Warring Weasleys

Chapter Eight: Draco's Foil

Draco Malfoy's love potion was not turning out as well as he'd hoped. Crabbe and Goyle were not able to procure the frozen Ashwinder eggs, so Draco had to make do with room temperature ones. They'd also had trouble with some of the other ingredients, but neglected to tell him. Draco's impatience got the best of him and he whipped the potion up as fast as he could. Once prepared, he needed only to slip some of it into Hermione's drink at breakfast the following morning and ensure that she was near one of the Weasley twins for the magic to take effect.

He set the small bottle of greenish liquid down on the table and went to grab the spellbook he'd stolen from the library. It was time to return it and avoid any more trouble with Mr. Filch.

"Crabbe, Goyle, come on, we're going back to the library," he ordered.

The two hefty boys sat dumbly on the sofa near the fire, leafing through a book with bright, bold pictures on each page.

Draco tapped his foot and growled, "Come on!"

"Can't I just stay here?" Goyle whined. "I'm tired."

"Yeah, we went a long way about getting all that stuff for you. We need a rest," agreed Crabbe with a pathetic look on his face.

Draco squinted tightly at them and curled his lips into a sneer. "Lazy arses!" With a flourish of his cloak, Draco stormed out of the room, leaving his two henchmen to their own devices. He was so busy plotting Hermione's downfall and congratulating himself on such a cleverly wicked plan that he forgot to hide the potion. He did not remember it until he was already in the restricted section of the library replacing the book. By the time he got back to the common room, his worst nightmare had already come true.

* * *

Harry and Ron were stopped by Oliver Wood on their way back to the Gryffindor common room. He looked as if he were about to cry.

"Harry! Quidditch practice has been cancelled for tonight. I've been trying to find Fred to let him know, but he's off somewhere. If you see him, let him know, ok?"

"Sure, but, why is practice cancelled?"

"McGonagall said it's best to stay off the grounds. Something weird is happening on the fields. One minute it's normal and the next it's like a storm going on underground. The teachers want to find out what it is before we can play again."

Ron nudged Harry. "That's that thing that's been following you around, Harry."

"What thing? You know about this, Harry?" asked Wood, furrowing his brow. "if you do, you'd best see Professor McGonagall and tell her what you know. The sooner it's solved, the sooner we can be out on the field again. I don't want my team suffering for lack of practice."

"Right," said Harry. "I'll go head to her office now."

"Then I'll keep looking for Fred. And let me know what happens!" Wood took off down the hallway and left Harry and Ron feeling as puzzled as ever.

"What do you suppose this is all about?" asked Ron, looking queasy.

"I don't know yet but it's getting awful late. Let's get to McGonagall's office and see if she knows any more about it."

When they reached the Professor's office, they found the door locked with a note that read, "Back in Twenty Minutes."

"Now what do we do?" asked Ron.

Harry thought for a moment. He really did not want to go off looking for trouble on his own, but also didn't want his friends to be in any danger. Wood looked as if he'd have a nervous breakdown if Quidditch practice didn't resume soon. And Hermione - where was Hermione?

"Let's go check upstairs for Hermione first," said Harry.

"Then what?"

"Then we check in on the professor again and if she's not there, we're going to go to the dungeons and see where that noise is coming from." Harry said it before he realized what a crazy idea it was. Go to the dungeons?

"I'm not going down there!" cried Ron, his sensibilities obviously offended.

The two boys argued all the way back up the roving staircases to the Gryffindor common room. They looked around for Hermione but she was nowhere to be found, and Neville, who was half asleep in a chair, said he hadn't seen her all evening.

"Well that doesn't help much," said Ron darkly.

"Maybe she's sleeping?" asked Harry hopefully.

Ron went over and asked Angelina to check the dorms, and when she returned she confirmed their fears by stating that Hermione was most definitely not in bed.

"It's still made," said Angelina.

"Hey you heard about practice being cancelled, right?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, Wood sent word around. The only one on our team no one can find is Fred. You seen him?"

"Nope," replied Ron.

"Well, thanks, Angelina. We've got to run," said Harry, dragging Ron back down the stairs.

"Where are we going now? I'm tired," said Ron. He did not look happy about staying out past bedtime.

"Where's the last place you saw Hermione?"

"I don't know, probably the library. She's always got tons of books and all. You heard about how she broke George's foot, right?"

"Yeah. So I think we need to check the library."

"But Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris will be looking for stray students. I don't like being around him, he gives me the creeps," said Ron with a shiver.

"But I'm worried about Hermione. This rumbling thing has got students freaked out and I just want to make sure she's all right. Remember what happened the last time we lost track of her."

Ron thought for a moment and then pointed at Harry as he remembered. "The troll!"

"Right," said Harry, quickening his step.

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle lounged lazily on the Slytherin common room sofa. They hadn't moved an inch since Draco left the area, and neither boy really cared what their leader was doing. They were exceptionally large and slow, somewhat scared of Draco at times, but not enough now to warrant actually putting effort into helping him. Sleepiness had already set in, but they dared not retire before Malfoy reappeared. His wrath at not being aided was only half that of being abandoned completely.

Goyle put his feet up on the table, nearly knocking over the potion.

"Hey watch it!" said Crabbe with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "If you spill that stuff we'll have to clean it up."

"Well it ain't my fault some numbskull left his drink here," said Goyle crossly. He sat up and grabbed the beaker, put his nose to the spout and took a whiff. "It smells kinda good. I wonder what it is?"

"Drink some and find out," Crabbe said absentmindedly. He was engrossed with photographs of dark castles in Sites of Historical Sorcery.

Goyle shrugged and took a large gulp of the green liquid. "Hmm. Not bad," he said, and downed the remainder. He snorted once, and then looked over at Crabbe. Something had changed; he could feel it. His vision became slightly blurred for a moment, and when things snapped back into perspective, he saw the most wondrous sight he'd ever laid eyes on, a specter of loveliness that brought a song to his heart and an ache to his loins -- Vincent Crabbe.