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Chapter 11 (Ominous Outlooks)


Draco let out a long string of curse words that, had she not been so inclined to agree, would have earned him a harsh reprimand from Hermione. As it was, she was too drained and too shocked to even think properly.

"This … this shouldn't be possible," she said, putting one hand against the wall for support. Why did her legs feel so unsteady? She brushed a hand over her eyes, one corner of her mind noting that her skin was glowing. Her brows furrowed as she tried to concentrate on the glowing Entrance Hall. "There shouldn't be enough of the charm to spread this far. I don't understand."

The orb of light that her spell had created bobbed in front of her, and she realized that there was no point in continuing the spell. She extended her hand for the light to land on, then closed her fingers, extinguishing it. The incessant glow that indicated the spell residue faded with it, leaving her strangely disoriented.

She felt as though she'd just run a marathon. Perhaps Draco is right … I should be more careful about the spells I cast.

The blond was looking at his own hand as if he'd never seen it before. "Were we glowing?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, too tired to remind him that the miniature lights had detected traces of the charm in their bodies.

"Then why weren't they?" he questioned, gesturing to the still-seething mass of students trying to get to their next class.

"… What?"

"Their clothing was covered in the stuff, sure, but their skin looked normal," Draco said.

Her head chose that moment to begin throbbing, and she winced, putting a hand to her temple. Her fingers were cold and tingly.

"—Hermione?"

She blinked, trying to focus on what Draco was saying, sure that it was important. All she really wanted to do, however, was to stare at his eyes. Why hadn't she noticed they were so pretty before? Or had she? She couldn't remember.

"Bugger," he muttered, and she wanted to giggle at his use of a naughty word. "Hermione, look at me, can you walk?"

"Course I can," she said, giving him a don't-be-stupid glare. He looked amused, so she wasn't entirely sure she'd succeeded. She took a few steps to prove her point, wobbling only slightly.

"Alright then," he said, watching her carefully. "C'mon."

She frowned, balking. "Where are we going?"

"To the Hospital Wing," he said, taking her arm and leading her up the now-deserted stairs.

"What? Why? We need to … to figure this out," she protested uncertainly.

He looked at her as if he expected her to bite him or something, which made her giggle. The look intensified. "We were going to ask Madame Pomfrey about how the spell might be affecting people, remember?"

"Oh," she said, not remembering that at all but taking his word for it. The world went oddly hazy as they ascended the marble staircases—which seemed to be immobile just for them—and she blinked, trying to chase away the fog. She stared at Draco, because everything else was spinning. She smiled slightly.

The boy glanced at her every so often, worry in his pretty grey eyes. Finally, he spoke, "What are you smiling at?"

She blinked again, trying to form a coherent thought. "You were cute as a ferret." She didn't notice it when he stiffened. "Cuter as you, though."

Her whole body shivered then, and she missed his shocked expression. Why was it so cold? Her last memory was of Madame Pomfrey's concerned face and Draco saying something about "magical exhaustion."


Mid-afternoon sunlight played over the castle, making windows glitter and cannons gleam—

"Since when," an incredulous redhead demanded, "does Hogwarts have cannons?"

"I'm guessing since Monday," Fred answered, somewhat amused. "I could be wrong, though."

"Oi, none o' that talkin' an' jabberin', now! Get to work!" The man that they had known as Mr. Filch, though he had been introduced as Mr. Pilfer, shoved them forward, mumbling to himself about 'disgrace' and 'out of uniform' and 'keel-hauling.' The monkey on his shoulder—Mrs. Norris' replacement—bared its teeth at them. "Those there cannons ain't goin' to clean themselves yeh know!"

The twins glanced at each other, silently debating whether they should use magic.

"Commodore Beesting wants those cannons in prime working condition for the upcoming battle, ye hear me? I'll have none of yer shirking today! No sir," Pilfer continued, a malicious glint in his eyes.

The twins' attention snapped back to the disagreeable man. "Battle? What battle?"

"Ye'll be findin' out soon 'nough, I think," Pilfer leered at them, putting one hand up for the monkey to grab onto. The monkey swung down to the ground, then hopped up onto the nearest cannon, beady eyes never leaving the twins. "Now, yer orders are to get those cannons clean an' ready, that's all yeh need to know. An' once yeh get that done, yeh'll need to bring up the rounds."

Exchanging a worried look, the twins drew their wands—only to have them snatched away by Pilfer.

"By hand," he added, before shuffling off.

Groaning, they set to work, using the cleaning tools that had been left for them.

A few minutes later, Fred looked at his brother. "George, why didn't we just stun him and leave?"

"Why couldn't you have suggested that while we still had our wands?" he responded, scowling.

Fred frowned, "Didn't even think of it."

"Brilliant."


Useless, useless, useless! Draco thought, shoving a book back into the shelf rather harshly. Whether he was cursing the book or himself, he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure why he had gone back to the library, other than the fact that it was relatively nearby when he had been kicked out of the Hospital Wing.

He ran a hand through his hair, probably ruffling it horrendously, but he couldn't find it within him to care. There must be a logical explanation to all of this.

Glancing around the quiet, overly warm room, he shook his head, walking out. He always thought better when he moved, anyway. "So what do we know?" he asked himself, frowning. "This situation is bloody hopeless, that's what we know," he grumbled impatiently. "The entire school's gone mental, things are appearing and disappearing and changing, the whole ruddy castle is covered in the—whatever it was, residue." He paused there, remembering what Hermione had said

There shouldn't be enough of the charm to spread this far.

Yet it obviously had, unless she'd done the spell wrong. So, how …? "Maybe it got mixed with something else," he mused aloud. From the corner of his eye, he saw a portrait watching him warily, and he abruptly realized he was talking to himself. Annoyed, he turned to it. "You," he enunciated slowly, "are wearing a pirate's hat. A pirate's hat with a feather. You do not get to judge me for thinking aloud."

All the same, he decided, leaving the mortified and confused portrait behind, I'd best keep my thoughts internal.

So what if it had gotten mixed with something? If it had been diluted enough, it could probably account for the amount they'd seen in the Entrance hall … that area certainly got enough traffic to kick it around. And the charm Hermione had used had given no real indication of how much residue was in a given area.

Alright, one question answered. Nine hundred and ninety-nine to go. "Take one down, pass it around …" he muttered to himself sarcastically.

The frown returned to his face as he descended the marble staircase. The students themselves hadn't been glowing, however. Just their clothes.

So what the hell does that mean? Is it not the Daydream Charm that's causing all of this?

The blond shook his head. It was too much of a coincidence not to be connected to the charm, they'd already decided that. But if there was no residue in any of the students, then what—

Residue. The word suddenly made him stop in his tracks, both physically and mentally.

The word residue implied something that was no longer active, that had lost some of its magical qualities. Obviously the residue of the charm couldn't be causing anything, especially since they had it in their own systems still. But what if it had mixed with something else?

His godfather dealt with magical reactions everyday in potions brewing. They were often unpredictable and dangerous, but to some extent all magic was that way. If the Daydream Charm had found a compatible piece of magic in the school's wards while it was still active and latched onto it, some completely new spell could have been created. Then, Hermione's charm wouldn't have picked it up, since not only was it slightly different than the original, but it was also an active spell.

If it really had gotten into the wards of the school … he cursed. That would explain everything. The wards were omnipresent throughout the entire castle and the grounds, and the changes didn't reach past the boundaries of the school. If they could get Dumbledore to lower the wards ...

No, Dumbledore wouldn't listen to them. There was no way they could convince him to do it, and no guarantee that it would even work.

If only there was a way to get the man's head to clear … maybe if they got him outside of the wards?

"Oh, yes, let's just go kidnap the Headmaster of Hogwarts for a day," he grumbled, running a frustrated hand through his hair again.

He doubted even Professor Snape would be able to convince 'Beesting' to leave the castle at this point, but anything was worth a try. Sighing, he changed course to go and find his godfather.


Draco leaned against the wall, waiting impatiently for his godfather's current class to end. Finally the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day and releasing the masses. The young Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws fought each other to get out of the potions classroom, eager to get out of Professor Snape's domain. Shaking his head, Draco waited a few extra minutes for them to clear out before stepping into the classroom.

Severus glanced up from examining a vial, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. "Back again … and without Miss Granger, I see."

Draco ignored the implied question. "Sir, I was hoping I could speak to you for a few minutes?"

"Of course," he replied, gesturing for the blond to precede him into his office.

Draco sat in the notoriously uncomfortable chair, hoping that this conversation wouldn't take a long time.

His godfather followed a moment later, slipping out of the heavy teacher's robe that he hated so much. After hanging it on the wall, he turned and gave Draco an expectant look.

"Sir, I think I've figured out what's going on," he said, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

"Indeed?" the older man prompted, looking intrigued. Draco explained his theory quickly, watching the professor's impassive face. "I see," he said, once Draco had finished. "Mr. Malfoy, are you aware of how long the wards on this castle have been in place?"

Draco frowned slightly, recognizing his godfather's 'teaching voice.' "Hundreds of years?" he guessed uneasily.

"If not thousands," Snape agreed dryly. "Magical accidents occur multiple times a day. These walls have seen hundreds of thousands of spoiled potions, misspoken charms, and every form of abuse known to the teenaged mind. If the protections of this school were as easily tampered with as you suggest, do you not think something like this would have happened before?"

"There's a first time for everything, sir," he replied, leaning back in his chair. His godfather snorted at his godson's obstinance. "If you have a better theory…" he added, not quite making it a challenge.

"I," the older man replied, eyes glittering dangerously, "have many theories." He sighed, "Unfortunately, none that are any more likely than yours."

There was a brief pause before Draco decided to ask, "Is there any way that you could convince Professor Dumbledore to get out of the castle?"

The professor just shook his head. "Doubtful. The man has never listened to me before; I see no reason for him to begin now."

"The students, then? Can we get them out?" he persisted.

His godfather frowned thoughtfully. "Getting the students out without the Headmaster's permission would prove difficult, but perhaps not impossible," he admitted. "However, Hogwarts is seen as a bastion of safety in what is currently an unsafe world, Draco. Evacuation would cause panic, if not among the students, then among the parents. For the moment, the school remains the safest place to be; should that change, then we shall reconsider our options."

"So what are we going to do, then?" Draco asked, frustrated.

"You," Severus replied, "are going to continue researching. If you find anything new, bring it to me immediately. I will … attempt … to reason with the Headmaster. We will get this figured out, Draco, don't worry. In the meantime, try not to do anything foolish."


Commodore Albus Beesting stood in front of his south-facing window, watching the fading light play about the sails of the Bloody Phoenix

.

He was uneasy. He'd learned long ago to listen to his gut, and it was speaking to him now—and not about the hard-tack, either.

There was something wrong in the world, and that meant Snakeface was behind it.

Albus' half-brother had a knack for causing trouble, to say the least. Tom was a cunning liar, incorporating just enough truth in his stories as to be convincing. Beyond that, he was a black-hearted pirate, stealing from anyone who crossed his path, abiding by no rule or custom that didn't suit his tastes.

Beesting had his nephew's best interests at heart in keeping the boy from his biological father. The commodore knew that as soon as Tom got his hands on Gryffin, he'd lead the boy astray with clever half-truths and pretty lies.

And now Snakeface was planning something. Beesting could sense it in the air as easily as he could recall his own name.

It was up to him to stop that plan—at all costs.

It was time to call for a meeting of the Council.


Dobby's ears twitched, causing him to glance up in confusion. He thought that someone had called him, but usually a Summons left no doubt. Senses on the alert, he quickly finished cleaning the Gryffindor common room. The second time it happened, it was stronger, though still strange to him. Concentrating, he quickly transported to the location the call was coming from.

The room he arrived in practically thrummed with ancient magic and life, sending a shiver over Dobby's skin. His large green eyes were especially wide as he looked at the massive stone column that dominated the dark room. He had never seen anything like it before. His fingers twitched, longing to touch it, to trace the runes that were embedded into the stone, to feel the magic that lived within—but he restrained himself; nothing good ever came of touching what did not belong to him.

He was not supposed to be in this room; he was not supposed to even know about it. If the other house-elves knew he was here, they would … he did not know what they would do. The Hogwarts elves were unlike his own family, and he was still learning their ways. At home, if his siblings or mother caught him in a place he did not belong, they would take him to the matriarch—his grandmother—for punishment. It had been the same with all other house-elves he had met.

The Hogwarts elves, however, were undeniably different. They were not bound to the Headmaster as he had been bound to the Malfoy line. In some ways, they reminded him of Master Malfoy and the other humans the man had often associated with. Aloof and prideful, they usually ignored Dobby completely, often speaking in their own language—which he had never heard before and did not know a word of—as if he was not there.

Over the time he had spent among them, he had picked up a few words here and there, just as he had become more attuned to the magic of the castle itself. He had felt the rising magic, he had heard the whispers of the other elves. They had used many words he had not understood, but he realized that their odd behavior now was in some way connected to what he felt in this room.

Time passed. What he was waiting for, he did not know, but he did know that he, that someone, had to be here. Something called to him to be present at this time. He was unsure of his worthiness yet honored that he had been chosen.

The pillar of stone radiated magic like the sun radiated light. It made Dobby uneasy to be so close, and yet he basked in it, realizing that he would likely never be in this room again. The magic became brighter, more intense. Dobby's skin felt too tight and he looked away from the column, though it did no good. Magic swirled around him and over him, knocking him back. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and abruptly he was no longer uneasy; he was afraid.

After a moment, the magic settled, though it still shone brighter than before. Dobby looked up, but the relief he felt froze into a cold lump in his throat.

Someone was in the room with him.

He screamed.


A/N: Oh goodness... look! It's an update! And in such a time frame that I don't feel the need to hide! (-dodges tomato- Hey! Watch it!)

Anyway, I completely forgot last chapter, but I meant to show you all the wonderful fanart by Ellarose C: http: // i139. photobucket. com / albums / q282 / IamInTheWrongCentury / dramioneaarghcopy. jpg (Remember to remove the spaces.)

As always, if you review I will love you forever. ... In a non-creepy way. Really. I especially want to know what you thought about Dobby's scene. I tried to make him sound different from everyone else, since, you know, he's not human.

Until next time,

-Lild