Disclaimer: See Ch. 1. Song is A Stranger by A Perfect Circle
Behind the Crimson Door
Chapter Ten: Revelation One- Opposite Sides
And I listen for the whisper
Of your sweet insanity while I formulate
Denials of your affect on me
You're a stranger
So what do I care
~*~
"And how did she dispatch of the creature?" the Lord's Master asked with curiosity most genuine.
"A sword, wrenched from a suit of armor, according to our eye witness."
The man rose from his regal seating, disappoint crossing his features. He came to stop before a peculiar section of books, plucking one from the shelf with mild interest.
"Pity. I had hoped for something a little more…messy. And just how is the youngest Malfoy progressing?"
The elder man, the servant, did not move an inch from his spot.
"The Ministry Spy is watching student mail. Severus tells me the boy is doing quite well. You were correct my Lord, the witches curiosity is boundless."
"Excellent, just as I expected," the young man sneered, though of course the body was just an illusion. Wasn't it? He placed the open book in the snake-eyed mans hands.
"Summon the Three. Let us see how she fairs against them. It will certainly require much more than a simple blade."
Voldemort looked over the ceremonial passage with hesitation on that sickly gray façade of a face.
"You are certain she can defeat them?"
"No. But if she is as powerful as legend says, it shouldn't be a fatal encounter. If it is so, then the girl was useless form the start," he began, sweeping back to his throne.
"I know this girl Marvalo, she will do whatever necessary to survive. If we push her had enough, Ceres will return once again to those older, blacker reaches of the arts. Have faith Tom, you will get the revenge you seek. Now go forth and carry out my orders, or suffer the repercussions of questioning your Master's judgment."
Lord Voldemort's spine bent down to the one man he would ever bow to so long as he lived.
"As you wish, my God."
~*~
The latter half of the day passed in retching lulls and complete disassociation from the world outside the young red-heads mind. History notes were missing hodge-podge words from whole paragraphs. In Herbology she almost watered a venomous-something-or-other with mandrake juice. And if Ceres had somehow managed a conversation at dinner she had absolutely no recollection of a single word she may or may not have spoken.
Standing before Ceres Genavieve now was one such mental distraction. The older man looked handsome as ever under the yellowing stadium lights. There were no brooms in sight, and she was powerless to stop the erratic racing of her heat when Professor Wood smiled. The simple crescendo was frustrating and obnoxious, and she demanded the organ to stop. Such attempts were of course childish and futile.
Ceres handed the man her homework, avoiding his touch with care. Perhaps there was a potion or spell to control hormones? She only hoped, because this had to stop.
"How are you feeling?"
"Great. Ready to fly."
The young American witch had no idea of the actual truth behind that statement. For this time the faded handle of the Comet 360 rose right into her a hand with a moment's hesitation. That seemed to be the key, she quickly discovered, the very opposite of charms and transfiguration. Simply do not think about it. Following the Professors careful instruction, she kicked off from the ground and watched in utter amazement as the simple wooden construct took her into the air. The new comer was not allowed to go very far, of course, but the wind in her hair and bats flittering about was pure happiness. Any worries of the day were completely forgotten, laid to waste and replaced by a star filled sky and a glorious view of the grounds below.
Ceres expected the man to call her back to the ground, but he did not. Instead, he took a red Quidditch thing, about the size of a volleyball with large dents, and joined her in the air. As he drew closer she remembered its name from their last lesson; the quaffle.
From there they went through every exercise Wood could think of. Simple passes to attempting to score against the ex-Keeper. Ceres only managed this twice with a few tricky maneuvers that were nothing very spectacular, and yet the Instructor was in awe. Honestly, she couldn't see why. Wouldn't it make sense for one to dive and grab the ball before it hit the ground? How could two out of ten goal attempts be anything to brag about?
"Ceres!" Oliver called, hovering near the gigantic hoops, quaffle in hand. The young witch came to a stop beside him.
"Yes, sir?"
"Have you considered trying out?"
She was utterly and completely clueless, a peculiar thing for the curious witch.
"What for?"
He laughed, and Ceres did not like it.
Good, you shouldn't anyway.
"For Chaser of course! I'm sure someone must have said something."
Oh yea. That whole Katie deal.
"Sorry, a lot on my mind, must have missed it. Am I even allowed to try out without a broom?"
"Try outs aren't for another two weeks, I, err, we can help you there. We should pack it in, I have a feeling it's a bit past your bedtime."
As they walked to the broom shed Ceres found it to be more than a bit. 10:18 to be exact. The young witch swore as soon as the first Hogsmeade visit came up she would buy her own.
The evening had been less torturous than she expected. Once they were airborne it seemed all romantic notions abandoned the too-young-professor's mind and were quickly consumed with Quidditch stratagems and such sporting tactics. It was a welcome relief.
"The tryouts are in two weeks," he continued to ramble on, talking too fast, and with vapid hand gestures to accompany it. Ceres decided he looked like some sort of fanboy, a sports fanboy. Not a jock, simply because he had a brain, and wasn't obnoxious and unpleasant. On the contrary, his sport-talk was fairly adorable, though she did her best to obliterate the thought as soon as it breathed.
It would be adorable in someone my age. Mmhm. That's what I meant. Right.
As they made their way to the side entrance off the pitch there was in fact someone her age. Someone with icy gray eyes and platinum blonde hair. Perfect! Just the man she needed to talk to.
"What in Merlin's britches is he doing here?" the elder man grumbled. Ceres, fairly certain she wasn't supposed to have heard, ignored the comment and began to plot just how to approach the boy.
"Oy! Malfoy! What are you doing outside at this hour?"
The Gryffindor could see the Draco's scowl at this short distance, and knew this couldn't lead to anything good.
"Strict orders from Professor Snape to see Genavieve to her House."
Then Oliver did something very uncharacteristic, at least to Ceres anyhow. He glared(glared!) at the Slytherin Prince. And the words spoken in reply were not calm, but harsh. Why did Draco's presence matter to him?
"Well you can go back to the dungeons, I have orders from Dumbledore to take care of that task myself."
Of course. Gryffindors verus Slytherins.
Where this animosity came from she had no idea, but now it was just…irksome. Couldn't she just go to bed already?
"Snape told me explicitly not to let her out of my sight until she is "safely inside her common room. And that's what I intend to do."
"Really? You're going to keep her safe? You of all people?"
"If you think I relish the task of protecting an American, mudblood of Gryffindor, than you are sorely mistaken. However, if that's what my Head of House tells me to do, then yea. I guess I am. Besides, doesn't a Professor have more important things to do than escort fifth year girls to their beds?"
It was in that moment where all the facts fell into place. Why would Oliver Wood quit a perfectly satisfying and higher paying career with Puddlemere United to teach Quidditch to first year students? Why would Draco be following her about being less-of-a-prick than usual? Orders. From opposite sides of the table. Oliver Wood was acting on those from the Order of the Phoenix, and Draco's had to be from, merciful Goddess, Voldemort himself.
She suddenly wanted to get out of there. Quickly. Now.
"There aren't many things more important than following my boss's orders Malfoy, though I expect you wouldn't know anything about that would you?"
"Oh? And why is that, Professor?" The pureblood sneered, smearing the title as if it were something to be ashamed of.
Ceres Genavieve had had entirely enough of this.
"Hey! Its late, we all want to sleep. Maybe safety in numbers is a good idea. So either you can both walk me back to my dorm, though I think I could get there just fine on my own, or you can play rock paper scissors and be done with it."
Or just whip em out and measure. Frigging men.
They replied, in disturbing tandem;
"What the hell is rock paper scissors?"
By the shared look between them, they found it equally off-putting. Ceres pushed through them towards the door.
"Alright, I'm going to bed now. Either follow me or, I dunno, go back to jabbering back and forth like a couple of kids. No offense, Professor. Goodnight."
Musn't forget that, ya know, ever.
And follow they did, eyes hardly leaving the other save to gaze at her. This had to be the most awkward stroll through the castle of her life thus far, and she kept waiting for them to just slug it out. The silence, Ceres thought, was worst of all. She couldn't have been more wrong.
"So Ceres, all things aside, would you be interested in a more vigorous training session? If you want to try out for the team, that is."
The young Gryffindor was of course flanked by the two of them, slightly behind as if the men were fighting to play point. Her teal orbs glanced at Draco's death glare; glad to not be on the receiving end for a change.
"As long as it doesn't distract from my studies," she replied, pretending to greet the portraits as they passed. Looking into those hazel eyes never lead to anything good.
"Of course, you have other obligations."
Ceres had never seen Draco this furious since that morning of glitter. Why? Because he wanted her? Because Oliver was getting in the way? Were they, disturbing a thought as it was, competing for her affections? Her, Ceres Genavieve, American muggle-born Gryffindor, the object of infatuation for both a Hogwarts Professor and the Slytherin Prince? The girl wondered if there could possibly be a more ludicrous idea, there mere suggestion of it made the Gryffindor sick to her stomach. Luna Lovegood herself would find this laughable, Ceres was certain.
She had to get a new watch. She needed to get a lead on whatever, whoever, however, was trying to kill her. She yearned for nothing more than to be rid of the quarrelling men surrounding her as soon as could be done so. If not soon the young American feared her mind would vocally explode in a ranting scream of "What the hell do you two want from me?!"
The Portrait of the Fat Lady had never been such a welcome sight.
"Thank you for seeing me to my house," she addressed them, "both of you."
The Malfoy scowled, his face drawn in a lecherous sneer that clearly expressed he didn't give a damn, neither here nor there. It was a front for the Professor, and she knew it. Or was it a front for her? Shit. She had no idea.
Oliver Wood replied with a kind "Anytime," and "goodnight," before the young red-head whispered the password and stole away to her own thoughts.
There were but a few things she, at this time, knew for certain.
First, Draco Malfoy was behaving differently around her. Why that was remained a mystery.
Second, both the Slytherin and Gryffindor graduate were receiving separate orders from opposing parties to keep the semi-wandless witch under close surveillance. Meaning Professor Wood had been hired by Dumbledore as an agent of the Order, and Draco Malfoy was working for someone against them; undoubtedly Lord Voldemort himself.
Third; a letter from a strange owl was awaiting her attention. From the absence of white ribbon, it was not concerning heart-felt romance either.
A/N~ Hey everyone! This chapter was extremely delayed due to that fun little thing called college. I think this installment in particular was worth the wait, and I hope you do too. Reviews! You should leave them. And ideas! Pitch me random silly ideas and I shall included them. Anything at all. The Weasley twins singing along to Parklife by Blur, for example. R&R for speedier updates!!!