Before the Storm

"Just open you wanking wet excuse for a stone wall!"

"No, that isn't it, either," whatever invisible entity controlled the Slytherin Common Room door said. The voice seemed to be coming from within the rock itself, although no face appeared to Draco.

"I know that isn't it!" Draco was grinding his teeth together so hard little flecks of enamel were flying off into his spit. All he wanted at that moment was to go inside and have a strong, warm, brain-cell killing drink, and the only thing between him and said drink was that idiot wall.

"No password no entry."

"Listen, I know this is slightly unethical, but you're a freaking wall and it's not like ethics matter anyway. If you could make an exception, just this once, I could make it worth your while. I'm very rich."

The second the words were out of his mouth, Draco realized how stupid he sounded. He was propositioning a wall. What could it possibly want? It didn't eat or wear clothes or have a libido. The most it probably would demand was a nice tapestry.

So he was quite shocked when the wall replied, "Could you really?"

Draco squinted at the wall. It's whiny little voice sounded sincere, but he really couldn't tell, as walls did not have facial expressions.

"Erm, yes, sure, anything."

"Could you, er, perhaps...make me popular?"

Now his eyes were wide open, irises icy blue jewels set into white-gray ivory.

"So what? You feel like a wallflower?" Draco had to chuckle at his own cleverness.

"That's not funny. It's just...it gets lonely sometimes, you know? None of the other walls talk to me and all you kids want to do is get into your little club and chat."

Draco couldn't possibly have explained how, but the wall suddenly had a sorrowful countenance, the corners of its bricks sagging a little bit.

"Fine, fine, I'll find you a friend, how does that sound?" he snapped, exhausted. He wasn't a therapist; he had more important things to do than listen to the problems of a magically enchanted piece of architecture.

"Deal!" the wall said, delighted. It swung open, at last letting Draco in.

"That was way too much work," grumbled Draco as he swooped into the room. The interior had changed little since his father had been at school. Same dampness, same cold iron ornaments, same dead mooing cow upholstery. Draco didn't feel like lounging around the Common Room anyway. He headed for the narrow hallway in the back corner of the room.

After he had made prefect, his father had managed to procure him a private bedroom, his reason being Draco's need for sleep and the inability to get it in a room constantly reverberating with the snores-and occasionally farts-of Crabbe and Goyle. Draco could only assume his father had also used it when he was in school. Sure enough, in his pocket he found the little silver key for the narrow wooden door at the end.

As the door swung open, Draco wrinkled up his nose. The room was putridly immaculate, without a single stray stocking or book. The heavy mahogany furniture adorned with carved fruits and the occasional goat didn't have a hint of dust on it. He opened the wardrobe. Damn, he'd be wearing a lot of velveteen breeches in the days to come.

But-aha! Draco must have inherited more than just stunning good looks and breeding from his father, for there in the corner was nestled a bottle of vodka, as clear as any mountain stream. It was the same spot Draco kept his liquor.

He snatched it up. It was almost full; it was either new or Lucius hadn't picked up his heavy drinking habits until later in life. From the cabinets Draco found a crystal brandy glass. He filled it up then emptied it just as quickly.

Setting the bottle and glass down, he immediately fell onto the bed. That wasn't ordinary vodka; he could already feel its syrupy warmth spreading from his stomach to his arms and legs. Either that, or his father's body didn't have as much tolerance as his own.

Once he could sit up again, he got up and proceeded to pour himself another glass.

* * *

Harry checked his-actually his father's, he'd never seen the thing before-watch again. Twenty-one minutes late now. Stupid Draco. Grumbling, he picked up a copy of So you want to be an Aardvark: A horribly complicated and time-consuming guide to becoming an Animagus and settled in for the evening.

He was halfway through Chapter One: Finding your Inner Chipmunk when he heard a trill of girlish giggling coming from a few shelves over. He was about to assume it was just his father's generation's version of Cho Chang when he heard Lucius Malfoy's voice-a deeper, sultrier version of Draco's-speak.

"Ha ha, Pince! Thasafunngyword. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Mr. Malfoy, if you don't behave yourself--"

"Hey, youdon'tlooksofuglyanold, ha ha ha."

Harry stuck his fingers in the book to keep his place and rushed over to the voices.

Draco was rolled over on the ground like a flipped turtle, laughing hysterically. Half-alcohol tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. A slightly younger-looking but still dried up and haggish Madam Pince was hunched over him, beak-like mouth pursed and bloodless in rage.

"Malfoy?"

Draco managed to stop wriggling for a second to manage a glance at harry.

"'OTTER!!!" he shouted in that way only the boozed-out drunken can. "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Sorry," Harry said to Madam Pince, who looked ready to surgically remove his stomach and stomp on it just for being associated with Draco. "We're supposed to be working on Sobering Charms. I guess he got it wrong."

He wrapped his arms under Draco's, trying to hoist him up by his armpits. The blonde boy's body kept sliding away, jiggling all the while with laughter.

"Malfoy, I am going to kill you for this," he hissed in Draco's ear. "No, worse, I'll dye your stupid hair. Pink. Bright, flaming flamingo-feathered-"

"Lucius?"

Still straining to hold Draco up, Harry looked around to the source of the voice. A tiny girl, not possibly beyond second year, was standing by the shelf. Her hair was one thick curtain of black satin, a contrast to her paper-white skin, and her eyes were such a dark blue they broached on violet. They still gleamed with a light and mischief that Azkaban would eventually take out.

"Lucius darling," purred Bellatrix Black, "what on earth is wrong with you?"

Harry was so surprised he dropped Draco, who landed with a bone-cracking thud at his feet. Some little part of him wanted to find something intelligent, something scathing to say to this smirking little girl before him, but all he could manage was a gawk.

"Come here, love."

For a second Harry thought she was talking to him, that she was gliding-that's how she moved, in a Dementor-like glide-towards him, but instead she kneeled down besides Draco, fretting over him like a mother.

"How did you get in such a terrible state," she murmured, her voice as low and soothing as the rumble of a pleased cat. She wrapped her slender arms around Draco, gathering him to her. He was quiet now, fallen under her spell. He rose to his feet without a fight, all the while unable to take his eyes off of her. It took a minute for Harry to realize he was staring at her, too.

"Let's get you back to your room; you can't wander around like this." She had an arm around Draco's back, under his arms, since she was too short for it to be level to his shoulders. She was no longer facing Harry; they were already on their way out the door. "You'd be a disgrace to our house. We're supposed to be discreet."

As she said this, she turned her head to glance at Harry. Her mouth and eyes were smirking at him, taunting. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of something glinting at her throat.

"Good night, James."

Before Harry could decide whether she'd actually said something to him, or if he'd imagined it, they were gone. He found himself alone with Madam Pince, who was still staring at him like she'd just swallowed a lemon whole.

"Erm, have you got any more books on Animagi?" he asked.

* * *

Slurpslobbersmacksmack. "Mmmmmmm." Slobberslobberdroolsmack.

"Um, Padfoot?"

"Mmmmmfffguh?" answered Sirius, halfway detaching his lips from the pretty blonde girl's sitting on his knee.

"Is there any chance you could, I don't know, suck each others brains out through your sinus cavities in a place where I AM NOT?"
Sirius pulled himself away completely, his lips making a smack! sound like a freshly opened bit of Tupperware. Remus was glaring at him over the top of his book, looking ready to transform and bite his head off.

"You don't seem to bothered by it," he said casually.

"I doubt that, but anyway you might want to consider Peter, who looks ready to spontaneously orgasm off of your little make out session."

Sirius leaned over to glance around the girl. Peter was seated on the floor, beady black eyes fixed on him. They quickly moved to the left, then to the right, and then Peter's face spread into what he clearly thought was an ingratiating smile.

"Right, then," said Sirius. He shoved the girl off of his knee. She must have been expecting it, because she just stood up. "Later, Ashley."

"My name is Rachel," replied the girl.

"I like Ashley better."

She made a small huffy noise of annoyance and stomped off, blonde ponytail swinging away.

"I really wish you wouldn't parade your little tramps around in front of us, Sirius," said Remus.

"She's not a tramp," said Sirius. "She's a fine upstanding girl who I very much admire."

"You've forgotten her name already, haven't you?"

"No." There was a second of silence as Sirius's eyes shifted around, as though the girl's name might have been written on the couch cushions. "It was Amy, wasn't it?"

Remus just rolled his eyes before settling them back on his book.

"You're impossible."

"No, you're impossible," shot back Sirius. "Impossible at getting a date. It's because you use words like tramp. Just call her a whore like whoever left her owl address on the bathroom wall."

Remus looked up at him again and opened his mouth as if to say something, but all he got out was an "Uh," and then shut it again.

"Have you even made out with a girl yet?" demanded Sirius.

Remus's eyes grew wide, like a mother's who had just walked in on her daughter doing something she wasn't supposed to do.

"That's none of your business!" He snapped his book shut and got up to leave.

"We're your friends," said Sirius, following him. He grabbed Remus's shoulder, a dangerously thin bony knob. "If you don't tell us who are you going to tell?" He squinted his eyes, as if trying to identify strange substance on Remus's face. "Have you made out with a boy?"

"SIRIUS!" howled Remus. He shoved Sirus's hand away. "Gah!"

With surprising speed, he bolted up the stairs before Sirius could get out an, "Um."

He turned around. Peter was still sitting on the floor, looking up at him like a child watching its parents fight.

"What are you looking at?" Sirius demanded.

"Nothing," chirruped Peter. He got up on his feet and scurried away.

Sirius was still scratching his head at the oddness of his friends when James stepped through the portrait hole.

"James!" he cried. "My normal, bestest friend!"

"I didn't see your cousin!" said James, voice high and shrill. Sirius frowned.

"What's one of those hell hags got to--"

"Nothing happened, nothing at all. Got a lot of interesting books, many many books. Think I'm going to read them. Right after a shower."

And with that, James was gone.

Sirius looked around him, at the surprisingly empty common room. Forlorn but reluctant to head up to the dorm, he sat back down on the couch and rested his face in his hands. He could feel his cheekbones under his fingertips, hard but not jutting out like a starving person's.

"You all suck," he said to no one that was there. "Bugger."

* * *

Draco's foggy, cloudy mind tried to cling to the facts, but they slipped through the cracks of his metaphorical fingers like metaphorical sand. He remembered swallowing a couple of glasses of vodka (or was it a few? Several?) and realizing he was supposed to be in the library helping out Potter.

The rest of it was a foggy, colorful, and faintly amusing blur until he saw the girl.

Her face loomed out of the shadows, the only thing in focus in the entire room. She was smiling sweetly at him, beckoning. There was a bright gleam at her throat, almost as bright as the lacquer over her eyes.

Then he was on his feet again, he was moving. The corridor whirled past. It was like his eyes were a camera and the only thing they could focus on was this girl, whose arm was snaked around him like a reassuring life preserver.

There was the lonely wall, there was the Slytherin common room, and then...then they were back in Draco's bedroom.

"You've been drinking," he heard her say. She was holding up something blurry in her hand. It took Draco a moment to realize it was the vodka bottle, half-empty now. "You've been drinking a lot. Hm, how dreadfully marvelous."

Leaving Draco perched precariously on his bed, she moved about the room, opening cabinets and drawers in search of something. A little part of Draco wondered who she was to barge into his room and look through his things, but the rest of him was drunk, more on her then than on the alcohol, and didn't give a damn what she did.

"Here were are." She poured something pea soup green into a glass that had previously been filled with vodka and held it to Draco's mouth. He just barely registered the smell, which for some reason made him think of broiled cucumber. "Drink."

Why? Draco wondered.

"It will make you feel better."

Oh yes, of course.

He picked up the glass with trembling, weak-muscled fingers that just barely brushed hers. She helped to steady the glass and tip the potion down into his mouth.

It did indeed taste as terrible as it smelled, but it only lasted in Draco's mouth for a second. Then it was down swimming in his stomach with the vodka.

The potion did its job well; a second later Draco was retching, nothing but a clear fragrant-less liquid spilling out of his mouth. She was next to him, her hand moving in a soothing circle across his back.

"Scourgify!" Bubbles formed on the floor as the mess began to clean itself up. Draco was done at last, sick body heaving but his head feeling a little clearer. "Now, don't you feel better?"

Draco wanted to answer, "A little," but instead he just held out his hand and moaned, "Water."

He kept his eyes fixed to the floor, lacking the energy to move his body and look anywhere else. After a moment he felt her place a new glass in his hand.

It contained more clear liquid, but as Draco swallowed it he realized yes, this was water and not vodka. He emptied it and gave it back to her.

"Eurgh." He fell back on his bed, his arms lying limply across his chest. The girl took his hot, burning hands into her own small cool ones.

"Aren't you going to thank me now?" She was leaning over him, kneeling at his side as though he were sick. He supposed he was; alcohol poisoning did count as a sickness.

"What do you want?" he muttered. His still-drunken mind assumed she wanted money, clothes, something pretty the way all girls do.

"You know."

She seemed to take an eternity, even though it was really only a few seconds. Draco watched her flawless face, her red, calling lips descend towards him before closing his eyes and surrendering.

She only lingered on his mouth for a moment, not even taking time to separate his lips with her tongue. Then she was moving down his neck, her breath warm and humid, inviting growth. She let her lips slide down his throat to his chest and quickly began to unbutton his shirt...

"Trixie?"

To Draco's horror, she stopped. Still sitting on him-she weighed almost nothing at all-she sat up and looked around.

Someone, blurry like everything else in the room, came up and grabbed the girl's wrist. She-it seemed like a girl to Draco-yanked her off of the bed with a painful yelp. Draco wanted to protest, to knock down whoever this intruder was, but he felt too weak to even hold up a finger.

In a moment, she was gone, dragged off by the horrid interloper. He tried to shout, to reach out and make her come back, but he didn't have the energy. Instead, he rolled over and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

"Trixie, how dare you!"

"My name is Bella, Narcissa," snarled Bellatrix, pretty lip curled in rage.

Narcissa Black just tossed back her blonde head, laughing in a not particularly happy way.

"Bella is the name of a woman, not some little girl."

"I'm not a little girl."

"Says who?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask Lucius?"

Narcissa didn't even pause to think but slapped her little sister hard across the face, leaving a red welt in the vague form of her hand on Bellatrix's ivory cheek. Bella wasn't even surprised, but just covered the side of her face with her hands, glowering at Narcissa all the while.

"Lucius is drunk, that's all," insisted Narcissa. The way she held up her head, proudly like the little diva princess she was, showed that she believed every word she said. "When he wakes up, he'll remember that I'm his girlfriend and that he loves me. You're just a little baby whore who seemed like a good idea at the time."

Bellatrix didn't respond, but took a hand away from her face to finger the blood red crystal at her throat.

"Perhaps," she murmured, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smirk. Her look filled Narcissa with a creepy-crawly feeling of dread, but she didn't have time to bother with it. Bellatrix was just blowing smoke, the way she always did.

"I have things to do," she said, turning to stalk out the door.

"Oh sister?"

Against her better judgment, Narcissa stopped and turned back for a moment to look at Bellatrix, who still had that sly grin on her face.

"What do you think of James Potter?"

What is she getting at? wondered Narcissa, annoyed.

"He's a muggle-lover and a Gryffindor and gooey-eyed over a dirty little mudblood," she answered. Refusing to let Bellatrix get another word in, she swooped out the door.

Which is why she didn't hear Belltrix mutter, "Hm, really, we'll see about that."

* * *

Sirius was sulky, which he hated, which made him sulkier, which he hated even more. The only way to get out of it, it seemed, was to take a walk.

He shoved the Marauder's Map his back pocket so it stuck out like a flag-he would look at it occasionally but he wasn't really worried-and stepped out the portrait hole.

There wasn't anywhere in particular he wanted to go. He thought he would be spending the night with his friends after-what was her name?-so he hadn't bothered to alert any of his girlfriends. No one to meet up in the astronomy tower, and going up there by yourself was just depressing.

So instead he just wandered around the corridors, hoping something would come along and amuse him. It was too dark, with the moon still being rather small, so he took out his wand and waved its tiny little light around. The paintings were all asleep, or trying to fall asleep and angry that Sirius had the light on, or they were doing things Sirius wasn't aware paintings could or would do. At one point he spotted Sir Cadogen trying on some fishnet stockings and charming purple pumps.

He was about to head back, no longer sulky but bored, when he took out his map to check to see where the teachers were and was delighted to find entertainment just waiting around the corner.

Being Sirius Black and not one to rush excitedly towards something, but to let things rush excitedly towards him, he crossed his arms in what he hoped was an intimidating way and waited.

It took only a few moments for Severus Snape to appear at the end of the corridor.

"'Lo, Snivellus," said Sirius cheerfully.

Scrawny little teenage Snape took a moment to curl his lips into a sneer before realizing he was completely alone with the dreaded Sirius Black in the middle of the night in an empty hallway. He immediately set to run.

"Impedimenta!"

Snape went flying, slamming into the back wall so hard the paintings around him shook. His feet still dangled a few inches in the air, so when Sirius went up to him his face was level to Sirius's.

"Little late for a stroll, isn't it?" commented Sirius, feigning pleasantry. He kept his wand pointed at Snape's face, shiny and red with acne.

Sirius swung his wand around, sending Snape flying face-first into the floor.

"You don't want to hurt me, Black," snarled Snape, turning around to glare at Sirius. He said "Black" with such force that spit flew from his mouth.

"Actually, I really think I do," answered Sirius. He pointed his wand and prepared a hex...

"I might tell everyone about your friend!" cried Snape. "Lupin."

The spell died on Sirius's lips.

"You've been eating mushrooms in the Forbidden Forest again, haven't you?" snapped Sirius, refusing to lose his cool.

Snape just let out a slow, menacing laugh.

"Me go into the forest? No, no, not at all," he jabbered. "But I do have to wonder why Madam Pomfrey takes your little friend out there every month. Hm?"

"You know nothing, Snivelly."

"I know more than you think."

Sirius's face in the dark began to pale. It didn't seem like Snape was lying. His face had too much glee in it.

And then he got an idea.

"I bet you don't know about the Whomping Willow," he said.

It was obvious Snape didn't, because the grin on his face was immediately wiped clean, leaving a vacant stare in its place. It was quickly filled up with loathing again.

"What about it?"

"It's where everyone goes during the full moon, in the dead of night," said Sirius, beaming now. "There's a tunnel that leads to Hogsmeade."

"You're lying," growled Snape. "That tree beats up anyone that comes near it."

"Not if you press the knob on its trunk; then it's frozen."

"You're a bloody stupid liar and I'm not fooled by you at all."

"Then you won't go out to the tree at the next full moon, will you?"

Snape just stared at him, still unwilling to believe. A tiny part of him was thinking, though, thinking about that tree and about Hogsmeade. Snape could never go to the village; his parents hadn't signed the release form. And the idea of finding out something horrid about one of that James Potter's friends...

Yes, Sirius could tell his words had done their work.

"See you later, Snivellus."

He stuck his wand jauntily behind his ear and left, humming an Irish jig to himself the entire time.

It was going to be an interesting full moon.

* * *

When Harry was done with his shower he came back to the dormitory to find Peter snoring and Lupin huddled next to Langley's Luminous Extra-Bright Light Candles, cradling a book in his hands.

"Where's Sirius?" asked Harry.

"He never came up," answered Lupin, who seemed to have the skill of talking and reading at the same time perfected. "Guess he's still in the common room."

"Oh."

Already in his pajamas, Harry, went over to his bed and flung the curtains back. He slipped under the covers, ready for sleep.

"Um, James?"

"Hm?" Harry looked and was surprised to see Lupin actually looking at him, not buried in his book. The candlelight flickered in his brown agate eyes, giving them an odd sort of gleam.

"Nevermind." He went back to his reading.

Harry let his head fall back against the pillow, relishing that wonderful laundry-fresh smell. His lids fell over his eyes almost involuntarily, and only a second later he was fast asleep.

"Hermione! Ron! Where are you guys?"

He was back in the amphitheater. What had Dumbledore called it? The Death Chamber. Ah, yes. He remembered, of course. He didn't think he would ever forget, no matter how much he wanted to.

The unimportant things, the unimportant duels it seemed now, were all blotted out from this memory. They were shrouded in a mist, an odd mist like Harry had never seen. It was thick and gray and seemed almost tangible.

Then it cleared, and he saw her.

She was frozen it seemed, frozen in that one second when she had sent that spell at Sirius, when she had killed Sirius. Her right arm was pointed straight in front of her, her wand an arrow directing Harry's eyes to the veil. They stood there, motionless, both of them waiting for the other to speak.

Then she turned her head, her hair moving aside to show her face, her sallow, once beautiful face, to Harry.

"Come to try and settle the score again, Little Potter?" she said. If her voice had an animal counterpart, it would have been a panther, slow-moving, sensuous and deadly.

"No, not yet," said Harry. He felt his feet unconsciously take him down the steps to the dais. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't have stopped them. "But I'm going to."

"Even though you think I'm beautiful?"

"You're not beautiful," said Harry, and it was true. Azkaban had ruined her forever. Her body was horribly thin and her cheeks were gutted holes in her face, and her once-lively eyes were dead.

"Oh really."

She let her arm fall and turned around in one fluid motion. She seemed to shrink before Harry's eyes, and when she let the curtain of her hair fall back again she was that twelve-year-old girl in the library.

"You still want to kill me, don't you?" she asked, purposely making her voice small and falsely meek. Her eyes were still bold, looking at Harry, imploring him.

"You killed Sirius."

"But you've got him back now, don't you?"

The mist was stronger now, swirling in patters of white and iron gray. It was up to Harry's neck now, and had hid all but Bellatrix's face from him.

"No," said Harry at last. "Not really."