Chapter 2
A/N: the Headmaster, the Dark Lord, and the boys…that's about it. Bit of foreshadowing, maybe...not much else. *snicker*
Disclaimer: as before, I own nothing related to the HP universe, nor do I make one thin dime from this.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry catching up on the inevitable last-minute start of term paperwork. Just after the stroke of eleven, his attention was drawn to a tiny model of a bright red steam engine as it gave a merry 'Toot! Toot!' from its position high on a shelf. Smiling and nodding, the Headmaster acknowledged the signal that the Hogwarts Express was once again leaving London, en route to the Hogsmeade station with its load of students.
In reality, the model's signal was fairly useless, since any catastrophe serious enough to delay the departure of the Express would be quickly reported to the Headmaster by the Station Master. Still, it was part and parcel of the routine of the first day of the term, and Albus wouldn't have changed it for anything. Even the Express itself—bemoaned as a 'radical innovation' a mere one hundred-odd years previous, displacing as it did the slew of thestral-drawn carriages which had served for centuries—now represented the beginning of the Hogwarts term across the length and breadth of the nation. Albus chuckled, recalling the flap which the shiny red engine had caused, and the insistence by several old families that the journey from Hogsmeade station to the castle itself continue to be by carriage 'for the sake of tradition'. He had only been a boy at the time, but he remembered the controversy over the building of the London-Hogsmeade line vividly. And now? Now, there weren't a handful of people in all of wizarding Britain who could imagine any other way for students to travel between Hogsmeade Station and London.
It was that kind of dependability, of steadily and steadfastly clinging to routine and tradition that had carried his school and his world through the past several centuries. That reverence for tradition, for 'the way we've always done things' was one of the things that he counted on daily. All of those little rites and rituals were what gave the process stability and continuity, and each one added just a bit more to the grand ceremony of custom and convention that was the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast. For the new students, it would be their first exposure to the wonder that was his school; while for the older students and alumni it was an event to remind them of their own youthful days. Everyone who had ever attended Hogwarts remembered their own Welcoming Feast, and would continue to do so. It was a touchstone to their past, to their traditions, to possibly the most happy and important times of their lives.
And, since those traditions made the rabble just a bit more receptive to manipulation and control by one Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, so much the better!
Ah, tradition!
Meanwhile, deep within the bowels of Hogwarts, in a room just off the main kitchens where no human had ventured in centuries, a wall-mounted diagram of the castle began to shift and adjust itself to reflect the changes going on in the complex above.
Sensing the changes, an ancient house elf shuffled over to the wall and peered up, his rheumy eyes scanning carefully until he saw...an empty hallway being opened up for the first time in decades.
Grinning, the old elf waved over a number of younger elves.
"Weez is lucky elves today, weez is!" he chortled. "There is being more work to do, up above!" Gesturing to the map with one hand, he grinned toothily at the surprise of the younger elves. "Yes, yes," he wheezed. "The Lords Hall is open once more! Weez is having young Master Lords and House Heads to serve. So, off with youze! There is being more rooms to clean, and making ready!"
Smiling, a clutch of elves vanished to take care of the new rooms that had just become accessible.
A wide grin still on his face, the old elf continued to look up at the diagram for a long minute before returning to his work. It promised to be an interesting year, indeed.
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood on platform 9 ¾ until the last car of the Hogwarts Express passed from view. Then, as the crowd began making its way home, the Malfoy patriarch turned to his wife, a small grin playing on his face.
"Lady Malfoy," he said, quietly.
Narcissa glanced at her husband, somewhat surprised at the formal address. "Yes, Lord Malfoy?" she replied, curious.
"It occurs to me that it has been far too long since we spent any time together in London. What would you say to a light lunch, then an afternoon of shopping and sightseeing?"
Narcissa blinked, and then a smile blossomed on her face as she realized just what she had been asked. "Why, Lord Malfoy…are you asking me out for a day on the town?"
"I might be," Lucius averred. "Besides, what better use could I possibly have of my time, if not spending it in the company of a beautiful woman?"
"Hmm, I don't know. Just how many beautiful women have you been spending time with lately?"
"Only one, my dearest, only one," Lucius was quick to assure the former Miss Black. "Besides, did you see the suit your cousin was wearing under his robes? It if wasn't Savile Row I'll eat my cane!"
Narcissa smiled at her husband's tone. While the Malfoys were known to favor all things magical above things muggle, there were a few areas in which even the most ardent purebloods acknowledged the capabilities of muggles. The tailors of Savile Row were among that very small class of muggle whose expertise impressed even the most particular of wizards. And, knowing her husband as she did, she knew that he would never allow her cousin to out-dress him. Since Sirius would undoubtedly be seen out and about—especially at the Ministry, given his soon-to-be-assumed seat on the Wizengamot—then it logically followed that Lucius Malfoy required several new bespoke suits for his own ventures among the common herd.
Well, sauce for the goose, she thought. It's not like I've spent any time in Paris recently, and I could use a few new gowns. But, in the meantime….
"Well, we certainly can't have you be out-dressed by Sirius, can we?" Narcissa laughed. Taking her husband's arm, she allowed him to lead them towards the barrier back to the muggle world. "I suppose that I could be convinced to accompany you to your tailors, but only after I let you buy me a drink."
"Oh, so you could be convinced, is it?" Lucius asked. "Well, I suppose that the next question is: where shall we do lunch?" And with that, they stepped through the barrier and reentered King's Cross Station.
Narcissa and Lucius had just been seated in an unassuming little restaurant not too far from the Station when Lucius grimaced and clutched his forearm.
"I…have to go," he ground out through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry, my love," he said, rising swiftly. "Go ahead and have a good lunch, there's no need for you to wait for me to return."
Narcissa nodded her understanding. "I'll meet you back at the Manor, then?" she said. It was more of a statement than a question.
"Hopefully soon," Lucius said, before striding towards the exit.
Narcissa nodded once, then caught the eye of the approaching waiter. "My husband was called away on an emergency," she explained. "Still, I see no reason why I shouldn't enjoy myself in his absence. What do you recommend as an appetizer?"
Lucius strode from the restaurant and looked around, his arm still burning with the residual pain of the summoning. Fortunately, this was only a 'usual' call by the Dark Lord through the Dark Mark, rather than a sustained (and very painful) punishment call. Spotting an out of the way alcove, he ducked inside and apparated to the Dark Lord's sanctuary.
Arriving at the apparation point in the new 'Riddle Manor', Lucius stepped aside quickly to avoid running over Avery. His quick movement away from the arrival point kept him from being trampled in turn by Yaxley and Parkinson, who managed to arrive virtually simultaneously and then fall in a tangle of limbs.
Wincing in sympathy at their display, Lucius took another step further away from the point before transfiguring his robes and handkerchief into the expected Death Eater garb and mask. Slipping the mask into place, he turned away from the ongoing confusion at the apparation point and strode purposefully towards where he saw Voldemort waiting for his forces to arrive.
"My Lord," Lucius said, bowing deeply before moving to stand to one side. Taking his place impassively, he noted that Voldemort was almost vibrating with excitement. Well, that didn't bode well. Stilling himself, Lucius wrapped his Occulumency shields more tightly around his thoughts and clamped down on his emotions firmly.
At last the bulk of the summoned Death Eaters managed to sort themselves out and move to cluster around their Master. Fortunately for them, Voldemort was in such an exuberant mood that he gave them the time to assemble themselves without using a touch of the old Crucio to motivate them.
"Well met, my Death Eaters, well met!" he began. If he noticed that Parkinson was still in his purple and gold brocade morning slippers, he didn't remark on it. "I've summoned you to me so that you may carry out my latest plan to bring about our overthrow of the corrupt, Muggle-loving Ministry and the humiliation of that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore!"
Severus Snape was just beginning to add powered sheep marrow to the large cauldron simmering in front of him when his Dark Mark began thrumming with pain.
Among his several duties as Potions Master at Hogwarts, he was tasked with providing Madam Pomphrey with the bulk of potions, elixirs and unguents that she would use over the course of the school year. Typically this was no great imposition, as most of the common medical and healing potions were not difficult for a man of his skill to produce. However, there were a few instances—the Wolfsbane potion which he had been required to brew for Remus Lupin, just to name one—that actually tested his skill as a brewer. As fiendishly difficult and finicky as Wolfsbane was to brew, Snape could acknowledge that after having been forced to make it almost a dozen times, his skill with that particular concoction had greatly increased. Of course, he would have died under Cruciatus before he would have admitted that little fact, especially to the wolf.
Fortunately, this was a less than critical step in the process of making blood-replenishing potion, and the uneven shake he gave the rust red material had no visible effect on the mixture. Setting himself against the pain, he gave the cauldron the quickest of stirs before dousing the flame beneath it with a wave of his wand.
Muttering to himself about the rotten timing of wizards everywhere, he pulled a cover over the cauldron and went to gather up his Death Eater robes and mask. Fortunately, at this stage the potion could be left unattended for several hours without any appreciable loss in potency. As he left the room, a single quick glance sufficed to reassure him that the other cauldrons—among them Pepper-Up, pain-relieving and anti-bruising potions in various stages of completion—would also keep until his return in what he hoped would only be a reasonable period of time.
As he began to stride across the Hogwarts grounds to the edge of the anti-apparation wards, he consoled himself with the thought that at least the Dark Lord hadn't summoned him in the middle of the Welcoming Feast. Although, Severus wouldn't be surprised if that very thing didn't happen, now that he had jinxed himself by thinking about it.
Snape arrived at Riddle Manor without incident, and immediately moved to take his usual place in the ranks around the Dark Lord. As usual, he was one of the last to arrive, having not only one but two acceptable, iron-clad reasons for not responding to the summons immediately. One, he was typically inside of Hogwarts' wards, which required several minutes at a brisk walk to pass beyond so that he could apparate. Two, he was a Potions Master, and only the most ignorant of wizards would question a Potions Master's delay when he was 'at the cauldron'.
Snape had suffered more than one Cruciatus at Voldemort's hand because of that little defect in Tom Riddle's education. However, after a carefully arranged conversation with Lucius Malfoy—planned so that the Dark Lord could not help but to overhear—about a certain fool of a mudblood from the Ministry who had expected Snape to drop everything in the middle of a particularly tedious potion for some inconsequential reason or other, that had rarely been a concern for Snape. Of course, it had also given Malfoy an excuse to vent his spleen in a most impressive fashion about the ignorance of mudbloods. ("You must be joking, Severus! The fool actually expected you to stop a brewing in progress? How incredibly gauche! Didn't the idiot realize just how dangerous, not to mention rude, the very thought is? Obviously, the man didn't know a thing about proper wizarding behavior.")
After that, the former Tom Riddle had been much more circumspect in his demands upon Snape's punctuality when summoned. After all, it wouldn't do for the Ultimate Champion of Wizarding Superiority (as he sometimes referred to himself, but only when alone) to commit such a serious social faux pas, now would it?
Said Dark Lord (and Ultimate Champion, not that Snape would know about that) was still delivering his usual post-summoning exhortation (some might call it haranguing, but never where Voldemort could hear them), lessening Snape's fears that he might have missed something important or useful. However, just as he was settling himself into place, he heard something that threatened to destroy his carefully-cultivated mask of cool indifference.
"And so, my loyal Death Eaters, I have decided that our next strike against those who resist us will be so daring, so spectacular and so terrifying that it will completely destroy their will to resist! Not only will you deliver a resounding blow to the worthless cretins in the Ministry of Magic, but also against that wretched fossil Dumbledore himself! You will show the rabble that we can destroy them anywhere, and at any time of our choosing, and that their leaders are powerless to stop us!" Pausing for dramatic effect, Voldemort took a deep breath before continuing. "Today, you will destroy the Hogwarts Express!"
Meanwhile, back on the Hogwarts Express:
After Hermione, Ron and Draco left, it was several moments before anyone in the compartment felt like resuming their conversation. When they did, Cedric once again put up a multilayered set of privacy charms before he and Harry again went into their backpacks for Neville's gifts.
There was the obligatory fountain pen and pencil set, with personalization charms like those on the Headmaster's—Harry and Cedric had a good laugh telling a thoroughly scandalized Neville just how Harry had managed to get one over on the Headmaster by not telling him about the charm before he touched his set—as well as a magically duplicated copy of Potions for Dummies. Of course, the original in Harry's bag had been carefully altered to remove all evidence of its futuristic origins, so this wasn't something that the boys had worried about. Still, they swore Neville to secrecy about the book, only saying that it was something they didn't want bandied about the school for fear of reprisals from Snape. Knowing the irritable Potions Master as he did, Neville readily accepted this explanation without any questions, and swore only to use it when alone or with either of them.
"Hermione'll go spare if she ever finds out about this," the Lord of House Longbottom said. "Knowing her, she'd think it was some kind of cheating, and would report it to Snape and Dumbledore right off."
"Agreed, which is why she mustn't find out about it," Cedric said firmly, Harry nodding beside him. "I know that she's been friends to you both since the first year, but…" he shrugged.
"Actually, Diggory, you might be surprised about that one," Neville said, without a trace of humor. "Aside from Harry and Ron, I rather doubt that Hermione has any friends at all. Certainly none of the girls in her year in Gryffindor consider her to be a friend."
"Neville's right, Ced. Hermione has acquaintances, but she's been far too busy trying to make everyone behave the way she thinks they should to actually make friends." Harry shrugged. "It's not that we haven't tried to get her to lighten up, but…." He raised his hands in a gesture of uselessness. "If she's not off on one crusade or another…."
"Like S.P.E.W.," Neville snickered.
"Exactly, like S.P.E.W.," Harry agreed, "or nagging on people to study more, or refusing to let anyone copy off of her notes or homework…let's just say that most people in Gryffindor tower go out of their way to avoid her, if they can."
"Like almost everyone else from the other houses, as well," Cedric said, nodding his head. Exactly as he suspected, he thought to himself. And, all the more reason to keep his Harry well away from the Shrew of Gryffindor! At least for the next few dozen years or so, until she matured a bit and became more like the adult Granger he had encountered in that 'other' universe.
Neville was nodding in agreement with Harry. "Sadly, you're right, Diggory. I hate to say this, but she's probably the best argument at Hogwarts that the purebloods have against the muggle-born! She's not only smarter than most of the rest of us, but she's not afraid to remind us of that on a regular basis. And, just because she's been muggle-raised and has read a few books on the wizarding world, she thinks that she's the final arbiter of what's right and what's not. Now, I don't know about either of you two," he said, looking back and forth between Harry and Cedric, smiling, "but most people I know, regardless of their birth status, don't take kindly to being preemptively told that they're completely wrong about something they've believed all of their lives." He sighed, then continued. "No one will argue that Hermione's very bright…but in many ways she is her own worst enemy. And, Merlin help anyone who tries to tell her that!"
"So, Granger's not exactly long on tact or subtlety, I take it," Cedric mused.
At that, Harry and Neville both laughed out loud. "Ced, Hermione's got all the tact of a herd of rampaging hippogryphs…" Harry began.
"…and all the subtlety of a dragon with diarrhea," Neville finished, as all three of them snickered at the image he had just called up.
"So," Harry said, after they had all finally calmed down enough to talk without snickering, "we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that Potions book under wraps, Neville."
"Not a problem, Harry. Still, I don't expect it'll help me much with Snape this next year. You know how he feels about me."
"Actually, Neville, we're working on that very problem. No promises, except that we're going to try to take some of the burrs out of old Snape's britches," Harry assured his friend.
"Well, good luck with that!" Neville snorted, disbelieving. "Dare I ask how you're going to pull off that miracle?"
Harry and Cedric shared a look, then Cedric nodded fractionally. A squeeze of his hand let Harry know that Cedric would back whatever decision he made. Harry smiled back at his boyfriend, assured of his support, and then turned back to his friend.
"We're going to re-open the Chamber of Secrets, and get Snape to help us salvage what we can from the basilisk carcass that's down there," he said quietly. "If we give him a substantial portion of whatever potion ingredients he can harvest, then he'll be in our debt."
If Harry and Cedric expected Neville to be shocked by this revelation, they were disappointed. "I suspect that the venom alone is worth a king's ransom," he said, his eyes narrowing to slits as he considered what he had just heard. "Then there's the hide—I'm not sure just how valuable all of the shed skins will be, but they have to be worth something, if only for the rarity of the things—plus any blood that's not coagulated, then the liver…." He leaned forward slightly in his excitement. "Whatever you do, don't let Snape talk you out of the fangs! Each one by itself will fetch a small mountain of galleons from the Goblins. If you happen to be able to get both," he broke off, shaking his head. "Well, a mountain of galleons wouldn't be enough to buy a matched set of basilisk-fang daggers."
"They're that valuable?" Harry asked carefully.
"Oh, yes, love," Cedric said, suddenly realizing just what a fortune was potentially waiting on them. Of course, he had known about the basilisk being in the Chamber, but until this moment it had always seemed a bit…unreal to him. Now, as he actively thought about just what might be in that basilisk carcass, he felt a bit overwhelmed by it all.
"Harry, a dagger carved from the fang of a basilisk is one of the most dangerous magical weapons that you could possibly have," Neville was explaining while Cedric sat there, stunned. "They are literally the stuff of myth and legend. Not only can they be charmed to carry all of the potency of the original venom forever, they also are said to take other enchantments readily. If it can be killed, then a basilisk fang dagger should kill it—and if it can't be killed, then that dagger will make it very unhappy for a very long time." Neville sat back, grinning. "Of course, if you should happen to feel that your good friend and ally, the Head of House Longbottom, should need one as a birthday gift, feel free."
Neville's smug tone—so unlike the young man that Harry had known for years—made Harry burst out laughing once again. "Oh, I'm sure that he would," Harry laughed. "And he'll get it, too…three days after Arthur comes back!"
Cedric smiled to himself as he watched the exchange between his boyfriend and their latest ally. Certainly the summer had seen tremendous changes in Harry, and from what Cedric had seen and heard this Neville Longbottom had done quite a bit of maturing as well.
"I must admit, Longbottom, you're not the man I thought you would be," he said.
Neville's smile never faltered, but his eyes were sharp as he turned to the Hufflepuff. "You mean, I'm not an incompetent duffer like your wanker of a boyfriend said I was?"
"Right in one," Cedric replied calmly, both he and Neville ignoring Harry's 'Oi!' of displeasure. "And glad I am to see it, too. Of course, I did consider the source when I was learning about you, but still…OW!" he said, rubbing his arm. "Git!"
"Neville, I'm sorry that you had to see that," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "He's a great thumping prat, but he's mine. What can I say?" he said, shrugging.
"I think it's tragic, the amount of spousal abuse I see in both of your futures," Neville deadpanned. "I just hope that I'm around to see most of it, with popcorn and butterbeer and lots of candy floss."
"We'll try to see that you get good seats," Cedric said dryly. "You're on your own for the rest, sorry."
"Do you think we should sell tickets, Ced? After all, it would never hurt to have a few extra galleons coming in," Harry asked.
"If you do, put me down for a season's worth. No, make that two sets—Hannah would never forgive me if I left her out of the show."
"I am surrounded by Gryffindor gits," Cedric said, a disgusted look on his face. "Merlin help me!"
"Oh, no, Merlin himself can't help you now! You're doomed, doomed I say!" Harry laughed, then lunged. "Cover your eyes, Neville! This isn't something you should see," he called out as his fingers dug into Cedric's ribs, tickling madly.
"Oi! Gerroff, you prat! Gerroff, not in front of…" Cedric protested, before twisting to catch both of Harry's hands in his own.
"Are you two going to be like that all term?" Neville wondered. "If so, I think we need to start negotiating the butterbeer concession straight away. If this is any indication of what's to come, by Christmas I'll be rich as Malfoy!"
Cedric and Harry both laughed at that, before settling down comfortably against one another. "Actually, Neville, no…sorry," Harry said. "As much as we'd like to carry on like that in public, we know that we can't."
"I'm sorry if it offended you, Longbottom," Cedric apologized, only to be waved off by the young Lord.
"Not at all…in fact, it's good to see Harry so happy," he said easily. "Still, there is one thing that I do find a bit insulting, Diggory," he went on.
"Oh?" Cedric asked, his eyebrows climbing. For the life of him, he couldn't think of what he might have done to give offense. Well, the antics of his boyfriend aside, that is.
The Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom fixed the scion of the (much) lesser family with a gimlet eye. "Oh, yes, Diggory. I'll have you know that my name to my friends is Neville, not Longbottom, and I'll thank you to address me as such."
Message received, Cedric nodded. "And I'm Cedric, not Diggory. And, since it looks like we're both going to be putting up with Lord Prat here…."
"Oi! Right here, gits!"
"…then I suppose we should be on friendly terms."
"Good enough." Neville and Cedric gave each other a single nod, and it was settled. "Now, Harry, Cedric, I want to hear everything that happened over the summer, but I doubt we'll have enough time today. Besides, you'll have to tell it again to Gran a few weeks from now in Hogsmeade, so I won't insist on the whole thing right now. Could you just give me the pertinent facts; things that didn't make the papers, I mean, so we can have a little time to make plans before we arrive this evening?"
Impressed by the young man's foresight and understanding of the situation, Harry and Cedric set about giving Neville a bare bones run down of their summer.
It was one of the most interesting tales the young Lord had ever heard.
"Today, you will destroy the Hogwarts Express!"
Severus Snape froze at the Dark Lord's pronouncement, years of practice keeping any outward expression of his immediate reaction from showing.
Not all of his fellow Death Eaters were so restrained.
"My Lord! Surely not…" Porliss Parkinson gasped without thinking, only to be interrupted by Voldemort's hiss of displeasure.
"Crucio!" The Dark Lord's wand snapped out, and Parkinson's objections immediately turned into screams that went on…and on…and on. Finally, the Dark Lord released the curse, leaving Parkinson gasping and weeping on the floor. Turning, Voldemort swept his eyes across the remaining Death Eaters, looking for any signs of rebellion or disagreement. Fortunately for the rest of them, Parkinson's outburst had given them ample time to bring their reactions under control. What the Dark Lord saw was only impassive or eager faces.
"I see that most of you do not share your comrade's eagerness to contradict your Lord. Still, I wonder…Brockton, what do you think?" Voldemort asked silkily.
Silas Brockton, recent recruit and bachelor, pulled himself up importantly. "My Lord's wisdom is of course beyond question," he pronounced confidently. "The destruction of the Hogwarts Express will be a tremendous blow against the muggle-lovers and their ilk. It will show them, beyond all doubt, our power and resolve."
"Our power, my dear Silas? Crucio!" This time, Riddle held the curse only for a three-count. "Now, you were saying…?" he asked in the same silky tone.
"Y…Your power, my Lord, of course I meant your power…" the Death Eater gasped, sagging in relief when Voldemort nodded in satisfaction and turned away from him.
"Anyone else care to offer their opinion? Come now, we are all wizards here," the Dark Lord said lightly. "Does anyone else have any objections to offer?" Left unsaid was the inevitable fate of anyone who would disagree with him; no one in attendance was foolish enough to believe that the floor was actually open for anything even remotely resembling a debate. So, it was quite surprising when Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat before speaking.
"My Lord?" he asked carefully.
"Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, turning smoothly to address the man. If Lucius noted the way his Lord was fingering his wand, he gave no sign of it.
"My Lord is well aware that the next generation of his followers—our heirs—are aboard the Express. Might I inquire as to just how they will be removed from harm's way before we carry out the destruction of the mudbloods and blood traitors?" For all of the emotion in his voice, he might as well have been inquiring about the weather.
"Why Lucius, are they not loyal to me? Are their lives not mine to command?" Voldemort asked. His wand was twirled easily between his fingers as his full attention focused on the blond man.
"Of course, My Lord," Lucius replied smoothly. "Just as we all do, they live to serve you and your purposes," he said, putting just the slightest bit on emphasis on live. "I know that my son, along with many others, look forward to the day when they may take your mark and enter fully into your service."
"And if I decide that they would best serve me by dying this day? What then?" Voldemort demanded, his eyes sweeping the ranks of Death Eaters once more before returning to meet those of the Lord Malfoy.
"Then, my Lord's will shall be done," Lucius said calmly, bowing deeply.
Severus was probably the only one close enough to Lucius to see the tightening of his jaw as he bowed. Fortunately for Lucius, his face was once more impassive when he straightened. Not that it would have mattered, as Voldemort had already spun and was now stalking among the other Death Eaters.
"Any of the rest of you? Care to put the welfare of your children—all of whom you have promised to me—ahead of your Master's wishes? Well, speak up, speak up!" he insisted. "You, Goyle…your son is on the express with Parkinson's chit, and Malfoy's brat…what say you?"
Goyle tilted his head to one side, then spoke carefully. "I still don't understand how we're supposed to get our kids off, before we blow the train. Did somebody mention brooms? Or could we use flying carpets?" He looked genuinely pleased with himself at having that thought, and beamed at the Dark Lord.
Voldemort froze, then brought his free hand up to pinch the bridge of what passed for his nose while he shook his head. Muttering to himself, he looked up. "Goyle, I was talking about destroying the train with all the students on board," he said, exasperated.
"But that'll kill all our kids…and pretty much kill off some of our families," Goyle answered, confused. "That sounds like a dumb thing to me, so…" once again he brightened. "Oh! This is one of those loyalty test things, isn't it? Where you ask us to do something stupid to see if we'll do it, but you don't really mean for us to do it, right? Okay, I get it now," he said. Then, smiling, "sure, Boss, kill everybody on the train, no problem," he said, winking broadly at the most feared wizard since Grindelwald.
Voldemort just stood there, wand half-raised, gobsmacked. Around him, the other Death Eaters seemed to be roughly equally divided between rolling their eyes, snickering, or diving for cover.
"Well done, Goyle," a smooth voice rang out. "You have most certainly penetrated our Master's intent in this matter." Snape found himself—to his own abject horror—speaking before he realized what he was doing.
"Oh, Severus? Tell me, am I indeed so transparent?" Rounding on the Potions Master, Voldemort's tone left no doubt that Snape's life hung by a very slim thread at that particular moment.
"My Lord," Snape began, bowing directly to the Dark Lord. "What else could it have been, other than a test of the loyalty of those with heirs or relations on the Hogwarts Express?"
"Oh, really? How so?" Voldemort hissed, striding back to his original position in front of the room.
"Simple logic, my Lord," Snape answered, his voice carefully neutral. "To the best of my knowledge, we are still at least several months away from being able to move against the Ministry directly. Also, it was my understanding that your policy for the time being was to encourage the Minister's denial of your return for as long as possible, preventing them from strengthening themselves before we are ready to strike. The destruction of the Hogwarts Express—with or without sparing any heirs—would only serve to immediately provide a casus belli around which Dumbledore and the Ministry could rally the populace, while providing them with enough evidence to convince the masses that you have indeed been reborn. Therefore, I can see no logical benefit that might result from such an act. Indeed," he shrugged, "attacking and destroying the Hogwarts Express at this stage could only hurt the cause, making it an unreasonable course of action. That being said, you must have some other reason for announcing such an act openly as you did, with the most simple answer being that you wished to assess the reactions of your followers—especially those with heirs on the Express—to that pronouncement."
"Neatly reasoned, my dear Severus," Voldemort answered coolly. "Now, since you've done so well in penetrating my little 'test', what are your thoughts on an appropriate gesture to convey my displeasure at Dumbledore and the Ministry to the world at large?"
Snape paused, thinking furiously. Obviously, this was to be his own test of loyalty, with a failure to satisfy the Dark Lord carrying what would be, at best, terribly unpleasant consequences for one Severus Snape. So, just as obviously, he would have to come up with a reasonable target for a Death Eater raid that would be almost as spectacular as the destruction of the Hogwarts Express, while still allowing the Ministry to continue to blame said attack on 'random acts of terror and violence', just as they had done after the Quidditch World Cup. Furthermore, the Dark Lord clearly wanted something that would significantly affect the Headmaster in a personally meaningful (and ideally, very painful) way. Snape still didn't understand just what had happened recently in Little Hangleton, but Voldemort had been seething about the loss of his family's ring ever since the day someone had triggered the wards he had placed there. From what Snape had been able to surmise, Voldemort believed it to have been Dumbledore who was responsible for the theft—the hat was a rather glaring piece of evidence—but that was all that he had learned. He hadn't dared to contradict Voldemort, but his discrete questioning of the Headmaster in the interim led Snape to believe that Dumbledore hadn't ventured out of the castle at all on that particular day. Suffice it to say, the Dark Lord was furious, and he wanted to punish the Headmaster in a dramatic and blatant fashion.
Suddenly, the corners of Severus' mouth twitched as an idea came to him. "My Lord, if I might offer a suggestion…."
Harry was just finishing with a description of Sirius' trip to Malfoy Manor, and some of their speculations about the Malfoy family when the refreshments trolley came by. Fortunately, Cedric's charms let them know when the trolley lady knocked, as all three boys found themselves famished. After making a largish hole in the cart's supplies of sweets and snacks, the three sat back in the re-charmed compartment to discuss what Neville had just heard.
"If I hadn't heard it from both of you, or seen Draco's reaction a bit ago, I'd never have believed it possible," Neville said.
"And I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you didn't," Harry replied. "But, as shocking as it may seem, we believe that it may well be possible to pry the Malfoys away from Voldie and at least get them to be neutral."
Neville pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. "That would be…interesting," he said quietly. "From everything that Gran and I discussed, it was Malfoy money that was the Dark Lord's main funding source during his last rise to power. Without that," he paused, then shook his head. "Well, without the Malfoy money—and Lucius' influence at the Ministry, of course—I don't see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named having nearly the capacity for mischief as he did on his last go around. At best, he might command a few of the lesser fortunes which together might be as much or more money, but without the Malfoy name the money itself won't be nearly as effective."
Harry and Cedric both nodded at Neville's assessment. "That's our thinking, as well," Harry agreed. "We all know that this war is going to be fought as much in the Ministry as it will anywhere else, and we intend to win in every arena."
"Thus far, Dumbledore's been content to sit back and be reactive rather than proactive," Cedric spoke up. "And, as far as I can tell, he'll continue in that vein for as long as he possibly can, and then only change his tactics when he's forced into it." What he had to be very careful about saying was that, in the 'other' world, Dumbledore had done exactly that, with less than satisfactory consequences.
"That basically agrees with Gran's thinking," Neville said. "We spent quite a bit of time this summer discussing…well, events in general." He smiled, then went on. "I'm not pretending to speak for Gran, mind you, she'll be giving both of you an earful come our first meeting. Still, everything that happened this summer shows that Dumbledore's not moving as forcefully as he could to forestall the Dark Lord's resurgence."
"And isn't that interesting," Harry said darkly. "Judging from what he's done rather than what our 'esteemed Headmaster' has said, you'd almost think he wanted Voldemort to rise again."
At this, Neville's face took on a sour look. "That was Gran's conclusion too, Harry; and as much as it pains me to admit it, I can't say that I disagree."
"The most troubling thing to me is how readily so many people are willing to blindly follow Dumbledore's lead. From where I'm sitting, I can't really see any difference between those people, and the purebloods who follow the Dark Lord just because he preaches blood-supremacy." Cedric shook his head in disgust. "All of them are rallying around a 'great leader', and here he made the quotation marks in the air with his fingers while he spoke, "without bothering to think about just where they're being led to." He sighed, and leaned back in his seat. "Call me a bad 'puff, but that kind of unthinking loyalty just doesn't sit well with me."
"As far as I know, the Lady Helga never supported unthinking loyalty in anyone, Cedric. In fact, I think that she actually said some rather scathing things about it on occasion. You might want to take some time to actually research that—it might come in useful in the future, don't you think?" Neville smiled at his new friend.
"I just might have to do that, Neville," Cedric replied, thinking hard. He was sure that Neville was right; it was just a matter of remembering where he had read it. But, that was a task for another time.
Harry caught Cedric's eye and winked, thinking about just how easy that research would be once they got to Hogwarts and set up their laptops. But, he wasn't finished with Neville Longbottom just yet, and they had other things to do before they arrived.
"Oh, here's something I think you'll be interested in, Neville," Harry said, pulling out the slim volume Lucius Malfoy had owled him recently. "This is the Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses. Now that we're Heads of our Houses, we both need to read this."
Neville looked at the title on the cover of the book and did a double take. "Harry, where did you get that?" he asked, more than a bit surprised. Then, he shook his head and smiled. "Oh, of course…the Black library. Well, naturally they'd have a copy there, wouldn't they?" He grinned at Harry and Cedric, completely missing the looks they passed one another. "You wouldn't believe the trouble Gran went to, trying to find a copy for me to have this summer. Apparently, our family copy has gone missing, Flourish and Blotts claims that it's out of print, and the Hogwarts' library copies have all gone the way of our family copy."
"Er, Neville, this one didn't actually come from the Black library," Harry said hesitantly. "Believe it or not, Lucius Malfoy owled me this copy a few days ago."
"Oh, really?" Neville's eyes narrowed. "Fancy that. Especially since there's not another copy to be had in all of Great Britain for love nor galleons."
"I'll gladly make you a copy, Neville," Cedric said. "I know several duplication charms, but you'll have to wait until we get settled." He shrugged. "The best charms require that you start with real parchment and ink, not just a conjured stack. That's what I used to make your Potions for Dummies book, so it should be almost as good as a 'real' printed one. I could make you a copy now, of course, but I won't guarantee that it would last more than a few weeks, before…."
"Neville, did I mention that my boyfriend is a Charms geek?" Harry cut in easily.
"No, not that I recall," Neville answered, ignoring Cedric's snort. "At any rate, it's good that we've got a copy we can make duplicates from, since it appears that it's the only copy available anywhere."
"And there's not a copy in the Hogwarts' library? I find that rather hard to believe," Cedric said.
Neville nodded, his mouth making a wry twist. "So did my Gran, when she owled the Headmaster asking after a copy. He told her that apparently all of the copies in the library had vanished over the years, and that Madam Pince had never brought it to his attention that they needed replacing. He was quite apologetic, actually," he finished.
Harry 'harrumphed' and Cedric rolled his eyes at this last. "Oh, I just bet he was," Harry said sarcastically. "He does 'apologetic' really well, doesn't he?"
Neville winced at this, even as he nodded his agreement. "So right, he does. At any rate, if I could offer a suggestion, Lord Potter?" he smiled, waiting for Harry to nod regally before continuing. "Once your betrothed makes us several copies for our own use, why not contact one of the publishing houses about making a small print run of the book? If nothing else, you can score a few points with the old houses by giving them as Christmas gifts."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "And give a few to the Professors, as well as make a donation to the Hogwarts Library at the same time."
"Put a note in the family gifts saying something about how you hope they never need it, but realize that we are living in perilous times or some such," Cedric put in. "That way you can remind them that the Dark Lord doesn't stint on wiping out those of old blood without coming right out and saying it."
Harry and both Neville murmured their assent to this, Neville focusing on his stinksap plant while Harry began perusing the book. He found it falling open to a section in the very front of the book, clearly marked by a thin silver ribbon. As his eyes, scanned the page, he straightened excitedly.
"Hey, Neville, here's something! Listen to this," he said, then began reading.
"Section 3, quarters for Heads of Houses. Should it transpire that the young Lord ascend to the Headship of his House while yet he remains a student within these Halls…I'm translating from old formal Wizardspeak here, so bear with me, guys…appropriate to his station…as necessary for him to carry out his duties as Head…commensurate with his rank and position in our society, blah, blah, blah…." Harry broke off, his head snapping up to lock eyes with his friend across the compartment. "Neville, it says here that we get our own suite of rooms in something called the 'Lords Hall'!"
The young Lord Longbottom grinned at this. "You mean, after all these years, I STILL have to room with you, Harry?"
"Prat. No, actually it looks like we EACH get our own rooms in this Lords Hall, wherever that is," Harry finished, looking back down at the pages he was reading from.
"Oh, so I don't have to put up with your snoring again this year? How will I ever manage to get any sleep, then?" Neville asked lightly.
"You are such a git, Longbottom. It's Ron's snoring that we'll both have to get used to doing without this year."
"I suppose you're right," Neville sighed theatrically. Then, he winked at Cedric. "Still, it will make it easier for you two to snog each other away from prying eyes, won't it?"
Harry's only answer was the large grin that bloomed on his face as he scooted even closer against his boyfriend. Cedric, on the other hand, was content merely to blush furiously, looking anywhere but at Harry or Neville's faces.
Fortunately for all concerned, at that moment a faint knocking could be heard at the compartment door. Glancing at Neville and Harry, Cedric waited for both of them to nod before he took down the spells that had been guarding them. Reaching out, he carefully slid back the compartment door, wand still in his hand.
Draco Malfoy stood there, alone.
"Diggory," the Malfoy heir said quietly, nodding to Cedric. "Lord Longbottom, Lord Potter," he said, just as quietly.
"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged evenly. "Is there a problem?"
Draco shook his head. "No, not at all, not here on the train. I just wanted to let you know that you'll probably catch all manner of hell from Granger once we arrive in Hogsmeade."
Neville nodded in understanding, while Harry and Cedric both grimaced. "I figured as much, but thanks for the warning," Harry said.
"Oh, Malfoy…?" Neville put in.
"Yes, Longbottom?"
"Thanks for the support a bit ago."
"What could I do? Family business is Family business," Draco shrugged. "I can make a good guess at what you two did to cause a magic surge that powerful, and if Granger would think about it for two seconds she could probably work it out for herself. Still, when you invoked Family confidentiality that should have put an end to it."
"Hermione sometimes gets too caught up in the moment to think things through logically," Harry said, feeling like he had to do something to justify at least a part of his friend's behavior. "Still and all, your help was appreciated," he finished.
Draco nodded in reply, then took a steadying breath. "Yes, well…whatever." He shrugged in dismissal before continuing, speaking directly to Neville. "Longbottom, I need a moment with Potter and Diggory before we get to Hogwarts, if you don't mind," he asked carefully.
At Draco's request, Neville raised one eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged microscopically. Gathering himself and the box with his Mimbulus, he stood and made to leave the compartment. "I'll just go and see the lovely Miss Abbott, then," he said. "Harry, Cedric, I'll be back before we get to Hogsmeade to collect the rest of my things, if you don't mind. Draco," he said politely as he slid past the blonde Prefect to make his way forward.
Draco stepped back out of Neville's way, then entered the compartment, closing the door behind him. Taking a seat, he straightened his robes in what was obviously an attempt to cover his anxiety before he spoke.
"Diggory, could I trouble you to put up whatever charms you had up before? The privacy ones?" he asked.
Nodding, Cedric complied while Harry and Draco sat silently, purposefully not making eye contact. When Cedric finished, he lowered his wand and announced "All done." If Draco noticed that he didn't put his wand away, he gave no sign of it.
"Thanks, Diggory. I can be sure that we'll have some privacy now, much more than we'll have at any time once we get back to Hogwarts."
"You're almost certainly right about that, Malfoy," Harry said. "The walls of the castle have ears, all right; and each and every one of them reports to our beloved Headmaster everything that's said within their hearing." He kept his tone light, but couldn't resist a bit of an eye roll at 'beloved'.
Draco laughed outright at Harry's sarcasm. "Too true, Potter, too true. Since I had a few things I wanted to ask you that I absolutely don't want the old coot hearing about, I figured this would be the best time. Especially after seeing just what kind of security someone," he cut his eyes to Cedric, "put up on the compartment earlier. You should have seen the look on Granger's face when her first three attempts to breach your charms amounted to absolutely nothing," he finished, grinning.
Cedric's lips thinned in displeasure. "I suppose that Harry'll catch hell for that, too," he snapped.
Draco nodded, not terribly concerned. After all, he had already faced down the Wrath of Granger while it was still relatively mild. And, the truth be told, he was rather looking forward to seeing just how this new version of Potter (backed by his obviously not-going-to-take-her-shite boyfriend and the new, improved Lord Longbottom) was going to respond to a full-blown dressing down from the Gryffindor Prefect. Well, time would tell, he supposed.
"So, Malfoy…what can we do for you this fine day?" Harry broke into Draco's musings.
Draco collected himself instantly, clenched his jaw and pressed on. "Potter, some weeks ago a pair of letters arrived at Malfoy Manor, letters delivered by your owl. Do you know what was in those letters?" he finished bluntly, looking straight at Harry Potter.
"No, Malfoy, I don't," Harry answered evenly.
"Why do you ask, Malfoy? Were they unsealed?" Cedric asked in a carefully neutral tone.
"No, they were sealed, and the seals gave no sign of having been tampered with," Draco said. "At least mine didn't, and my father didn't say anything about his, so…." He paused, then turned to Cedric. "Diggory, do you know what was in them?" he asked intensely.
"Not precisely, no," Cedric answered honestly. Then, before Draco could say anything, he raised a hand to forestall any response. "Based on…several things, including how you're asking about them now, I can make a guess as to some of the things they might have said…but no, I didn't read either of them."
Draco took another steadying breath, then blew it out slowly while he thought about what he was going to say next. "So…can either of you tell me just how you came to have those letters in the first place?"
Cedric and Harry looked at each other carefully for a long moment before Cedric—acting on Harry's minute shrug of permission to answer—turned back to Draco. "No, Draco, I can't tell you that…and neither can Harry, so don't bother asking him."
"Would you swear to that on your magic?" Draco asked, thoroughly displeased with the non-answers he was getting.
"No." Cedric's answer was flat, absolute.
"Why not?" Draco snapped, beginning to get angry.
"Because…while I might could tell you how I came to have them, I won't tell you, and that's in large part because I can't tell you, not now and probably not ever, for more reasons than I could explain between here and Hogsmeade, so I won't even begin. Understand?" Cedric bit out.
Draco leaned back, a bit shocked by the answer as well as the tone of it. His brows knotted together as he replayed Cedric's reply in his head, and Cedric and Harry could both see the Slytherin sift through Cedric's verbiage, trying to make sense of it.
"So…there are reasons you can't tell me, then? Beyond just 'I can't' or 'I won't because I'm being a right git', that is?" he asked carefully.
"Well, there is that," Cedric smiled, then laughed. "Draco, I give you my word that I'm not holding back just to be a git; and that I have some very good reasons why I'll probably never be able to tell you the whole story. Still, there are some very immediate reasons why I can't say anything more…and you yourself have already mentioned one of the biggest."
"Dumbledore," Draco breathed out. Neither Cedric nor Harry gave any change of expression to indicate anything one way or another when he said the Headmaster's name, which to Draco was as good a confirmation as any shouted declaration would have been. "I see. So, it was you, then, Diggory, who came into the letters in the first place," he said softly.
"I never said that," Cedric replied carefully, looking Draco straight in the eye, his Occulumency shields at full strength.
Draco met and held his eyes intently for several long seconds before looking away. "No, you never did," he replied quietly, a small quirky smile dancing around the corners of his lips. "Still, I wonder if you could tell me this," he went on. "The man who gave you those letters…was he…?" Draco trailed off; unsure of just how to phrase the question he so desperately wanted to ask.
Cedric relented just a bit at the obvious discomfiture of the younger man. "Draco," he began, then paused, thinking furiously. "I can tell you that he struck me as being an honest and honorable man…for a Slytherin."
Draco nodded, his relief evident. Then, obviously struggling with himself, he asked, "and was he…with…anyone?"
"You mean, like a lady, or a girlfriend?" Cedric grinned, while Draco blushed to the roots of his hair and looked away while Harry fought not to snicker. "Yes, I believe he was."
"And was she…I mean, did you get any sense that…." Draco finally gave up, tossing his head in frustration.
"From what little I saw, I would say that she was a formidable lady, Draco," Cedric assured him. "And…if it's any consolation…the man who gave me those letters was not only totally besotted with her, but also very tightly wrapped around her little finger. No, Draco, if you want my opinion…that man thought himself a very lucky man, indeed."
"Oh sweet Merlin!" was all Draco could say, as he collapsed backwards onto the bench. Meanwhile, both Cedric and Harry began gently laughing at him.
Shortly thereafter, once a confused Draco Malfoy had been sent on his way down the corridor muttering to himself, Harry and Cedric were finally—FINALLY—alone in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Cedric turned from (once again) placing a complex web of privacy and warning charms on the compartment door to find his boyfriend ostensibly reading the Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses.
"Oi, Lord Prat!" he snickered, putting his wand away and nudging Harry's leg.
Harry didn't bother looking up. "Oi, peasant. What do you want?" he said, glancing sideways at the larger boy.
Cedric caught the glance and grinned. Leaning back, he put his arms behind his head and said casually, "oh, nothing, nothing at all. Seeing as how you're busy reading and all, I think I'll just take a bit of a kip."
"Oh, that's fine then," Harry said neutrally. "Well, enjoy your nap." He kept on reading.
Working hard to suppress a grin, Cedric closed his eyes, settled himself more comfortably and waited.
Count of one.
Count of two.
Count of three.
Count of four.
Count of….
"GOTCHA!" Harry squealed, pouncing. The Gryffindor's fingers hooked into Cedric's sides, tickling furiously for a fraction of a second before the Hufflepuff could retaliate. Back and forth the battle raged until finally Harry managed to get the upper hand.
Straddling Cedric's waist, Harry had somehow managed to get both of Cedric's hands above his head, holding them there while he grinned down at his fiancé.
"Surrender!" he crowed; only to have to struggle to keep his hold as Cedric bucked.
"Never!" Cedric snickered, bucking again, this time almost throwing Harry off.
"Yes! You must!" Harry insisted, leaning down to drop a tiny kiss to the tip of Cedric's nose.
"Why should I?" Cedric grinned up at Harry, having just missed a chance to kiss him back.
"Because then I can demand my ransom payment," Harry smirked.
Cedric mock-frowned. "Alas, I am but a poor peasant, and cannot pay your ransom, Lord Prat," he said mournfully.
"Oh, well, then. I suppose there's not help for it; you'll just have to be my sex slave for all eternity," Harry's eyes flashed brightly at the thought.
"Oh, woe is me! What a horrible fate," Cedric snickered. "Sex slave to the most pervy Lord in the land! Whatever shall I do?"
"Hmmm…how about you start by giving your Lord a snog?" Harry asked, leaning forward once more.
"Oh, I see how it's going to be," Cedric whinged. "Always snogging the poor captive, never a moment for myself, never a mumfph…." His words were suddenly cut off by Harry's lips abruptly claiming his. Cedric found his hands free as Harry's fingers tangled in his hair, so Cedric brought both his arms down to wrap about Harry's lithe torso.
After a bit, they were forced to come up for air.
"So, how do you think you'll like this enslavement bit?" Harry asked softly.
"Oh, I don't know," Cedric husked. "I think you'll need to practice the snogging part of it at least twice a day, to start."
"I think I can manage that," Harry breathed, leaning in for another kiss.
And that was the last that was heard from that compartment for the rest of the journey to Hogsmeade Station.
Some time later, an exasperated Ronald Weasley stood outside that very compartment while Hermione Granger tried once again to break the spells which sealed it off from the outside world.
"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron sighed. "You couldn't break into Harry and Cedric's compartment on the ride home last spring, and you won't be able to do it now."
"Quiet, Ron," Hermione snapped. "I'll have you know that I spent the summer reading, and one of the things I concentrated on was privacy and locking spells. It's just a question of analyzing the spell forces correctly, then picking them apart in the proper sequence."
"If you say so," Ron sighed, unconvinced. He slumped back against the wall, arms crossed across his chest.
"I do say so…and what's more, so does Cuthbertons's Advanced Personal Privacy Warding. I had Obscurus Books special-order me a copy just as soon as I returned home at the beginning of the summer." Biting her lower lip in concentration, Hermione moved her wand through a particularly complex pattern, only to draw back, disappointed. "I just don't understand it…that unlocking spell should have opened up at least the first three layers of charms, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything."
"Hermione, Cedric's had two more years of schooling than you, don't you think that he's learned a bit more than we have by now? And, don't forget, he was raised in a wizarding home, so he's been around locking spells all of his life."
Hermione wheeled on her long-suffering boyfriend, only too glad to have a ready target for her frustration. "See, Ron, it's that kind of attitude that I so despise in people like Malfoy. Just because I wasn't raised in a magical household doesn't mean that I'm not just as capable a witch as anyone else. It's only a matter of finding the right combination of dispelling and unlocking charms, and then I'll open this door and give Mr. Harry Potter a good piece of my mind!"
"Er, 'Mione…are you sure that would be a good idea?" Ron tried again, with a slightly different argument. He really didn't understand the whole 'two boys snogging thing'—never had, hopefully never would, to his way of thinking—but he still didn't think that two people, regardless of their genders, would appreciate being interrupted just to hear a Hermione lecture.
"Ron, we're Prefects! It's our job to ensure the safety of all of the students on this train. Until I'm satisfied that whatever happened earlier won't be repeated, I'm going to keep trying to open this door!" Tossing her hair, Hermione sniffed in a particularly self-righteous way. "Also, there's no telling what they're up to in there, and part of a Prefect's responsibility is to guard against acts of moral turpitude during the school term," she finished primly.
"So, you don't want them to be snogging on the train?" Ron asked, now confused.
"Honestly, Ron! If it were only snogging, I wouldn't mind so much," Hermione huffed, her tone making her words a lie. "It's whatever else they're doing in there, behind all of these charms, that worries me. And, there's always the effect on what the lowers will think—we certainly can't have them getting ideas, now can we?"
Knowing when it would be futile to say anything else (and for once, having the brains to shut it when he reached that point), Ron just sighed and slid down to sit on the floor, his back to the wall. "Just let me know if I can help," he muttered, certain that time would never come.
"Don't get too comfortable, this won't take long," Hermione said confidently, renewing her attack on the door. "Another five minutes more, if that," she finished, biting her lip once again.
Meanwhile, inside the compartment, the boys had shifted around so that Cedric was laying half-against the outer wall of the compartment, with Harry stretched out on the seat laying mostly on Cedric. Harry's head was tucked underneath Cedric's chin, and his back was to Cedric's front. They had been dozing like this for some time, content just to enjoy some quiet time together.
Harry shifted slightly, pulling Cedric's arm a bit closer around him. The motion brought a soft murmur to Cedric's lips.
"You know that Granger's trying to get in, don't you?" Cedric asked softly.
"Mmmm," Harry made an affirmative sound.
"Should I let her in, or just let her keep on wasting her time?" Cedric breathed into Harry's ear.
"Nnnnnn." This time, the sound was distinctly negative.
"Okay, then. And, don't worry…it'll take her longer to work out that particular sequence than we'll be on the train. We can have our nap without fear of a Gryffindor assault."
Harry made a sound that might have been 'good', before snuggling down a bit further. Since he was already quite comfortable, between his Harry-shaped blanket and the cushioning charm he had put on the compartment wall, all Cedric had to do was drop a kiss onto Harry's head before he also slipped into sleep.
And that was how they spent the remainder of their journey into Hogsmeade Station.
A/N: well, it's been a while, and for that I apologize. I've tried to make up for the wait with an extra-long (10K plus words) chapter. Thanks to all of you who reviewed (even those few of you who griped about something), because they kept me going when the Muse went walkabout.
To explain a commonly asked question: to 'Drink the Kool-Ade' is an expression that means 'to follow without questioning', implying blind devotion to a person or cause. It has its roots in the Jim Jones/Jonestown massacre (look it up), where several hundred people under the sway of a lunatic drank poisoned Kool-Ade as a means to mass suicide. In One Wizarding Summer, it's a joke that Sirius makes at Molly's expense, because Molly has well and truly drunk Dumbledore's Kool-Ade: i.e., she thinks that Dumbledore can do no wrong and he is ultimately correct about everything. It is never complimentary, and implies that the person in question has given up their own rational thoughts to be a blind follower, even to the point of killing themselves just of the say-so of a leader. You'll see a lot of that attitude later in this work, because Harry and Cedric will be fighting it frequently from all sides.
The next chapter is underway…hopefully, you'll not have to wait another six-plus months for it.
Oh, and the banners for the last two stories, created by the wonderful OF SERENDIP, are (finally) posted on my livejournal at twistyguru (dot) livejournal (dot) com. They're beautiful, check 'em out! Also, I'm going to post a sort-of challenge for a Twilight/HP/Anita Blake crossover that I'd really, really like to see done on the livejournal. I've got the silly thing, might as well start using it again….