((A.N. Chapter 10. Alas, we come to the last chapter in Part I of this four part story. It might be a while before I update again because me and my beta don't have all of Part II done yet. This chapter starts off with a bit of Lupin's story and then goes back to our Ambassadors. At last, some snogging, but not between who you think! ;D It's also time to respond to my reviewers, so here goes.
Anuksunamun-Kalia: Haha what IS it with guys when they drink? Glad you liked it so much...!
Stasya: You think my writing has improved through the chapters? Thanks!
Fantsticarla: The line you mentioned in your review definitely demonstrates the paradoxical personality of Draco Malfoy. ;D
dumblydoor: You're too kind.:D I always love your reviews.
Snow Mouse: I didn't know you weren't allowed to have karaoke on the site... huh, good thing I didn't put any actual singing in. OO
Meeko313: You can't wait for everyone to go to Hogwarts? They will goin Part III, after they're done with France... ;D
screwtheperfectlife: Here's your update.
steffy potter: Your reviews always make me smile.
Le Noir de Adhara: I do love bar fights in D/Hr fics... there's something about them that just goes so well together...
ebtwisty9: It's only going to get better, and weirder...
-i-like-pears: I will most definitely keep updating. I'm just worried about how often I'll be able to keep updating...
jjp91: Yes, you read it correctly. Rabid fangirls. Enjoy.
ANGEL xx: Drunk people do rule don't they? So many funny situations to get them into...
rockrockrock: Yes you're very perceptive Indeed... where DID Draco go?
ali-lou: You want D/Hr? You are going to get so much D/Hr you'll be stuffed full of it by the end of this story... but there's beauty in taking things slowly, no?
Alaksandra: There's more on the karaoke this chapter.
CareBearErin: You're so right. They are all "definitely screwed" and more so than you're thinking... yes it is kind of ironic that Hufflepuff was the first one in trouble, but Slytherin wasn't far behind. ;D
HgBookworm: What a mess, you say? Things are going to get so much messier before we're done!
EquestrianBabe: You know, you're the first one who has told me you're enjoyng both the Lupin plot and the Ambasadors one. I'm really glad to hear that because both plots are equally important to the story. :D
Hawkgal: At last, I have updated!
-Lacus-Serenity-: I'd be happy to. :)
Ali: Not just any reviewer, but my first reviewer. My beta, my editor, my muse, the girl who thinks of everything I cannot. Thank you!
That's all, folks, enjoy it!))
PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love . . .
O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bittersweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimful of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live . . .
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give,
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath,
Speak low, lean low,
. . . my love . . .
– "Echo" by Christina Rosetti
Chapter 10; Cathedrals and Consequences
FACT: In Malory's retelling of his life, King Arthur had a son named Mordred.
Lupin walked purposefully into the library of magic the next day. Dumbledore had sent him on a wild goose chase for a long lost relic, and he only had one clue as to where it could possibly be hidden. On top of that, he was racing against the clock to discover the items whereabouts before an evil megalomaniac seized it and destroyed the world.
An average day in the life of Remus Lupin, he mused thoughtfully.
Starlight shines on the eye. How completely random is that saying?
His first task was to look up any poetic or biblical references to the line. It was highly doubtful, but it was worth a try.
Lupin cross referenced 'starlight' and 'eye', and came up with a few poems and novels. He began searching the sturdy oak shelves for the books he had referenced, and he dragged them all to a discreet table. He smiled as remembered that he was on a top secret mission to save the world. It would not do to have anyone see him.
Sipping coffee slowly, he poured over the tomes and documents, finding nothing. He nearly spewed coffee all over a priceless manuscript as he read the words on the page.
So softly comes the demon's cry,
So clearly sounds the mortal's sigh.
Upon the brink of death, we all doth stand,
Salvation and destruction, hand in hand.
Her curtain of tears, her silken hair tie,
Do not soften her screams, we do not ask why.
The snake in her hand, as it slips to the ground,
The fall of her chest, it does not make a sound.
The veil of stars has drawn to a close,
The pillar of stone, and the crescent it sows.
She slips to the earth, and slowly we die.
Starlight shines on the eye, starlight shines on the eye.
There it was, at the end of the poem, repeated twice in the exact form it had come to him. Unbelievable, he thought. It was, however, anonymously signed, and said Circa 535 AD.
He looked back at the poem, and noticed two things about it immediately. It was almost a veiled foreshadowing. Salvation and destruction, hand in hand? It sounded vaguely familiar to something in the prophesy. In fact, it was startlingly similar.
Secondly, some of the words had been inexplicably underlined, and not by the original writer. The ink looked fresh in comparison to the worn writing; it was not more than a week old. The words were snake, stars, pillars of stone, and crescent.
Lupin frowned. There was an inexplicable riddle behind the poem, and a nameless someone had already figured it out. But who was clever enough to do it? No doubt it was one of Voldemort's followers. The question remained; who?
He had to solve the riddle, and fast. Someone was already way ahead of him.
He thought about the Centaur's mention of the once and future king. This was quite obviously a reference to the legendary King Arthur. He tried to think of objects associated with King Arthur. The Holy Grail, which had supposedly never been found, and of course Excalibur. Lupin recalled that Arthur had supposedly puled Excalibur from solid stone. Were either of these the objects aforementioned?
This poem must have to do with that sacred object. He read it over twice more, and he realized that he did not have the lightest notion as to what it meant. He closed his eyes, and slowly he stood up, straightening his glasses. He had been reading for an hour, almost, and he needed a break.
He decided to explore the library, and wandered complacently among the dusty shelves. Lupin had always felt at home among books, and he let his eyes idly scan the titles as he strolled by. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes riveted on a book title that consisted of one single word. The word was the answer to all of the questions. He fit it in with the evidence, piece by piece, and suddenly it all made sense. Veil of stars . . . crescent pillars of stone . . . crescent moon . . . starlight shines on the eye.
At the same time it was utterly impossible. This was the craziest notion he had come up with in years.
It has to be . . . it all fits too perfectly, he thought.
Remus Lupin had just discovered the location of the relic, and even Dumbledore would laugh at this idea.
It turned out that the poem was a set of instructions that lead straight to the object.
The one word title of the book Lupin had glanced at was Stonehenge.
Hermione awakened to a pounding on her door.
"Urgh," she said groggily, trying in vain to rouse herself from sleep.
The pounding did not go away. She staggered up and threw a robe over her nightclothes. Rubbing her puffy eyes, she wrenched open the door. A house elf stood on the other side, looking terrified.
"Being sorry to wake you, Miss, but Igor Karkaroff sends you an urgent message," the house elf squeaked, handing her the letter. It bowed, before scuttling quickly away. Hermione shut the door, and checked her wristwatch irritably. It was seven in the morning. What did Igor have to say that possibly could not wait until afternoon? Tearing the letter open, she glanced over at Harry, who was sleeping so heavily that he had not budged from the pounding on the door. He is not going to be happy when he wakes up, Hermione thought wryly.
Contrary to Draco's doubt that she would make it back to Durmstrang unscathed, Hermione had managed to get safely out of the bad part of town with a Confundis Charm, which diverted attention away from her and made her as good as invisible.
The letter read:
Dear Miss Granger and Mr. Potter;
Please inform the other Hogwarts' Ambassadors that you are scheduled to depart from Durmstrang to Beauxbatons tomorrow morning at nine o' clock sharp. Your Independent Study courses are to resume at Beauxbatons, but the first semester's work is to be completed by tomorrow. Proper attire is required for tomorrow evening's Introduction Ball, and I have allotted a few hours this morning for you all to go to the village to purchase formal wear. Please be downstairs by nine. I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Durmstrang, and we will be pleased to see you again.
Sincerely,
Igor Karkaroff
Wow, Hermione thought, our time here has gone by too quickly. Between that catamaran ride, these semester projects, and last night, it seems like we have only been here for a few hours.
She puzzled over the 'formal attire' note. They had not needed anything formal for Durmstrang, so why would they need any for Beauxbatons?
She sighed and realized that she would not be able to go back to sleep. Besides, she had to wake the others for shopping. Hermione crossed her arms. Shopping was tedious in her eyes, but Ginny would probably be jumping at the chance to go.
She glanced over at Harry, who was still fully clothed from the night before. She had not heard him come in, which meant that it had been very late. She herself had not gotten to sleep until one thirty in the morning. Hermione decided that there was no need to wake him. He would have a sufficiently large hangover when he woke up, and he would not be in the mood for shopping.
Instead she showered, changed into a beige pair of trousers and a dark blue blouse, and headed for Draco and Ernie's room.
She knocked on the door once, and there was no answer. A muffled groan sounded from within when she banged on the door harder, followed by, "Answer the sodding door, Macmillan."
Ernie opened the door a crack and saw that it was Hermione. He opened it further to reveal a disgruntled Draco, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding his head.
"What do you want, Granger?" Draco asked rudely. "It's far too early to look so cheerful."
Hermione did a double take, and was actually kind of infuriated about how good Malfoy looked sitting on the edge of his bed, hair rumpled horribly, sharp features even more defined due to his hangover . . .
It was making her mad. Even in the morning, when every other human being looked as if they'd been dragged through a carwash, Malfoy seemed roguish and rumpled and why in the world was she wasting her time thinking about the boy?
"Your coat, Malfoy?" Hermione answered sardonically, holding out the expensive jacket. Ernie took the coat and threw it unceremoniously at Draco.
"Karkaroff sent me a letter about an hour ago informing us that we'll be leaving for Beauxbatons early tomorrow. We need formal attire for some fancy dance tomorrow night, so we're supposed to go shopping for our clothes at nine."
She noted with some interest that Ernie had a swollen lip and a black eye. She thought it was probably better not to ask.
"Nine?" Ernie said. "We'll be down in a half hour or so."
"We will?" Draco asked ruefully. He had bags under his eyes and looked extremely tired.
"Good, then, I'll see you down there," Hermione said to Ernie, deliberately ignoring the other boy. Draco looked less than pleased at the situation, and was about to protest.
"And," said Hermione, by way of goodbye, "you might want to do something about that black eye."
She winked, touching her own eye, and Ernie brought his hand to his face, looking surprised. She made her way down the hall to Ginny's room.
Once again, she knocked. Once again, no answer. This time Hermione simply tried to open the door. She suspected it was unlocked. Unsurprisingly, it opened, and Hermione stepped inside. Ginny lay on her bed, sleeping as soundly as Harry. Feeling particularly bothersome, Hermione flounced over to the window and flung the blinds wide open. Frosty, blinding white light streamed onto Ginny's face, and she stirred slightly and groaned.
"Wake up!" Hermione chirruped in her most cheerful voice.
It is rather annoying to be woken up by a glaringly cheerful person, but far more annoying to be woken up by a glaringly cheerful person when one has a hangover. Ginny, scarcely able to open her eyes to the light, fixed a glare in Hermione's general direction.
"No need to be angry, now," Hermione said, maintaining the sickening pleasantness.
"Oh, Hermione . . ." Ginny groaned, clutching at her head, "what did I do last night?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Hermione said without an ounce of sympathy, "though last I heard you and Harry were going to sing a bit of karaoke!"
Ginny's eyes widened comically and her face went a nasty shade of green.
"We are supposed to go shopping in about an hour," Hermione said lightly.
Ginny turned even greener, and rushed to the bathroom. Hermione covered her ears as she heard a rather unpleasant gagging sound. Ginny stepped back into the room a few moments later, and this time she was white.
"I don't think I'm in any shape to go downstairs, much less go shopping."
"All right, then. I'll pick out a dress for you."
Ginny looked horrified, but Hermione had already gone out the door.
She went downstairs to find a lovely breakfast buffet waiting. It was a Saturday, and few students were up at such an early hour. She poured herself a delicious, steaming cup of coffee and added rich cream. She breathed it in, and the scent was unbelievably wonderful. She sat down at a table, crossing her legs contentedly and sipping in peace.
A package dropped rather suddenly next to her, and an owl landed along with it. Startled, she realized that it was only her Daily Prophet. She had wanted to keep up with the news in Britain while away, so had asked the editors to forward it to her in Bulgaria.
She paid the owl, and began to unroll the paper. When she saw the front picture, she blinked.
She blinked again.
Then she screeched.
Hermione was not the Screeching Type. The Screeching Type of girl was closer to Lavender or Parvati or Pansy.
But Hermione did, indeed, screech.
The few students in the hall looked at her funnily, and then muttered about The British.
"Harry Potter gets Groovy with Ministry Official's Daughter."
That headline alone was enough to alarm her considerably, but the picture splattered across the front page was, if anything, worse. Harry and Ginny stood atop a bar table, apparently singing some sort of karaokee duet with one another. They were dancing boisterously to what looked like a variation of the tango. The most surprising thing of all was that the people around them were cheering wildly.
"I'm going to bloody kill him," Hermione said, with feeling. She stared openmouthed as Picture Ginny stumbled and Picture Harry caught her in his arms. They had been completely smashed.
"Kill who?" asked Ernie, who had apparently just come in with Draco. He looked tired, but had returned to his normal, finely groomed self. They sat down casually. Wordlessly, Hermione handed the paper to Ernie.
He scanned it, but showed little surprise. "Wow . . . they actually made The Prophet?" he said at last, looking impressed.
"You knew about this?" Hermione asked wildly. "Why didn't you tell me!"
"Slipped my mind," said Ernie with a shrug. Draco took the paper from Ernie, and wrinkled his nose before speaking.
"The Prophet must be getting really desperate if they're running a front page story about Potter singing karaoke."
"Oh, this paper will sell out in London, I'll assure you of that," Ernie said enthusiastically. "The Prophet is genius to run this story."
Hermione had apparently gone into a state of mild shock.
Ernie took the paper back from Draco and began reading it.
Presently one of the Bulgarian Ambassadors, Ava, stalked up to their table. She was a small, dark girl, and seemed the exact opposite of the other Bulgarian Ambassador, Hilda. Hilda was fair skinned and blonde, and wore her hair in pigtails with red ribbons. She was often sighted wearing a blue dress to match her light blue eyes.
Ava, on the other hand, had classic Romanian looks. She had a dark, thick brow that protruded immensely, and full, pouty lips. Her hair was short and straight, and her eyes were nearly black. Presently, she sat down opposite of Hermione.
"What is vrong with Hermione?" Ava asked Draco, her accent thick.
Draco shrugged, his eyes flashing coldly toward Hermione. He was apparently still angry about the night before.
"Where are the others?" Draco asked.
Ava smiled, and her face was dark and sultry.
"They vill not be coming shopping, fortunately for you. It seems I am za only one that doesn't have a splitting hangover."
"Ah," said Draco in a knowing voice. He silently thanked whatever God ruled over them that Krum was not coming.
"Oy, Malfoy," Ernie said from behind the paper. "Look at this! A bloke from Hogwarts by the name of Blaise Zabini has gone missing! Do you know him?"
"What!" yelped Draco, grabbing the paper out of Ernie's hands for a second time. "Yeah, I know him alright. His father and my father are good friends."
"Well, he has been missing for about two weeks . . . since the beginning of term, come to think of it," Ernie noted, confused.
This piece of information seemed to jolt Hermione back to life. It made very little sense to her. Why would the Pureblood son of a prominent family suddenly disappear? Voldemort certainly was not behind it. If that was the case, though, then who was? The second oddity was that he had been missing for two weeks, and yet the Prophet had not bothered to report it until today. That, or the possibility that someone had been trying to hush it up, and had paid The Prophet off.
Myra and Jaime arrived promptly, with reports that the others were for whatever reason incapable of going shopping.
"Fleur told me to ask you about your independent study course, though. She said that you had better finish the last anagram, because it is due tomorrow."
"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, jumping in her seat as if electrified. She missed Draco roll his eyes. "I thought Ivan had been assigned that one. Oh, dear."
There were certain methods to cracking anagrams, and Hermione found that the more anagrams she solved, the easier it got to spot them outright. This one would still take a great deal of work, however.
"I can help, if you'd like. I do love a good riddle," Myra said with a wink.
"And she eez good at zem, too," Jaime said promptly. "One of ze most brilliant students in our school, no doubt."
Myra flushed red and denied this, but Hermione had an inkling suspicion that it was true.
The carriage ride to the village was nice, since there were only six of them. Hermione had time to get to know the others better.
Myra was charismatic and gorgeous, but in the very opposite way that Fleur was. Fleur was all light beauty, laughter, sparkle, and charm. Myra, on the other hand, with long raven hair and red lips, had quiet elegance and undeniable class. Sometimes she seemed withdrawn, however.
Jaime was a nationalist, and took great pride in his French heritage. He was intelligent, obviously, but reminded Hermione of someone right out of the Eighteenth Century.
Ava had a dangerous wit, and frowned far more than she smiled. She had taken a liking to Draco, though, and seemed content around him. Hermione could not begin to fathom why. She purposely kept her eyes away from Draco for the majority of the ride. She saw only silver flashes out of the corner of her eye, and was tempted to turn her head every so often.
They arrived at last, and began shopping. It was primarily uneventful, save that they had all accumulated too many bags at the end, due to their absent friends. They ended up levitating the bags with their wands, but Ernie tripped over his and stood up haughtily, his face an indignant shade of red.
They were walking back to the carriage, in fact, when they heard an obvious snap behind them. Draco, who had been laughing at how ridiculous Ernie looked in his new dress robes, had heard someone laughing along with him. When he realized it was Hermione, he stopped abruptly.
Hermione whirled around in time to see a dark figure disappear around a corner. She turned around quickly, and felt uneasy.
"Keep walking," she said in a low voice to the others. "I think we're being followed."
"What . . .?" started Ernie, but she shook her head and began deliberately walking forward. The others followed, extremely confused. Ten steps later, another click sounded, and this time they whirled around fast enough to see the flash of a camera, the face of a journalist. Hermione tilted her head to the left ever so slightly, and behind a carriage, another shadow disappeared. As she glanced around indiscreetly, she noticed more and more of them. Ridiculous as it sounded, they were being followed by the paparazzi!
"We need to get out of here," Myra was the first to say. "Everyone split up, and zey will not know who to follow. Jaime and I will go that way, Ernie and Ava can go left . . . and Hermione and Draco can go right."
Because of their flawless public facade, Myra did not know of their hateful rivalry, and was oblivious to the annoyance that flashed through both pairs of eyes.
"Come on, then," Hermione intoned bossily, motioning for Draco to follow. Wearily, Draco took off after her.
"Granger, look, I–"
"Don't talk to me, Malfoy. Not here. Not now. Not a word."
Despite their brisk pace, Draco saw a few black shadows out of the corner of his eye. Why did they want pictures of him?
He nearly ran into Hermione because she had stopped abruptly in front of him. She was gazing up at a tall building, which was grand and had a steeple.
"Yes . . ." Hermione mused, obviously to herself, "not even they would . . . yes! C'mon, Malfoy."
She grabbed his wrist, and he jolted slightly at the contact. Oblivious, Hermione tugged him up the steps. She pushed open the door and quickly slipped inside, so Draco followed. What he saw inside was unbelievable.
"Granger," he said loudly, "where are w–"
She rudely clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut it, Malfoy."
It was like nothing he had seen before, and the things that stuck out to him the most were the windows. They were large and opened to the sky above, but they had been stained in every color, from crimson red to royal blue to sunset gold. The effect was unreal. Sunlight streamed in through the frames, and the light was stained in rainbows. The very air seemed to sparkle around them, and with every step it seemed as if Draco was moving into a pristine dimension of light.
The next thing was the music. It was so pure and celestial and heart wrenching that for the first time in a long time he felt sadness, and, inexplicably, joy. The music seemed to be coming from everywhere, because the people all around him, sitting in wooden isles, were humming.
Hermione guided them to a seat near the back, looking impatient. How could she be impatient? At the head of the building stood a man clothed in white robes. Behind him were flickering cans of incense, and candles that cast a warm, sinewy glow around the room. The ceiling was high and domed, and arched gracefully over their head. It was covered in colorful and fanciful murals.
The room was more magical than any other place Draco had ever been, and he had never seen anything like it.
"Where are we?" he whispered, eyes wide.
"We're in a Muggle church, Malfoy. This is where they worship a Muggle God."
Draco's mind reeled. What? He had just thought that it was one of the most magical places he had been, and yet it did not contain an ounce of magic. What new kind of sorcery was this?
"You mean to tell me that Muggles built this?" Draco asked, awestruck.
Hermione gave him a strange look and nodded. Lucius had always told him that Muggles were completely worthless, and Draco had wholeheartedly believed his father. After all, what did Muggles have that Wizards did not have more of? What did Muggles create that Wizards did not create more efficiently?
But this, this beautiful, everlasting sanctuary in a world growing uglier and darker every day, was something Draco knew even Wizards could not rival. That only left one barrier in his mind.
"But . . . that is impossible. Whoever built this church was obviously intelligent and Muggles certainly aren't intelligent."
He said it as if it were absurd, as if it were unthinkable that Muggles possess coherent thought.
Wearily, Hermione said, "Malfoy, have you ever met a Muggle?"
He thought back. "Well . . . no."
She turned to him and shot him a look that clearly said point proven.
A few hours later, after the Ambassadors had successfully escaped the press, the five Hogwarts students were lounging around in Ernie and Draco's room. Draco was quite unhappy with the situation, and sat in a corner finishing (more precisely, refinishing) his Arithmancy problems. Hermione lounged on one bed, and Harry sat at the foot of it. Ginny lay on the other, and Ernie was sprawled in an armchair, tired from their expedition. Harry had laughed when he had heard of the predicament.
"I feel like some movie star blown way out of proportion. It's ridiculous, really. We're just a bunch of kids, our lives aren't that interesting," Harry had said with a laugh.
"Not at all," Draco said sardonically from the corner. "Just a Ministry Official's daughter, the smartest student in the top school in Britain, the sole heir to the largest fortune in the Wizarding world, and the boy who is the one salvation of the human race. Not to mention that we're all foreign dignitaries and the relationship between our countries depends solely on how we speak and act. Of course the international spotlight is going to be cast on us, you moron."
"Speaking of responsibility," Hermione put in quickly, "Malfoy, you have been very rude to Krum. I want you to–"
But they never found out what Hermione wanted Draco to do, because the window shattered.
There was a mad flutter of wings, and at least five owls shot in. The one they noticed immediately dropped a steaming red envelope directly in front of Harry.
"Oh no," Harry moaned, "it's from McGonagall."
"Open it," Hermione said ruthlessly.
He did.
"HARRY POTTER!" it screamed. He clutched at his head. He had been feeling marginally better, but McGonagall's angry voice made him feel three times worse.
"IN THE SEVEN YEARS I HAVE BEEN HEAD OF YOUR HOUSE, I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO ASHAMED OF YOU! YOU WERE DRUNK AND SINGING KARAOKEE ON TOP OF A BAR TABLE! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER! THE PRESS IS HAVING A FIELD DAY WITH THIS IN BRITAIN! YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED HOGWARTS AND YOURSELF."
It went quiet and Harry sat in stunned silence, his head throbbing worse than ever.
"GINNY WEASELY!" it started up again. They all screamed and threw their hands back over their ears.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED YOUR FATHER! CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING?"
Ginny looked greener than ever.
"DRACO MALFOY!" Draco, who had been grinning fiendishly for the majority of the time, felt his face fall.
"YOU GOT . . . INTO . . A BAR FIGHT . . . WITH VIKTOR KRUM! I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU. I WILL ALLOW SEVERUS TO DEAL WITH YOU WHEN YOU RETURN."
Draco, too, looked slightly queasy.
"ERNIE MACMILLAN!"
They all cried out in agony. "Make it stop," whispered Harry.
"I WOULDN'T THINK YOU WERE ONE TO PICK FIGHTS WITH COMPLETE STRANGERS! I EXPECTED BETTER OF ALL OF YOU. I WISH I COULD PORTKEY YOU ALL BACK TO SCHOOL THIS INSTANT BUT THERE IS TOO MUCH AT STAKE. I EXPECT BETTER OF YOU FROM NOW ON. DO NOT PUT ONE MORE TOE OUT OF LINE!"
It exploded in a burst of red light.
"Oh," moaned Harry, clutching his poor head.
Ginny, with shaky fingers, tore open a letter addressed to her.
Ginevra Weasley,
The only reason I didn't send you a Howler was because McGonagall took care of that. I want you to come how right now, but Dumbledore forbids it. You are in trouble, young lady. You have disgraced your father, and disgraced yourself even more. There will be consequences when you come home.
– Your Mother
"Why did we do it?" Ginny asked Harry, shaking her head.
There was another letter, addressed to both Ginny and Harry. It was from Fred and George.
Harry and Ginny,
We heard what happened, and . . . you two are bloody brilliant! Props on that wicked tango! It seems like you two will be in the news for a while. We're going to take a leaf out of your book, and make Dancing Doogies! When our customers eat them, they will start tangoing like you two did! We're out!
Diabolically,
Gred and Forge
"Oh dear," Ginny said quietly.
Draco had received an envelope embossed in silver letters, and he knew it was from his father. As he opened it, a picture tumbled out. His eyes opened wide.
It was a picture of Draco and Hermione, standing side by side with identical smiles on their faces. They appeared to be laughing. He flashed back to that morning on the street when he had stopped laughing because he had realized Hermione was laughing with him, and recalled the snap they had heard behind them. Someone had taken a picture. A short note accompanied the picture.
11:00 tonight. Be there.
Draco sighed, crumpled the paper up, and threw it in the fire. The picture, he slipped into his coat pocket.
By dinnertime, everyone looked and felt better. Franz insisted that they all go to dinner at his favorite restaurant for their final night at Durmstrang.
They found themselves, much to Hermione's relief, outside of a large and well-lit building. She strode in with the others, and did not notice Draco grab Harry's shoulder to hold him back.
Draco stared at Harry disconcertingly, with unmoving eyes.
"Listen, Potter. I think you've made a big enough prat of yourself lately. Here's some advice; don't drink anything."
"Malfoy," Harry said quietly, "I'm not going to drink anything for the rest of my life after last night."
Draco smirked. "We'll see about that."
Harry turned and walked inside of the restaurant. Draco followed. He always did.
Dinner had been moving along well, until they had finished the main course. Harry was really starting to like the others. They all seemed like wonderful people. The only person who seemed uncomfortable was Michael, the boy from Beauxbatons. Harry watched his eyes carefully, and it was almost as if he was trying not to meet Fleur's eyes. Strange, if nothing else.
"Excuse me!" said a voice from behind Harry intrusively. He suddenly had a Bad Feeling.
He turned around to see three girls that were about his age, staring at him with abandon.
"Are you . . .?"
Here it came. After the inevitable question had been asked, he would answer, 'Yes, I am Harry Potter,' and he would show them his scar. They would commence in staring at the mark in morbid fascination.
"Are you that boy that was singing karaoke last night? And is she . . ." the girl pointed excitedly at Ginny, bursting with glee, " . . . is she the girl who was dancing with you?"
Harry practically fell out of his chair with surprise. He realized that the whole restaurant had gone silent; they were waiting for his answer.
"Erm . . . well . . . yes," he answered reluctantly, seeing no way to deny it. The people in the restaurant broke into strained whispers. Many stood up to get a closer look, and he watched in horror as many of them searched frantically for quills and paper.
The three girls looked at each other and squealed in glee.
"You were brilliant! And too sexy for words!" one said finally.
Harry choked. The situation was becoming more embarrassing by the moment.
"Waiter!" he said desperately, throwing his hand in the air in a breakneck attempt to get the waiter's attention. "Check, please!"
He turned a glare onto Draco, who was sniggering with mirth at Harry's predicament. If he did not get out of there soon, he was sure an autograph mob would form.
"Go ahead, Potter," Draco said through his mocking laughter. "I'll take care of the bill."
Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and dashed out, just as the girls had found a few quills for autographs.
As the cold hit Harry's face, he felt his burning cheeks cool, and turned to Ginny. They looked at each other and both burst into laughter.
"We weren't that good, were we?" Ginny asked through her smiles.
"I don't remember," Harry confided helplessly, and they started laughing again.
He could not remember a time when he had felt the freedom that welled within him now. He had always been weighed down by expectations. Everyone expected their hero to have a certain pious code of conduct that he simply no longer wished to follow. He did not care what people thought of The Boy Who Lived, for once. He had spent the entirety of his life trying to be noble and chivalrous and unblemished, and now, at last, he felt as if he did not have to live up to that perfection. Harry was not perfect. He was human.
He was flawed.
And maybe he finally felt free because he was in a strange country where people did not expect so much of him, but he had an inkling suspicion that it was something else entirely.
The laughing stopped suddenly. Why had he never seen the way Ginny's cheeks turned red and highlighted her freckles in the cold? Why had he never noticed the flecks of gold strewn like firelight in the rivulets of hair that cascaded so softly around her face?
He felt himself moving closer, wrapping his arms around Ginny's waist, moving swiftly onto terrain that he had never traveled.
Their lips met soundlessly, and the last things he saw were the snowflakes clinging to her lashes. He felt her mouth open under his, and she tasted like cinnamon and perhaps chocolate, although he could not fathom why. Her lips were warm where everything else was cold, and soft where everything else was solid. He pulled her closer, and could feel a tremor on her lips ever so slightly. Ginny deepened the kiss for a moment, pulling his mouth closer to hers, before breaking away abruptly.
Harry realized that he had been an idiot. He did not know Ginny well enough to kiss her. He had ruined everything. He had acted foolishly on a moment's attraction. What kind of awful person was he?
"Ginny?" he asked softly, trying in vain to still the pounding of his heart.
"Oh, Harry," she said, letting out her breath. "I shouldn't . . . I can't . . ."
"Why not?" Harry asked, a hint of alarm in his voice. Instead of answering, she reached out her hands and took his carefully.
Her eyes in that moment reminded Harry of someone else's eyes that he knew. They looked too burdened for a girl so young and beautiful.
It did not take him long to realize that they reminded him of the ones he saw every time he looked in the mirror.
Draco checked the clock by his bedside and noticed it read five minutes to eleven. He slipped out from beneath the sheets, fully clothed. He tiptoed over to his dresser and opened the jewelry box. He did not want to wake Macmillan; if he did wake the boy then he would have to perform a memory charm, and he did not want to do that.
Draco touched the pendant, and felt a jerk at his naval. The world twirled, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was again at the Malfoy Manor, in one of the various Sitting Rooms. Lucius sat in an armchair, and turned his head lazily as Draco entered.
"Come here, boy," Lucius uttered casually. Draco stood in front of his father. Without warning, Lucius stood up and backhanded him across the face.
Draco reeled back from the unexpected blow, his sharp intake of breath less from pain and more from shock. He brought his hand to his cheek and saw blood. Then he remembered that his father always wore a bladed ring, and often used it to hit servants or house elves. He had never used it on his own son.
"Two hundred Galleons," Lucius said with icily contained rage. "That is the amount I had to pay the photographer to keep that picture out of the paper. Explain to me how a photographer got a hold of my Pureblood son laughing casually with a Mudblood girl."
Draco was almost too shocked to speak. 200 Galleons? What he could tell his father? That he had been laughing over something as trivial as a new suit Ernie had purchased?
"Befriending Potter has become far more difficult than I believed. In order to befriend him, I must charm Granger also."
"Do not kid yourself, Draco," Lucius said angrily. "I forbid you to make friends with her. If you must . . . convince her . . . take a more direct approach, if you understand what I mean. Women are only good for one thing anyway."
Draco tried to stop himself from gaping. Had his father just suggested he seduce Granger? Impossible.
As if able to read his mind, Lucius said, "You will do whatever it takes to complete this mission, Draco. There are new developments that make your success even more crucial. We have selected a date and time for you to lure Potter away from Hogwarts."
"What's happening?" Draco asked, sensing an urgency in his father's voice.
Lucius paced impatiently. "I am not to tell you. I will say one thing. The wheels have been set in motion for one of the most dramatic revelations in the world . . . and perhaps the one that will be its inevitable end."
"What?" Draco muttered, confused. Lucius whirled on his, eyes glittering maliciously.
"Even you will see some surprises in the next few weeks, my son. There will be salvation and there will be destruction, but they will come together like sweet tasting poison. Be ready to lure Potter away, Draco. The wheels are turning."
Lucius paced once more, before waving a hand dismissively. Draco turned to leave, wide eyed. What was all of this about the end of the world? What revelation was to come? What part did Draco himself play?
Lucius had never laid a hand on his son. Draco had known that his father was over controlling and he had known that he was his father's puppet, to some extent. Draco had never thought that his father would strike him down.
Draco abruptly remembered a dream he had once had about a girl holding a snake. It had bitten her, and she had fallen to the ground. The earth had fallen with her, and though she had found salvation, she had condemned the rest of the world to destruction. Was this the type of destruction that his father spoke of?
But it had come to him in a dream. Only a dream.
With dreams his journey had begun, and with dreams it would no doubt end.
END OF PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS
((A.N. And there you have it, the end of Part I. Okay here goes the corny teaser...Now it's time for Part II, where the Ambassadors travel to France. Murder mysteries, ballroom dancing, intrigue, black pearls, and thunderstorms await them there as meanwhile Lupin comes closer and closer to discovering the truth behind Voldemort's plan. Will Draco ever befriend Harry? Is something wrong with Ginny?What happened to Ron? And why are the Ambassadors all acting so strange? All coming up next episode... I mean, next time, in Part II: The Great Deception.))