Clandestine Whispers

>>>>>11 Reality's Betrayal

"Ron! RON! RON!"

Ron turned around, to see Harry, sweaty and breathing as if he'd run a marathon, flanked by Fred and George. "Harry? Something got your mind in a garble? I'm talking to Professor Darkel here, and-hey!"

Ron attempted to resist Fred and George pulling him away, kicking and struggling. Harry finally calmed him down, saying, "It's an emergency, Ron, c'mon!" Then turning to their Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, appropriately named Professor Darkel, he bowed slightly in apology, saying, "I am so sorry, Professor. But Ron here, it's a family emergency, you see, and he must go. But I'm sure you two can catch up on your chat later, bye now!" And Harry ran after the three Weasleys.

Slamming the Gryffindor common room door shut behind them, Fred and George pushed Ron to sit down in a chair, and then sat down, exhausted, on the floor, their heads resting on their arms. Harry came running in, and then, plopping down on the chair across from Ron, said, "Sorry Ron, really, and I know the way I barged in there, all frantic and everything was stupid, but, we found a few things out about Professor Darkel, and didn't want you talking to him. Fred and George, they found that key of mine, and asked about it, and I couldn't lie to them --although I tried, but they wouldn't believe me--and then they said that they found a book lying on the fireplace. And, well, I looked at it, and well, here--"

Harry took out a small black notebook from underneath the cushion of his chair, and handing it to Ron, said, "I can't read it, but it includes a wad of papers, apparently notes about what's written in the notebook, and etcetera." "So?" Ron stared at the strange writing; it had an eerie air about it, but was written in a very elegant, swooping handwriting. "Well, Hermione wrote the notes. I know this notebook isn't hers, so I wondered what it was about...I really didn't mean to pry, Ron, really, I feel horribly guilty about it, but, well, I got curious. And, you know, Hermione has seemed to be awfully busy these days. I don't know what she's meddling with, or why, but on this one particular note, something caught my eye."

Harry grabbed a folded up blue piece of paper, and then opening it and showing it to Ron, pointed to a particular line in the book, which Ron read aloud: "What? It says here 'I have found out that our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Darkel, is the same person who wrote the book Magic Misconceptions: the Dark Arts at their Dastardliest. Fillspyn Darkel is his name, and along with knowing multiple things about the Dark Arts, he is also the Malfoy family advisor. Apparently, he works and lives at the village below the hill where Malfoy Mansion is located, and as well as helping Lucius Malfoy doing who-knows-what evil things, he also knows many Malfoy secrets, and, from what my suspicions say, has an unusual disliking for Draco Malfoy. Which I think is really odd, because Darkel is on the same side as Lucius Malfoy, so why would he hate Mr. Malfoy's son?'"

Ron stopped reading. "Well, Harry, this is quite a strange find here. Though really, no wonder Professor Darkel dislikes Malfoy; the little gimp is a selfish, arrogant, idiotic, sadistical prat!" Harry took back the notebook and notes from Ron, flipping through it just for the heck of it. He slumped back onto his chair, saying, "I dunno, Ron. It's all just so weird. The thought of Hermione getting involved in Malfoy's life unnerves me. Why is she doing this? And--hey!"

Harry suddenly leaned forward, his eyes wide, staring at a page of the notebook. "It has Hermione's name written in it! The only word I can understand of this whole thing, and it has her name right here!" Ron stood up, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Bloody hell! Now why would Hermione's name be in a notebook that obviously doesn't belong to her?"

"Maybe because the notebook is a diary of one of my FRIENDS, Ron."

Harry and Ron froze, and, looking around, found Fred and George long gone. No one but them was there to take the blame. Hermione stood in front of Harry's chair, glaring viciously at them both. Ron paled, staring, horrified, at Hermione. Harry, however, squirmed uncomfortably, and managed somehow to sink even further into the gigantic armchair he was already almost enveloped in. Pointing an accusing finger at them both, Hermione grabbed the notebook and her notes from Harry with one hand, and then, staring at Harry, she shouted, "Did you read any of it? Did you read what was in the notebook?" Harry was shocked to see that tears were rimmed in her eyes. He shook his head, saying, "No, no, we didn't read it, couldn't. I tried to, but...can't." Hermione's accusing finger dropped, her hold on the notebook loosening so much that she almost dropped it. Her eyes bulged, mouth gaping. "You...couldn't read it? Harry? You couldn't read it!" Harry nodded, slowly, as if warily keeping eye on a homicidal person.

Hermione blinked, still staring at Harry for a few moments, and then, getting her normal facial expression back, said, "Oh. I see. I get it now. You can't read it." Harry and Ron stared at her as she turned around and walked up to the Girl's dormitory.

"Well," said Ron, shakily, "That was strange."

~~*~~

"Narcissa."

"Yes?"

The pretty, fair-haired woman glanced up at her dark-gazed, callous husband. "Go talk to Draco. Bring him dinner, let him eat it in his room, make him feel at home. Then, tell him to get dressed in his fencing clothes again, and meet me in the drawing room." Narcissa nodded obediently, picked up the tray of readily prepared food, and was about to walk away, when Lucius barked, "Don't bring it yourself! Make a house-elf carry it, and be sure to get to Draco before it does." Nodding, Narcissa rung a bell, gave the tray to a house-elf, told him instructions, and then briskly walked down the hallway, her emerald gown rustling thickly.

Upon arriving at his room, she slowly opened the door, and peeked in. She still managed to be surprised every time she saw Draco's room. It was amazing, humongous, like a miniature palace. The walls, covered with green, black, white, and red kaleidoscopic designs, were eye-popping. It almost made her feel dizzy just looking. Here and there on the wall were posters of dark wizards, muggle music artists, and famous fencers. A counter in the corner behind the doorway had, along with a lava lamp, and a live crow in a cage, some Every Flavor Beans, some Wizard Crackers, and a few little dark toys.

Draco's room was not, as some at Hogwarts might guess, littered with dark objects and reeking of evil. Instead, it was an amazing room filled with images meant to confuse the eyes, objects to make the brain whirl, and powders that any nose would never forget. It did have the effect of making those not used to seeing it daily fall to the floor, whether from a headache because of the way the vision was muddled, the brain wracked too hard, or the nose overwhelmed, there was no certainty.

Beside his chest of drawers by the table afore mentioned was a tall bookshelf full of dusty, old, decaying books mostly on weaponry, chess, and the Dark Arts. A statue of a part wolf, part unicorn, and part griffin creature reared on top the fireplace, which was made of black marble. Between the bathroom and the fireplace was the door to Draco's gigantic walk-in closet. The door to the bathroom had a glass gargoyle head protruding from it, and beside the computer desk, which had, attached to it, a rack full of muggle and wizard music CDs, was a humongous, emerald-green couch that had the ability to make all who sat in it sink.

Opening the door fully, Narcissa, after glancing over all of this, came to rest her gaze on Draco's bed, across from the walk in closet at the other side of the room. The silk, crimson curtains were currently drawn around the bed. Tip-toeing for no apparent reason, Narcissa walked to the bed, and, slowly drew back the curtain...

And screamed.

~~*~~

Hermione, furious, sat on her bed with a stiff crunch, her body rigid, brows furrowed.

It's just so wrong...everything is wrong. Draco is gone, and I actually miss him, somehow. My life if turning upside down! This is not how reality should be. My friends don't turn on me like this, I don't have feelings for a Slytherin.

Then her thoughts turned to the recent events.

How DARE they get into my stuff like that! I can't believe them! Nosing around my stuff like that...and getting in the Girl's dormitory, too! Wait a second...

Hermione thought back to this morning, when she had left to go ask Dumbledore where Draco was. She...she had, hadn't she??

She had left the notebook, along with her notes inside it, on the fireplace! How foolish of her! And Harry and Ron must have found it.

Okay, so it wasn't totally their fault. But they still looked at it, not knowing whose it was! And they might have read some of my notes...Harry couldn't read the Parseltongue...he couldn't read it! I thought, being a Parselmouth, that he would immediately be able to read it. But he's never seen Parseltongue in writing before, and only spoken it a few times in his second year, so I guess he can't read it. It has, after all, been years since he last spoke it, so of course he can't read it.

She jumped, as, suddenly, Ginny walked up to her bed. Hermione blinked at the redhead. It had been so long since they'd had a really good girl talk, although they did see each other here and there at Hogwarts.

"Ginny? Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

Ginny eyes welled up with tears, and she fell, limp as a rag doll, into Hermione's arms. Hermione eyes widened, one arm around Ginny's waist, the other softly stroking the girl's blazing crimson hair. Hugging the young Weasley in a protective manner, Hermione whispered soft comforting words, wondering what could make Ginny so sad, as she sobbed into Hermione's shoulder, clutching the older girl's robes tightly.

Finally, it ended, and Hermione asked softly, "What's wrong, Ginny? Tell me, c'mon, it's okay, Gin."

"...Malfoy. He.......h-h-he's dead!"

~~*~~

"Narcissa! Stop that infernal noise! What on earth is wro-"

Lucius Malfoy stared.

Lying there, his skin even more pale, the pale of death, grey-blue eyes still wide open-- nothing out of place except for the hilt of a dagger, held by his own hand, that was stuck in his chest--was the body of Draco Malfoy.

Seized with an emotion so very unfamiliar to Lucius Malfoy that it took some time for him to realize that what he felt was fear, he took hold of his son's shoulders, and gripping them tightly, gave the boy a few shakes. Nothing happened. With a snarl, he smacked away his wailing wife, and fearfully grabbed the wrist of his son, and checked for a pulse.

There was none.