A/N: Takes place sixth year. Imagine that all of the important bits (except the finale, of course) have already taken place.
All in all, it wasn't a great day to be Draco Malfoy.
Fate wasn't on his side, it seemed. Rather, fate had spontaneously decided to spit on Draco Malfoy at every possible opportunity, most likely. Like today. It happened in quick succession—his orders had changed.
Just. Like. That.
An entire year of plotting and scheming and sweating—wasted. All those hours painstakingly repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, all those nerve-wracking moments when he thought it wouldn't work, all the times he could have been caught, the desperate attempts on the Headmaster's life, the—
Wasted. All of them.
Because his orders had changed. He wouldn't dare question them, from the source they'd been given. That would be a quick and easy path to death. No, he wouldn't dare. However. . .
He did have the nerve to wonder quietly to himself why the Dark Lord would give orders to capture Harry Potter.
Especially unharmed.
.-.-.-.-.
Ennervate
Chapter 1: Oh, It's War Now
.-.-.-.-.
Sixth year had been a rough year. Exciting, exhilarating, heart-pounding, suspicious, and joyful, yes, but rough. Hearts had been broken and mended, life itself had been attacked and targeted. A typical teenage high-school world—and apparently all's fair in love and war.
It wasn't sixth year itself, per se. It was the ending of that year, and all the heartache it would cause for years afterward.
But, thank goodness, sixth year hadn't ended yet.
None of these deep thoughts were troubling Harry Potter at the moment. Nope, at the moment it was dinner in the Great Hall, and Harry was enjoying his three personal favorites: Talking with Ron and Hermione. Sitting next to Ginny. And treacle tart.
"Wait," Hermione whispered. The four of them looked quite suspicious, with their heads huddled together and whispering low. But then again, the rest of the students were probably used to that behavior from them by now. "Ron, seriously? You want to declare war?"
"Shhhhhh," Ron muttered, looking around.
It was mid-winter, past Christmas time, yet some of the floating candles were still up and occasionally thwacked some students—who had quite rudely put their elbows on the table—in the head. It was a happy atmosphere, despite the news that had come in the Daily Prophet that six new Death Eater attacks had been made on several small Wizarding towns: Kettle, Iceland; Wicksworth, Germany; and most notably, Quillville, Ireland. Several students had lost distant relatives in the attacks and were quiet; a certain Astoria Greengrass had been hit the hardest, with 6 cousins, her aunt, and her uncle dead from the collateral damage.
"Oh, be quiet, Ron, no one can hear us," Ginny whispered crossly. "It's not like anyone's close by—oh shoo, Nick!" She waved her arms, exasperated. "Stop snooping, we're conspiring over here!"
"My apologies," Nearly Headless Nick sniffed, highly affronted, and drifted away out of earshot.
"See?" Ron said. "I told you."
"Why does everyone want to listen in on us?" Ginny shook her head. "We're not that interesting."
They all snorted, Harry through a bite of treacle tart, which sprayed crumbs everywhere. Wiping off the crumbs on her shirt, Hermione said, "Ron, is there any particular reason you wanted to declare war? Or were you just bored?"
"There's plenty of reason," Ron said, scowling. "They're bloody gits, the lot of them."
"True," Harry said, swallowing his mouthful, "but besides that?"
"They're morons."
"And?"
"Arrogant snobs."
"Besides that, Ron," Ginny said, grinning.
Ron didn't say anything. His ears started turning a violent shade of red.
"Oh, come on, Ron," Hermione sighed. "What did the Slytherins do?"
"What didn't they?" Harry muttered darkly. He raised his voice. "And Nick, we're really not doing anything interesting, so can you please stop eavesdropping?"
"Very convincing denial, Mr. Potter," the ghost said, dipped his head, and winked as he floated away.
"For some reason they all think your life is filled with adventure and glamour," Ginny told Harry, shaking her head, and turned back to her brother. "So, Ron. You have to have a convincing cause for war."
"If it's against the Slytherins, who cares? I'm in," Harry said. Ginny nodded in agreement, while Hermione struggled not to scold them for their lack of 'Inter-House Unity.'
"Ron. . ." Hermione said imploringly.
They waited for a few seconds. The angry red had gradually spread from Ron's ears to his face.
"They jinxed all of the Gryffindor brooms," Ron growled.
Silence.
"Oh," Ginny said, smacking her palms on the table, and standing up, "it's war now."
She stalked out of the Great Hall, red hair crackling like flame as she went. Several heads followed her exit, and a few started happily spreading rumors that Weasley and Potter had broken up their relationship. Sighing a bit, Harry stood up and followed her out (causing the gossipers to wilt), and Ron flanked them, growing steadily more scarlet.
Finally, Hermione trailed after, muttering something about jocks and their sports.
.-.-.-.-.
.-.-.-.-.
Far away, in a high tower that overlooked the courtyard, the Headmaster stood.
His dead, blackened right hand tingled and itched something awful, as it often did. The worst thing about curses was that they itched like crazy, and then killed you. Dumbledore scratched his right hand with his left, careful not to break the brittle skin.
All of the arrangements have been made, he thought. All of the plans end, and begin, this year. I do hope they can continue without me.
It wasn't a proud thought, the last one. It wasn't a happy thought, to know how much you meant to other people, when you meant to take it away. How they would cope, working without you.
In a way, all of those arrangements and plans that eventually resulted in Albus's own death. And now they had to be continued by the ones that survived him.
A blue bird twittered, and with some gentle encouragement, landed on Albus's healthy hand. He loved this spot. So quiet, where you could watch the world without it watching you. Only a few knew about its existence, and they had long left the school. The Secret Garden, he thought, smiling.
A few years back, he had planted some roses and another dozen assorted Muggle plants. Muggle flowers were often more beautiful than their Wizarding counterparts, but ultimately they had no use, medical or otherwise. Beautiful and dearly loved, but useless.
It will have some use, he thought, and the bluebird alighted from his hand. My death will eventually help this war come to an end.
The bluebird fluttered.
Beautiful.
And then. . .
I'm dearly sorry for the trouble I will cause all of you. . .
.-.-.-.-.
.-.-.-.-.
When your older brothers are the notorious Weasley Twins pranksters, you pick up a few things. Such as: Portable Swamps, six Sticky Glue Tongues (do NOT ask), a box of Canary Creams, a Pygmy Puff, Self-Sealing Socks, two crates of Flavored Trip Wires (some of Fred's more useless works, since the victim never appreciated it), and several unopened boxes of things better left imagined, for future use. The standard works.
This long list of questionable items was currently laid out on the Gryffindor boy's dormitory floor.
"Alright, Gin, I understand the Canary Creams and even the Self-Sealing Socks," Ron said, shaking his head incredulously, "but what could you do with a Pygmy Puff?"
Said purple Pygmy Puff ran around in clockwise circles, squeaking happily at Hermione.
"His name is Charly," Ginny said, laying out two more Flavored Trip Wires perfectly straight. "I got him for Arnold, my other 'Puff, because I thought he was a girl, but it turns out he was a boy and it didn't work out. I kept the name, though, it's uni-gender."
"I say we shove him down the Slytherin's throats," Harry smiled, rather viciously. "Or leave him in the sheets."
"Brilliant." Ron jumped when Charly's wet nose touched his bare feet.
Ginny looked offended. "Leaving Charly in the sheets! But that would be cruelty to animals!"
Ron snorted. "So's what we're about to do." Meaning the Slytherins.
"Do you really want to do this?" Hermione began exasperatedly. "It's just some brooms! We can find a counterspell. . ." She trailed off at the looks they gave her. She huffed. "Fine. It's not like I didn't try, so don't blame me when we get caught. . .What did they do to the brooms, anyway?"
"Jinxed." Ron sat forward on his trunk. "They look like porcupines."
"Can't you fix it?"
"Tried."
"Well, it can't be that bad—"
"Hermione, we had to stop Sloper from killing an innocent first-year Slytherin on sight once he saw."
Harry and Ginny were conversing in a corner, arguing strategy. The Marauder's Map was on the dormitory floor, and occasionally Ginny or Harry would point at a section and scribble notes on a different piece of parchment. It was a worthy scheme. If the legendary pranksters of Hogwarts—the twins and the Marauders—could only see them now, it would bring a tear to their eyes. A work of beauty, they'd say sentimentally, and then grin evilly at the prospects to come.
"No, the trip wires scheme goes first, and then we hex the—"
"I say the Sticky Glue tongues would work as nice blackmail—"
"Blackmail? Why blackmail? What would we need blackmail for?"
"Everyone needs some good blackmail. It could be useful later on. We could blow up a huge picture of some Slytherins snogging and put it in the Great Hall—"
Ginny let out a laugh. "Harry, you're a genius. Let's talk to Fred and George, too, get some ideas."
"Perfect." Harry smiled. "Just perfect. So Sticky Tongues first, just to start off, get them worried, and then—"
"Wave One, with the trip wires—"
"Wave Two—"
"And then the Finale—"
"It'll be war," they said together, and grinned evilly.
Hermione looked over at the two of them, who were surrounded with the scattered List of Questionable Items, assorted drawings and notes, and detailed maps depicting specialized pranks. Harry had a dull flush of excitement to his normally pale cheeks, and it was hardly noticeable, but Ginny's eyes had softened from their hard glint of late. They were actually relaxed, for the moment, and they looked. . .
So happy together, Hermione thought, a touch wistfully. The happiest in a long time. Out loud, she called: "You two sound like Fred and George."
Ron let out a laugh, and Harry and Ginny turned around with identical looks of affront on their faces. "It's true," Ron laughed. "You do! It's uncanny!"
Ginny and Harry turned to each other. A brief look flashed between them. "Honestly," Harry began, "do we—"
"—look like twins?" Ginny finished.
"More like a married couple," Hermione teased, and watched, fascinated, as they blushed in sync. Ron chuckled.
Downstairs, footsteps echoed as students began to trickle in from the dinner the four of them had abandoned. Snatches of conversation drifted up, sending Harry, Ron, and Ginny in a panic to clear the evidence. They hurriedly stuffed the incriminating papers into Harry's trunk, and the boxes they attempted to shove under Ron's bed (in vain), so then they tried Harry's. Hermione watched them scurry for a bit, and then after a few minutes of grunting and shoving, finally took out her wand.
"Oh, come on," she said, and sent the maps and crates to stack themselves neatly in the rooftop beams.
.-.-.-.-.
.-.-.-.-.
Draco paced restlessly between the aisles in the Room of Requirement. He did not look well—abnormally pale, large bruisings under his eyes, lips twitching as he thought to himself. In fact, at the moment he took the position Candidate #2 for looking like a vampire. (Candidate Number 1 was obviously Snape.)
He paced frantically. How? How? How could he? This is Hogwarts! he thought. Panic blossomed, followed by a dull sense of despair. Security here is tighter than the Ministry.
If he succeeded, he would be rewarded. If he failed, the Dark Lord awaited.
There isn't a choice, is there? His fists clenched, nails leaving half-moons in his palm.
Plans had to be made.
.-.-.-.-.
A/N: First chapter done! I apologize for the length, it might vary from chapter to chapter as I find out what my preferences are. Just so you know, any details that look meaningless really aren't—I leave little clues everywhere. I leave it to the reader to read the relatively large paragraphs and find them (a daunting task, I hate over-large paragraphs too, I freely admit).
Coming next: It's a break from the normal nerve-wracking drama of a Hogwarts school year as Harry, Ginny, Ron, and a reluctant Hermione begin implementing payback in Chapter Two: Pranks and Other Forms of Civilized Revenge.