Hello there :) Sorry for not posting in, like, a week. I forgot to mention last chapter that I was going to be up north visiting relatives (who don't have wifi connection at their house. Or cell reception. What's up with that? Crazy old people...). I was planning on just writing the next few chapters while I was up there... but I forgot to bring the sixth HP book. Sooo... yeah. Sorry.
Just so you're aware: Writing this chapter was like pulling my teeth out with rusty pliers. Seriously, it was freaking hard. So I'm sorry if this is really crappy. There'll be a lot more action next chapter ;)
Disclaimer: I own only Ari/Aria Desere/Remy Turner. Everything else is property of the fantastical J.K. Rowling (I watched the movie about her the other day! It was crazy good! Did you know that she was a single mother on wellfare? She went from being barely able to pay the rent to one of the richest women in Britain. I've got the biggest girl crush on that woman). Anyway, the Harry/Hermione/Ron dialogue as well as Dumbledore's speech is taken directly from the book. So yeah.
Review! Enjoy! Have a nice day!
"Concentrated power has always been the enemy of liberty." —Ronald Reagan.
Two-Faced [Harry Potter] Chapter Three: Revulsion
Smile, Ari. Smile.
This becomes my mantra during the start-of-term banquet.
Smile when I reluctantly take my seat at the Gryffindor table.
Smile when I hide a shudder and shake the hands of blood traitors and mudbloods alike.
Smile when I repeatedly feel the urge to release the fury of Dark Magic on the entire table.
Smile, Ari.
Smile.
I hold in a roll of my eyes as Lavender Brown spills a summary of her entire summer, her face lit up animatedly as she recounts her trip to Paris and all of the absolutely gorg French boys that were all over her. I nod languidly, noting that Brown will be a go-to for gossip (though that's about all she'll be good for), and nibble absentmindedly on a roll. I keep one ear on the ditz's story and use the other to eavesdrop on other conversations around the table.
One catches my eye (or ear).
"Where is he? He's—Honestly, Ronald! Can't you stop thinking about food for one second? Your best friend is missing and all you've done is stuff yourself!"
It's that mudblood, Hermione Granger, speaking exasperatedly to Ron Weasley, who bows his head sheepishly. I completely abandon any attempt to make it seem like I'm actually listening to Lavender's incessant rambling, turning my full attention to the pair. Lavender looks a bit affronted, and casts me an offended look before turning to the girl on the other side of her.
"Well what—" Weasley starts to retort, but stops and looks to the door. "Oi! There he is!"
My head snaps to the door. Sure enough, Harry Potter is practically sprinting towards the Gryffindor table, his face covered in blood and annoyance.
My eyes narrow.
Suspicion pricks at the back of my neck, and I turn to the Slytherin has seemed to recover from his shock of seeing me, and is acting out what appears to be a nose breaking and blood spattering.
I bite my lip to hold in a smirk.
Potter's finally gotten what he deserves, has he?
"Where've you—blimey, what've you done to your face?" Weasley says loudly whenPotter joins them, eyeing the blood warily. Potter avoids his friend's eyes, swooping instead for a spoon.
"Why, what's wrong with it?" he asks, looking into his distorted reflection on the back of the spoon.
"You're covered in blood!" exclaims Granger, reaching for her wand. "Come here – Tergeo!"
His face now clean of blood, Potter wriggles his nose. "Thanks. How's my nose looking?"
"Normal," Granger replies, a little anxiously, "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"
I lean forward slightly, pretending to reach for another roll.
"I'll tell you later," he says curtly, looking around. The entire left half of the table has leaned forward to catch a bit of the conversation, their weak attempts at disguising their eavesdropping blatantly transparent.
"But—" protests Mudblood, but stops abruptly at his firm glare.
"Not now, Hermione."
The faces around the Gryffindor table flash with disappointment, and everyone returns to the conversations they'd been engaged in before the 'Chosen One' entered the Hall.
That is, everyone except me.
"You missed the sorting, anyway," Granger sighs, watching Weasley shove a large chocolate gateau into his mouth with an expression of faint disgust.
"Hat say anything interesting?" asks Potter, though he clearly doesn't care about the answer. I look down quickly as Mudblood's eyes dart my way before returning to her friend.
"More of the same, really… advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know. There's a new student — sixth year transfer."
"A transfer?" Potter spits, almost dropping his treacle tart. "Is that even allowed?"
"Apparently," Granger replies tartly, pursing her lips. "I haven't heard of it happening before now."
"Well, who is it?"
She looks over at me again, and I'm careful to keep my head down. I can feel a few more pairs of eyes on me, taking me in cautiously.
"With the dark hair, just there, next to Lavender."
I look up just as Potter does, letting my eyes lock with a pair of green irises that are made even brighter by the circular wire glasses framing them. They're alight with curiosity, confusion.
So this is the famous Chosen One, the boy that's supposed to take down the Dark Lord.
Disgust rises in my throat in the form of bile, and it takes all my willpower to keep from sneering at the boy. This is Harry Potter? This shrimp of a boy? He's got about the same chance of taking down the Dark Lord as I've got in becoming a muggle rights activist.
My eyes trail upwards, grazing over his forehead, searching for his mark. The mark of his importance, his power over the Dark Lord, the source of all the rumors.
There — slightly to the left, hidden partially by a strand of dark hair: a light scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. The scar that started it all. A shock of pain suddenly stabs at my left arm, and I can feel the snake crawl uncomfortably on my skin. It's as if the Dark Mark can sense the presence of its greatest boy enemy.
Then I realize that I'm staring.
Smile, Ari.
I attempt a shy smile and offer an awkward wave, which he returns just as awkwardly.
"Dumbledore mention Voldemort at all?" he asks Granger, still looking at me. I hold his eyes, throwing curses at him mentally. A smile — an real smile — quirks at my lips as I imagine blasting him across the room, his body flailing and writhing from the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, his eyes going blank with the flash of green that flies from my wand…
"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn't he? It can't be long now. He only mentioned the transfer student."
He nods a little absently, reaching for another treacle tart.
They talk a while about Professor Snape and Professor Hagrid; nothing that interests me, so I tune out. Lavender is still chattering away about her summer to the girl to her left, turned fully away from me as if trying to spite me for ignoring her. I roll my eyes, turning back to the Golden Trio.
Potter's attention has turned to the Slytherin table, his eyes narrowed at Draco miming the shattering of a nose. The students around him applaud and laugh jeeringly, casting mocking looks at Potter. I can't help but laugh at the murderous look glinting in Potter's eyes.
As if he could take on a Death Eater.
Three, actually, if you count Severus and me.
He talks to Granger and Weasley about more boring things until Dumbledore stands at the staff table, raising a hand to silence the chatter around the Hall.
"The very best of evenings to you!" Dumbledore smiles, flaring his arms to the sides grandly.
Gasps and whispers flood the Hall at the sight of his blackened and charred right hand. My eyes narrow (they seem to be doing that a lot tonight), my sights fixing on the ornate gold ring adorning his right ring finger.
It's tainted with Dark Magic. It has to be.
"Nothing to worry about," he says, shaking his sleeve to cover the injury. "No… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you…"
I tune out after that, propping my head up on a bent arm and sighing heavily.
Who knew an infiltration mission into Hogwarts would be so dull?
Perhaps mother and father were right about this place…
My attention drifts to the Slytherin table, and I can't stop my eyes from picking one student out of the crowd. It feels like there's a magnet, drawing my eyes to him.
He's there, sitting between Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle, levitating a fork with his wand, his expression on of careless disinterest, as if Dumbledore's words don't apply to him.
And Merlin, he's beautiful.
He looks older than when I last saw him. His hair's shorter than I remember, but still that platinum blond, and his face is thinner. His eyes are still the same. Light grey, flecked with bits of gold and blue and green and filled with cockiness, arrogance, and, when his eyes catch on mine, anger.
This is the boy that's to kill Albus Dumbledore. This beautiful boy.
"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."
Draco's mask of boredom doesn't change as the fork cartwheels in the air. I can't hold back the smirk that threatens. He's still got that arrogance.
I notice Potter staring at Draco, suspicion clouding his eyes. Does he know? Draco's certainly not being discrete about it. And it's not unlike Draco to be waving his Dark Mark around, flaunting it as a mark of courage and power, so it wouldn't be surprising if Potter has heard something about it.
I realize too late that Potter's turned his attention to me. He watches me with something I can't place — suspicion? Not, not quite. Just curiosity. Safe curiosity.
Smile, Ari. Smile.
I throw a quick grin at him before turning back to Dumbledore, lacing my fingers together and resting my chin atop them, pretending to drink in the Headmaster's words with the relish and excitement of a first year.
"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff."
I can't help the twinge of amusement and satisfaction that arises at Dumbledore's words of wisdom.
The Death Eaters are right. Albus Dumbledore is bloody batty.
With all his updated security, Dumbledore's still got three Death Eaters in his midst. One of them is seated to his right, scowling down at the students, another sitting only a few seats away from the 'Chosen One', and the last is plotting to kill him.
What a laugh.
"I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately."
Will do.
"I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."
Yes, sir.
"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be as well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"
With that, everyone stands, stretching their limbs and heading for the door of the Great Hall, fighting a food coma and chattering about the start of the new year, Dumbledore's dead hand, what happened at the Department of Mysteries, and the return of You-Know-Who (as if he didn't 'return' a year and a half ago).
I fall to the back of the crowd, staying near Potter and Weasley who hang back as well. They don't notice me as I linger a few feet away, pretending to yawn and fiddle with the ties of one of my trainers. They're too preoccupied to notice.
"What really happened to your nose?" Weasley asks Potter as the Mudblood leads the first years dutifully out of the Hall and towards the Gryffindor common room, casting Weasley a stern look that says she thinks he should be doing the same.
Potter reveals that he'd hidden on the luggage rack in Draco's compartment to snoop, but got caught. Apparently Draco'd stamped on his face, breaking his nose. It takes all of my strength to keep from laughing, and I make a mental note to give Draco a box of chocolates or something.
"I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose," Weasley says, eyeing Potter's nose with interest, as if looking for some evidence of breakage.
"Yeah, well, never mind that. Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there…"
My ears perk with interest, and I pray that Draco hasn't been revealing anything about his mission, even to other Slytherins with Death Eater connections. If his cover is blown so early on — barely the end of the first day — he'll be punished. Severely.
Killed.
I probably will, too. After all, I'm here to 'save him', as Narcissa put it. How I'm to go about doing that is beyond me; Draco knows more about Dumbledore than I do, so he'll be able to think up more crafty ways of assassinating him. But then again, I am more experienced in Dark Magic than he is.
"Git Malfoy kept going on about how he wasn't going to be in Hogwarts next year. Moving on to bigger and better things, he said. Voldemort's got him on some big mission."
I almost sigh in relief. So Potter knows — or, at least, suspects — that Draco's a Death Eater. That doesn't really mean anything. No one would believe him if he told them.
After all, I think with a small laugh, why would the Dark Lord want a sixteen-year-old in his ranks?
His face falls when Weasley furrows his eyebrows and replies, "Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson… What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?"
A twinge of satisfaction makes my lips quirk into a smirk. Thank you, Ronald Weasley.
It's then that I notice a giant, bulky, hulk of a man heading towards us. Knowing that the boys will stop talking about anything interesting once the half-breed Hagrid arrives, I head for the door, just barely catching a last few words of Harry Potter as I pass through the entrance.
"How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts?"
Smirking, I slip from the Great Hall.
If only you knew, Potter.
The rest of the night passes quietly. I'm put in a dorm with four other girls, whose names I don't care enough to remember. They're useless airheads, spending the entire night squealing about Oh! Isn't it so exciting to be back at Hogwarts! and, Aren't you just swooning over Harry? He's so gorgeous this year! And he fought off He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the Ministry of Magic!
Smile, Ari.
And resist the urge to vomit.
My revulsion at my dorm mates grows when I overhear a mention of their parents. All three of the girls' parents are muggles holding mundane muggle office jobs. I shudder. A room with not one but three mudbloods?
A fate worse than death, surely.
After a half hour of listening to them giggle and gush, I have to stuff my wand under my pillow to keep myself from cursing them into oblivion.