I don't own any of the characters, except for CC. Again, my pleas for names and sweets for the next chapter, in which we meet Luna (briefly)! Oh yeah, and the Dream Team is back. (Has anyone ever watched that show? It has absolutely nothing to do with our known and almost-loved characters. It's about a football team. A guy died in the finale to the last season. I gathered this from commercials on Sky One, while watching good shows like the Simpsons. Unfortunately, I'm not being paid to advertise.)

Chapter 11

Fidgets and An Awakening

"I would very much appreciate it if you stopped walking around the room, Clarissa." Harry stated through gritted teeth.

He had just come back from a few laps on the extremely hot pitch (and a race with Draco), and Clarissa had been sorting though today's newspapers. She had caught up, it seemed. Alas, she kept fidgeting, and walking up and down the room, and it was seriously getting on his nerves. At this rate, he would never finish his copy of Phantom of the Opera.

"Yeah. Are you on your period or something?" Draco drawled, reading, of all things, The Iron Cauldron by Professor Severus Snape.

"No, I'm not." She answered with a sigh.

"Then, do you suffer from permanent PMS?" Draco drawled again, this time looking up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Clarissa glared, but didn't say anything.

"So why are you so worried exactly?" Harry finally asked, deciding it was better than going over there and throttling her. Draco re-immersed himself in his book.

She stared at him incredulously. "Why am I worried? Doesn't it worry you that far too many people, muggles, have been dying and their cause put down as heat?"

"Well it is hot this summer." Harry said matter-of-factly.

She gritted her teeth. "Okay," she managed to force out, "doesn't the fact that Lord Voldermort seems virtually inactive throughout the first summer he's been back worry you? Or doesn't the Boy Who Lived care about such things?"

"Why should I worry? If anything was happening the Headmaster would have told me." Harry stated logically. He was not going to let her get the best of him. She was not annoying him, really.

"You are so blissfully ignorant! You great un-fish! Don't you realise that while people are suffering you are virtually locked in this castle with no news whatsoever?" she exploded.

"I told you," Harry stated, his voice getting considerably louder, "if people were suffering the Headmaster would know. Anyway, I don't mind being locked in this castle since it is the safest place to be!"

"I never said Dumbledolt didn't know, I just said he wasn't going to tell his precious students, especially you! And as for this being the safest place, as if! Would you please explain to me how Voldermort himself got in the castle in year 1, how his younger self almost killed your so-called best friend, how a convicted criminal managed to slash the entrance to your common-room, and how a portkey placed by a member of staff got you from the safest place to a graveyard where your blood brought back the Dark Lord?!?!"

Harry just stared, before trying to blink himself back to a state where he could speak. He couldn't right now. He finally understood the meaning of the word "speechless". Before he could however, he saw Clarissa's eyes widen, and she ran out of the room.

"She's got a point, you know," Draco said conversationally.

Harry was still speechless, and realising he was now standing up, sat back down, picked up his book, and nodded absently, still bewildered.

***

"Are you okay?" Harry and Draco both asked as soon as she came in. They hadn't moved much since she'd left; until they realised that she'd been gone nearly three hours. At that point, of course, they did what any reasonable person does, and started pacing.

Harry wanted to apologise. She had just been worrying about innocent muggle lives. As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. A point he planned to confront the Headmaster with.

"You have passion, but without evidence you won't get as far as a closing argument," Clarissa stated tiredly. He noticed she had a drop of blood on her lip, and that she was extremely pale. As soon as he thought this, though, she wiped the blood off, and some colour seemed to return to her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked again, not quite understanding what or why Clarissa had stated what she had. Harry quickly thought it to him.

"Not particularly. I'm doing rather poorly." She didn't offer an explanation, so Harry asked why.

She looked exhausted, and the colour again faded from her cheeks. She sighed, then fixed her eyes intently on the fireplace.

"It's nothing much, really, but since I trust you two, and I know you won't think me a fool…Well, I got this vivid image of what had to be a Death Eater, standing next to Voldie, torturing a muggle. His name was Edward Howards, or Howard Edwards, and he seemed to have found out something significant about electricity. I took his pain, heavens, don't ask me how! I felt the stab of a level 2,3,4 Cruciatus. Then it was all gone, and I found myself retching my own blood." She sighed, steadying her voice, but looked better for having said it aloud.

Harry turned to Draco. "Not much, she says," He stated, disbelieving of that fact. "I'm sure he died a painless death, since you felt it. Very compassionate of you." Harry continued. The scary thing was that he believed her.

"Are you sure you'll be able to sleep?" Draco asked, concerned. He knew more about torture than he let on.

She nodded, then retreated to her room.

"I hope she will." Harry said softly, at a loss of how to deal with this. Hugging her would have been an intrusion; she flinched once when Draco had accidentally touched her hair.

"If she isn't able, I'm sure you could always go in her room and cuddle," Draco said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, do shut up!" Harry exclaimed, his cheeks reddening.

"You know as well as I do that she is sizzling. And you went all ga-ga and googly-eyed when you saw her in jeans. You've got the hots for her…" Draco concluded, singing.

It seemed that speechlessness was becoming a habit for Harry. He couldn't come up with one convincing denial.