Few sort of important things to say (please read all of this no matter how boring it may be):
1) Sorry for being AWOL for the past week... I got a huge amount of homework (bet you're tired of hearing that excuse, huh?), then I got sick, then I had a cross country meet... and right about the time I got over the flu, I got hit with another one. So basically, I only got around to doing some serious writing today. And I finished the chapter. And it's longer than all the ones before it. So there's that, right?
2) I am so very embarrassed. Not only did I forget to thank someone for reviewing (sorry again about that, Remy .Potter!), but I also had to ask someone if they'd reviewed more than once (sorry again, the world is full of magic!). As a result of said embarrassment, I've finally made a list of the people that've reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc. Sooo... now I will never forget to thank anyone! Bwahahah!
3) I'm really not very happy with this chapter. I spent about two hours editing it. I deleted about half of it, rewrote it, and added a few new sections and I'm still not 100% satisfied with it. But eh, that's life, right? Anyway, I felt like I needed to get the chapter out, so... here it is! And it's about 1,000 words longer than all the others!
4) Lately I've had people asking me how I write the story. Like, no joke, two different people have messaged me about this. I've forgotten who you are (my email doesn't tell me who's messaging, it only says "Hey, you've got a message" and it'd be too hard to go back through all of them to look), and for that I'm terribly sorry, but because two different people are asking the same thing, I feel like it needs to be answered. Sooo... basically, I'll be doing a 'lil (more like huge) Author's Note at the bottom of the next chapter about how I got the idea of this story, how I go about writing and editing, etc. Soo... if you're interested, there's that.
5) For some reason, whenever someone's got a penname that has a word, a period, and another word, it doesn't show up when I type it. For example: Hello .Goodbye (except there wasn't a space between the 'Hello' and the period) doesn't show up when I type it and hit 'Save.' I think that's probably why, when I typed in my thanks to Remy .Potter, it didn't show up all those times... So... yeah :) If your penname has a word, a period, and a word, I have to type it word-space-period-word. I'm not misspelling it - I just have to. Just clearing that up.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs, the rest is property of the wonderlicious JK Rowling, blah, blah, blah...
Thanks to these awesomful people who reviewed/story alerted/favorited in the last week: MidnightCloak160, mentalkid, BiaZinha e BieLZinho .Zabine, mecherry (hooray for reviewing multiple times!), Mask with a Truth, AdonCa, THatGurlx3, Remy .Potter, Electric-Aura, CierraLuv97, and last but never least, Twilight Woods. If I somehow missed you even after my crazy organizing, let me know!
Without further adu, I present: Chapter 10!
"Concentrated power is not rendered harmless by the good intentions of those who create it." – Milton Friedman
Two-Faced [Harry Potter] Chapter Ten: Reflexive
When I slip back into the dorm, the sun has just barely begun to show its head over the horizon. The sky is a murky grey, streaked with dark clouds that stir with the wind. The air is thick and heavy, a misty fog hovering about the castle. The beauty of the night before is gone, replaced with the bodings of a storm.
It's funny, how something that had been so breathtaking, something that had seemed so untouchable, could be pushed away so easily. The night had seemed so permanent, like that peace and stillness would never leave. But it's gone, taken away with the moon and stars.
Something about that makes me angry.
It shouldn't have been swept away so easily, the night's innocence. Something like that should be allowed to stay.
No, I was wrong – It doesn't make me angry.
It makes me sad, somehow. Sad and cold.
My mind is whirring, too fast. It's like my brain has been supercharged, working on all motors. Thoughts whiz by like bullets. Each one just barely registers before it's gone and another has taken its place.
For a moment, the dominating thought in my mind is about the night's innocence, how it's been swept away. How unfair that is.
The next second, I find myself wondering why Potter was walking about the grounds of Hogwarts that late at night – and why Merlin had it that he was out at the same time I was.
Then that one's gone and there's another nagging question – what was he thinking about? Something to do with his meeting with Dumbledore? His suspicions of Draco? The fight at the Department of Mysteries?
And then another one arrives – a question that sends my skin crawling uncomfortably, one that feels as if it's being bellowed into my ear by a giant. It seems to tug at my mind, demanding attention. Demanding an answer that I can't seem to find.
Why the hell was it so easy?
Falling back into the role of Remy Turner was simple – like flipping a switch. Easy.
Why?
I thought before that it was because Potter was so important; that because I knew that he would be the most crucial to convince, it somehow pushed me further, made it have to be easier to act like the innocent, normal Remy Turner.
But now I realize that doesn't make sense.
So what does?
Pretending to be normal, pretending to be muggleborn, was like a breath of – no, not fresh air, but different air, if that makes sense. Acting as Remy Turner, a muggleborn girl, I didn't have to worry about always being prim, proper, and perfect. I didn't have to always check myself for my manners, my composure. It didn't feel like my mother was breathing down my neck all the time, whispering in my ear reminders of what to do and how to do it.
It was… weird.
Almost scary.
I mean, I laughed.
It wasn't how I laugh with Draco – that easy, carefree, buoyant laugh. No, that's Draco's laugh. It's reserved for him. That laugh is a laugh of weightlessness, the one I let out when I'm with Draco and I don't feel tied down by all my responsibilities, like he's taken a knife and cut them away, one by one.
But this laugh – it was loud. I didn't think about who would hear me, what they would think of me. I didn't think about anything. It was reflexive – Harry said something funny, so I laughed.
This laugh wasn't weightless.
It was free, but… heavy. Weighed down by expectations.
That's what gets me most of all.
The expectations.
I went into this mission expecting Harry Potter, my greatest enemy. Harry Potter, the greatest obstacle of the war. Harry Potter, my polar opposite.
Instead, I get this.
Harry Potter, a normal teenage boy with hair that doesn't want to stay down and a little extra emotional baggage.
We didn't talk at all about the Dark Lord or the war – I made sure to steer clear of those topics; I didn't know what I'd say. What would be a 'normal' response? And anyway, Harry didn't seem to mind; he must get enough talk of it after what happened in the Department of Mysteries, now that everyone believes him.
After a few hours of talking, I forgot he was Harry Potter – any sort of Harry Potter, the one I was expecting and the one I met. I forgot that he was my greatest enemy, the greatest obstacle of the war, my polar opposite. For a while, I was just Remy Turner and he was just Harry.
Now, coming back to reality, feeling my Dark Mark throb on my left arm as if angry about being forgotten, is jarring. Like being woken up from a dream with a bucket of icy water.
But it is also necessary – I know from experience that some dreams can become nightmares if you fall too deeply into them. One foot in the real world at all times. Keep your feet grounded when your head's in the clouds.
I don't bother undressing before crawling into bed and pulling the curtains shut around me – with my thoughts buzzing about in my head, I know I won't be getting any sleep.
Morning comes in the form of the sun's feeble rays just barely slipping in through the windows past the cover of grey storm clouds that shroud the sky. My dorm mates groan in disappointment at the day's dreariness, complaining about it being too cold to wear a skirt but deciding to anyway ("beauty is pain, girls!"). They head to the Great Hall for breakfast without uttering a word to me. Audra pointedly avoids me, probably angry about me hanging more around the Golden Trio than with her. I make a mental note to mend things with her as I trudge towards the bathroom, rubbing last night's dreaminess from my eyes.
The next month passes quickly.
I don't mend things with Audra – she ignores me, I ignore her. The mission's got me busy enough without trying to make friends with her or my other silly dorm mates. Draco and I meet almost daily in the Room of Requirement, desperately brainstorming. Merlin must have something against us – the only ideas we come up with are hopeless and are botched almost instantly. Classes grow harder; as it turns out, when you're trained in nothing but the Dark Arts for most of your life, Double Transfiguration becomes your worst nightmare.
I grow closer to the Golden Trio; they seem to accept me into their group during the classes we share. The Weasley boy is a bloody idiot – I honestly can't see why Harry's become such close mates with him. My dislike for Granger only grows – not only is she a Mudblood, but she's a stuck up prat at that. Her tutoring sessions for Ancient Runes, a subject I happen to be passing with flying colors, are made up of tense silences during which I imagine what it would be like to chop her head off.
"I'm telling you, Draco, it's not going to work," I argue stubbornly, looking doubtfully at the package on the table. "It's pathetic and you know it."
"Well, we haven't got many other ideas, have we?" he snaps bitterly, throwing me a dirty look. "Or have you come up with some sort of brilliant plan and haven't told me?"
I snort. "Draco, any plan would be brilliant compared to this one."
"Shove off," he mutters, pushing me with his shoulder and striding forward, leaning his palms on the wooden table and heaving a heavy sigh. "Merlin, why can't the old oaf just drop dead?"
"Yeah, that'd help us a whole lot, wouldn't it?" I muse, sinking into an old, sagging armchair. "How old do you think he is, anyway?"
Draco shrugs, running a hand through his platinum blond hair and tugging on the ends of it, so hard I think for a moment that he's trying to pull it out. "Too old."
"It's sort of creepy, actually, not knowing... Anyway, we're losing the subject," I shake my head to clear my thoughts, forcing my mind to return to the mission.
"So let me get this straight," I start, running through the plan in my mind again. "We're going to put Madame Rosmerta, the bartender at The Three Broomsticks, under the Imperius, get her to Imperius Katie Bell, who will then take this necklace and somehow make it into Hogwarts, give it to Dumbledore, and we'll watch from around a corner when he drops like a stone. Now, if that doesn't sound bloody mad to you, then I'm seriously questioning your mental health."
"Well, what's your better idea?" Draco hisses, rounding on me, his stormy grey eyes full of venom.
"Hey," I throw my arms up in surrender, "You already shot down my better idea."
"That's because your idea was stupid."
"More stupid than this one?" I hum skeptically. "C'mon, it'd be unexpectedly straightforward! Dumbledore would never see it coming!"
"We're not doing it, Aria."
"We should at least try it!"
"And what happens if we get caught?" Draco reasons, arching a fine eyebrow. I give him a look that says, we won't, and he rolls his eyes. "So you're telling me that if we jump out from behind a statue and Avada Kedavra Albus Dumbledore, we won't get caught?"
I pause for a moment, then frown, grumbling, "Well, when you put it like that…" I cross my arms over my chest, sighing. "Fine, we'll stick with your plan. But mark my words, it won't work."
"The Hogsmeade trip's tomorrow," Draco says, ignoring my words. "You—you have to Imperius Madame Rosmerta, get her to Imperius Katie Bell."
"What? Why me?" I gape, "It's your stupid plan, you do it!"
"Why? Got plans?" Draco sneers, his lip curling. "Romantic date with Potter?"
"Shut up," I hiss, "Don't make me vomit. I just don't understand why it's got to be me – "
"I've got detention with McGonagall," he mutters angrily, so softly I almost don't catch it. A grin spreads over my lips, the heaviness of our conversation before forgotten.
That's what it's like with Draco – one minute we're talking about how to murder the headmaster of our school, the next we're laughing about what it would look like if Goyle and Pansy had kids.
"What? I couldn't quite catch that, Draco, you're going to have to speak up," I say gleefully as Draco looks up, his grey eyes narrowing.
"You heard me," he spits, his pale cheeks flushing.
"No, can't say I did," I singsong, blinking innocently. "C'mon now Draco, speak up."
"I got detention. With McGonagall," he bites, gritting his teeth.
"Oh well, don't have to shout now," I mock, still grinning.
"Anyway," I continue before he has the chance to respond, returning to seriousness, "So you want me to Imperius Rosmerta? Easy enough. But how do you know Katie'll actually make it to the castle with the necklace? Do you honestly think her friends are going to let her take a mysterious package in with her? And not notice that she's been Imperiused? The necklace isn't even going to make it into the castle, even if Katie gets it there – Filch's scanning everyone for Dark objects with Secrecy Sensors."
"I'm not counting on it actually making it to Dumbledore," Draco explains, smirking cockily. "I'm just seeing how far it'll get. If Katie gets the necklace up to the castle without incident, it's worth another go. If she doesn't, we'll find a different way."
I nod a little, then frown. "Harry's beginning to suspect. I don't know anything definite… he whispers a lot with those other two but they all clam up whenever I'm around. But if this fails and Katie or someone else gets cursed, Harry'll bring it up with Dumbledore. But then again, even if he does, the chances anyone will believe him are slim, but – "
"Since when do you call him Harry?" Draco cuts in, crossing his arms over his chest accusatorially and leaning back against the table. I stop abruptly, my eyes snapping up to meet his.
"Er—what?"
"Just then," Draco jerks his chin out. "You called him Harry. When did that start happening?"
"Oh… uh, habit, I guess," I say lamely, flinching at how stupid it sounds. I cough, continuing, "Y'know, calling him 'Harry' to his face and all… must be sticking."
"Right," he says, drawing out the word doubtfully. "Just – don't get too comfortable with him, Aria."
"Why not, Draco?" I tease halfheartedly with a smirk to lighten the mood, "Jealous?"
His eyes move from where they were fixed on something behind me to lock with mine, darkening and boring into mine. My pathetic attempt at easing the tension in the room is forgotten, my smirk slipping away slowly. My breath catches in my throat as I resist the urge to squirm under his piercing gaze.
"Maybe," he replies coolly, his arms still crossed.
I snap out of my trance at his words, shifting uncomfortably in my armchair. "You should stop that," I say, noting with relief that my voice doesn't wobble like my heart is.
"Stop what?" Draco murmurs, arching an eyebrow. He's still staring at me.
"Making me nervous," I answer slowly, swallowing the cement-like lump in my throat. How can he still affect me like this, even after those months of me avoiding him and him avoiding me?
"I make you nervous?" he repeats, sounding a little amused. A smirk twists at the corner of his lips, the same smirk I've seen so many times before. But still it makes my heart thud a little louder.
"Yeah, and you should stop."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Well, then," I start, but blush as I realize I haven't got anything to say.
"Er – " I cough, changing the subject quickly, "Anyway, about the plan. What if I – " I stop, a sudden onslaught of worries hitting me. "Oh Merlin, what if I get caught when I'm Imperiusing Rosmerta? Or if she gets caught while she's giving the package to Katie? That could be traced back to us – "
"Relax, Aria," Draco rolls his eyes. "You're not going to get caught."
"Easy for you to say," I grumble, "You're not the one that's going to be doing it. What if the Imperius Curse doesn't work? Like, if I don't do it right and it wears off or something. Or if Rosmerta remembers it was me? Or if Katie remembers?"
"C'mon," Draco moans exasperatedly, "The Imperius Curse isn't that hard. I mean, you've used it before, right?"
A silence ensues. I look away, suddenly embarrassed. "Well, n-not exactly – "
"What do you mean, not exactly?" Draco cries, astonished. "You're a Death Eater! You've been a Death Eater for – what, half a year! You're telling me you haven't used the Imperius?"
"I'm not exactly an 'Imperio' type person, Draco!" I retort, my head whipping around to glare at him.
"Really? What sort of person are you, then?"
I look away again, this time not out of embarrassment but shame. It takes a few moments to order my thoughts. I eventually say slowly, "I—I was more of a, um… y'know, I liked 'Crucio' m-more than the Imperius."
I can feel Draco's eyes boring into the side of my head. He inhales slowly, then lets all the air out in one go. "Oh. Right then."
I refuse to look up to meet Draco's eyes, feeling the judgment in them. I knew that he knew that I used the Cruciatus Curse; I suppose he didn't know how much. I cough awkwardly, changing the subject again. "Anyway, I just think we need more time to think through the plan before we put it into action."
"We're out of time, Aria," Draco sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "We need for this to happen over the Hogsmeade trip – there's no other opportunity to test it. After that, we can try other plans. But this one has to happen now."
"Too many things can go wrong," I remind him, hauling myself out of the armchair and walking towards the table. The necklace is lying on a sheet of velvet inside a black box, its opal jewels shining in even the dim light of the Room of Requirement. It's beautiful, in a Dark sort of way. Its light turquoise stones are inlaid in silver casings that form a thick chain. I extend my left hand, as if to touch it, letting my index finger hover above the stones.
"It's funny," I say, my voice just barely above a whisper, "how something so beautiful can be so dangerous."
"Not really," Draco replies, his voice sounding closer than expected. I didn't notice him come to stand behind me. His arm drifts forward, the sleeve of his left forearm grazing mine, and he picks up the lid of the case on the desk. It's almost a shame to see the necklace disappear from view as he places the lid over it. "There are plenty of things like that."
I drop my hand, standing for a moment, just staring at the black box on the table. Draco's still standing behind me, his chest just barely touching my back.
"If… If Katie Bell or Madame Rosmerta touches the necklace, they'll be killed," I whisper solemnly. There's an unsettling silence for a while.
"Probably," Draco finally whispers back.
"Have you talked to her before? Katie, I mean," I ask, still staring at the box. I can almost feel the waves of Dark energy it's giving off, wafting through the air and seeping into my skin and making my left arm burn and tingle.
"A few times," he answers. "None of them pleasant."
"Is that why you chose her?" I inquire, my voice taking on a bitter edge.
"Of course not," he snarls, sounding insulted.
"Why did you, then?" I turn, staring up at him, all too aware of how close we are. "Choose her, I mean. Hundreds of kids in the school and you picked her. Why?"
Draco shrugs, looking a little helpless. Our voices are still just whispers, barely making it through the thick air of the Room of Requirement. "I've watched her, these past few weeks. She just seemed like the person to do it."
"What happens, then? If she touches it? She gets killed and we swallow the guilt and move on?"
"We're Death Eaters," Draco says softly, his voice breaking on the last word. "It doesn't matter."
"Right," I whisper, smiling softly. "Doesn't matter. Because we're heartless bastards."
"We're not heartless," he says, shutting his eyes. I want to, too – shut my eyes against the world, against the judgments and assumptions and responsibilities. "We're just…"
"We're just fighting for a cause," I finish for him, nodding softly. I look down at my left palm, at the pale scar streaking diagonally across the surface.
"Draco," I start, brushing a finger over the line. His eyes open, and he follows my gaze, his eyes darkening upon seeing the scar. "Do you remember our pact? From when we were kids?"
He nods, not saying a word. He's remembering, I can tell. Remembering that day in the meadow, when we made our pledges and promised each other things we couldn't give.
"What if we made a new one? A new pact?" I say softly, my voice dropping yet more.
He's silent for a while, still staring down at my palm. "What sort of pact?"
"I dunno," I whisper. "One that… One that we won't give up on. What if we promised each other that – " my voice breaks. "That no matter what, we're on the same side. That no matter what either of us does in this war, no matter how terrible it is – "
"We'll still be the same," he finishes, taking almost my exact words. That's why we're best friends – we think the same things. We don't need to explain ourselves. We just know.
This time, our vow isn't verified by a cut to the palm. This time, it's not a blood promise.
"I promise," Draco whispers, his eyes finally leaving my scar and meeting my eyes. I'm struck again by just how beautiful he is. It shouldn't be possible.
"I promise," I echo, my lips curving upwards into a little smile.
We don't cut our palms to ratify this pledge.
This time, our promise is sealed with a kiss.
"Are you going to Hogsmeade, Remy?"
I look up from my plate of eggs and toast to find Parvati Patil looking expectantly at me from across the breakfast table. Lavender Brown is sitting on the other side of her, looking more interested in the curve of Ronald Weasley's lips than my answer.
"No," I answer promptly, swallowing my surprise at her question and offering a rueful shake of my head. "I've got a Transfiguration essay due soon… turns out my tutor wasn't covering everything she should have these past few years."
She smiles sympathetically before turning back to her gossip with Lavender Brown, leaving me to resume my eavesdropping on the Golden Trio's conversation. They've seated themselves a few feet away, their words just barely making it to my ears over the clatter of breakfast time at Hogwarts.
"The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood," Hermione's saying. "There aren't enough pure-blood wizards left. I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It's only muggleborns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up."
I almost snort. Preposterous – most of us Death Eaters being half-bloods? Sure, there are a few, but it's no secret. Groafer never hears the end of it from Yaxley and Gregorof, and Jarring was put through hell after his blood lineage came out. But the rest of us are as pure as the Dark Lord himself.
"There is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!" Ron argues vehemently. "My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as muggleborns to Death Eaters!"
"And they'd love to have me," Harry says sarcastically. "We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in."
I almost laugh with Weasley and Granger at that, but stifle it with a sausage. They exchange a few words with Ginny Weasley about something that I assume won't interest me, so I tune out and return to my breakfast.
"Imperio," I mutter, watching in slight awe as Madame Rosmerta drops the wand she'd been using to levitate a bag of trash. She stops abruptly, swaying slightly, a dazed look taking over her pretty face.
I step from behind the pile of garbage I was crouched behind, keeping my wand raised and locked on the center of her forehead. Her eyes don't seem to register that I'm there, staring blankly at me. I pray to Merlin that this will work.
"Sometime today, Katie Bell will walk into the Three Broomsticks. When she goes into the girl's bathroom, place her under the Imperius Curse and give her this package," I pull out the necklace, now wrapped. "Make sure that no one is around. You will instruct her to take the package back to the Hogwarts castle and speak to no one of it. Tell her not to tell anyone where she got it. Once inside the Hogwarts castle, she will give the package to Albus Dumbledore. Understood?"
Rosmerta looks a bit like she's drunken too many Firewhiskeys, swaying on her feet and nodding dazedly. A loose smile has spread over her lips as she moves towards the back door of the Three Broomsticks, pulling it open and walking smoothly inside.
I let out a sigh of relief.
Now all I've got to do is watch.
"Shit," I pace the Room of Requirement, cursing into the empty air, my fists clenched at my sides. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I told him it wouldn't work."
That night, the curtains around my bed feel as if they're closing in on me. The blankets feel like weights, pulling me down. My pillows feel suffocating.
I force myself to think of other things. Shut my eyes and think of other things.
Draco.
The kiss in the Room of Requirement was like the thousands of others we've shared. It felt reassuringly normal, something constant amidst all the other uncertainties.
My thoughts return to Katie Bell.
The way she screamed, rose into the air like an angel of death.
Draco.
His breath was hot as it fanned out on my cheeks. He smelled of that familiar, expensive cologne. The smell that haunted my dreams for so long.
She wouldn't stop screaming.
His hands rested on my hips, pulling me into him. Mine wound their way around his neck, pulling him into me. Closing the gap.
She just – kept – screaming.
The kiss was like a spark.
I gasp, my eyes snapping open.
The kiss was like a dream.
I killed Katie Bell.
The kiss was like magic.