A/N: 2nd chapter! BTW, how do you keep chapters in the size/font you put it
in while typing it? Mine keeps coming up as 12 point arial-type stuff.
Argh.
Disclaimer: Everything but the plot is JK Rowling's.
Chapter 2: Snakes and Spells
The fireplace was aglow with light, red-orange flames licking at already ash-white logs. It set a strange glow over the small room, but it was still feeble compared to the riot of color that was afternoon sunlight.
"Nagini...that's it, come over here." The snake complied mutely, body making a slow scrape against the once dusty, now highly polished floorboards. A forked tongue reached out and licked its new master's hand. "Good." Draco Malfoy pushed silvery-blonde hair away from his face. His eyes narrowed at the person standing before him. "I thought I told you to wait until nightfall before coming here. Can't you follow orders?"
"No."
Draco smirked at him. "If you weren't so high ranking in this organization, I'd kill you."
"I know that." The man stepped from the shadows quietly, watching the fire consume the wood. "Why else do you think I worked so hard to get where I am today?"
A mirthless laugh escaped from Draco's lips, dying down as more people silently filed in. "A thirst to prove yourself? You never exactly stood out...for the right reasons, anyway." A nasty smile played across his lips before he spoke again. "What are you waiting for? Get the meeting started."
"Right. Zabini, you're late." The aforementioned person shrank, sure of punishment. "I don't waste my magic on cretins like you. Sit down." He surveyed the rather large group of people before him, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you are all aware of the plan?" A chorus of affirmation ensued. "Good; I didn't want to have to go over it for the umpteenth time." The man pushed up the sleeves of his robe, revealing a garish tattoo. Where the Dark Mark had been on Voldemort's Death Eaters, this new wave of evil witches and wizards had red dragons outlined in black, a tribute to their fallen leader, Lucius Malfoy. He had formerly owned an army of Chinese Fireballs, which had been used in the Voldemort Wars.
The tattoo on this man was now glowing scarlet, clashing horribly with his hair. But that was the least of his worries. "I expect you all to go over your individual roles, as planned by Draco."
"That's Lord Draco to you."
"May I remind you that if you hadn't provided us with monetary support, you would've been executed? I don't want to rehash the details of your near betrayal, Draco, but I assure you that I will if your head needs puncturing." A titter of laughter ran the length of the crowd as Draco shrank back in his chair, glaring daggers at his nemesis.
They had become friends, in a way, but that was due to the fact that they were forced to work in close proximity most of the time; the animosity between them would have made them both spontaneously combust if they continued in that vein. So the hatred was stoppered, but only temporarily. Most of the Neo-Death Eaters (NDE's for short) had already taken sides, and although Draco was the one from the prestigious Dark family, many tended to gravitate towards the newer upstart. After all, who would ever suspect him of siding with the antithesis of everything his family stood for?
"Enough with the jokes, just get on with it."
"Fine. Like I was saying, be ready to act at any time. Practice often-"
"Preferrably with Muggles," interjected Pansy Parkinson. She smiled proudly as another ripple of quiet laughter made its way through the throng, trying valiantly to catch Draco's eye.
"We don't want any dead bodies floating to the newspapers. Avada Kedavra'd people would almost always rise suspicions of Dark activity." He frowned at Pansy before speaking again. "I have something to attend to tonight, so I defer the rest of the meeting to Draco." With that, he disapparated.
A few miles away, inside of a seemingly harmless Muggle van, a soft chorus of high-fives ensued among the huddled group of Aurors. Seamus Finnigan exclaimed, "We only need a month and this'll blow right out into the open."
*********
A brisk knock on the door startled Ron Weasley out of his fitful nap. He scratched his head, red locks scattering in all directions. He swore profusely, straightening his black robes before going to the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming...Oh, hi." Harry and Hermione both stood there, Harry grinning like he was on the verge of telling him some important secret, Hermione looking rather pensive. "Come in, you two."
"Lavender isn't here?" Asked Hermione, waving her wand towards the vertical blinds in the living room. They pulled themselves shut as Harry flicked on the lights.
"I could've done all that myself, you two didn't need to," he protested. Harry shrugged, plopping down on the couch as Ron turned his attention back to Hermione. "She's staying with Parvati for a while."
"Are you on or off now? I can never get it straight." Harry's gentle dig hit a sore spot, but Ron handled it well.
"Off...I think. She's going through a weird phase right now; apparently all women in her family were stay-at-home mothers. I suppose you could call it an advanced stage of the mid-life crisis."
"So she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life? I can relate to that." She looked doubtful as she faced him. "Ron, about that argument the other day..."
"Sorry," he replied shortly. His two best friends wore identical expressions of shock and horror.
"Right then, who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley?" Harry asked.
Ron was busy pouring drinks into some tumblers and didn't answer at first.
Hermione waved her hand in front of his face. "Ron? Are you alright?"
With her eyes focused completely on him, face only inches from his own, Ron felt a lurching in his stomach, as if he had just hurled himself off a skyscraper. She was beautiful in her own right, something he'd been aware of since seventh year, something he'd tried his damndest to deny. She and Harry loved each other, he knew, and he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that. Not when the two of them were so happy.
Hermione obviously realized what he was thinking, pulling away hastily. "So what's for dinner?"
Ron seemed to have gotten his composure together, burying any strange feelings under a cloak of sarcasm, as he always did. "You tell me. I'll cook it this time, the damned smoke detector went haywire last time you tried to cook."
"Very funny, Ron."
Harry chortled at Hermione's look of indignation. "Don't worry, love...I like your cooking, as long as you make plenty and it's edible."
Her eyes narrowed even further. "I don't like what Ron said, but I don't like what you said either."
"Relax, I was only joking about the smoke detector thing," interjected Ron. "But just wait here, I'll get something made." Flashing her a commiserating smile, he dissapeared into the kitchen.
"I can't just sit here idle," called Hermione.
"You two can go into the study," retorted Ron, popping his head out of the kitchen door. A meat cleaver was in his right hand, making him look like the poster boy for the Wigtown Wanderers. "Harry knows where it is."
"Come on, Herm." They walked down the comfotably carpeted hall, Harry smirking at her preplexed expression. "Surprised he has a study? So was I. There's even a mini-library."
Hermione grinned back. "I'm astonished, actually."
The room they entered was a comfortable one; there were squashy sofas that had formerly been stowed in the Weasleys' attic. The three of them used to stay up there on rainy days, sifting through old trunks and talking. There was a small desk with a swivel office chair; a Chudley Cannons team photo, complete with a grinning Ron in coaches' robes, was tacked up behind it. Papers were scattered all over it. An entire wall was full of books, although mostly about Quidditch teams, strategies, positions, etc., there were some on other topics. Hermione scarcely notice Harry moving about, shutting the curtains and flicking on the lights. She walked by a shelf, slender hands running over gold-embossed letters set on worn leather. Suddenly she stopped, hands flying over her mouth to conceal a shriek of glee.
"What is it?" Harry stepped behind her, breath just inches from her ear. It was a comfort, having him as the constant presence he was.
She carefully pulled the book out; it was stuffed between an archaic copy of 'The Cannons Shall Conquer' and '101 Curses to Use Against Wayward Referees', handing it to him.
He glanced down at the cover. Faded, old-english style letters spelled out Hogwarts, A History. Turning it onto its spine, he could see "first edition" printed clearly on it.
"I know we're already out of school," she said eagerly, "but it would be fascinating to read, especially Chapters 65 and 67. The views of the four houses concerning Wizard-Muggle relations must be drastically different..."
Harry bit back a sigh as she went off on a random tangent, not even aware that he was tuning her out. This obsession with all things literary irked him, but he didn't say anything about it for fear of being told off. He disliked arguing with Hermione very much, since at times she could be as stubborn as Ron. He never understood why they argued so much and so often despite countless years of being best friends. His thoughts were interrupted as Hermione exclaimed,
"...Do you think he'd mind?"
"Er...what?" He scratched his head, confused.
She rolled her eyes. "Do you think he'd mind if I borrowed it?"
"Borrowed what?" They both turned around, watching a plate of food settle down on the coffee table set in the middle of the room.
"Did that plate just talk?" Harry quipped. "I swear it sounded exactly like Ron."
"Oh, yeah...I transfigured myself into a tray of food. Right." The real Ron followed the stuff. "That joke was..."
"Fantastic? Amazing? Hilarious?"
"Horrible."
Hermione snorted with laughter. "Harry, leave the jokes to Ron and the twins; you're not made for slapstick, juvenile comedy."
"Juvenile? I consider my wit a fine art, thank you very much."
"Lord help us all," she said dryly.
"Let's see..." Ron assumed an exaggerated pose reminiscent of the Thinker sculpture, sitting down on one of the couches. "You claim to be an agnostic Darwinist, yet still use 'Lord' in your gripes?"
"It's a figure of speech," she said, exasperated.
He rolled his eyes. "There's something called sarcasm. You just try it sometime."
"Okay, okay, enough picking on my fiancee." Harry interrupted. "Besides," he grinned at the aforementioned woman, "I'm rather hungry."
"I'm the equivalent to food to you?"
"No, no, of course not," he replied.
Ron, watching the two of them, couldn't help but wonder. If they didn't watch out, they could become the Nagging Wife and Henpecked Husband. A bit like his own family, if he thought about it. He knew that if it were him talking to Hermione like that, he wouldn't quail against her impending anger. Hell, he was more than used to it, after spending seven years in almost constant close proximity.
To him, she was much better than anything, even food. And that was saying a lot for him. "Er...what were you saying earlier...me not minding about something?"
Her entire face lit up, and she took the book from Harry's hands, coming close to Ron again. "I just wanted to borrow this."
"Ah, 'Hogwarts, a History.' Thought it was something on Quidditch; I'm disappointed." He grinned at her again, and Hermione felt the queerest thump in her chest. She shook it off stubbornly, focusing on Harry's back as he stood, scanning book titles.
"Would you mind if I kept it for a bit? I'd really love to read it." Her brown eyes were sparkling and she was biting her lower lip a little. Ron felt almost faint as he looked at her face; she looked hopeful, almost glowing in anticipation. She looked more excited about a bloody BOOK than she had even been about him.
"Well...you can keep it, if you like."
Harry whirled around.
Hermione's jaw dropped open. "You're not serious? Ron, this is the first edition! Do you know how much you could sell this for?"
He shrugged. "It's not like I'm ever going to read it...I found them in the attic at the Burrow, stowed away in a corner we never really got to. I'd rather see you have it than some rich scum that doesn't appreciate it's value. Go on."
She looked from him, to the book, and back to him again. "Oh, Ron!"
It was almost like the time she had hugged him in third year, he thought faintly, catching her as she fell against his arms. Only this time he didn't just pat her head and move away, embarrased. The feel of her arms twined around his neck, the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin, the heat of her body soaking through her clothes and into his...they were all things he had never experienced in this context. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the stolen moment.
He opened them again to find Harry watching them with an odd expression, one he had been seeing on his best friend's face at various times. He let Hermione pull away, confusion written all over her face. She crossed the room hastily, perching next to her fiancee, ever the dutiful lover.
The silence between the three of them was thick and heavy, but no one made any move to speak.
A/N: I know it ended in a weird spot. Sorry...I only got two reviews for the last chapter =(. Is this a way of telling me to update my other stories? Or just an allergic reaction to the H/H-centric first chapter? Please review!!!
Disclaimer: Everything but the plot is JK Rowling's.
Chapter 2: Snakes and Spells
The fireplace was aglow with light, red-orange flames licking at already ash-white logs. It set a strange glow over the small room, but it was still feeble compared to the riot of color that was afternoon sunlight.
"Nagini...that's it, come over here." The snake complied mutely, body making a slow scrape against the once dusty, now highly polished floorboards. A forked tongue reached out and licked its new master's hand. "Good." Draco Malfoy pushed silvery-blonde hair away from his face. His eyes narrowed at the person standing before him. "I thought I told you to wait until nightfall before coming here. Can't you follow orders?"
"No."
Draco smirked at him. "If you weren't so high ranking in this organization, I'd kill you."
"I know that." The man stepped from the shadows quietly, watching the fire consume the wood. "Why else do you think I worked so hard to get where I am today?"
A mirthless laugh escaped from Draco's lips, dying down as more people silently filed in. "A thirst to prove yourself? You never exactly stood out...for the right reasons, anyway." A nasty smile played across his lips before he spoke again. "What are you waiting for? Get the meeting started."
"Right. Zabini, you're late." The aforementioned person shrank, sure of punishment. "I don't waste my magic on cretins like you. Sit down." He surveyed the rather large group of people before him, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you are all aware of the plan?" A chorus of affirmation ensued. "Good; I didn't want to have to go over it for the umpteenth time." The man pushed up the sleeves of his robe, revealing a garish tattoo. Where the Dark Mark had been on Voldemort's Death Eaters, this new wave of evil witches and wizards had red dragons outlined in black, a tribute to their fallen leader, Lucius Malfoy. He had formerly owned an army of Chinese Fireballs, which had been used in the Voldemort Wars.
The tattoo on this man was now glowing scarlet, clashing horribly with his hair. But that was the least of his worries. "I expect you all to go over your individual roles, as planned by Draco."
"That's Lord Draco to you."
"May I remind you that if you hadn't provided us with monetary support, you would've been executed? I don't want to rehash the details of your near betrayal, Draco, but I assure you that I will if your head needs puncturing." A titter of laughter ran the length of the crowd as Draco shrank back in his chair, glaring daggers at his nemesis.
They had become friends, in a way, but that was due to the fact that they were forced to work in close proximity most of the time; the animosity between them would have made them both spontaneously combust if they continued in that vein. So the hatred was stoppered, but only temporarily. Most of the Neo-Death Eaters (NDE's for short) had already taken sides, and although Draco was the one from the prestigious Dark family, many tended to gravitate towards the newer upstart. After all, who would ever suspect him of siding with the antithesis of everything his family stood for?
"Enough with the jokes, just get on with it."
"Fine. Like I was saying, be ready to act at any time. Practice often-"
"Preferrably with Muggles," interjected Pansy Parkinson. She smiled proudly as another ripple of quiet laughter made its way through the throng, trying valiantly to catch Draco's eye.
"We don't want any dead bodies floating to the newspapers. Avada Kedavra'd people would almost always rise suspicions of Dark activity." He frowned at Pansy before speaking again. "I have something to attend to tonight, so I defer the rest of the meeting to Draco." With that, he disapparated.
A few miles away, inside of a seemingly harmless Muggle van, a soft chorus of high-fives ensued among the huddled group of Aurors. Seamus Finnigan exclaimed, "We only need a month and this'll blow right out into the open."
*********
A brisk knock on the door startled Ron Weasley out of his fitful nap. He scratched his head, red locks scattering in all directions. He swore profusely, straightening his black robes before going to the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming...Oh, hi." Harry and Hermione both stood there, Harry grinning like he was on the verge of telling him some important secret, Hermione looking rather pensive. "Come in, you two."
"Lavender isn't here?" Asked Hermione, waving her wand towards the vertical blinds in the living room. They pulled themselves shut as Harry flicked on the lights.
"I could've done all that myself, you two didn't need to," he protested. Harry shrugged, plopping down on the couch as Ron turned his attention back to Hermione. "She's staying with Parvati for a while."
"Are you on or off now? I can never get it straight." Harry's gentle dig hit a sore spot, but Ron handled it well.
"Off...I think. She's going through a weird phase right now; apparently all women in her family were stay-at-home mothers. I suppose you could call it an advanced stage of the mid-life crisis."
"So she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life? I can relate to that." She looked doubtful as she faced him. "Ron, about that argument the other day..."
"Sorry," he replied shortly. His two best friends wore identical expressions of shock and horror.
"Right then, who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley?" Harry asked.
Ron was busy pouring drinks into some tumblers and didn't answer at first.
Hermione waved her hand in front of his face. "Ron? Are you alright?"
With her eyes focused completely on him, face only inches from his own, Ron felt a lurching in his stomach, as if he had just hurled himself off a skyscraper. She was beautiful in her own right, something he'd been aware of since seventh year, something he'd tried his damndest to deny. She and Harry loved each other, he knew, and he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that. Not when the two of them were so happy.
Hermione obviously realized what he was thinking, pulling away hastily. "So what's for dinner?"
Ron seemed to have gotten his composure together, burying any strange feelings under a cloak of sarcasm, as he always did. "You tell me. I'll cook it this time, the damned smoke detector went haywire last time you tried to cook."
"Very funny, Ron."
Harry chortled at Hermione's look of indignation. "Don't worry, love...I like your cooking, as long as you make plenty and it's edible."
Her eyes narrowed even further. "I don't like what Ron said, but I don't like what you said either."
"Relax, I was only joking about the smoke detector thing," interjected Ron. "But just wait here, I'll get something made." Flashing her a commiserating smile, he dissapeared into the kitchen.
"I can't just sit here idle," called Hermione.
"You two can go into the study," retorted Ron, popping his head out of the kitchen door. A meat cleaver was in his right hand, making him look like the poster boy for the Wigtown Wanderers. "Harry knows where it is."
"Come on, Herm." They walked down the comfotably carpeted hall, Harry smirking at her preplexed expression. "Surprised he has a study? So was I. There's even a mini-library."
Hermione grinned back. "I'm astonished, actually."
The room they entered was a comfortable one; there were squashy sofas that had formerly been stowed in the Weasleys' attic. The three of them used to stay up there on rainy days, sifting through old trunks and talking. There was a small desk with a swivel office chair; a Chudley Cannons team photo, complete with a grinning Ron in coaches' robes, was tacked up behind it. Papers were scattered all over it. An entire wall was full of books, although mostly about Quidditch teams, strategies, positions, etc., there were some on other topics. Hermione scarcely notice Harry moving about, shutting the curtains and flicking on the lights. She walked by a shelf, slender hands running over gold-embossed letters set on worn leather. Suddenly she stopped, hands flying over her mouth to conceal a shriek of glee.
"What is it?" Harry stepped behind her, breath just inches from her ear. It was a comfort, having him as the constant presence he was.
She carefully pulled the book out; it was stuffed between an archaic copy of 'The Cannons Shall Conquer' and '101 Curses to Use Against Wayward Referees', handing it to him.
He glanced down at the cover. Faded, old-english style letters spelled out Hogwarts, A History. Turning it onto its spine, he could see "first edition" printed clearly on it.
"I know we're already out of school," she said eagerly, "but it would be fascinating to read, especially Chapters 65 and 67. The views of the four houses concerning Wizard-Muggle relations must be drastically different..."
Harry bit back a sigh as she went off on a random tangent, not even aware that he was tuning her out. This obsession with all things literary irked him, but he didn't say anything about it for fear of being told off. He disliked arguing with Hermione very much, since at times she could be as stubborn as Ron. He never understood why they argued so much and so often despite countless years of being best friends. His thoughts were interrupted as Hermione exclaimed,
"...Do you think he'd mind?"
"Er...what?" He scratched his head, confused.
She rolled her eyes. "Do you think he'd mind if I borrowed it?"
"Borrowed what?" They both turned around, watching a plate of food settle down on the coffee table set in the middle of the room.
"Did that plate just talk?" Harry quipped. "I swear it sounded exactly like Ron."
"Oh, yeah...I transfigured myself into a tray of food. Right." The real Ron followed the stuff. "That joke was..."
"Fantastic? Amazing? Hilarious?"
"Horrible."
Hermione snorted with laughter. "Harry, leave the jokes to Ron and the twins; you're not made for slapstick, juvenile comedy."
"Juvenile? I consider my wit a fine art, thank you very much."
"Lord help us all," she said dryly.
"Let's see..." Ron assumed an exaggerated pose reminiscent of the Thinker sculpture, sitting down on one of the couches. "You claim to be an agnostic Darwinist, yet still use 'Lord' in your gripes?"
"It's a figure of speech," she said, exasperated.
He rolled his eyes. "There's something called sarcasm. You just try it sometime."
"Okay, okay, enough picking on my fiancee." Harry interrupted. "Besides," he grinned at the aforementioned woman, "I'm rather hungry."
"I'm the equivalent to food to you?"
"No, no, of course not," he replied.
Ron, watching the two of them, couldn't help but wonder. If they didn't watch out, they could become the Nagging Wife and Henpecked Husband. A bit like his own family, if he thought about it. He knew that if it were him talking to Hermione like that, he wouldn't quail against her impending anger. Hell, he was more than used to it, after spending seven years in almost constant close proximity.
To him, she was much better than anything, even food. And that was saying a lot for him. "Er...what were you saying earlier...me not minding about something?"
Her entire face lit up, and she took the book from Harry's hands, coming close to Ron again. "I just wanted to borrow this."
"Ah, 'Hogwarts, a History.' Thought it was something on Quidditch; I'm disappointed." He grinned at her again, and Hermione felt the queerest thump in her chest. She shook it off stubbornly, focusing on Harry's back as he stood, scanning book titles.
"Would you mind if I kept it for a bit? I'd really love to read it." Her brown eyes were sparkling and she was biting her lower lip a little. Ron felt almost faint as he looked at her face; she looked hopeful, almost glowing in anticipation. She looked more excited about a bloody BOOK than she had even been about him.
"Well...you can keep it, if you like."
Harry whirled around.
Hermione's jaw dropped open. "You're not serious? Ron, this is the first edition! Do you know how much you could sell this for?"
He shrugged. "It's not like I'm ever going to read it...I found them in the attic at the Burrow, stowed away in a corner we never really got to. I'd rather see you have it than some rich scum that doesn't appreciate it's value. Go on."
She looked from him, to the book, and back to him again. "Oh, Ron!"
It was almost like the time she had hugged him in third year, he thought faintly, catching her as she fell against his arms. Only this time he didn't just pat her head and move away, embarrased. The feel of her arms twined around his neck, the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin, the heat of her body soaking through her clothes and into his...they were all things he had never experienced in this context. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the stolen moment.
He opened them again to find Harry watching them with an odd expression, one he had been seeing on his best friend's face at various times. He let Hermione pull away, confusion written all over her face. She crossed the room hastily, perching next to her fiancee, ever the dutiful lover.
The silence between the three of them was thick and heavy, but no one made any move to speak.
A/N: I know it ended in a weird spot. Sorry...I only got two reviews for the last chapter =(. Is this a way of telling me to update my other stories? Or just an allergic reaction to the H/H-centric first chapter? Please review!!!