Harry Potter and the Book of Ages - Margot, February 21 2001
*
Prologue
*
To an onlooker, he was just a regular sixth year, sitting by himself in the Gryffindor Common Room, having shooed away his friends for whatever reason. He was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, his mouth and chin hidden by his arms as all of the above were settled on the chair's matching desk, facing the fire and letting it burn away his unpleasant memories. Each of his blinks seemed slow, systematic, as if he couldn't be bothered to put the effort necessary into the act of moving his eyelids up and down. His jet black hair was ruffled, although perhaps an onlooker wouldn't have realized that it always appeared this way, and the fire's hypnotic dance was mirrored in his glasses and, further back, his intense green eyes, the colour of forests and grass and potions and snakes.
But to an onlooker, he was just a regular sixth year.
To her, he was just a regular sixth year.
His back straightened and he pulled his glasses off so he could rub his eyes. What was he feeling? He didn't know. It was something like... anger? Sadness? Disappointment? Some sort of strange guilt?
He wished he was old enough to drink, because if he could, he would. He would get himself drunk, and forget; he had brain cells that would remember this night, and wherever they were, they had to be sought out and destroyed.
But he couldn't do that, couldn't forget. She would be gone tomorrow, and this would be his last, his final memory of her.
For now.
I like you a lot, Harry...
She had smiled a little when she said that. He had been proud, anxious. And then, to his future dismay, she had continued.
But you haven't even graduated yet. You still have a lot of things to do. Things to be. And so do I.
Her smile had quickly faded, to be replaced by an expression that he had only seen on her face once, that didn't suit her pretty features at all. She had been on the verge of tears, and he had to give her credit for empathy, at least.
And tomorrow, we'll have to say goodbye.
I really do like you.
By that point, he had been on the verge of tears himself, and he didn't want to hear anymore. He had wanted to hit her for repeating herself. But he had known then that the very idea was ridiculous; he was just frustrated. Frustrated with her, for rejecting him. Frustrated with himself, for not being good enough.
Owl me at the Raven's Nest when you become something. And hopefully, I'll be something, too.
Maybe then, we can become something together.
I'm sorry.
Sorry. Ha.
He rubbed his eyes again, harder than before, as if he could somehow rub her image out of his eyes. But he knew that her image was too beautiful to be something he could so easily forget. Shiny, raven-black hair down to her shoulders, piercing, raven-black eyes... everything about her seem to relate to ravens, except her personality. Brilliant, glowing, it could not have been less black, less somber. Maybe that's what drew him to her.
Maybe that's why he would take her up on her challenge.
He would become something. And then he would owl her.
And then they could become something together.
***
Chapter One - Ants Marching
*
Sigh.
Another slow day, another unwanted opportunity to reflect on what he had become.
He was more quiet, more thoughtful. He supposed it had been natural progression, considering all that he had been through. He rememberd his mother, who had told him, "It's all right to be sad after a parent dies. It's okay to cry." Then, in a sick twist of fate, she, too, had died. Even with both parents gone, he had felt no inclination towards crying; he hadn't even been all that sad. Maybe just... quiet. And thoughtful.
He had trained to become an Auror. He had been one for three years, but still couldn't decide whether it was the best thing he had ever done or the biggest mistake of his life. He decided to go with the former; after all, being good is good and being bad is bad. At least, that's what he had been taught. At least, that's what he should have been taught.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced up at the wall clock. His office was sparsely decorated: two wooden desks, a neat file cabinet, and a wall clock. Rather than hours, the clock's hands pointed at things such as "home," "filing," "raiding," "lunch," "getting fired," and so forth, indicating where he and his partner should be at that exact moment. The long hand, his hand, was currently pointing at "boredom." He hated slow days like this; hated having to think about everything that had happened to him, because it made him feel bad, and even worse, it made him feel as though he was disrespecting his parents' memory. But he had nothing else to think about. Or rather, he could think about his son, but that wasn't an option. So he simply reflected on life, minus the details his son added into the equation.
He ran his hand through his silvery blond hair. Life. So, think about it.
Life sucks.
He missed his son. His family.
That's one thing the old Draco never would have thought.
At that moment, the door creaked open and Harry Potter stuck his head in. "Malfoy, it's Friday and everything's been done for the week. Let's go."
Draco looked up earnestly into Harry's face. Harry had changed, too. Draco knew it had more to do with his various battles with the Dark Lord than it did with his sixth year romantic rejection, but he couldn't help thinking that it had contributed largely to Harry's current personality, too. He was still filled with an all-consuming curiousity but he seemed to be more intelligent about what to do with it; when it came to ambition, however, Harry was completely blind. When he set out to do something, he did it. Whatever it was.
"Malfoy, let's go! I need to get to Ron and Hermione's for dinner."
Draco leaned back in his chair. "No one's making you stay."
Harry frowned. "I can't leave until you clock out."
Draco continued to stare up into Harry's eyes. They were filled with a sense of urgency. A slight smile spread across Draco's face.
"Just give me a minute to finish what I'm doing." He held Harry's gaze. A moment passed.
"Well?"
"Yeah, I'm finishing what I'm doing."
"Which is what?"
"Nothing."
Draco's slight smile became almost unnoticeably wider as he could hear, from across the room, the quiet gritting of Harry's teeth. "Damn it, just get up."
Draco pulled a face and slowly got to his feet, pulling the coat draped on his chair up with him as he went. "All right, all right. Considering the fact that we work nine to six, and it's only five thirty, this must be an urgent, work-related meeting. Oh, wait... Weasley and Granger don't work here."
Harry cocked an eyebrow, and began to lead Draco down the hall. "I would have thought you'd be eager to get out of here as soon as possible, especially considering that today is Friday."
Draco shrugged and pulled his coat on. "Not so. Emma and Lucius are in Egypt, visiting her parents. So I don't get him tonight." He shuddered slightly at the memory of his son and... that woman. His old girlfriend. He hated the violently conflicted feelings the two of them brought up in him, even if he did care for them.
Him. Even if he did care for him.
Harry slowed his pace considerably. "Malfoy... I'm sorry-"
"Why should you be sorry? It's not your fault."
"I know, but..."
Draco smiled a bit; it was an unnatural smile, one that told whoever saw it that it hid some sort of deeper conflict underneath. Seeing it, Harry wished he hadn't said anything. "Look Potter, I know you care and all, but I don't, so can you please change the subject?"
Harry increased his pace again, and threw a glance sideways at Draco. "Sure, sorry. But, it's all right to care, you know."
Draco furrowed his brow. This wasn't the direction he wanted this conversation to take; sometimes it was downright annoying how much Potter cared. "Is it all right not to care?"
"I suppose... I wouldn't know, personally."
Draco continued to smile slightly. "Yes, well, that's your cue to shut it."
Harry kept up his pace but did not mention the subject again.
"Anyway," Draco started, anxious to clear the tension in the air. As much as he liked making Harry feel guilty, he hated when it was at his own expense. "I reckon I'm not even going to bother coming in on Monday. The past couple of weeks have been pretty slow around here, and it's annoying to check in at nine and end up doing nothing for the rest of the day. I could spend the day doing more important things, like... anything."
Harry frowned again. "Didn't you hear, a raid is scheduled for Monday at ten."
Draco nearly tripped. "What the hell? Who dropped that bombshell?"
Harry struggled to hold back a grin. "Shane Alecto- you know, the nutter who was fired from the Ministry last year- sent a letter to Bridget last week saying that he's the living reincarnation of the Dark Lord and that he plans on destroying all of Europe." He gave a derisive snort. "So she dispatched some doctors from St. Mungo's, along with a couple of hit wizards, to his house and had him put away. Even though the doctors judged him officially balmy, the hit wizards found a load of instructional Dark Arts books in his house. They're sending us and a few more down to the place on Monday to confiscate everything and investigate for whatever the hit wizards missed. Didn't you hear anything about that? It was all over the newspapers."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I bother reading the newspaper anymore. It's just gossip about celebrities and heartbreaking tales from the backwood wizards nowadays; hardly worth my time." He shrugged. "But I'll come."
"Without any snarky comments, I hope."
"Well, who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky."
Draco looked up and took in his surroundings. They were outside the Ministry Dark Arts company building, in the main courtyard connecting the four separate Ministry buildings: Dark Arts, Internal Affairs, Muggle Relations, and International Affairs. There was a large fire burning in the very centre of the courtyard, at which a small line of Ministry workers had queued up. Draco watched as each worker put his hand into a large barrel marked, in messy red letters, "Floo Powder," tossed what they had pulled out into the fire, and, shouting the name of their destination, followed it in, thus promptly disappearing. Travelling by Floo Powder was necessary, as the Ministry had wisely put up wards around all the buildings in their compound, keeping anyone from arriving within one kilomtre by Apparating.
Draco and Harry joined the queue. "I suppose you're just going home?"
"That's right," Draco replied simply. He didn't bother asking Harry his destination; whatever it was, he didn't particularly care.
It came time for Harry's turn. The line behind Draco and him had grown considerably with tired Ministry employees schmoozing with their co-workers and anxious to get home to their families. Draco couldn't honestly count himself among them; other than Harry, he rarely "chatted" with any of his co-workers, and he wasn't anxious to get home to his "family." Unless, of course, a leather couch, a television set, and a bottle of Ogden's could be considered family.
Harry tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fire, and departed with a brief wave that snapped Draco back to his senses all too late. He watched as Harry's form quickly became formless and disappeared. He stared at the spot where Harry had been for a few seconds more, then, as a depressing prelude for what looked to be the beginning of the most boring weekend of his life, grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder for himself and tossed it into the fire.
***
Harry could hear the loud pop, the aftermath of flight by Floo Powder, echo in the small fireplace behind him. The horribly cramped feeling that usually accompanied a trip to Ron and Hermione's apartment was like a slap in the face and, looking out, he could see Ron seated at the kitchen table, doing paperwork. He tried to kick out the heavy fireplace screen, but realized with dismay that it had been locked into place. Despite the loud bang his boot made against the metal screen, Ron didn't look up from the table.
"Ron!" Harry shouted. Still refusing to look up, Ron shrugged Harry off with a wave. Harry gritted his teeth. "Ron, you prat!!"
Ron looked up as Hermione nearly sprinted into the kitchen and, a horrified expression quickly curtaining her face, practically tore the screen from its locked spot. "Ron, are you insane?!" she almost shrieked as she pulled Harry to his feet. Ron grinned. "Sorry Harry, but I figured you could handle yourself."
Hermione frowned and smoothed her hair back. As she had grown older, it seemed to have straightened itself naturally until now, when it was simply straight with small waves. Otherwise, however, her appearance had changed very little. Harry brushed the ashes off his cloak and gestured to Ron's paperwork, seemingly out of breath. "I guess that paperwork's more important than your best friend?"
Ron offhandedly flipped through his papers, then looked back up at Harry and Hermione. "Uh, yeah."
Harry rolled his eyes and swept the rest of the dust off. Hermione bustled to the table and began gathering Ron's papers into her arms. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?!" Ron cried, his reading glasses beginning to slide off his nose.
"Clearing the table for dinner, what does it look like? Give me that quill."
Ron pulled off his glasses and cradled his quill protectively in his arms. "Come on, Hermione, please just let me finish up that report. It's really important... er... I could get fired."
Hermione shook her head and twiddled her fingers. "Sorry, but the sympathy card won't work; I'm not your girlfriend anymore."
After a tense moment of silence, which looked more like a staredown contest between Ron and Hermione from Harry's vantagepoint, Ron sighed and slapped the quill into Hermione's waiting hand. "You just had to play the girlfriend card."
Hermione smiled to herself as Ron grudgingly pushed himself to his feet and slowly trudged over to the cabinets. Ron, too, hadn't changed greatly in overall appearance; he had grown into his gangly frame and his freckles seemed to flare less awkwardly, but he still nearly towered over his two friends. If anything, only his interests had changed; over the course of the years, he had discovered an untapped talent for Divination. A realization that had, of course, surprised everyone, most of all his professors.
Hermione looked towards the fireplace. "Harry, don't just stand there, you know where the dishes are."
Harry followed Ron's pace towards the cabinets, and a knowing smile was exchanged between them. "Honestly Hermione, you're turning into my mother," Ron grinned. Hermione frowned and gritted her teeth, pulling utensils out of one of the drawers. "No, I'm not."
"Fine, you're not."
Hermione nearly threw her hands up, but at the sight of Harry and Ron making a ducking motion, quickly remembered that she had a number of sharp knives in her hand and decided against it. "So, Hermione... I'm assuming that since Ron can't cook, you made dinner."
Hermione smiled at that. "As a matter of fact, I did. It's really no big deal though. Roast chicken and potatoes."
"I'll say it's a big deal, since neither of us could even imagine making anything like that," Ron said quickly, throwing a quick glance at Harry and suddenly wishing that he hadn't said anything. Harry's expression sombered slightly. It was true that he couldn't cook for his life, and, because he lived alone, he usually ended up eating five-minute meals. Hermione seemed to notice Harry's expression. "One day, I'll come over and make you a healthy dinner."
Harry laughed. "You are turning into Ron's mother. But thanks."
Hermione smiled kindly and arranged everything she was holding neatly on the table.
**
"I know I should have expected it of you, but I still have to admit that I'm impressed," Harry announced loudly through mouthfuls of seasoned potatoes. The tiny kitchen table was spotted with a small number of matching dishes and dinner plates, each lined with broomsticks literally dancing around its rim. Everyone appeared to have almost completed dinner, except for Harry, ever the slow eater.
"It's fantastic, isn't it?" Hermione glowed. Despite her young age, she had been quick to rise through the Ministry's Muggle Relations company and had recently been promoted to Head of the Department of Muggle-Related Laws.
"Imagine that," Ron grinned, "already more valuable to the Ministry than I am, and still living under my roof." He put on a face of mock concentration. "Tell me Hermione, why is that?
Hermione smiled gently. "Your mother asked me to keep an eye on you."
Ron stared at Hermione, all signs of a mocking expression wiped clean off his face. Hermione simply continued to smile pleasantly, and Ron coughed loudly, turning to Harry. "So anyway, speaking of girlfriends-"
Harry looked up from his plate. "We weren't talking about girlfriends."
Ron stuffed some roast chicken into his mouth. "Look, you just mentioned it now."
Hermione laughed, despite a quick glare from Harry. "Can't argue with that."
"Anyway," Ron resumed, quickly drawing attention back to himself, "speaking of girlfriends, have you found one for yourself yet, Harry?"
Harry set his face and mumbled quietly. "No."
Ron folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. Hermione looked from one man to the other, and could almost see the tension beginning to rise in the air.
"Eh, why not? Sirius tells us you're a hit with the ladies in your department down in the Ministry." Ron grinned self-indulgently.
Hermione stifled a small smile, but Harry didn't seem to find it at all funny. "I guess," he muttered.
"Harry!!" Ron nearly shouted, throwing his arms up. "You're twenty-three years old, and still aren't involved with anyone. It's a damn shame, because you can't get by on your looks forever. You're getting on in years, and your looks will soon fade."
By this time, Hermione was trying to keep herself from snorting with laughter, barely able to contain herself. Harry narrowed his eyes at his friends. "First of all, it wasn't that funny, Hermione-"
"Oh, I think it was," Ron grinned.
"-and second of all, you're the same age as I am and you don't have a girlfriend."
"That's true," Ron began, "but... er... I have a strict beauty regimen which will ensure that I keep my youthful good looks for years to come."
Harry snorted derisively, and Hermione quickly calmed herself down. "I just haven't met the right girl yet, that's all."
Ron smiled a little. "Actually, I think you have."
Hermione quickly shot Ron a warning look. "Ron, please don't start."
"No, Hermione, I think Harry has met the right girl, but he just hasn't told her yet."
Harry took a deep breath and set his fork down on the table. "I did tell her. And she told me I had to 'become something'."
"So? You're something now, Harry. Owl her, ask her out to dinner or something. She told you she likes you, I'm sure she'll say yes."
Harry's hands balled into fists. "Maybe I'm just not ready yet. Maybe-"
Ron dropped his jaw in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? It's been..." he quickly counted on his fingers. "... almost seven years and you still haven't owled her yet. You're damn ready, because if you're not now, you never will be."
Harry's cheeks grew red with anger. "Look Ron-"
But whatever he wanted Ron to look at, he was never able to say. There was a loud clang from Hermione's direction as she dropped her fork on her plate.
"Damn it, Ron! You bring this up whenever the three of us get together. You already know the answer to the question constantly on your mind- Harry's only made it crystal clear every single time- so would you just stop bringing it up?!"
Ron stared, apparently unwilling to emit another word, but Harry's temper seemed to only flare more. "Is that what you think? That the answer will be the same, every time you ask?"
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was abruptly interrupted by an odd humming noise behind her. The trio turned to face the source of the sound; a small, bizarre-looking metal device appeared to be drifting across the countertop, propelled by its rapid vibrating. Ron got to his feet. "Well, I'm sorry to have to break up the merrymaking, but it looks like I'm needed at the Ministry." He gave Hermione a reproachful look. "That paperwork I was working on before is required, so I'm going to have to go down there and tell them why it's not done." Hermione folded her arms and looked away. "I'll see you tonight, Hermione. Harry... later." With that, he promptly snatched the odd, humming device, as well as his papers, and vanished into thin air with a pop.
There was a tense silence, until Hermione finally looked up from the floor towards Harry. "I'm sorry about that, I didn't really mean it like it came out. And Ron..." she sighed quietly. "He's just worried about you, he doesn't mean to say anything rude. It's just his way. He doesn't mean to cause trouble."
Harry drew in a deep breath, and craned his neck to face out the nearby window of Ron and Hermione's apartment. It was part of a three-storey complex, just on the edge of Hogsmeade, overlooking the rest of the two-storey buildings. The sun had already set, and tiny, glistening stars were beginning to show their faces across the near-black sky. Other than the stars, the only visible light was shining from Hogsmeade itself; from the street lamps lining Hogsmeade's stone roads, from the tiny candles in many of the windows, and from the multitude of Jack-O-Lanterns in front of The Three Broomsticks to celebrate Samhain. Not even a block away, Harry thought he could hear one bark out, "Watch where you're stepping, left-foot!" He exhaled and turned back to Hermione.
"Yeah, I know."
"We're both worried about you, I suppose. Personally, I think you deserve better than Cho Chang-" at that, she blushed slightly- "but Ron and I want you to be happy, whomever it may be with. And I'm sorry to say it, but... if you don't owl her soon, you'll miss your window of opportunity. That is, if you haven't missed it already."
Harry rubbed his eyes. "I know, I know. I just..."
"Don't know?" Hermione smiled. "Well, whenever you're ready, that's what's important. We'll support you, Ron and I. No matter how thick we seem, sometimes."
Harry smiled appreciatively as Hermione turned to gaze out the window. "It's really beautiful, isn't it? All the lights, I mean. I know most people in the village don't really celebrate Samhain anymore, but it's still nice that they honour it and all. I should really put out a couple of candles too... nobody in my family ever celebrated it, but I think Ron would appreciate it if I did."
Harry stood up. "I should probably really go anyway." Hermione quickly got to her feet.
"Sure, all right. But you know, you should really drop by tomorrow... I'll take you into the village, or something."
Harry pulled a can off the fireplace mantle, and smiled at Hermione, who grinned anxiously back. "See you." Harry gave a quick wave, and pulled a handful of Floo Powder out of the can. He replaced the can on the mantle, quickly tossed the powder into the fireplace, and followed it in. "Godric's Hollow!"
Hermione watched the fireplace for another few moments, then gave a slight smile and an absent-minded wave to the crackling fire.
***
"Malfoy? What are you doing here? It's not even nine yet... is that a bottle of Ogden's in your hand?"
Draco pulled his eyes open drearily. He was sitting straight up in his chair, his hand wrapped around a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey on his desk. Harry had just come in, and appeared... Draco blinked several times... to be dropping his coat off at his own chair. "What time is it?" Draco asked, barely coherent.
Harry paused, and looked Draco over. He had darks circles under his eyes, and his usually-brilliant silver hair seemed dull and drooping. "Eight thirty. In the morning. I can't believe you're pissed at eight thirty in the morning."
"Relax," Draco replied, more forcefully than he had intended. "Jeez. I'm not drunk, I'm just... knackered." He quickly stifled a yawn. "What time did you say?"
Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Eight thirty. Are you sure you're not drunk?"
"YES I'm sure. Eight thirty you said? I guess that makes an hour and a half, then."
"Hmm? For what?"
"Since I first got here. I think it was still dark when I first arrived in the courtyard, but..." Draco suppressed another yawn, "I can't remember."
Harry moved towards Draco's desk. "Is something wrong, Malfoy?"
Draco sighed loudly. He dragged the sigh on for a lot longer than could be considered normal. "Oh... nothing more than usual, I suppose." He smiled absently, his head rolling slightly. "Don't worry your pretty little head over it, all righty? I'm fine."
"Er... are you sure? Maybe you should get back to the manor... you're in no shape to go on the Alecto raid," Harry said uneasily, slowly seating himself at his desk.
"Harry, didn't you hear me? I said I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."
"All right Malfoy, but..." Harry looked up from his desk, and let out a quiet sigh at the sight that met his eyes. Draco's head had fallen forward to droop on his neck, and he was snoring quietly, his chest and head gently rising with each breath.
"Malfoy, what on earth is the matter with you?"
***
Bridget wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You have got to be kidding me."
She, as well as a number of other Aurors from the Department of Dark Object Disarmament, stepped carefully into Shane Alecto's tiny bungalow several kilometres out of Bristol, trying to avoid slipping on the banana peels and underwear strewn about the floor. She glanced at Harry behind her. "You know, normally I wouldn't accompany you lads to a low-risk raid such as this, but-"
"Yes, we know," Sean Branwen, Harry's fellow Auror, grumbled loudly in his strong Irish accent. "Yeh've heard rumours that 'Alecto's house could store an enormous selection of Dark Arts-related literature and instructional books.' See? I've got it memorized. So, I'm sure, does," and at this point he raised his voice a great level, "EV'RYBODY ELSE."
Bridget blushed a bright red, right up to the roots of her dark brown hair. "Hey... don't give me lip, I could fire you."
Sean rapidly shook his hands. "Oh, I'm shaking in me shoes!!"
Bridget coughed loudly, while the rest held back a snigger. "Come on, let's get to work. Johnson, Bones, you get the bedroom. Turpin and I will take this room here, while Potter and Branwen take the study. Remember, everything even remotely suspicious must be handled with your dragon-hide gloves, and must be deposited in the dragon-hide satchels you've brought with you. The usual layer of protective anti-magic surrounding these satchels has been magnified, just in case." There was a pause, with all eyes on Bridget. She looked around at all her charges. "Well? Hop to it! Oh, Potter, stay here for a minute. Branwen, you go ahead."
Harry looked curiously at Sean, who simply shrugged and dashed away to Alecto's study. Bridget approached Harry, but couldn't help shuddering slightly at the sight of a moldy bologna sandwich on the floor nearby. "Er... Potter," she started, stumbling slightly to arrive at Harry's side, "I wanted to ask you before... is something wrong with Malfoy? He's seemed a little... unfocused in his work recently. You work closely with him; do you know why?"
Harry shook her head dismally. "Sorry Bridget... I mean, Miss Pryderi," he said quickly, "but I really have no idea what's going on with him. Just a little anxious, I suppose... you know, about his son and all. He hasn't seen him in awhile."
Bridget nodded sympathetically. "That's too bad, he's got great potential if only he'd put more heart into his work. But this has been going on for a couple of weeks, and I'm worried the situation will only worsen... while I feel for him, please let him know that if his performance doesn't improve within the next two or three weeks, I'll have to demote him."
Harry nodded, and Bridget clucked her tongue. "All right, get to work then." He turned on his heel and carefully stepped his way towards the end of the hall.
"Sean, found anything yet?" Harry asked as he entered the study. Sean was pulling random books off the shelves and allowing them to topple carelessly down into his open satchel.
"Indeed I have, young Potter. It's nearly a treasure trove of Black Practice books in here, and this room is pretty big. I say, we'll be in here at least two hours."
Harry turned to the nearest bookcase and examined the titles lining the shelves. "The Art of Grovelling... The Unspeakables: Dark Creatures and Where to Find Them... Once in a Lifetime: Illegal Spells - Get Around Getting Life... wow," he gaped, "this Alecto was a real nutter."
Sean laughed. "They din't call him 'Shane the Insane' for nothin', y'know. I'm heading t'wards the back, you keep covering the front," he decided aloud, proceeding towards the back of the enormous room. Harry looked it over, from the dark green ceilings down to the finely carpeted floors. Alecto's house looked tiny from the outside, but, Harry decided, this room probably utilized the same magic as wizard tents so it could be a lot larger inside. It was also, he thought, the cleanest room in the house, without a single pair of underpants or moldy macaroni bit to be seen anywhere. He proceeded to walk slowly along the length of the bookshelf, when suddenly he felt something slam into the back of his head.
"Ouch!" he cried out, louder than he had meant to. At the other end of the room, he could see Sean turn suddenly. "Somethin' wrong, Potter?"
"No... no, I'm fine," Harry replied achingly, rubbing the back of his head. He turned to face the floor, and noticed the source of his pain. A small, hardcover journal lay on the floor near his feet. It appeared to be a normal journal, but, as if in a trance, Harry pulled his gloves off and bent down to retrieve the book. It was bound in aged brown leather, and he spotted a number of shallow rips along the cover. In faded silver letters, he could read the word "Maj'ikus" printed across the top.
He gently ran his thumb along the journal's spine, feeling the soft leather beneath his finger. He could feel something akin to sparks rushing from the book to his hand but barely acknowledged the odd sensation as he stared intently at the cover. He moved his hand along it, in an effort to lift up the cover and read whatever the book held inside...
"Y'alright, Potter?" Harry suddenly snapped back to his senses at the sound of Sean's voice, but couldn't tear his eyes away from the tiny book. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied quickly, shoving the book into his cloak pocket. Investigations as to the purpose of the book would have to wait for later. He opened his satchel and began pulling books off the shelves into it absently, his mind still with the little journal.
***
Draco yawned. "Good morning. Back already?" he asked Harry lazily, who dropped his dragging satchel on his desk.
"Yes. The raid was a success, if you were interested-"
"I wasn't."
"- and also, it's three o'clock in the afternoon."
Draco stretched his arms. "Nothing like a good day's sleep."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure. Anyway, I'm making it your job to bring all these books up to Suzannah for magic disarmament, then down to the Boiler so they can be done away with."
Draco stood up and approached Harry's desk, eyeing the satchel greedily. "Can I get a look at them?" he asked cheerfully, pulling the satchel's top flap open. Harry smacked his hand away.
"No!" he barked angrily. Draco quickly drew his hand back. "Don't put your hands on any of them, even a single connection with the wrong book could kill you."
Draco narrowed his eyes in contempt. "Well, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black. I see that book sticking out of your pocket. Give it here-" Like a flash of lightning, Draco flung his arm forward to snatch the journal out of Harry's pocket. Alarm shot through Harry like a bullet, and he jumped back several feet and out of Draco's grasp.
"Malfoy, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Don't ever try any stunts like that again, or there'll be hell to pay!" Harry's eyes widened like a frightened animal in a cage, and without even realizing it, he found himself nearly screaming. Draco shrunk back slightly, but held an indignant expression.
"Jesus, Potter, keep your hair on."
Harry blinked and squinted, confused. "Wait... what?"
Draco frowned. "Didn't you hear yourself just now?"
"Yeah.... no... I mean, of course I heard myself. I just..." Harry dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his temples, and he furiously wiped them away. Draco eyed him uneasily; Harry's cheeks had suddenly flushed unnaturally red.
"Are you feeling all right, Potter? You don't look so well."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath. He could feel his head swimming horribly. "I think... fever..."
Draco sighed exasperatedly. "Just go back to Godric's Hollow, Potter. I'll take care of everything here."
"Thanks Malfoy, I-"
Draco grinned. "Just get out of here."
He watched Harry leave silently, then pulled the satchel off Harry's desk and slung it over his shoulder. The weight of the large bag began weighing him down, and, curious, he flipped the top of the satchel open and peered inside it. He nearly burst out laughing at the sight of some of the titles- Evil Conspiracies of the Twentieth Century: the Dark Lord, the Ministry of Magic, and Muggle Marketing Executives among them- and began walking towards the office door, still perusing the book titles, but stopped dead at the sight of one. It was a thin, dark blue notebook with fancy black letters penned across its spine: Inner Circle Logbook - Lucius Malfoy. Draco knew exactly what those words meant; he had stumbled across the book countless times while visiting his father in his study. Careful not to touch any other books in the satchel, he nimbly snaked his fingers to tightly grasp the edge of the notebook and pull it out. He caught his breath in his throat as he quickly flipped through the pages and neat, printed letters flew past his eyes. He didn't bother stopping at any particular page until finally he arrived at the last entry. He carefully scanned the page until his eyes met with "October 13, 2003." The words under the date seemed messier than any other entries, as if scribbled in furious haste.
|
October 13,
2003 Received an owl from Draco today, but I have chosen not to report this particular letter to Lord Voldemort. It disturbs me greatly, and I am unsure of the consequences of showing it to the Dark Lord. Although Draco has not stated this outright, I believe he may be experiencing feelings of disloyalty towards the Dark Arts, and perhaps even feelings of sympathy for Harry Potter. Needless to say, I wish to bring Draco home immediately to investigate as to what is truly going on, but that would arouse suspicion in the Dark Lord. When he arrives home for the winter holidays, I will question him. Until then, I will simply wait. |
Draco closed his eyes and gently shut the notebook. The last entry in his father's logbook had been doubts of his son's loyalty to his own family.
No, he shook his head furiously. No, loyalty to the Dark Arts. There is a difference between family and the Dark Arts, although he was next to positive that his father had thought them the same. The idea sent shivers down his spine, that in his last days, Lucius Malfoy had doubted his son's love for him.
And to be honest, Draco himself couldn't be sure of his feelings for his dead father. It was true: he held, and still did hold, a level of respect for his father that bordered on reverence. But if it was the same thing as love... Draco didn't know. Love for family is thinking of them constantly. Love for family is wanting to spend time with them. Love for family is being able to be honest with them, to share feelings and experiences.
Two out of three couldn't possibly be all that bad.
Draco smiled bitterly to himself. Isn't it ironic that the only person with whom he would be willing to share his feelings couldn't stand the sight of him.
***
Harry stood silently in front of the three-storey house at Godric's Hollow. It was a rather thin house, almost gangly in appearance, painted off-white with dark brown accents, although anyone who saw it had to admit that it had a certain degree of charm. It was a perfect reproduction of the house that used to stand in the same spot, before the infamous Voldemort massacre. Sirius and Remus had assisted Harry in drawing up the plans, the construction, and even insisted on taking one room to decorate exactly as Lily and James had decorated it. The sight of the living room, knowing that it was exactly how his parents had wanted it, still brought forward melancholic feelings in Harry.
He slowly crossed the stone pathway up to the door, and, with a turn of an unduplicable key, entered the lonely house. He could still feel the comforting weight of the leather-bound journal in his pockets, but made no attempts to pull it out. Feeling unusually exhausted, he made his way up the stairs to the quiet study and sat alone at the rolltop desk. He looked the desk over, then absently pulled a piece of parchment out of one of the cabinets and, to his future amazement, found himself writing a letter to the last person to whom he had ever expected himself to write a letter.
***
Cho sat in a chair in her room, alone, gazing quietly out the window at the sun setting. She smiled to herself, watching the magnificent colours of the sky bleed into each other.
Although something seemed out of place. She squinted at an odd white speck in the distance. She blinked, then suddenly widened her eyes in shock and yanked the window open.
"Hedwig?"
*
Next Chapter: Harry's letter and Cho's response; what in the heck is Maj'ikus anyway, and what's it doing to Harry?; Draco loses more sleep because of, what else could it possibly be, nightmares. PLUS! A special guest appearance by everyone's favourite not-Malfoy badboy, Sirius Black!
Author's Notes and Clarifications: I think that was something of a success. ^^ I know Malfoy is a little OOC, but reasons for this should be explained within the next one or two chapters, if they haven't been clarified already. If you're curious, explanations for all the names of "made-up" characters (Bridget, Shane Alecto) can be found at Pantheon.org and/or Babynamer.com. And I promise that Malfoy is NOT an alcoholic. He just likes whiskey. A note about the year: most people go with 1992 being the year that the major characters were second years. Maybe it's not as canon-ish as some would like, but I chose to go with the year Goblet of Fire was published (2000) counting backwards (1998) which makes the year Book of Ages takes place in 2009, since that makes more sense in my own mind. And also, it would make Harry and Co. the same age as me; it's nice to have literary characters to grow up with ^_^ If it bothers you all that much though, just change the years around in your mind because it's not all that important.
Never heard of Samhain? It's a Wiccan/Pagan holiday, essentially the same as Halloween. I suppose you can decide for yourself whether witches and wizards actually belong to the magick religion, but either way I felt it would be appropriate if they at least honoured the Pagan customs (it just makes sense ^^'). I purposely left it open to interpretation as to whether or not Ron himself is Wiccan/Pagan; if you like, you can interpret "I should really put out a couple of candles... I think Ron would appreciate it..." as meaning that Ron would appreciate it if Hermione honoured his religion because he himself couldn't be there, OR meaning that Ron would appreciate it if Hermione honoured the religion of his ancestors because he himself couldn't be there. I hope I don't offend any Christians out there, but if you're interested in learning more about Samhain, go to Wicca.com.
Thank you to the original beta readers, Nicole, Leslie, and Alex, and to Whitney and Lana for their help XD You guys are super
Well, that's pretty much it
^_^ Reviews are really, greatly appreciated, as well as suggestions
for stuff you'd like to see... I won't take all requests
to heart, but, well, some things I'm just waiting to be asked
for (Malfoy in leather, anybody?)