~The Slytherin Renaissance~

By My Cat Frank

Chapter 4: Rosencrabbe and Goylenstern

Summary: Among other things, Goyle explains Marxism to Draco. That alone should be reason enough to read this chapter…^_~ Also, Snape in powder blue dress robes and Fun With Freud—Adam and Steve Style!!!

Malicious Play: Dudley Dursley and the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snapeland!

Warnings: Slash, criminal acts against ceramic objects, wanton philosophizing, Shakespeare abuse, and italics overload

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belong to J.K. Rowling and her people and are used without permission. However, no profit is going to be gained from this work of fanfiction and I am just a poor college bum on student loans. So really, there's no sense in suing over this work.

Starting with this chapter, I'm going to take a leaf out of Cassandra Claire's wonderful book and list the references at the end instead of the beginning.

Thanks go to these wonderful people for reviewing SR (in no particular order): Pisces, deb-sampson, orphne, MOI, Ron's Girly, Show, Captain-Emily, Tess, yuyin, VMorticia, Kelsey, Aishuu Shadowweaver, Sheron, FightsLikeACow, Slytherin Psyche, nightwing, Aurenne, amythest, reila, Vee-sempai, celestinne, Adia, Jadedragon, Kaylin, Fataldreams—Seducer of Fantasy, Catspook, Rosetta, and Iris! Everyone gets a cookie!!! ^___^ Thanks for having patience, despite how friggin' LONG it took to get this chapter uploaded! :P For a full explanation, read my rant at the beginning of Sneeze for Me.

Draco and Harry were walking through a lush, tropical jungle. The air was warm and thick and full of the noises of hundreds of birds and other jungle creatures. It seemed like they had been walking through the dense greenery forever, when suddenly Harry pushed a piece of shrubbery out of the way and they saw open land on the other side.

It was like a garden paradise with fountains and fruit trees and sweet-smelling flowers. Harry burst through the wall of shrubbery and ran to the fountain, which was spouting champagne, and filled a nearby goblet.

Draco cautiously entered the garden, his eyes shifting warily around the place. "Are you sure there's no one else here, Potter?"

"We're the only ones," Harry answered, and happily sipped his champagne. "I'm hungry," he announced, and started looking around at the fruit trees.

Draco also looked around—he could see trees bearing apples, pineapples, oranges, pears, and several different tropical fruits that he couldn't identify. He looked back at Harry, who was now talking to a mauve-colored snake coiled around a tree branch. Draco strained his ears to hear what they were talking about until he remembered that it was in Parseltongue.

Harry finished his conversation and turned back to Draco as the snake slithered away and out of sight. He grinned at Draco and pointed to a banana tree in the far corner of the garden. "The snake says that the best fruit around are the bananas from that tree over there," he explained.

Draco looked at the tree. It was conspicuously surrounded by barbed wire. He raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Potter? It doesn't look like someone wants us to eat it."

Harry ignored him and took out his wand. "Accio bananas!" he yelled, and two bright yellow bananas plucked themselves free from a bunch and flew into Harry's waiting hands. He grinned and handed one to Draco before peeling his own and taking a big, huge bite.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, when he saw that Draco still hadn't peeled his banana.

"I still can't help thinking that we're not supposed to be eating these," he said, staring at the fruit.

Harry laughed. "Come on, live a little," he coaxed, then took Draco's banana and began to peel it for him, then held it up to Draco's mouth. "Take a bite," he purred. "Go on. It won't hurt."

Draco grabbed the banana, his hand over Harry's, and took a bite. He looked thoughtful as he chewed and swallowed. "You know, I think you're right," he said matter-of-factly. "This is pretty good."

Harry smirked and took another big bite, his eyes on Draco as he did so. He sat down on the grass and propped himself up with an elbow. "Draco," he said, "do you know what it means to be a lucid dreamer?"

"Sure I do," Draco answered in between bites. "It's someone who—" bite—"knows that they're dreaming—" bite— "while they're dreaming." He finished the banana and sat down next to Harry.

"Then you know that you're dreaming right now, don't you?" Draco shrugged. "You know this, like you knew you were dreaming when we met alone on the quidditch pitch—" he grinned slyly—"and that other dream you had over the summer when we met at the 'Good-Looking Young Gentlemen's Club'."

"More like you gate-crashed that party," Draco corrected him. "And you stole all the attention away from me, which wasn't fair of you at all."

Harry grinned. "Face it, Draco. You think I'm good-looking."

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't."

Harry looked Draco up and down. "You're good-looking yourself, you know."

"Of course."

"But...you do realize that you're naked right now, right?"

Draco looked down at himself with more than an ounce of surprise. Indeed, he was naked—but he had no memory of taking off his clothes, or if he had been wearing clothes at all before. This should have bothered him, because he ordinarily loathed the idea of public nudity. For some reason he couldn't identify, however, he felt extremely comfortable. He looked back at Harry.

"So are you."

Harry casually glanced at his own nakedness and turned his bright green eyes back to Draco. "So I am." He laid himself back on the grass and stretched, resting his head on his hands. He grinned up at Draco and purred seductively. "You still remember this is a dream, don't you?" Draco swallowed—hard—and slowly nodded, eyes traveling all over Harry Potter in his glory. "And you know that there are no consequences in dreams, right?" Another nod. "You can do whatever you want." Draco nodded again.

"Then, Draco—" Harry continued—"what's to stop you from fucking my brains out right now?"

Draco awoke with a start and found an owl on his chest. Still wondering what happened to the naked Harry and the garden paradise, he blinked at the bird for a minute while it hooted noisily and waved its leg in his face. Finally he woke up enough to slowly remember what he was supposed to do, and groggily fumbled in the dark with the knot that held the letter to the owl's leg. He mumbled something incoherent as the owl continued to hoot at him.

Eventually he freed the note and the owl pecked irritably on his finger before flying away. Draco unfolded the letter and stupidly tried to read it until he remembered that he was still lying in bed in the dark. He muttered a curse under his breath and turned on the bedside lamp, rubbed his eyes, and tried again.

Draco,

Although I was disappointed to hear about your defeat in quidditch last week, rest assured that you will never encounter flying monkeys in another game at Hogwarts. I trust you will perform better next time.

Word has reached me that rumors are circulating around your school about an alleged romance between yourself and Harry Potter. As ridiculous and far-fetched as these stories are, it is your duty to set the record straight and leave no shadow of a doubt for these confused individuals. Remember that you are a Malfoy; our name will be respected as long as we maintain a respectable image.

You will have a great opportunity to uphold the family name over the upcoming holiday. Your mother and I are planning a party for Christmas evening, and you will be introduced to some very important and influential connections.

Until then, work diligently at your studies. The O.W.L.s are just around the corner. Your mother sends her regards.

Sincerely,

Your Father

Draco stuffed the letter in the drawer of the nightstand, turned the lamp off, and threw himself back onto his pillow, sighing heavily. He blinked up at the ceiling and tried to return to his dream, but by now there was no use—he was wide awake and full of anxiety.

"You have no heart, Malfoy." It had been weeks since Draco had heard Potter say these words, but they continued to haunt him. How could he not have a heart when he felt all this—what was he feeling, anyway? His head was a mess. He wondered what it would be like not to have a heart. Would it feel any different? Would it feel the same? If he didn't have one, how would he know what it would feel like if he did?

In any case, it would be best if he shut himself off from this line of thinking. It was too confusing anyway. There was no sense in dwelling on things he couldn't have. His father already knew about the mess with Potter—but how? Apparently, someone from school was sending him messages informing him of everything that happened involving his son. Draco wondered about this. How else could it explain how his father would know so much about what was going on at Hogwarts? It wasn't like he visited often, and he refused to believe that his father would stoop to sneaking around the school spying on him. Obviously, someone was playing the informant—but was it a student or a teacher? Whoever it was, they would have to be paid well, and it would have to be someone close enough to know what he was doing at any given time.

He sat up in bed and looked around the dark dorm room. Blaise Zabini was snoring softly on the other side of the room, next to another random Slytherin whom Draco had never bothered to get to know, despite the fact that they had lived together for the bulk of four and a half years. Somehow he failed to believe that either one of them held much interest in the life of Draco Malfoy. Crabbe's and Goyle's beds were on either side of his own, and he could see Crabbe lying with his mouth wide open and Goyle muttering something into his pillow about the working class. Huh?! He shook his head. Then again…the more Draco thought about it, the more Crabbe and Goyle seemed like likely candidates to spy on him. They hung around him all the time, and talked with him…

Right, he decided, he was going to have to have a serious talk with them sometime in the near future. And as he planned this, it helped get his mind off of a certain Gryffindor student who kept invading his dreams and hated him in real life…

Most people who knew Severus Snape would agree that there really was no easy way to explain the man. However, if one were to try, the easiest attempt would be to just say "It's not easy being Snape," and end it there. No one really knew how easy it was to be Snape, but they assumed that based on the perpetual look of put-upon indignation on his face, it couldn't have been that easy. Sometimes it seemed downright unfair, especially considering all the different shampoos and hair care potions he had tried, and even though he washed his hair once a week it still looked perpetually greasy. It just wasn't easy being Snape. Of course, most of his students—particularly those in Gryffindor house—would not have seen it this way. And so when the fifth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students were in Potions class one day, trying to brew a particularly nasty potion, not a single student ruminated on the difficulty of being Snape. None of them ever had been, or ever would be, Snape, so they didn't see much point in the subject.

Snape, meanwhile, drifted around the classroom with his clipboard, peering into students' cauldrons and checking off points for failure to follow directions, wondering why he had ever decided to go into the teaching profession in the first place.

Unfortunately, there really weren't that many job opportunities available in theoretical potion-making. There were even fewer employers willing to hire an acknowledged ex-Death Eater, so Snape was actually fairly lucky to be in Albus Dumbledore's good graces enough to be hired as Hogwarts's Potions Master. Still, it meant that he had to teach adolescents. Even more unfortunately, adolescents never behaved quite the way Snape wanted them to: like miniature adult versions of himself.

It may be hard for the reader to imagine what a miniature version of Snape would be like. Would he be just like the older Snape, but shorter? Or would he have had different, more adolescent-like mood swings? Did he ever do any swinging of any kind?

It is, however, extremely fortunate for this narration that Snape chose that particular moment to sit back at his desk, glare at the students in his classroom, and reminisce about his own adolescence at Hogwarts when he was a student.

~~~~~Flashback to the Teen!Snape Years~~~~~

Seventeen-year-old Snape stood near the wall in the Great Hall, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot in his powder-blue dress robes. Why had he ever let that witch in the robe shop convince him that powder blue was the new black?! Not that it really mattered—he didn't have a date anyway. He surveyed the crowd at the Yule Ball, debating whether or not to just give up and go back to the dungeons.

Just then he spotted Lily Evans standing alone off to his right. She was one of the prettiest girls in his house—and definitely the smartest. Was there a chance that—no, he didn't dare—or perhaps he could—

He gathered up his courage and approached her. She was watching the dance floor and wearing a silk green robe, smoothing her long red hair with her fingers and tapping her foot to the beat. She turned, and to his surprise, she smiled at him. "H-hello, Miss Evans," he finally said.

She chuckled. "You know, Severus, you can call me Lily," she told him, "and hello."

"Hello, Lily," he said again. He looked extremely nervous and wiped his hands on his robes. She looked at him patiently, waiting for him to say something. "Would you—I mean, you don't have to, of course, but you—er—it would be my pleasure if you would dan—"

"Here, I brought you a butterbeer," a bottle suddenly found its way into Lily's hand and Snape took in the unexpected appearance of James Potter.

Potter slung his arm around Lily and said, "Come on, a few of us are heading up to Gryffindor Tower to mix Brown Charlies." He noticed Snape standing next to them and his expression cooled. "He's not bothering you, is he?" Snape glared back at him.

Lily shook her head. "No, he's not," she replied, and turned back to Snape with a smile. "It was nice talking to you, Severus. Maybe next time?" With that, she allowed Potter to steer her towards the door and out of the Great Hall.

Snape watched her go, and so he didn't anticipate the voice coming from behind his ear.

"You should be careful to watch your step," the voice growled in a low voice. Snape turned and cast a dark gaze on Sirius Black.

"Unless I am mistaken," Snape replied evenly, "this dance is a public forum, Black. There is no law forbidding me from talking to a student in my own house. There are, however, laws against threatening other students, drinking alcohol in the dorms, and students visiting in houses that are not their own."

"Are you saying that you would report Lily Evans?"

"Not at all," Snape answered coolly, "I have no reason to betray her. I am more worried that she might be betrayed by those she considers to be her friends."

"If anyone were to betray somebody," Black returned, "I'd place my bets on you."

"How little you know me," Snape commented through thin lips. He watched the dance floor, where Mr. Pringle was spinning the new, young Transfiguration teacher in a stunning maneuver.

Sirius Black turned to stand in front of him, blocking his view. "Prongs and Lily are my friends," he explained in a warning tone, "and if you do anything to harm them, God so help me I'll—"

"I forgot what charming little nicknames you and your friends made for each other," Snape interrupted. "Black, I believe I might have mentioned that there is a law against threatening another student. Besides, it would not be wise for you to cross me. Not when I know certain facts about you and your friends."

Black's eyes widened. "Are you blackmailing me? What could you possibly know, anyway?"

"Maybe you would like to explain to the Headmaster what you, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew have been doing at night when you leave the castle?"

Black laughed. "Go ahead. But if you tell Professor Dumbledore about that, then I might have to tell him what I know about you and your friends and your little secret club."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Our 'little secret club'?"

"Don't play dumb, Snape. I've seen you people sneaking around the dungeons at night with your masks and hooded robes. Wouldn't Dumbledore be interested to know more about that, hmm?"

Just then, Ludo Bagman made a distracting scene by accidentally catching his robes on fire. He ran to the refreshment table near Snape and Black, and poured the entire contents of the punchbowl over his head. Since he was standing so close, Snape caught the full brunt of the splash, and his powder-blue robes were now speckled with large splotches of dark red.

Black chuckled cruelly. "You look good like that," he commented, and turned to go. "Oh, and one more thing," he added, calling over his shoulder, "if you want to know what we do when we go out at night, follow us out to the Whomping Willow sometime. Use a stick to press the knot at the base of the tree, and you'll see where we go."

Snape scowled as he left and tried in vain to brush out the worst of the punch.

"I know of a spell that will take that out," a soft voice said next to him. Snape turned his head and saw Narcissa Hornby. She was smiling at him with an expression that held no malice or bemusement, but what could only be considered genuine friendliness. Her blonde hair was twisted over one shoulder with a series of emerald ribbons and she wore a shimmering emerald/silver gown.

"Er—thanks," he grumbled as she pointed her wand at the larger splotches and said a spell to remove them. He pushed her hand away when she pointed her wand at a particularly private zone. "Thanks, I can take it from here," he told her, trying not to sound impolite.

"Oh, of course," she smiled, stifling a giggle. Following her example he removed the rest of the stains.

"Severus?" she asked, laying a hand on his forearm, "Would you care to dance wi—"

"Oh, there you are," a cold voice drawled from behind him. Snape was beginning to wonder why he couldn't anticipate anyone's approach before their voices took him by surprise. As he mused to himself that he really needed to work on this skill, he turned around and saw Lucius Malfoy walking up to them.

"Hi, Lucius," Narcissa replied with a sigh, and an almost indetectable not of disappointment. Lucius failed to hear it, though, or else he ignored it, for he took Narcissa by the elbow and steered her towards the door.

"Come on, I've booked us a reservation in the Astronomy Tower," he drawled aristocratically, and turned to look at Snape with a bored expression. "Thanks for watching my date for a few minutes, Snape. I owe you one," he said, and turned to go.

Narcissa looked back at Snape over her shoulder and waved goodbye. "Good night, Severus," she called, and was gone.

Snape looked back over the thinning dance floor and sighed. The last few stragglers were getting ready to leave, and there didn't seem to be much point in staying. So with one last look, he turned and left, going back to the dorms alone…

~~~~~~~End Flashback~~~~~

Adult Snape sighed softly as he sat behind his desk, overseeing his domain, the Potions classroom. How differently his life had turned out than he ever though it would! Compared to the dreams he used to have when he was younger, this life felt so…pathetic. But now he was trapped, ruling in an adolescent hell he had little control over. Not only that, but certain political events had forced him back into a lifestyle he thought he was safely in the distant past.

Now, in addition to being a Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, he was a Death Eater spy for Dumbledore thanks to a certain rat that had to go drenching up fossilized evil overlords. Now, he had to attend weekly Death Eater board meetings and listen to Lucius Malfoy rant on about how flying monkeys nearly killed his son because of poor planning, and Lord Voldemort's senile attempts at world domination and killing Harry Potter were beyond irritating. If only someone could off the old fool and they could all get on with their lives…to be honest, most of the ex-Death Eaters were doing much better for themselves than Voldemort did for them.

But sadly, such was not the case, and Snape decided that there really was nothing to be gained from stressing about it any longer, and set about his routine check-ups around the classroom.

Meanwhile, Harry looked across the room at Draco, then turned back to look at Ron over their cauldron. "Ron, you know a lot about wizarding terms, right? Can you tell me—what's a 'Brown Charlie'? Don't laugh if it's a stupid question."

Ron blinked at him as he stirred their potion, distracted from wondering why it was green when it should have been pink. "A Brown Charlie?" he asked, shaking his head. "Never heard of it. Who was talking about Brown Charlies?"

"Two underaged Gryffindors such as yourselves would be wise not to discuss Brown Charlies in my classroom," Snape seethed as he loomed over both of them. Inwardly, Harry wondered how Snape had managed the ability to hear everything at once and show up right next to them without their awareness at the most inconvenient times.

"If I found out that either of you were partaking in any beverages stronger than butterbeer," Snape continued, "you would be very sorry indeed." With that, he folded his arms over his chest and floated away to the next table.

"How does he do that?" Ron whispered.

As Snape floated on by, he noticed a book fall from Goyle's table. He picked it up before Goyle could reach it and look up at him with fearful, apprehensive eyes. He glanced at the title: The Rise of Soviet Russia. He raised an eyebrow and quietly handed the book back to Goyle.

"Mr. Goyle, I would prefer if you paid more attention to your Potions assignment," he said, and swept away to the next table.

Everyone was suddenly distracted by an outburst coming from Draco's and Pansy's table.

"But it's not FAIR!" Pansy Parkinson crossed her arms on her chest and stamped her foot childishly. "You should have won that game, Draco," she pouted. Crabbe, who was stationed next to her, nodded in support.

"Pansy, shut up," Draco muttered, staring intently at the contents of his cauldron.

"But you were the one to beat the monkey up there!" she retorted. Draco blankly stared into his cauldron, pretending not to hear the sounds of muffled giggles around the room. "I mean, you and Potter were both beating it off," she continued inanely, "but you were the one to really beat it, so Slytherin should have won!"

"Hey Pansy, maybe Slytherin would win more Quidditch games if your boyfriend didn't have to beat it off every time he got up in the air!" Ron called out from across the room. The class exploded in laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes. Pansy dropped her jaw in shock, finally catching his meaning.

"That's enough," Snape interrupted before she could say anything. "Mr. Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor for your sophomoric outburst. Miss Parkinson, ten points to Slytherin for house spirit."

Before Ron could say anything about the unfairness of this ruling, the bell rang and students began to file out of the classroom. He shook his head and turned to Harry. "Bugger," he muttered, and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Harry, you should be more careful with that," Hermione sternly warned him as they walked along the hallway later that afternoon.

Harry smoothed the wrinkles out of the invisibility cloak he was carrying. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I wash it in the gentle cycle, hang it up to dry, fold it carefully in my trunk—"

"And then you abandon it in some random location where anyone could find it," she returned. "Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't lost it for good yet."

"Trust me, I'm careful," Harry said, getting tired of Hermione's nagging. Like he would ever let anyone else steal the prized invisibility cloak that once belonged to his father! Of course, he purposely forgot about the times he had left it behind in obvious places where people like Snape had found it…

"Whatever," Hermione shook her head. "I'll be in the library until late, so I'll see you later."

"Yeah…see you," Harry waved absently, and after she left he looked both ways and disappeared into the witch's hump that led to the secret passageway to Honeydukes.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Draco ran across the room, hefting a large wooden mallet with both hands, and swung it with all his might into Harry Potter's face. He watched as the head exploded into myriad tiny pieces upon impact, and swung again at the rest of his enemy. It wasn't really Harry Potter, but a life-size ceramic statue designed to look specifically like the 'Boy Who Lived'. This statue then became the victim of Draco Malfoy's frustration and anger, as within minutes it was reduced to a pile of rubble on the floor. He then dropped the mallet and picked up a ceramic plate from a shelf on the wall. He threw it like a Frisbee until it too shattered into hundreds of small shards. He proceeded to work his way through the impressive collection of fine china and pottery that lined the walls, constantly yelling at the top of his lungs.

"What's the point in pottery, anyway!?" he shouted to the empty room.

"A Potter," he told himself loudly, "is someone who plays with mud." BAM!—went a large bowl against the cold stone wall.

"Hours of mixing and shaping," –CRASH!—went a teacup into the ceiling, "days of drying," –SMASH!—went a stoneware pitcher, "allow even more time for glazing and painting…"

He picked up a particularly priceless-looking porcelain vase that had to have been an antique from China, meticulously painted with a design so detailed that many of the strokes could only have been produced with a single hair. He examined it momentarily for its beauty, then pitched it directly into the wall with full force, where it exploded in a cloud of dust. "…and destroyed in seconds."

Draco stood in the middle of the room and panted for breath, his arms shaking, feeling the surge of energy coursing through him. Almost all of the ceramic items in the room had been completely obliterated.

Then he placed two fingers on his throat and studied his watch, timing his heart rate.

"Good. I'm in the zone," he muttered, took a long draught from a goblet of water, and smashed it too into the corner of the room. He toweled the sweat off his forehead and crossed the room to a contraption that best resembled a treadmill. As soon as he stepped on, the tread began to move and Draco started the jogging portion of his workout routine.

As he jogged along, he busied himself by using his wand to repair the roomful of pottery with a simple spell. Shards and clouds of dust on the other side of the room leaped together to reform themselves into the more familiar ceramic objects which he had so brutally destroyed minutes before, now ready for the next time to be obliterated all over again.

He scowled as the ceramic Potter regained its shape. He pointed his wand at the head and said a spell that made it explode again. He smirked to himself and continued his jog, feeling much more at peace than he had been before he began his workout.

A few minutes later, Goyle entered the room with a small book in his hand. He and Draco nodded at each other, Draco still huffing away on the treadmill. After putting a spell on the book to levitate it in front of him, Goyle picked up a barbell from a wall rack and began a set of arm curls, his eyes glued to the pages.

"You've been awfully attached to that book," Draco observed. "What is it, anyway?"

"It's called The Communist Manifesto," Goyle answered, still lifting the weights. "It's sort of a philosophy book about how the world would be a much better place if everyone shared their possessions and nobody was better off than anybody else."

"Huh?"

Just then, Crabbe and Millicent entered the private Slytherin gym. Draco and Goyle nodded at them as Crabbe picked up a barbell and Millicent approached an odd-looking elliptical training machine.

"You know how some people are better off than others," Goyle continued, talking to Draco. Draco nodded. "Well, this guy Marx says that things should be shared equally so everyone has a fair chance."

"Why would they want to do that?" Draco asked. Millicent, meanwhile, was staring stupidly at the machine in front of her.

"Hey guys, how do you get this thing to work?" she asked.

"Just get on and start stepping," Draco told her.

"What do you mean?" Goyle asked. Crabbe was trying to follow along with their conversation but it was getting confusing.

Draco huffed, still jogging on his treadmill. "I mean, if everybody had the same as everybody else, where would be the fun in having more than other people? You can't lord over everybody else when they have just as much as you," he reasoned.

"Well, that's kind of the point," Goyle answered.

Draco frowned. "I think your attitude needs adjusting."

Millicent spent half a minute on her machine before giving up and heading towards the weights. "I think it's a lost cause," she announced to no one in particular.

"What's a lost cause?" Crabbe asked, grimacing as he raised the heavy barbell to his chin.

"Getting her to exercise," Draco laughed, noticing her failed attempt at choosing a proper weight for the hand weights.

"Uh! No," she huffed, and turned to Goyle. "Trying to change his point of view," she stuck her thumb at Draco, "is a lost cause."

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Draco remarked coolly. He turned back to Goyle. "What's with you lately, anyway? It's not like you to be so…bookish. I mean, manifestos? People having stuff, people not having stuff…and this morning in class I caught you reading some thick muggle book about Russia or something. You've changed, Goyle, and I don't know what's gotten into you. And you," he added, glaring at Crabbe. "What's this all about, anyway?"

Crabbe shrugged. "It's interesting," he said, "and we seem to be good at it. I wish you could be more supportive of this. I think it's a positive step."

"A positive step?" Draco retorted, stepping off the treadmill and swinging a towel around the back of his neck. He was stunned. Crabbe had spoken to him—and he wasn't being obsequious, wasn't automatically agreeing with him—Crabbe had actually taken a stand for himself. Not only that, but he had challenged him. Draco stared at him in something akin to awe.

"Did you know that there was a communist experiment in Russia? I've been trying to research it and find out what happened. It's terribly exciting," Goyle gushed.

Draco glared at Goyle, then at Crabbe, and finally shook his head in resignation. "Whatever. But after you've showered, meet me in the common room to go for a walk. There's something I want to talk to you both about." He jerked his head towards Millicent, meaning it was something he didn't want her to listen in on. With that, he swept out of the gym.

After that, Millicent tried to use the treadmill. Let's show some pity and end the scene there.

Muggle studies was the only class that the Slytherins had with the Hufflepuffs. Actually, it would be more appropriate to say that it was the only class that the Slytherin had with the Hufflepuffs, because the only Slytherin enrolled in that class was Blaise Zabini.

It was, of course, his favorite class. For one afternoon a week he was surrounded by a classroom full of Hufflepuffs, and without the presence of other Slytherins around it was so much easier for him to pretend that he himself was one of them. Blaise Zabini, of Hufflepuff House—what a great ring it had to it!

The class itself was fairly easy—it was something of a blowoff class, to be honest, so it wasn't really any surprise that so many Hufflepuffs signed up for it each year. In each class they listened to muggle music, watched muggle "movies," and discussed muggle issues. Blaise loved every minute of it.

Today they had watched some muggle American film called "The Breakfast Club." It had no breakfast in it at all, but the thing that Blaise found most remarkable about the movie was that these teenagers started out playing different stereotypical roles, but by the end they realized that they could still be friends even if they came from completely different backgrounds.

Blaise was still thinking about this as he walked in silence down the hall with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He hated playing the part of the unruly Slytherin. He'd much rather be part of the sweet, lively, fun Hufflepuffs—but could he ever breach his way into their circle?

There was a character in the movie that seriously reminded him of Malfoy—and as they walked along in silence he was foolishly tempted to ask Malfoy if he had ever called Longbottom a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie, or if his mum had ever made his dad a turkey pot pie.

Before he could ask, however, Harry Potter distracted him by climbing out of thin air ahead of them in the hallway.

"Harry!" Another voice, more feminine, called to the Gryffindor from the opposite end of the hall. As they reached closer it became apparent that the voice belonged to Cho Chang, who was approaching Harry and waving her arm to get his attention.

Draco huffed. "I'm not going to watch this," he announced, and started walking at a very rapid pace. Crabbe and Goyle tried to keep up with him, and Blaise stood behind, choosing to stay hidden in a very conveniently-placed shadow. He had noticed something very curious when Cho Chang appeared: while the others were focused on watching her, running towards them in a T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of Danger Mouse, Potter had quickly tossed something behind the statue of the witch with a flustered look on his face.

Draco sneered as he passed by, roughly bumping his shoulder against Potter and glaring insolently at Cho Chang.

"Hey, watch it!" Harry yelled after him, but by then Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had turned around the corner and disappeared out of sight.

"Umm, hi," he said to Cho, blushing and staring into her T-shirt—well, it was hard not to, being a very tight shirt, but—er—well—

"I love Danger Mouse," he finally said, breaking the silence. Cho beamed.

"Really? That's great! Because not too many people around here would recognize him. This is my favorite shirt," she gushed, clicking her tongue stud between her teeth. She also had an eyebrow piercing by now, which—like the tongue stud—was enchanted to be invisible to anyone over 30.

"So…er…you wanna go for a walk?" He twiddled his thumbs together. He had been shocked to meet Cho so unexpectedly in the hallway. There was no way that he was going to let this opportunity to spend some quality time with his crush go by without doing something!

Cho shrugged. "Sure," she said, and grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go walk down by the lake." Harry blushed even harder at this and grinned stupidly, following her down the hallway.

After they were both out of sight, Blaise popped out of the spot where he had been lurking out of the shadows. He approached the statue, looked both ways to make sure no one was watching, and reached for the object Potter had so carelessly flung in his haste to hide it from Cho.

The fabric was very delicate, he noticed, and it was apparently a cloak of some kind. He found a tag on this inside marked "If found, please return to Harry Potter." Curiously, he swung the cloak over his shoulders, and half his body disappeared. Blaise had found an invisibility cloak! He quickly hid the rest of his body, silently in awe over his newfound discovery.

Just then, a small group of Hufflepuff students entered the hallway and walked towards him. Of course they would not see him, and Blaise moved out of their way, still remarking over his own invisibility. As they passed, Blaise found himself in a difficult situation.

This type of situation is less commonly found in reality as it is in fiction, but since this is a fictional story we will embrace the idea and pretend that it really happened: two miniature versions of Blaize Zabini appeared on either side of his shoulders. One of the mini-Blaises was dressed in Hufflepuff robes; the other was dressed in Slytherin robes.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Slytherin Blaise asked. He prodded the real Blaise in the temple. "You know you want to follow them…spy on them…just go, before you lose their tracks…"

"Whaaaat?!" Hufflepuff Blaise exclaimed indignantly. "Blaise, no! You know who this cloak belongs to. He's going to miss it! It's wrong to take advantage of this situation! Follow Potter down to the lake and give him back his cloak!"

"It's his own fault for losing it," Slytherin Blaise reasoned. "Finders keepers, losers weepers, eh?" He got closer to Blaise's ear and whispered suggestively. "Besides, you can always return it to him later. He doesn't need it right now."

"But it's wrong!" Hufflepuff Blaise reaffirmed.

"You'd just be borrowing it. He can have it back when you're done with it."

"But it's stealing!"

"Potter's busy right now. He doesn't want it back yet. Just use it…"

"But you should do the right thing and give him back—"

"Look," Slytherin Blaise said, addressing Hufflepuff Blaise, "What's it going to take to get you to shut up?"

But by then it was a moot point, because the real Blaise Zabini was already zipping down the hall, in hot pursuit of the Hufflepuffs.

Draco stormed off down to the lake, Crabbe and Goyle trying to keep up with him. "Merlin! Sometimes I swear I'm surrounded by tedious fools!" He muttered to himself. The image of Harry Potter staring at Cho Chang's tightly-bound cleavage still flashed before his eyes, unnerving him.

"Umm, Malfoy?"

Draco stopped his storming and swiveled around to face an out-of-breath Crabbe and Goyle. His expression changed so dramatically from pissed to congenial that the other two felt extremely confused. "Crabbe! Goyle! And how have you been doing lately?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, trying to decide how to react. Finally Crabbe shrugged. "As the indifferent children of the earth, I guess?"

Goyle nodded. "Yeah. Things could be better, but they could be worse too, I suppose."

Crabbe tried to change the subject. "You know, just the other day Pansy was saying that—"

"Pansy," Draco cut him off, saying the name as if he had forgotten about her entirely. He stood and thought for a moment, leaning up against a tree. "Do you two speak to her often?"

Crabbe blushed. "Well, sometimes, we…er…"

Goyle jumped to his rescue. "It's hard not to, of course," he said, "being in the same house, we eat meals together, take classes together…we didn't think you would be jealous, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes perked up. "Jealous?" He turned to Crabbe. "Should I have reason to be jealous, Crabbe?"

"Of course not!" Crabbe returned hotly, perhaps a bit too quickly. "You know I would never—"

Draco waved his hand. "Relax, relax," he said, "to be honest I don't really care what you think of her. I've always thought she's a bit of a strumpet, myself."

"What?!" Crabbe looked abashed. "How can you say that? I mean, look at her! For one thing, she walks in beauty, like the night, and she's the best of all that's dark and light, and—"

"What? No she's not! Where did you pick up a load of crap like that?" Draco flashed him an odd look. Crabbe shuffled his toe in the dirt, avoiding his gaze. "Wait," Draco wondered, "is that more of your…muggle poetry?"

Crabbe nodded sheepishly and stared at the ground.

Draco rolled his eyes and continued walking along the shore of the lake. "Whatever," he sighed. "All this sincerity is making me think that the world is coming to an end. Merlin," he said, kicking a pebble, "this place feels like a prison. I can't wait until Christmas break." He looked carefully at Crabbe and Goyle. "Are both of you coming to our Christmas party?"

Goyle nodded. "My father said that anyone who is anyone will be there," he told him.

Crabbe agreed. "Should be fun. I heard even the Dark Lord is going to attend this one."

Draco gazed across the water, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he admitted. "All the best sort of people have been invited."

"Malfoy?" Draco turned his head back and faced Goyle. "Why would you think this place is a prison? Do you mean the school, or what?"

"All the world feels like a prison, Goyle," he said.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other apprehensively. "Surely it can't be that bad," Crabbe acknowledged.

"Maybe not for you, but it is for me," Draco answered coolly.

"Then it must be a prison of the mind," Goyle returned thoughtfully. Draco studied him for a moment.

"That was surprisingly clever of you, Goyle," he said, "No, wait. I take that back. Lately you both have been acting more than a bit clever and I haven't given you credit for it. And you're right. Lately I've been plagued with odd dreams."

Crabbe and Goyle were astonished. Malfoy had just acknowledged that they were clever? And had he just admitted to something so personal as having odd dreams?

"Anyway, what are you two doing here?" Draco asked, catching them off guard.

"Um, well, I thought we were taking a walk," Goyle answered uncertainly.

"And why did you both agree to come with me?"

"Er—" Crabbe tried to think. "Because you asked us to?"

"And why do you both do whatever I ask you to?" This stumped both of them.

Draco stood and waited for their reactions, watching them look at each other for cues on how to answer. "No one is forcing you to be my personal servants. You don't have to do everything I want you to, you know," he said thoughtfully, "or are you getting paid?"

Crabbe and Goyle both stared at him. "Er, well…huh?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "If you are my friends, if you were ever my friends, I want you to tell me the truth," he said seriously, "did my father ask you to watch over me? Do you send him information on what I am doing?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other. Draco crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer. "What should we say?" Goyle whispered to Crabbe, failing to realize that Draco could hear.

"If you really are my friends, don't stop to think about it. Just answer."

Finally Crabbe turned to face Draco. "Yes," he admitted, and looked down.

"That's what I thought," said Draco. "I want to trust you guys with confidential information. But I don't want it to get out to my father. So from now on, all reports to him will be run by me first. Got it?" Crabbe and Goyle nodded, and somehow Draco knew he could trust them. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder. He took a deep breath. "Lately, I just haven't felt like myself, and I have no idea why," he admitted.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at him. "Everything just seems wrong for some reason, and it's so bad that the whole world seems to be screwed up. I mean, look at it!" he waved his arm at the air. "It just feels like, well…"
"A sterile promontory?" Crabbe offered.

Draco eyed him warily. "Yeah, something like that. And the sky, you know—"

"This brave overhanging firmament? This majestical roof fretted with golden fire?" Crabbe interjected.

"Yeah. It just appears to me to be, well, kind of blah…"

"A foul and pestilent congregation of vapors," Crabbe mused.

Draco glared at him. "Where do you come up with this stuff? Never mind, I don't want to know. Anyway, the whole race of wizardkind seems like it should be this great piece of work, all noble and stuff, capable of doing anything in the world, just perfect, you know…"

"The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!" Crabbe chirped. Draco shot him a contemptuous look. He wasn't sure if he should feel ashamed for being out-articulated by Vincent Crabbe.

"Sure," he muttered bitterly, "Anyway, what I mean is that wizards are supposed to be so great, but I just can't feel satisfied with the way I think about them—Oh, Merlin!" he stopped and whirled around.

Coming towards them along the shore of the lake were none other than Harry Potter and Cho Chang. "What are they doing here? This must be a conspiracy!"

Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, distracted from Draco's speech by his wild swerving around and looks of distress.

"Maybe they just wanted to take a walk," Goyle offered, "they'll pass us by and leave us alone."

"Maybe they're just trying to kill me," Draco returned, pressing his fingers to his temples in what was supposed to be a soothing manner.

"Shh, they'll hear you," Crabbe said. Crabbe and Goyle took their customary positions of defense, flanking Draco and looking tough.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and sneered when Harry and Cho got within sneering range. "Well, well, men, what have we got here? Looks like Potter just can't stay away from us," he sneered in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled brutishly.

"What?" Harry cried. "Why would we want to be anywhere near you? We have just as much right to walk around as you, you know," he folded his arms over his chest and stood slightly in front of Cho in a protective stance. Draco rolled his eyes. It was best for him not to look directly at Potter when the Gryffindor looked so delightfully sexy when he was angry. And yes, unfortunately, Draco had had that thought. There was no avoiding it from his consciousness.

"What are you lot sneaking around for, anyway?" Harry continued indignantly, unhappy that Malfoy should get in the way of his private walk with Cho. "Don't you have a Death Eater ice cream social to plan?"

"Ice cream social?" Draco retorted with a disbelieving look on his face. The corners of his mouth turned upwards. "For your information, Potter, Death Eaters do not hold ice cream socials," he told him, flashing Harry a superior smirk. "They hold garden parties, which are much more refined and elegant."

When Draco said those last few words, Harry felt an unsettling sensation in his stomach. Why did Malfoy have to make him feel so hot under the collar?! He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Whatever," he said, and took Cho's hand, trying not to blush as he did so. "Come on, Cho, let's just keep going," he huffed. He tossed his cloak with a dramatic swish in the air and set off along the shoreline, leaving the Slytherin trio watching them from behind.

"What are they doing here? It's got to be a conspiracy!" Harry fumed as he strode along the path at a much faster pace than Cho was used to walking. He didn't realize that he was dragging her by the hand, so caught up was he in thinking about his run-in with Malfoy.

"Bullocks, that's what it is!" he continued, "Ever since that incident with the hamster—no, he's always been psycho, but lately he's more so, I think—and to think I tried to make peace with him, and he acts like a total arse—oh wait, he's always been an arse—"

"Harry?"

"And now today, what with that anorexic bit of fluff Parkinson saying all those suggestive things about us—it's no wonder half the school thinks we're—"

"Harry!"

"Oh, bloody hell, for all I know he could be trying to kill me—"

"HARRY!"

Harry stopped when he realized he was being shaken about the shoulders. Cho was standing in front of him, looking worried.

"Oh, sorry, Cho. What's up?"

"Harry, you were babbling."

"Was I?" he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

Cho gave him a thoughtful look and let go of his shoulders. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Harry pushed up his glasses and looked across the lake, shuffling his feet as he walked. "What's there to talk about?"

"Well, I could be wrong, but…you seem a little upset about Malfoy."

"Hmm," Harry replied eloquently.

They walked in silence for a minute.

"He just gets on my nerves, is all," Harry said abruptly.

"Oh?"

"I mean, everything he does seems to be something to do with me. He even said that he can't be happy unless he's doing something to make my life miserable. I mean, how sick is that? And sometimes he doesn't even have to say anything, it's just the way he looks at me that's just so…ooh! I can't explain it. It just drives me crazy. You know what I mean?"

"Hmm," Cho answered.

"What does 'hmm' mean?" Harry asked warily.

"It means an exhalation of air through the nose, usually in accompaniment with some thought which at the time of utterance has not yet taken the shape of articulated words," she replied, looking ahead of her as she walked, her hands in the pockets of her cloak.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him. "So, you like Danger Mouse? Do you have a favorite character? Mine has always been Penfold."

"Penfold?!" Harry exclaimed, and a conversation ensued about the merits and flaws of various characters in the muggle cartoon show.

Ron and Hermione were exiting the library that evening when all of the sudden they were ambushed.

"Wh—Hey!" Hermione exclaimed as she found herself swung off to the side and up against the wall.

"Why, you!" Ron rushed to save her, but was himself held back by a pair of strong arms, which he struggled against with all his might.

"Quiet," said Crabbe, who was the one holding him back.

Goyle, who had cornered Hermione against the wall, held a book under her nose. "Can you read this?"

As Ron continued to struggle, Hermione took the book and looked it over in curiosity. She frowned, examining both front and back and inside covers, then at the series of glossy photographs set in the middle pages.

"Interlibrary loan from Durmstrang?" she asked. Goyle grunted in affirmation. "It's in Russian," she concluded, and handed the book back to him.

"I can't read Russian," she explained when Goyle continued to look at her expectantly. His face fell at the news.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and turned away. Crabbe was meanwhile holding Ron back with just his hand on Ron's forehead, and Ron kept trying to get past him to the point of looking extremely silly in his failure. When Goyle moved away he let go, and Ron rushed over to Hermione.

"Next time you won't get off so easily!" he growled at them, standing protectively in front of her.

"Wait," Hermione called after them, ignoring Ron. Goyle and Crabbe both turned around. "If you want to learn more about Josef Stalin, you probably want to look for a book that's been written since 1991. The book you have there is rather old, and the information is likely much more biased a source than you want to read."

Goyle nodded in gratitude, and they continued their way down the hall.

Ron turned to Hermione. "What the hell was that all about?"

End of Chapter 4

Notes:

The Communist Manifesto, written by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels. The other book Goyle was reading, The Rise of Soviet Russia, I don't have citation for. I just thought it sounded like an appropriate title for the sort of book he would be reading. As for the book in Russian—that is probably a 1930s-era book about Josef Stalin (Hermione would recognize his picture) written in the Soviet Union during his power—probably a biased source if Goyle wants to learn more about communism. LOL

Time: Ok, time seems to flit about in this series without much continuity. One day it's Septemper; next day, it's October…now it's late fall, gearing towards Christmas. Well, nobody's perfect. :P And after June 21, all this may become pointless. Who knows? Don't be surprised if all the characters jump from fifth to sixth year after the Christmas holidays. ^_~

Teen!Snape: Well, from his perspective, Sirius wouldn't seem quite so nice as Harry thinks he is, now would he?

Exercising!Millicent: No, I'm not trying to flame her character. Yes, she is having trouble figuring out the exercise equipment, but it will be explained all in due time. All in due time…

Brown Charlies: I keep using this from Chapter 2. I hope it's not becoming a tiresome running gag…I rather like the idea of making it a drink though. ^_~

Danger Mouse: Is anyone too young to remember Danger Mouse? Well, if so, it was a British cartoon about a James Bond-esque mouse with an eyepatch and his friend Penfold, who was some kind of badger(?). It was truly a wonderful show…^_^ They used to show it on Nickelodeon in the USA but I'm not sure if they do anymore. But it's just the sort of 80s retro cartoon that you could expect to find on one of those tight girly-T-shirts…I wish I had a Danger Mouse shirt….

The Breakfast Club: Great teen angst movie. A must-see for anyone, I think…the connection here was made between Draco and the character John Bender (played by Judd Nelson). Not that they look anything alike, but…well? Can't you just see it? Especially after the second HP movie when Draco rips those pages out of a book, and my friends and I say "That Mo-lay really pumps my nads!" LOL Ok, so that wouldn't make any sense if you haven't seen it. So just watch it.

"She walks in beauty, like the night…" by George Gordon, Lord Byron. "She Walks in Beauty." LOL Crabbe is becoming more well-read…though he's missing a few lines here and there. Oh well, no one's perfect.

The scene by the lake: almost entirely lifted from Act II, Scene II of Hamlet by Mr. Shakespeare. I'm sure he must be rolling in his grave…but I had oh so much fun fitting it in with the Potter universe. ^_~

Harry Potter and the Malicious Play

Part Four

"I haven't seen yer in a while, Harry, but you're a bit further along than I would have expected, particularly in the middle," Hagrid said, patting his belly as he looked down at the eleven-year-old boy in the rocky fortress.

Dudley blinked up at him, paralyzed with shock.

"I'm—Harry?" he choked.

"Well, of course ye are! And yer going to the finest school of wizardry in the country!

"I'm—I'm Harry?" Dudley repeated stupidly.

"Now wait just a minute—" Vernon interjected, pointing his rifle at the half-giant.

"Dry up, Dursely, you great prune," Hagrid spat, and bent the gun out of shape. "Come on, Harry, let's go buy your school things."

"Wait!" Harry jumped out from his hiding place, but it was too late. Hagrid left the tower, pulling a bewildered Dudley by the arm.

…And so beginneth the adventures of Dudley Dursely and the Sorcerer's Stone…

Hey Parents!

This summer, why not take the family on a vacation trip to

Snapeland

It's the happiest place on Earth!

Take a ride on a spinning cauldron! Or play everyone's favorite game,

"Name That Potion Ingredient!"

Why not attend the Snapeland Parade, or check out the famous

Snape & Company Dancers?

And don't forget the gift shop! Be the envy of all your friends back home when

they see your souvenir Snape hat and matching keychain!

Kids, start bugging your parents today!

Ok, so I was in a hyper mood when I thought of that one. :P

Here's a teaser for Chapter Five, The Malfoy Family Gala Christmas Special:

Draco stopped on a page that listed recipes for hair dye potions. There was a color chart on the opposite page that listed not only natural hair colors, but a few bright, bold, exotic colors. His eyes honed in on a shade of green called "Maui Meadows". It was bright, it was bold, it was green, and it was perfect. He looked up the corresponding potion recipe, and set himself to work.

Please humor my addiction to reviews! I have a monkey on my back and it's feeding time. LOL …And artwork! The first person to create some artwork for this fic gets a prize. Heck, I'll give anybody a prize. Haven't decided what that prize will be yet though. Draw me something and I'll think about it. I have no shame.

--MCF