Dark Minds

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Prologue

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"Your silence will not protect you." - Audre Lorde

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The courtroom was oddly quiet for such an uproarious scandal, he observed. The feeling of anticipation and a strange eagerness churned in his stomach. Every pair of eyes sat watching him. What do they want? The answer is always obvious in situations like this. They wanted blood. His blood. Spilt (or even not) in a quick and efficient way. Ah, the justice system and the people who supported and ran it. The corners of his mouth curved, and he ran his fingers over his knuckles and popped them lightly.

"Don't do that," a voice said next to him.

"Don't do what?" he turned to the person sitting next to him, feigning an innocent look. She only gazed at him sternly.

"Don't pop your knuckles. It causes arthritis and it's very annoying to some people," she looked away again, busily shuffled her notes in front of her, and scribbled something to herself. She tapped the quill against the inkwell, looking worried.

"Come now, Hermione," he smiled slightly, examining his fingernails with an air of grace and poise. "You can't be afraid, can you?"

She said nothing, but instead pretended to concentrate more on what she was writing.

"This is quite fun, isn't it?" he said airily, glancing up at the ceiling nonchalantly. She gave no reply.

"Humor me and tell me you're not enjoying this."

"Do you ever shut up?" she snapped angrily, looking very worried indeed. She continued to sift through the several pages of notes she had, drawing her lip under in a desperate, searching fashion.

"Well, if you're going to get snippy--"

"Could you please just SHUT your mouth for at least one moment?"

"For once, you're in a situation you can't solve by being good. Deliciously ironic, isn't it?" he commented, looking disgustingly smug and snide. "Especially for the amazing and wonderful Hermione Granger, who could do no wrong... until now, that is."

"What I think is deliciously ironic is that I'm not the one who will lose out majorly in this, it's you." She crumpled one of the leafs of parchment and tossed it at him. He amiably watched it bounce off of his front. "Meaning it's you who will get the Avada Kedavra, it's you who might get the Dementor's Kiss, and it's YOU who can have your life ruined and taken away from you for your stupid, selfish, plebeian and so-called righteous actions."

"Yeah... but you were there to assist me in my stupid, selfish, plebeian, and 'self-righteous actions'," he grinned.

Furiously, Hermione turned to finally look at him. Her hair lay limply upon her head, and her normally intelligent, daring brown eyes lay deep in her face, framed by purple bags. She was pale, and her fingertips were white at where she clutched the quill.

"I'm not afraid to die. You, on the other hand, will have the tarnished record of being involved in one of the best plots of the century. Or at least one that I was involved in," he grinned. "Wouldn't that be a shame?"

"What I did is what I did, and if anything, the world should thank me for it. I wouldn't and don't regret it... even though it wasn't really me who did anything," her lip curled indignantly. Yes, you're the...(it was difficult for her to even think of what had happened) murderer, not me! I shouldn't even BE here.

"Nor I." His smile was frightening, and her angry façade flickered slightly. He's kinda scary... in that way where he's like a snake. It can charm you and strike... Hermione bit her lip.

"This honestly can't be happening...especially not to me," she murmured to herself, running a hand through her hair.

No, it really can't, can it? he thought sarcastically. People like you don't get into serious trouble like this, Granger. Because you're good. You're not supposed to be associated with disgusting, evil, blonde people like me. The only reason you're here is because you tried to help him. The Boy Who Associates Himself With Disgusting, Evil, Blonde People Like Draco Malfoy, And Screws Them On The Side.

An inquisitive murmur swept through the room as the doors at the back of the room opened to admit a short wizard wearing a green bowler hat and a pinstripe cloak. Two people accompanied Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic: Arthur Weasley and Severus Snape. A cold look was etched upon Mr. Weasley's face. He refused to look at either of them as he walked by. Hermione felt a sharp, guilty pain in her gut, as though she'd been stabbed. Arthur Weasley had every right to be angry at her, but he just didn't understand. He didn't know what was going on. Although it feels like I'm not even sure what's going on, myself. Snape only nodded swiftly to them as he quickly strode past their lonely table. Draco smiled a friendly greeting to his professor, who did not return it. Both took their places in the stands, and Cornelius Fudge sat down heavily at the high table where he gazed down at the two of them morosely.

"This court has seen many strange and horrifying trials," the Minister announced, "but few so odd and obtuse as this one."

The entire courtroom was silent. Hermione was noticeably shaking in her seat.

"Draco Malfoy, you are hereby accused of implication in the injury of young Ronald Weasley (Mr. Weasley bristled in his seat), the death and suspected murder of one Lucius Malfoy, and disappearance and suspected death of Harry Potter. These accusations are quite grave and serious for a seventeen year old, Master Malfoy," Fudge pursed his lips as the audience began to whisper. "How do you plead?"

"Correction, Minister," Draco declared, his voice even, "I am the 'Mister' Malfoy, and therefore deserve the title, as my esteemed father no longer... holds the position. And I plead self defense, your honor." He added that last bit with a barely detectable note of sarcasm.

Fudge only sneered and then turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, you are accused of implications in the murder of Lucius Malfoy, and the disappearance and death of Mister Potter. What do you have to say in your defense?"

"Please, Minister, if you will," she said meekly. She stood up, hiding her quivering hands behind her back. "I would also like to make a correction."

"State it, if you please," he said, in a slightly mocking tone.

Oh, he has character. Draco's eyes squinted. Picking on poor Granger in what is clearly his courtroom. This is going to be a fun trial, kiddies. Two more for the Dementors tonight!

"Draco and myself... we would like the charge against us for the crimes that involved Harry Potter to be dropped," she stared the leering Minister down, trying to look braver than she truly felt.

She's never been in this kind of trouble, Draco mused. But then again, neither have I.

"And why is that?" Fudge raised an eyebrow, as did many other people in the entire room.

"Because--we know, --that is, Draco knows, that Harry is still alive."

A deafening roar spread across the courtroom like wildfire, and Fudge looked stunned.

"What is your evidence, Miss Granger?" the Minister said, a little less towering than he had spoken before.

Hermione turned to Draco, who smiled coolly at her from his seat. As much as she loathed him, for a moment she felt sorry for this outwardly cool young man to have to grace the witness stand and recount the story he was going to relay. Only for a moment, though.

He's disgusting, but he's got charm, she thought. He's one of those people that can do horrific things and get away with them because he just looks the right way.

The blonde neatly ascended the stairs to the stand, and sat down neatly in the chair, placing his lovely polished evergreen wood wand on the table before him and bowing his head in respect to the rest of the court. It was ritual. The wizard giving up his wand was quite symbolic. It meant that they were willing to give up themselves and their power for the honor of truth and all that was good. Although, in Draco's case, (or his family's rather pugnacious track record, for that matter), what did that mean to anyone, anyways?

"Where would you like me to begin?" the blonde leaned back in the chair and tapped his long fingers on his knee.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Fudge said, leering down depreciatively at the young man, as though he quite honestly wouldn't believe a word that would come out of his mouth.

Draco drew in a breath through his nose, and then gave a small sigh. At first, Hermione thought he was being dramatic, but he did in fact look quite weary and apprehensive to tell his part of this long and woeful story to an extremely harsh and critical audience.

"The beginning...?" Draco looked up at the ceiling, as though searching his brain as to where to start.

"Yes, and no chicanery from yourself," Fudge said sternly.

Draco looked slightly abashed, as though his thoughts had been interrupted, but ignored the minister. "I--"

"WAIT!"

The doors of the courtroom crashed open and two young men sprinted into the room. The taller, red-haired one of them stumbled for a moment, and his brunette companion caught him. They came into view, and the brunette brushed his fringe out of his eyes. The entire audience gasped. Hermione, Snape, and Mr. Weasley all stood up from where they were.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley and Hermione both said immediately. Snape looked shocked.

"Harry!" Draco uttered, looking completely shocked. Almost knocking over his chair, he stood up as Harry approached Fudge's podium. He noticed there was a long and cruel scratch across his dirty cheek and he looked extremely weary but determined to be there. He sunk to his knees.

"I'm here," he smiled tiredly.

"ORDER IN THE COURT," Fudge choked weakly.

The audience began their instant commentary, which grew from ragged whispers to a dull roar. Mr. Weasley and Snape elbowed their ways through the crowd. Mr. Weasley arrived and immediately accosted Ron, who only waved his hand impatiently and tried to get past him to Harry, who still was on his knees. Draco hopped over the railing and got to his knees in front of Harry.

"Are you all right?" he asked, brushing hair out of Harry's face and gently touching the scratch, making the both of them wince.

"'Course not, dumbshit," Harry grinned. Draco returned the grin, and wrapped his arms around Harry in a hug. Harry only laid his head on Draco's shoulder peacefully.

When Ron had finally broken himself away from his father, he walked not to Harry, but to Hermione, who looked mildly surprised. "Good morning," he ventured.

She regarded him with amusement. "Is that the only thing you can say?"

"Well, I would say more, but it looks like he has something to say," Ron indicated to Fudge, who was headed towards then in something of a rage.

"Just what is going on, here?" Fudge spluttered, his robes billowing out behind him. "Ma- Mister Malfoy, you're to be on trial for murder! What is this circus that is going on?"

Both of the young men on the floor looked up at the furious Minister, who was practically seething through his teeth. They glanced over at Ron and Hermione, also.

"Who wants to explain?" Ron said.

"I think you ALL need to explain what's going on!" the little Minister looked livid.

"Who wants to start, then?"

"I will," Draco volunteered. "I'm the soon-to-be-convicted murderer, anyways."

He ascended the witness stand and sat down again, this time folding his hands neatly in his lap.

"Everything in life, starts with a dream," he began.

~*~

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Chapter One: Breakfast of Lies

In which Dean makes witty comments and something seems not right about three certain lads...

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"The truth is rarely pure, and never simple." - Oscar Wilde

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His scarf whipped in the wind, occasionally hitting him in the face. He dared not throw it off behind him, because then he would clue them onto his scent. He couldn't let them trace him.

The undergrowth of the forest was black and misty from the falling rain, full of nettle and bramble. Their thorns tugged and pulled at his black uniform school robes as he tramped through them. He couldn't stop to tend to the scratches they caused to his ankles when they tore through the bottoms of his trousers. He had to keep going. He couldn't let them catch him.

His eyes burned and his heart pounded in his breast as he stumbled through the trees. If his heart beat any harder, it would break his chest. But, in the rain, he had no time to stop and allow his breath to return and his heart to slow. He couldn't let them find him.

He heard shouts behind him. Pointing his wand over his shoulder, he shouted breathlessly, 'STUPEFY!' He dared not look back to see if the curse had hit the target. He couldn't let them kill him.

A tall figure stepped onto the path in front of him. He skidded to a halt and tried to run in the other direction, but the figure grabbed him roughly and brought him close to its face.

'Going somewhere, are you?' the shadow rasped, pulling itself into the light. Lucius Malfoy's breath was awful and his normally perfect blonde hair was scraggly. His dress and skin was spotted with water from the rain. Blue eyes stared wildly at him, a murderous glint in them. A wand was gripped at his side.

He yanked his arm from the man's grasp and swallowed as Lucius advanced on him, a malevolent grin spreading across his features. Shouts were heard in the distance. Afraid, he shoved past him.

'YOU CAN'T RUN FROM YOURSELF!' Lucius shouted after him. He dared not look back to see if he was following.

They were getting closer. He could feel it. He ran faster and faster . . .

'Ooof!' He fell to the wet, puddle-smattered ground with a thud. Mud splattered his vision. He wiped it away furiously. He could hear the shouts from afar. But, he couldn't get up. He was just too tired. Too exhausted. No more running. If they found him here, they could kill him. And this would all be over.

He glanced into the puddle, and his breath got caught in his throat. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. As he choked harder and harder, the image became clearer and clearer.

NO! He thought, his mind racing. I'M NOT!

It was the familiar image of a blonde haired, pointed face staring up at him. With one exception. A certain purple scar, shaped like a lightning bolt, adorned his forehead. And it burned more mercilessly that one could ever imagine.

That night, three boys jerked awake in their beds.

~

In one part of the castle, Draco Malfoy sat stoking the fire.

"Can't run from myself . . . " he mumbled. "He's a liar. There isn't a 'me' to run from!"

He sniffed disdainfully and reveled in the warmth and soft glow of the flames.

Get out of my dreams, Potter. Get out of my dreams, or so help me.

~

That very same morning . . .

Before the sun had even peeked through the curtains that covered the windows of the Gryffindor fifth year boys' dormitory, Ron was awake and sitting deep in thought in front of the fire in the room. This, in itself, was odd, for Ron never ever woke before sunrise. Ever. Not even if you had screamed in his ear that he had won a hundred million galleons. (Well, maybe, but that wasn't going to happen in the nearby future.) So it was natural for there to be shock from his best friend Harry, who was the first one to groggily pull back the curtains of his four-poster bed and fumble around for his dressing robe, which was on the floor among many other things that littered the dormitory.

Harry blinked the fuzziness and exhaustion out of his eyes and also fumbled for his glasses, which sat on the bedside table. He put them on and nearly sputtered, "Ron? What- what're you doing up?"

"Oh, good morning to you too, Harry," Ron glanced up, looking though he had been disturbed from thoughts about something terribly important.

"Don't we have double Potions today?" another voice moaned. It was Neville, who also pulled back the curtains on his bed and became wide-eyed at the sight of Ron awake. "Oh my . . ." he said, shocked.

"Whassamatter?" a loud thud sounded from across the room, and Seamus grabbed the bedpost to help pull him off of the floor. He blinked, and then stared. "Well, bless my soul."

A head poked through the curtains of last bed on the far wall. "If I find the pitiful fool who disturbed my slumber- wow, Ron!" The curtains were flung open, and then closed. Dean poked his head through the curtains again. "I'm obviously still sleeping, because Ron is awake."

Ron stupidly returned the stares of his dormitory mates. "What? What are you all staring at?"

"Ron, you're AWAKE," Seamus said pointedly.

"Yeah? So?"

"You're never awake!" Neville interjected. Ron wrinkled his nose in annoyance at him.

"This is obviously a sign. Something very ominous or very good should happen," Seamus observed.

"Well," Dean crossed his arms. "The universe is obviously shifting, and that means something, or somebody, will undergo a significant change."

The other four boys stared at him now.

"Honestly, don't any of you read?"

The boys eventually all agreed that it was an early Saturday morning and it didn't matter if they got dressed or not to go down to dinner.

"You could go naked, Neville," Dean commented. "It's so early, no one would even care."

With a sarcastic sneer to Dean, Neville looked over at Harry and Ron, who were both absently staring off into space.

"Hey, what's making you guys so glum?" Seamus inquired melodiously, tossing around the contents of his trunk to find a pair of socks to wear down to the Great Hall. He tossed aside a bottle of ink, which spilled over an old shirt of Neville's that had somehow found itself into Seamus' mess pile.

"I had a weird dream last night," they both said in unison. They instantly stared at each other and half-grinned.

"Care to share?" Seamus finally found a suitable match of socks, a pair that was green with stripes that really wiggled, and tugged them on.

"It was really strange," Harry began. "I was running through the Forbidden Forest, being chased . . . but somehow it wasn't me . . ." Most definitely not me... He gripped the comforter of his bed his hands, white knuckled. No one seemed to notice.

"Weird-o," Dean commented. "What about you, Ron?"

"NOTHING!" he shot out. "I mean, it was nothing," he stammered, seeing their stares. Nice one, Ron, very nice, he thought.

"O...K...." Seamus gave a look to Dean. "Well then, let's all go down to the Great Hall, shall we?"

"Good idea," Harry agreed, looking at Ron once more. "Now really, what's eating you?"

Ron stared at Harry for a moment. "I'm all right," he said finally, dismayed. What were you doing in my dreams, Harry? And what was HE doing in my dreams?

Liar, Harry thought, but shrugged. They both got up to exit the dormitory.

*

Toast. Ugh.

For some reason, Draco just really hated the toast today.

He viciously jabbed his knife in the butter dish, taking out a bit of the yellow, creamy, greasy substance and then spreading it over the carbohydrate-filled sustenance with an odd furiousness that would have puzzled the average bystander.

Gah! Bread! Why do you have to be so cheerful? Die, you evil golden-brown... thing!

He was virtually alone in the Great Hall, with the exception of a few early bird students silently eating or talking quietly to one another at the other house tables. The only teacher at breakfast was the old bat lady Professor Sinistra, drinking coffee and staring off into space with the great, permanent bags under her eyes from many late night observances of the stars. Astronomy was one of Draco's least favorite subjects. He could care less about the stars and their alignment having to do with elements of Divination, which he especially hated. The next table over from the Slytherin table was Ravenclaw. A fifth year he vaguely knew sat with a piece of parchment, whispering instructions to a quill that was drawing something on the page. Wasn't he that one that sat on the other side of Goyle and drew those somewhat-pornographic pictures in History of Magic the other day? Draco gave an involuntary shiver. No wonder he was having the quill do the drawing. He must've thankfully realized he isn't very good. The Hufflepuff table was completely empty. No early risers from that house, he supposed. Good for them. Only crazy people get up before 10 AM on a Saturday. So why the hell am I up?

His eyes finally rested upon the Gryffindor table. There were several students populating the enemy table, namely Younger, Less Stupid, and Female Version of Weasel and Mudblood Granger. Oh, how I hate them both. Granger calmly sipped orange juice while listening to the redhead relayed a (probably pointless) tale. The two of them laughed together. Oh how mirthful the two of them were. Ha ha. Tra la fricking la. Like charming little fairies. Malfoy hated fairies, too.

But more than fairies, he loathed Granger and likewise, she loathed him. Horrendously perfect Granger. Smart and "sassy", Hermione charmed people, mainly teachers, in her conniving way and wormed her way to the top of the class, and of course got everything that came to her: Prefect badges, recommendations and special privileges from teachers, and most likely the soon-to-be-announced title of Head Girl. Draco was quite set in his mind that he would get the title of Head Boy (so long as that snooty Ravenclaw Terry Boot kept out of his way.) Eh, I can have Crabbe and Goyle take care of him. Head Boy and Girl were authorities on a lot of things. They directed the Prefects when teachers weren't around, they kept all students in line, and they of course got the award to go on any job or future schooling application in the wizarding world. Witches like Granger didn't deserve the honor, seeing as she barely was a real witch. Not to mention whom she kept acquaintance with.

Weasley... What was little female Weasley's name again? Virginia... or Ginny, as everyone so fondly referred to her as. Shy but quick-witted, she was astutely loyal to those around her and scrambled and scrounged for approval at every chance she could. In that sense, Ginny Weasley was like Pansy Parkinson in his mind, an equally reticent person who tried to get other people's approval, mainly Draco's. Ginny admired Granger in many ways, and she seemed to be the only female best friend Granger had. One could often see Ginny hanging around the Mudblood in the library, studying and giggling softly with her.

As annoying as they are, I suppose they could grow on a person. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. But then again, so can cancer, and also various forms of fungi.

Much to Draco's surprise, their male counterparts joined them within several minutes: Destructo-Boy, Insignificant Background Gryffindor, Large Bottom, Weasel . . . and Potter. Urrrrgh. Vile, revolting, idealistic, tragically heroic, instinctual... true... proud.... softly handsome Harry Potter. Wait, what?

Draco decided to pretend that he didn't just think what he thought he thunk. Is "thunk" even a word?

The group of friends sat together, the boys stuffing their faces in an ungentlemanly fashion, the girls continuing their tinkling laughter, and the males joining in occasionally on the laughter and conversation, little bits of food crumbling out of their mouths. Noticeably, the Weasel and Potter kept out of much of the conversation, picking at their food and both staring off into space, not completely there.

The picture of them all together is just so ugly it hurts the eyes. Minus Potter. And maybe Weasley's younger sister. Wait, hold on now...

Suddenly, Malfoy felt like vomiting all over the Slytherin table.

"Why does Malfoy keep staring at us?"

"Because of you, Seamus. Haven't you heard? It was in the Daily Prophet and everything, headlined 'RICH LITTLE PISSANT WANTS CHARMING IRISH BOY.' Boy, you think you'd keep up with your press cuttings."

"Your mom!" Seamus managed through the laughter.

Harry glanced up at the other table. Malfoy was indeed staring at them, namely him. The blonde's eyes quickly averted. Well, he's a special one, isn't he? He's always staring at me, giving me obnoxious looks, talking about me to his evil Death Eater parents and most likely his ugly and stupid Slytherin friends. Christ with a K, you'd think he was obsessed with me.

Maybe Draco Malfoy wants to be Harry Potter.

Something flickered in his mind. That dream had been so vivid. Harry himself had felt sick at having the sharp features of Draco Malfoy when he looked into that puddle. The oddest thing about it was... he hadn't been the only one thinking when he looked into that dream. He couldn't lay his finger on it.

It was like... there was two of me thinking... Me and some other entity as one...Jeez, when did I start using words like entity? Harry gave an odd half smile as he helped himself to a piece of toast.

~*~