about those particular two right
now.
By the gods, how he hated Potter! What a perfectly awful way to spend
a warm and clear August day, picking up the son of a man and woman you´d
resented and the godson of a man and relative you had--and still--hated with
a passion that defied reason, all because of the threat he had posed and
the things he had stolen from you.
Snorting, he tapped his foot once again, the staccato rhythm a rather
loud tattoo in his ears. The neighbourhood was almost abhorrently quiet,
making him twitchy. No roaring cars, no shouting children, no barking
canines... Since when had Muggles become so quiet?
"Why, hullo Professor Snape!"
Snarling, Snape whirled in a snap of black clothing, cloak twisting
about his ankles with his sudden movement. He glared at the boy who had so
brightly addressed him, eyes narrowing as he looked him over.
Over the years, Harry James Potter had grown from a gawky, wide-eyed,
mischief-causing boy into a solemn, strangely-featured young man. If Snape
hadn´t gone to school with both of his parents and hadn´t been able to
discern the mishmash of genetics that comprised his features, he would
have thought the boy a change child.
He was never going to be very tall, which was unusual given that both
of his parents had been taller than average; at sixteen years of age, he
was lucky if he was one hundred and seventy centimetres, and he showed no
signs of growing much taller. Indeed, rather than looking like a gangly
colt, as Snape had expected, he seemed to have grown into himself with an
air of forced cheer and sombre assurance that seemed a rather odd
combination.
Oh, he wasn´t fooled by the brilliant smile and laughing eyes in the
least. Lily had possessed eyes of the same shade, pools of malachite and
pine green that were wrapped in rings another shade of green that most
people couldn´t define. He could define the shade, though: Avada
Kedavra.
It was a horrible curse...an Unforgivable Curse...the Killing
Curse. But death...death could be a beautiful thing, and the shade of green
that was indicator of the curse defied description in its beauty.
Not Potter eyes, but Evans eyes--a family whose lineage had only been
traced back two generations, whose origins were unknown. Green eyes whose
like hadn´t been seen in hundreds of years, whose existence were as
legendary as the silver eyes of the Malfoy line.
He shook his head from his musings, finishing his perusal. A generic
Hogwarts robe was in place, combined with baggy black pants--quite
ridiculous in their size, he noted--a black t-shirt, and unlaced sneakers.
Again he lifted his eyes to Potter´s face, the winsome smile that
encouraged him to be off guard, the dishevelled black hair that curled
over his collar and ears, slipping almost rakishly over one shattered-gem
eye, and fought the urge to smack the boy. "Hello, Mr. Potter."
"So, Professor, what brings you to this fine and charming English
neighbourhood?" asked Harry with a grin, gesturing grandly with his hand;
Snape couldn´t help but notice that smooth, dark grain of holly that
rested snugly between thumb and forefinger, ready to be drawn at a
moment´s notice.
Snape´s expression tightened; Dumbledore had told him that things had
happened last year, things that he wouldn´t understand. Now he wished,
more than ever, that the Headmaster had tried to explain at least a
little. Surely the attack on Stonehenge couldn´t be the only cause of
Potter´s paranoia? "Mind your cheek, Potter. The Headmaster sent me to
escort you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies."
If Potter was upset at the unexpected turn of events, he didn´t show
it--a fact that put Snape on his guard even further. What had happened to
the Gryffindor poster boy who´d worn his heart on his sleeve? "Oh,
bother," said Harry with a sigh. "They´re not going to like that."
"They?"
"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They tend to get a bit peckish about
me going to get my school supplies and whatnot. And I think they were
quite hoping that the Weasleys were going to come and take me away until
term started. Of course, I tried to explain to them that that probably
wasn´t going to happen, seeing as how I nearly got their daughter killed
again last year, but they seemed to think that was perfectly normal
or some such. Really...Muggles."
Sloe eyes narrowed at Potter´s detached yet light-heartedly spoken
words. "Rest assured, Potter, that you won´t be returning here after out
little...shopping adventure. The Headmaster also wishes your presence at
Hogwarts until the start of term."
"Really? Oh, joy!"
That was it; he´d had enough. "Potter, I refuse to put up with your
sarcasm. If you wish to be a bitter, angsty teenager, then feel free to do
so--at least I´m used to tolerating that. But if you´d rather be a smarmy
git, then be prepared to face the consequences."
Potter blinked at him, seeming momentarily stunned. Then his face lit
up like the fairy lights of the Hogwarts Christmas tree, his smile--so
perfectly, perfectly Lily´s--tugging on a corner of Snape´s heart that he´d
forgotten existed. "You just said smarmy git."
Now it was Snape´s turn to blink. "I what?"
Potter giggled--giggled--the light in his eyes shining with
wicked humour. "You just said smarmy git. Out of all the things I´ve
expected to come out of your mouth over the years, Professor, I´d never
thought of that one."
"I´m so glad that I can provide you with amusement, Potter," he
drawled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes once again. He really,
really hated dealing with teenagers--especially teenagers as,
apparently, unpredictable as Harry Potter.
Potter nodded, expression solemn. "All right, professor. However, if I
may..."
Arching an eyebrow, Snape prepared himself for the worst. "Yes?"
"Would you mind terribly coming inside for a moment? I just got done
telling my aunt what a strict teacher you were and she´s eager to meet
you. Aunt Petunia really admires teachers willing to take a stern hand
with students."
It was at times like this, Snape reflected, that he wondered how he´d
been so easily lured by Harry Potter´s façade. Guileless eyes behind thin,
wire-framed glasses...black lashes innocently dusting light olive skin...lips
tugged into a half-smile, again attempting to pull him into belief... Harry
Potter wasn´t a Gryffindor poster boy anymore than Snape was a benefactor
of Hufflepuffs.
Harry Potter, if anything, was Slytherin incarnate. And that fact
chilled him more than he cared to admit.
If there was one thing that the wizards and witches envied, it was the
innate grace gifted to the humanoid magical creatures of the world. They
could keep their magics, their odd cultures, their disturbing histories
and incestuous lineages, but sharing their grace...now that was a gift
amongst gifts.
At first, no-one noticed the slight figure that stepped out from the
archway of the Leak Cauldron into Diagon Alley. It wasn´t as if the young
man were trying to garner attention after all; no, if he´d wanted that, he
would have run about in scarlet and puce robes with blue hair.
However, despite the fact that he wasn´t looking for attention,
attention found him.
An older witch gasped, finger pointing as the sunlight spilled through
the rooftops and alit upon the solitary form, scattering the view with
liquid silver. Soon others were turning their heads, pausing in their
shopping to gawp with their friends, trying to be covert in their
observations and failing in a way that enthusiastic witches and wizards
have a tendency to do, hushed voices raised despite their best efforts and
eyes and fingers following in possessive tracks.
The young man didn´t stop in his walking, though he knew that he was
the focus of many pairs of curious eyes. He held his head high,
silver-white hair caressing the angular lines of his face as it escaped
from its loose-tail confines at the back of his neck. His pace was
relaxed, a serpentine slink that many a woman would have given a limb to
imitate; it was a motion that commanded attention, a motion of the utmost
sensuality.
Those who were close enough to garner a glimpse of his eyes knew at
once who he was. After all, eyes such colour were infamous in the
wizarding world. Only one family had ever possessed that precise
tri-colour ring of charcoal, silver, and pearl about liquid-black pupil
that could be called Malfoy silver.
Draco smiled faintly, feeling both humbled and pleased by the
attention. He wasn´t the type of boy that could be called handsome, for
his features were far too effeminate. And he wasn´t beautiful, having too
many angles to his face for such refinement. He did know, however, that
his features had a sort of androgynous uniqueness that made people sit up
and pay attention--a fact that was equal parts blessing and curse.
It was nice to know that after a year´s absence--and after a year of
having his ego thoroughly shattered on more than one occasion--that he
still had the ability to make people look at him. Though, given his
heritage, it really wasn´t all that hard.
He stopped into Flourish and Blotts, gaze sweeping through the shop
and noting students and parents alike, until they settled on one of the
helpers. Sedately he wound his way through the people, smiling when a
little boy squeaked after looking at him and ran scurrying to his mother.
Fear and awe were often entwined when it came to the Malfoys; apparently
that hadn´t changed in a year, either.
He purchased his schoolbooks for the next year--his class load looked
almost as suicidal as Granger´s from third year--and requested that they be
sent to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. After that, he left the shop to
continue with his shopping.
Pausing outside of Ollivander´s wand shop, he sighed, reaching into
his robes for the slim box that had been kept snug between breast and
clothing. He should have known back in second year that this day would
come, but that didn´t make it any easier. He felt as though he were giving
up a limb, which was a very disturbing thought.
Pushing open the door, he made his way to the counter and waited for
Ollivander to make his usual dramatic entrance.
Unfortunately, he hadn´t expected the man to suddenly appear behind
him.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. I expected that I would be seeing you soon."
Draco jumped, whirling around in a disarray of clothing and hair, eyes
flying wide. He not only hadn´t heard the man approach, he hadn´t
felt him; and after the past year, that was a really unusual
occurrence. Telling his racing heart to slow down, he arched an eyebrow as
Ollivander scuttled around him and behind the counter, beaming happily.
"Did you?"
"Oh, yes." The man nodded sagely, wispy white hair seeming not to move
at all with the motion. "I knew that as soon as puberty hit that wand of
yours would start to act up. It´s always a bit of a bother with students
that aren´t completely human. The wand you left here with--mahogany, dragon
heartstring, ten and one-quarter inches--was merely intended to be a
temporary wand until your magics and heritages settled themselves out."
Out of all the things he´d expected to hear upon walking into
Ollivander´s... Well, he wasn´t sure what he´d expected to hear, but
that definitely hadn´t been it. "Really."
"Oh, yes. So, when did the problems begin?"
"If I´m to be thoroughly honest--which, you understand, it pains me to
be--the problems began back in second year. My performance in practical
charms began to be worse than normal. By last year, though, I couldn´t do
anything without side effects. A simple Summoning Charm would cause every
object but the one I wanted to fly at me with homicidal intent."
"Hmmm, yes, yes... Well, in your case, Mr. Malfoy, we´ll have to resort
to unusual options, I´m afraid. There are certain wand cores and wood
types that only react well with witches and wizards of mixed blood. For
instance, the only ones I´ve ever met that have favourable luck with
veela hair are witches of veela descent."
Draco could help but chuckle, eyelashes falling to half-mast. "I´m a
Malfoy and rusalki. I´m not sure anything will react favourably to
me, sir," he drawled.
Ollivander laughed at that, light dancing through his murky blue eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, how unlike your ancestors you are. Indeed, the last time
I tried to explain the reaction of wands to a Malfoy--to a Malfoy, no
less--the windows to my shop were shattered inward. It cause such an awful
mess..."
"My father?"
"No, your Great Aunt Diana, actually. Beautiful woman, but a most
unusual temper for one of your line."
The name sounded familiar, but he couldn´t place exactly why. Lips
twitching, Draco asked, "How so?"
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy... Your family history, as you should well know, is
filled with men and women possessed of ice-cold natures and rigid
emotional control. Diana began with a wand nearly identical to
yours--slightly longer, was the only difference--and ended up leaving with a
wand of sakura and griffin pinion, eleven and one-third inches. Most
unusual wand..."
Ah, now he remembered! The British Malfoys had disowned Great Aunt
Diana soon after graduation from Hogwarts. Though she had been Head Girl
during her final year, the fact that she had hexed her own father with a
curse that made him burst into song if he disparaged her or her mother,
and the fact that she started a career as a fantasy writer in the Muggle
world, had assured her effective persona non gratis status with her
British relatives. Reputedly she was still alive, somewhere in the United
States--yet another faux pas in the British Malfoys´ book.
"So, shall we set about finding a wand that responds favourably to
you, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Ollivander.
Gulping, Draco took a step back, fighting the urge to run at the
intense glint in Ollivander´s eyes and the fanatically alight expression
of joy on his face. This was going to be a long day.
Nearly an hour later, Draco emerged somewhat dazedly from the wand
shop seven galleons poorer and with his new wand--sakura and ebony
laminated ply, Japanese dragon whisker, ten and one-half inches--clutched
to his chest. And he wondered about the implications of such a wand.
Rusalki or Malfoy? Which had been the cause of his needing a new
wand, and one even more unusual than Great Aunt Diana´s?
Ollivander had babbled as they´d dug through the half-buried tumble of
boxes that comprised his more exotic wands. Not all Malfoys had required
new wands during their adolescence, but there had been such a significant
number that Ollivander remembered his family quite well. And the ones that
he hadn´t personally met, he could remember their stories being told to
him by his father and grandfather. Ollivander seemed to have a better
memory than even the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Really, what did it mean to be a Malfoy? Even his father hadn´t
known the answer to that question, no matter how many times Draco had
pestered him as a child. All Draco had ever known about being a Malfoy was
that he was rich, his father had power, and, therefore, he had the ability
to make people´s lives miserable.
Lips quirking, he hurried down the street to his next destination.
Though it had only been a month and a half, fifth year seemed to be
nothing more than a lingering bad dream--especially for Harry Potter.
He pursed his lips as he perused through the Apothecary Shoppe for
potion ingredients. He remembered hearing in May, as he´d lain
pain-wracked in the hospital wing, that Snape would be returning to teach
potions, so it would be wise to make sure his stores were full. Though the
man himself hadn´t said anything of the kind during their...unusual trip to
the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, there was no reason to think that it
wasn´t so. And, from looking at his school supply list, there were a few
new ingredients he needed to pick up as well.
The store proprietor hurried forward, a somewhat distracted smile on
his face. "Hogwarts?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, sixth year."
"Hmmm, sixth year, sixth year... Oh, yes, I remember now. Really odd
list for you this year."
Harry didn´t have a reply to that; he just made a sound that could
have been either agreement or disagreement.
"Yes, odd list of ingredients. Seems you´re going to be doing some
interesting potions." The man disappeared into the back, emerging a few
moments later with a wrapped packet. "Anything else you need?"
Rummaging through his robe pocket, Harry pulled out a crumpled piece
of parchment. "I need to replenish these as well."
"Quit moving so much," his passenger groused sleepily. Harry smiled
inwardly, wondering what the shop owner would think if he knew that Harry
was running around with a snake wrapped quite comfortably around his arm.
The proprietor smoothed the parchment, eyes widening. "Replenish
all of these? And at these amounts? What on earth did you use this
stuff for?"
Emerald frosted over with onyx as Harry glared coldly at the man. "If
you´re worried about the money, I assure you that I can afford to pay."
"No, no, it´s not the money..." He looked aside, biting his lip. "You do
realise that I have ample reason to believe that you´ve broken the
Restriction for Underage Wizardry Act."
Harry shrugged, gaze still Arctic. "Believe what you want. Those
ingredients were used with Headmaster Dumbledore´s knowledge." Now, would
the man continue to question him...?
"Yes, but..."
Bother; apparently he would. It was tempting to use the man as a test
subject for his potion experiment--he had one of the dates in his pocket,
after all--and then all it would take would be a simple swish and flick...
"Oh, give him the ingredients already, Grudging!" The drawled words
were followed by an exasperated sigh, both derailing Harry´s train of
thought. "Really, if you question all of your patrons this way, it´s a
wonder you´re still in business."
Harry stiffened, hand reaching for his wand. He stopped, though,
fingers hovering over the smooth holly grain. The proprietor had jumped as
well, parchment re-crumpling in his trembling hands. "Mr...Mr. Malfoy!"
Slowly turning around, Harry found himself facing his arch-nemesis for
the first time in over a year--and if it hadn´t been for the fact that the
cultured drawl with its Northern inflections had been ingrained in his
mind, he might not have recognised the boy so quickly. He knew the old
adage that people changed over time. He knew that he, himself, was a fine
example of that. But he hadn´t expected to find himself facing an altered
Draco Malfoy.
White-blonde hair was pulled back--not gelled, as Harry had been used
to seeing, but simply swept back into a tail--at the nape of his neck. His
skin was as pale as ever, as were the silver-grey eyes that watched the
world from behind lowered gold lashes. His robes were unusual though: Two
sets of varying grey silk, the outer patterned like clouds, held at the
waist with a wide black sash. His bearing seemed different as well, more
relaxed, more controlled, and less...less angry.
"Mr. Malfoy, a pleasure as always."
Malfoy snorted. "Oh, please, Grudging. I know you think that I´m
simply a snot-nosed brat, so don´t bother trying to feed me false
pleasantries. I simply came to gather my sixth year potion ingredients."
"They´re allowing you to return to Hogwarts, eh?"
"Allowing? Were they saying I was expelled? I was on an exchange of
sorts, last year," said Malfoy coldly.
Grudging eyed him dubiously, heading into the back once again.
"Exchange? Bet I know what kind..."
Harry´s eyes narrowed as he watched Malfoy sigh. "Were you really?" he
found himself asking.
Malfoy´s head snapped up, eyes widening as they actually saw and
recognised the ebon-haired boy in front of him. "Gods and goddesses
above...Potter?"
Harry arched an eyebrow at the Slytherin´s incredulous tone. "Yes,
Malfoy?"
"I..." Malfoy shook his head, a cross between a laugh and a snort
slipping from his lips. "Sorry, it´s just... I wasn´t expecting to see you,
of all people, here."
"What? Hoping I´d given up and gone home?"
"I tried for four years to make you do that. It was doubtful a year´s
absence would make you change your mind."
The snake laughed, and Harry glared at his wrist for a moment. He was
surprised when he looked up to find Malfoy smiling, looking at his arm as
well.
Harry chose to ignore Malfoy´s comment for the moment, though he did
briefly wonder why Malfoy was staring at his sleeve. "So is that really
where you were, on an exchange? No-one seemed to know for sure."
Malfoy shrugged. "I´m certain not many cared. But, yes, I schooled for
a few months in France, and then went to Japan."
"I didn´t know you spoke Japanese." Though, after saying that, Harry
realised that if he were completely honest with himself, he really didn´t
know a whole lot about Malfoy period.
"I don´t," said Malfoy with a sardonic smile. "Or, at least, I didn´t
at first. Which made my exchange all the more...interesting."
"Here´re yer ingredients, Mr. Malfoy," said Grudging as he returned
from the back, thrusting a package into Malfoy´s hands. "Will you be
needing anything else?"
Malfoy arched an eyebrow at Grudging´s waspish tone, looking every
inch the spoilt aristocrat Harry remembered. "If my presence bothers you
so much, Grudging, I can take it elsewhere--along with my money."
Grudging paled considerably. "No, no...no bother a `tall, Mr. Malfoy.
Please forgive me...had a bad run in with your father recently and it´s left
me a bit sour."
"Yes, that seems to happen a lot when my father´s involved, doesn´t
it?" said Malfoy with a humourless smile.
If anything his words made the shop owner blanche even further. "I
m-meant no af-affront to your father, Mr. Malfoy. P-please don´t..."
"Tell my father? You have no need to worry on that account, Grudging.
I haven´t spoken to my father in over a year."
Harry watched the play between Malfoy and Grudging curiously, trying
to be as unobtrusive as possible. And because he was watching so closely,
it took him a moment to realise that when Malfoy smiled, Grudging´s fright
seemed to melt away, transforming the man from the timid mincing creature
of moments before to a jolly proprietor that put Harry in mind of the
Muggle Santa Claus.
"Will that be everything for you then, Mr. Malfoy?"
Malfoy´s smile turned bemused as he reached into his sleeve and
withdrew a small green silk pouch. He counted out three galleons and
handed them to Grudging. "Yes, I believe that´s everything."
"Do come again if you require quality potion ingredients."
"I´ll be sure to do that."
He turned, stopping when he saw Harry´s eyes narrowed upon him. "Do
you have a problem, Potter?"
"What did you just do to him?" asked Harry.
"Do?" Malfoy arched his eyebrow again in the insufferable aristocratic
expression that annoyed Harry to no end. "Why, I simply smiled at the man.
Haven´t you ever heard that actions speak louder than words?"
"Don´t try that load of shite on me, Malfoy. What did you do to him?"
Malfoy shrugged, smirking as he gathered his parcel of potion
ingredients to his chest and brushed past Harry. "Now, now...no need to get
shirty, Potter. If you really want to know, ask the Headmaster."
And then he was gone, leaving Harry fuming with anger--and twitching
with curiosity.
Once they were out the door, Harry´s serpentine companion made herself
known once again. "Who was that?"
"That? That was...well, I guess you could say he´s my rival. My enemy.
We´re in the same form at the same school, and we don´t get along that
well."
"Why´s that?" Peeking out from under the hem of his sleeve, the wide
gold eyes gazed up at him with curiosity. "He´s a snake too, you know."
"He´s a what?"
"A snake. Well, maybe not quite a snake, but he´s some sort of
serpent. He knew I was with you."
Well, that explained why Draco had been staring at his arm. But how...?
"Draco´s not a Parselmouth."
"No, but he´s a serpent, so it doesn´t matter. The Blessed Tongue is a
part of his blood, so he doesn´t need the gift of language to understand
us."
"That´s...that´s..." Harry broke off, at a loss for words. Why would the
snake say that Malfoy was part serpent? Oh, sure, he´d joked often enough
with Hermione and Ron about Malfoy´s poisonous nature, but it had been a
joke.
"Oh, it´s too confusing to explain when I´m this sleepy. Ask me later,
all right?"
"But..."
"Who are you talking to, Potter?"
"Hmmm?" Harry looked up, somewhat bemused from his run-in with Malfoy
as well as the confusing conversation with the snake. Snape was staring at
him with his arms crossed, an eyebrow arched as he waited for an answer;
Harry had completely forgotten that the man was waiting for him at the
corner of the street. "Talking to? Oh...oh! The snake you threw at me
earlier today."
Both black arches rose, pale lips pursing. "Trust you to make friends
with one of the world´s deadliest snakes."
Harry blinked. "Oh. Is she poisonous, then?"
Snape seemed stunned at that, losing all composure a few minutes later
in a spectacular fashion--later, Harry wished that he´d had a camera,
either Muggle or wizard, for truly it was a sight the he wanted to
remember forever. Sputtering, arms akimbo, he said, "Is she... Oh, for the
love of... Potter, do you even realise what type of snake you are
holding right now?" He didn´t bother to wait for Harry to reply. "That is
a boomslang, a rear-fang snake whose venom causes blood coagulation. There
are almost no symptoms of their bite, which makes them especially
dangerous."
"And their skin is a key ingredient of Polyjuice Potion," murmured
Harry absently.
Snape´s expression turned sour at those words. "Yes, as you should
well know--after having stolen the ingredients from my private stores
during your second year!"
Harry sighed, not wanting to go through that particular argument
again; really, it had driven him nuts during fourth year when Snape had
been running around, threatening him with Veritaserum around every corner.
"Oh, leave off. You want the truth? Fine. I was the one that threw the
firecracker into Goyle´s cauldron. Hermione was actually the one that
stole the boomslang skin. Which, of course, we used to change ourselves
into Goyle, Crabbe, and Millicent Bulstrode in order to fulfil out
fantasies of the most disturbing Slytherin ménage-trois ever. And the
gillyweed from fourth year was actually stolen by Dobby the house-elf,
since I was too much of a prat to figure things out for myself."
Snape had to give the boy points for honesty...and creativity. "Potter,
I believe every word that came out of your mouth except for the bit about
the Slytherins. And, no, I don´t want to know why you made the Polyjuice
Potion."
Harry smiled faintly. "Good. Because, if you asked, I´d have to kill
you."
Shivering, Snape looked away from Harry´s face. When had such bright
windows to the soul become gaping green voids into hell?
"Come along, Potter. Let´s make sure that you have everything you
need. I´m anxious to get back to Hogwarts." And to have a very strong
word or two with the Headmaster, he thought grimly.
Nodding, Harry gripped his potions´ parcel and followed after Snape.
"Sir, did you know that Draco Malfoy is returning to school this year?"
...Maybe he´d need to have three words with Dumbledore.
Draco collapsed onto his bed in the Leaky Cauldron with a sigh, not
caring that he had disturbed Uriel from his rest. The eagle owl hissed in
agitation, glaring at his owner before subsiding with a clack of his beak.
He had all of his school supplies now, as well as his new wand. If it
weren´t for the fact that the Ministry frowned on magic use in Diagon
Alley by students, he would have tried out his new wand to make sure that
it would work as well as Ollivander had assured him it would.
Well, Harry had appeared hale and healthy, though Draco knew
how easily appearances could be deceiving. He´d also seen Harry´s
behaviour in the Apothecary Shoppe, though--the venom he´d seen at age
eleven seemed to be coming into potency.
Sitting up, he flung his legs over the edge of the bed, kicking them
back and forth like a child. So, his mother had managed to keep her
promise. He smiled, closing his eyes. Maman...
A roar in the fireplace startled his reverie, followed by the chiming
that indicated someone wishing to speak through the fireplace. Scowling,
Draco scrambled off the bed and to the fireplace, managing to settle into
the high-backed chair in front of it just as Headmaster Dumbledore´s face
bobbed into view.
"Good day, Mr. Malfoy!"
Draco sighed, tugging absently on a lock of hair that had slipped into
his eyes. He pushed it behind his ear, giving the Headmaster a smile in
return. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore. To what do I owe the honour of
this...call?"
Dumbledore laughed. "As you know, your mother owled me about a month
ago, saying that you planned on returning to Hogwarts for your sixth year.
I thought I should contact you to make sure that you were up-to-date with
the situation at the school."
"Well, sir, I received my letter last week and just finished
purchasing my school supplies." Draco arched an eyebrow, resisting the
urge to ask the Headmaster just how he´d managed to track Draco down to
the Leaky Cauldron. "Believe me, I´ve kept up on my studies. Though I
missed the OWLs, I don´t think that will adversely affect my performance
on the NEWTs next year."
"And you were apprised of your new elective´s requirements?"
"Yes, sir. I picked up the books for Linguistics as well."
"Good, good. So..."
Dumbledore´s expression was one of cunning thought, and it reminded
Draco rather uncomfortably of Ollivander. "Sir?"
"So, Mr. Malfoy, what are your plans for this year?"
Draco pursed his lips, eyes narrowing to stare at Professor
Dumbledore´s bobbing head. "What exactly do you mean, Headmaster?"
"Plans, Mr. Malfoy. I´m certain that you didn´t ask for a year off to
sit at home and twiddle your thumbs. What goal do you plan to accomplish
by returning to Hogwarts now?"
If Dumbledore´s sudden forwardness and complete lack of doddering-air
startled Draco, it was unnoticeable in his outward appearance and voice.
He would have to thank his Japanese cousins later for teaching him the
knack of always appearing unruffled. "I´m not sure that I´ll accomplish
anything, sir. But, as for what I plan to do... Why, I plan to continue
doing the same things I did for my first four years of school."
"Thwart Harry Potter?" asked Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Keep Potter amongst the living," snapped Draco. "Really, I was
surprised to see him still breathing in the Apothecary Shopped when I went
to Diagon Alley for my supplies."
"Do you think my powers to weak, Mr. Malfoy?"
Dumbledore´s words were like an echo of his mother´s from a year
before. "No, sir. I just think that he is that much of a magnet for
trouble. I was in Osaka when I heard about the attack on the school trip
to Stonehenge."
"Ah, yes...that. I´m afraid that even I was surprised by Voldemort´s
boldness that day. In hindsight, I should have expected it, given his love
for violence and Muggle panic and death."
"Yes, and how many students died that day?"
"Six."
"And twenty-four Muggles. And you can´t forget the death of the
Minister. How well did has he dealt with that?"
"Dealing entails admitting that the incident occurred in the first
place. I don´t know if he´s done that yet."
Draco sighed. "So many deaths in such a small amount of time... And the
attack on your little order´s headquarters? How did that fair?"
"You´re remarkably well informed for someone that was in Japan at the
time," said Dumbledore mildly.
"Maman kept me up-to-date--and the Japanese wizards have an amazing
information network. Really, you might think about teaching some of their
water charms to the upper classes."
Dumbledore smiled faintly. "I´ll take that into consideration, Mr.
Malfoy. Now, in returning to the original topic of conversation, how
exactly to you plan to conduct yourself this year?"
A headache was beginning to brew somewhere in the vicinity directly
behind his ears--one that promised to eventually move and become a
full-blown migraine. Really, did the Headmaster have to choose today, of
all days, to have an interrogation? "Well, you know, I hadn´t actually
thought that much about it," he said lightly, waving a hand. "Maybe cause
a fight or three, get myself cursed up one side and down the other, say a
few profane words guaranteed to get my teeth knocked in, and generally
cause mayhem wherever possible because, as a Slytherin and Malfoy, I have
a reputation to uphold. Oh, and look good, of course. I always have to
look good."
There was silence for a moment--silence punctuated by the sharp, rapid
breaths slipping from Draco´s damp lips. When had lying become so hard for
him?
"Now that that´s out of your system, Mr. Malfoy, would you care to be
truthful with me?" Dumbledore asked dryly.
Draco scowled, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Bugger. Oh, all right.
You want to know the real Grand Plans and Evil Machinations of Draco
Salazar Malfoy? Well here they are: I haven´t got a bloody clue!" His eyes
were silver-bright, hair slipping into them unnoticed as his hands began
to dance once again in agitation. "I mean, really, you´d think you people
would have figured that out by now. I have the creativity of a Billywig
combined with the patience of a Manticore in heat, and I´m about as easy
to predict as the fate of an Ashwinder. Everything I´ve ever done has
pretty much been fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, which is how I plan to
continue. After all, why ruin a perfectly good awful record?"
Dumbledore remained silent throughout Draco´s semi-rant, trying to
hide a smile but eventually failing. Really, it was too amusing to hear
the normally calm and collected Slytherin boy lose his cool. And had he
even noticed the oxymoron in his last statement?
Apparently he had, since Draco sighed, head bowing forward. "And I
continue to make absolutely no sense in my native language," he muttered.
"Really, just take me out and drown me now."
"Ah, but I´m given to understand that you can´t drown, Mr. Malfoy. Was
I led astray in that respect?"
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