A/N: Ahhh, sorry it's been forever. I was waiting for 61 reviews, and as
soon as I got it I was sidetracked by vacation. I feel so bad that it's
only ten minutes since I've gotten home and I'm starting.
Forgive me, and I'm still so amazed at the response I got for this story. I'll try to keep it funny and full of Draco's sadistic, amusing thoughts. Love you, thanks for the patience.
Oh, and pronounce "Farrah" like so: FAIR-uh.
Neiman=NAY-min.
(The rest should be obvious.)
Disclaimer: Sorry, here is the chapter—unfortunately, only the idea is mine, the rest is JK's.
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I was almost hesitant to unfreeze Ron and Harry and finish the "bonding session" I was having with Hermione. But, all good and strange things must come to an end and Hermione used her superior magic skills to wake up only Ron and Harry from the spell.
We stood, waiting for a reaction. They didn't move. "Hermione," I whispered nervously, nudging her in the side, "are you sure that you did this right? They're not moving."
"So I noticed," she hissed, equally under her breath.
"Do something."
"Like what?" she snapped, eyeing Ron and Harry's still bodies suspiciously.
"I don't know." I let my eyes wander around the room. They settled on a long, sleek wire from Harry's broomstick kit. It was used for filing the wood or something or other; I had never paid much attention to anything Harry had said. "Perfect," I exclaimed with a plotting smile lining my face. I picked up the metal stick and ran my bare fingers along it. It was cold to touch, like ice.
"Here," I said, thrusting it in Hermione's direction. She took a step back, unwilling to take it from me. Instead, I received a "What-is-wrong- with-this-kid?" look.
"Why do I need a Broom Musker?" asked Hermione. So that was what that thing was called. "I don't think Ron or Harry need to have a shiny coat on their wooden bodies."
"Poke him."
"WHAT!?"
"I said, 'Poke him'."
"You're mad!" she said, but Hermione took the Broom Musker. I watched her, in great detail, as she studied the long, smooth object and held it out tentatively in Harry's direction (he was closest). Hermione turned to me one final time. "You really are." And she drew closer to Harry, the Broom Musker getting closer and closer to him until it was only an inch… only a centimeter… only a…
"—some clothes on, come on guys! Lets—Hermione? What's going on?"
Hermione and I screamed as Harry snapped to life. He was bewildered, and rightfully so. The last thing the Boy-Who-Lived had known, he had caught Neville and Pansy in bed together. I shudder, just thinking of it. Note the shoulders making a shuddering motion.
"What in the blazes…? You froze everyone!" That was Ron. He had now gained motion as well. He and Harry were causing quite the ruckus, whereas Hermione and I sat quietly on the edge of Neville's (and Pansy's—shudder) bed, waiting for them to calm down. And they did. Until Ron pointed out that his lips tasted like cherry and Harry took a close look at Ron's face, that is.
A race to find a mirror ensued, and Hermione finally held up the compact one that she had brought in. Everyone held his breath as Ron flung the mirror in front of his face. It was quiet. "Hermione," Ron said calmly, "did you do this?"
Hermione took a deep, solemn breath. "Yes."
"And Draco?" Ron continued.
I nodded. "Uh huh."
"Well then," Ron said. "Will someone please tell me why I am covered in makeup before I hurt someone!?"
His voice rose and cracked while he spoke. What a time to go through puberty. "Easy there, Ron," Hermione soothed. "Draco has his reasons for having stopped time. Just listen."
"And I imagine he has his reasons for the makeup too? And did you just call him Draco?"
"No," Hermione said curtly.
"Of course not," said I.
"You must be mistaken."
"But I'm quite sure—"
"You must be hearing things," Hermione cut in, moving along. "Now, let Draco talk."
I faced dry expressions as I explained to them my predicament with the whole "I'm-going-to-die-because-I'm-not-quite-evil-but-that-doesn't- mean-I'm-nice-so-keep-your-pants-on" story. They sat quietly, and I admired that they were willing to hear me out. Hermione seemed to beam that she had heard this before; Mione was always one to vie to be on top of everything and in the know.
"How long were we frozen? What time is it?" Ron asked to break the awkward silence that had followed my story.
I groaned but grudgingly checked my watch. "2:10. Thanks a lot."
"For what?"
"Nothing, Weasley." My foul mood was growing worse and it didn't help that stupid, unnecessary questions were being asked. "Let's just go."
"Pardon me, Your Highness, but 'let's just go' where?" Everything Ron said dripped with sarcasm. It was too annoying.
"Yeah, Draco," Harry chimed in. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
An internal debate thus began in my head. Oh, I had ideas about what I had to do. I knew exactly what I should do, anyway. But it had never crossed my mind that Harry and Ron would be on it too. If I was going to be like a martyr, I sure as hell didn't want them getting the glory too but able to live. Nuh uh. Things just didn't work that way with me.
But… I couldn't exactly shake them now. Hermione would disapprove, and there was no way I was leaving her behind. She was my first love and, judging by the fact that I was to die in less than twenty-two hours, chances were that she'd be my only love.
Why did I love Hermione Granger? May wonders never cease. For my defense, my father didn't like her. Isn't that reason enough for a teenage boy to ogle over a girl? But I'd be lying if I said that I loved her for being a curse word in my household. Hermione had life. Life, living, breathing, loving, laughing… something I'd never had. She had zest, zeal, friends, adventure, and spirit. Which were all things that had been excised of me as a child. I had to admire her internal beauty—but let me tell you, she wasn't hard on the eyes at all. I am a teenager, after all, cut me a break.
Anyway, it was too late to change my mind now. Harry and Ron were in on it, for better or for worse. By the looks of it, for worse. Did I mention that Hermione had a radiant glow to her? Okay. Just checking.
I cleared my throat. "We're going to the Mansion."
Hermione made a face. "Why do we have to go to your house, Dra—Malfoy? I thought that you wanted to do right today, not bring us into the favorite hangout of your Death Eater friends."
On impulse, I whipped out my wand and made a move to shove her against the wall. I stopped myself before I laid a hand on Hermione; everyone stared at me, blinking. Blinking hard. Blinking at the maniac that was about to strike a girl with his wand. Strike a girl with a stick, like a Muggle would. I made my voice low, trying to threaten although clearly I was not in an intimidating mood. "Listen, Granger, I'm not a Death Eater. I told you that. Get over it."
She straightened her blouse and sighed disgustedly, but remained meekly quiet as I spoke. "Now, we're going to the Mansion. Anyone have any problems?"
They shook their heads in unison. I chuckled. "Weasley?"
"Yeah?"
"You might want to take that stuff off now. I have a feeling some of Father's friends might try to hit on you, looking like that." Ron scowled and performed a purifying spell; the sad part was that I was not kidding. Not in the last bit. More shuddering.
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I bet that you've read over and over that the path to my house is full of trickery and subterfuge. Well, it's not. Unless, of course, you consider walking on a pebble path, climbing over a gate, and knocking on a door deception.
Unfortunately, that's the way it would be if I wasn't traveling with Harry Potter. My father and his band of Death Eaters. We could only travel by Apparition up until a mile away from my house, because any closer and my father would track us.
We landed at 2:30 in the woods by my tree house as a kid. I used to love that thing. I'd climb it every day with Farrah Young and Hugh McGregor when we were children. Now, of course, Farrah was an exclusive Death Eater prostitute at eighteen-years-old and Hugh was paralyzed from the waist down from one of Voldemort's plans gone wrong. That's what I get for making friends with the children of my father's cronies—Death Eaters.
"What is that crude thing?" Ron asked as he peered up into an old oak tree.
"That," I replied tartly, "is my tree house."
Hermione snorted.
"What?"
"You don't seem like the type to have buddies sleep over in a tree house and eat pizza all night long."
I gave Hermione a blank stare. "We made hit lists." That shut her up.
"Ow!" Harry complained, swatting at his leg. "I just got bit by a mosquito!"
I almost laughed out loud. Harry could handle the Dark Lord, but not a mosquito? This one was going down in the journal. Er, not that I kept a journal or anything… more like a log… moving right along…
"Draco, which way to the Mansion?" As usual, Hermione was the voice of reason.
"There we go again, I heard 'Draco'!"
"No you didn't," said Hermione.
"Not at all," I agreed.
"But I think—" Harry wore a confused face.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
By this time Hermione and I had started to laugh. I needed not to get distracted; I don't think the other three realized how important what we were going to do really was. Then again, they didn't even know what we were going to do in the first place. How I pitied their ignorance.
The counselor had taught me to calm myself down. So I did.
10…
9…
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…
Okay, so it's cliché, but it works for me. I opened my eyes and gasped. "Farrah?"
I jumped over a mossy log and knelt down to where the battered body lay. I heard the crunch of leaves as Ron, Harry, and Hermione followed and crouched beside me. "Who is that?" Hermione whispered, and quickly added, "I'm not poking her!"
I knew who it was without rolling her over, which I did. Her nose was broken and bleeding; her eyes bloodshot and swollen; her body covered with bruises and marks; and her clothes were as dirty and matted as her usually long blonde hair. "That," I announced as the chills took over my body, "is Farrah Young."
If I had hoped for a dramatic, sitcom-ish reaction, then I had been let down. Ron bluntly said, "So?"
I shoved him over from where he knelt and he tumbled onto his side. "So, I know her. And she's in trouble."
"You know her?" Hermione's eyes were narrowed.
"What, jealous?" I mocked sourly. "Harry, help me get 'er up."
Harry nodded glumly and we hoisted her up into a sitting position against a tree. Her head rolled back, and I pushed it back up. She opened it to talk, but almost collapsed again.
"She smells horrid," Harry stated, but he didn't seem to be complaining.
"That's alcohol, Harry," I smirked as I pulled a few pasty strands of hair out of her face. "One day you'll learn all about it."
"I know what al-key-doll is!" Harry insisted furiously. Was it a bad sign that I was too weary to poke fun at him?
"Fine," I replied. "Now shutup."
Farrah made a croaking sound. It hurt to see her face. Last time we had met, I had been eleven, she had been twelve. Her long hair had been tied in a neat braid down the spine of her back, laying on the velvet cloth of her forest green Christmas dress. I remember how she had sung "Silent Night." That was pre-harlot Farrah.
Now, she wore what seemed to be a man's dirtied overshirt, and nothing else at all. Her legs and arms were stained with dirt and blood. Her face was covered with smeared makeup and more blood. Yes, more blood. I will not shudder again.
"Draco," Harry whispered, "what happened?"
"I'm supposing that she was raped."
Harry's mouth formed an "O." Poor, naïve git. I almost pitied him.
"That's awful," Hermione murmured.
"Help me."
"What, Mione?"
"That wasn't me, that was Tara!"
"Farrah," I corrected through gritted teeth.
"Help," Farrah repeated.
"I can't do any spells," I admitted sheepishly. "My father will track us if magic is used."
"Do you want your friend to die?" Harry said harshly. My stomach sank.
"Fine," I muttered. "Hermione, you're training to be a Healer, right?"
"Right," she said, and we stood back to let her do her thing.
I waited until Hermione stepped back, and there was Farrah. She was clothed in rich robes and fresh-faced. She looked up groggily at me. "Who are you? I know you, don't I?"
Again, Hermione snorted and I tossed her a dirty look. Then I edged my way back to Farrah. "Yes. It's me. Draco."
She smiled weakly. "Draco Adrian Malfoy-Neiman," she whispered. I flinched at the sound of my full name (Neiman was my mother's maiden name). "It's Farrah. Farrah Young, do you remember me?"
"Of course I do," I replied, trying to requite the smile. "Are you okay, Farrah?"
"Now," she said, and suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Draco!" she shrieked.
"Shh, calm down. I'm here."
"No, no listen!" She threw her hand to my mouth in an effort to silence me. "It's bad! In there, it's bad!"
"Farrah, I know. Shh, I know."
"You don't! Draco, HELL!"
"HELL?" I repeated back, suddenly very, very scared.
"Dirty mouth she has, doesn't she," Hermione muttered. Ron snickered. Harry shrugged.
"Hell is a code," I told them, watching my hands shake. "It's an acronym."
"What for?" said Hermione curiously.
"He Envisions Local Land."
"Um…" Ron wagged his eyebrows skeptically.
Only Harry seemed to catch on. "Does it mean…?"
"Yes. It's worse than I thought. The plan's in a much farther place than I thought that it would be at this point."
"Plan?" Hermione was confused, and I couldn't blame her.
"Mione," Harry said, "I think that what Draco is trying to say… is that Voldemort is here."
For the umpteenth time that night, Hermione was silenced. She shrank against the trunk of a tree and sank to the ground, nearby where Farrah sat. "Farrah?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have your grounds pass?" I asked her urgently.
She reached for where the man's shirt was strewn beside her. Out of the chest pocket she pulled a rectangle card. "Yes. Right here. But don't you?"
"Yes," I said, tapping my foot impatiently, "but I can't use it. I need you to use your card to cut the dimension and get into the Mansion. Then, disable the apparition tracker gizmo, okay?"
"Draco, she's in no state to do this!" Hermione protested.
"Look, they're on their way." I felt like I was in a soap opera. "They tracked the magic by now and I'm sure that they're coming. Farrah can use the card as a portkey, as it's deigned to do, to get in and flick just one green button. It's the only choice we have."
The secret object of my affections nodded. "I guess so," she admitted. I loved it when I won. Victory was mine. For the second, anyway. "Farrah, can you?"
"Yes!" She seemed eager to do something. She seemed to have little trouble getting up; I steadied her and she nodded at me to release her. "Stand back," she warned. I motioned to Harry, Hermione, and Ron to follow me behind the log I had jumped over. We peered over from our location on the hard ground.
Farrah took a deep, shaky breath and then flung the card into the air. Everything around her but her herself was blown away with the force of the whirlwind created. An unmaterialistic door appeared. It was clear, but visible. A voice spoke.
"STATE YOUR NAME!" It bellowed over the wind.
Farrah screamed back what must have been "Farrah Jane Young" but I couldn't hear. The door sucked her in and, after a moment, sucked itself in.
We stood up, dusting ourselves off. "Did that just happen?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Damn!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed.
"Who has the dirty mouth now, Her—uh, Granger?" I laughed.
"No, damn!"
"Yeah, we heard you," Ron chuckled. "What? Break a nail?"
"No! Draco's initials! Draco Adrian Malfoy-Neiman. They're an acronym, too. Damn."
I blushed and then scowled. As if no one had ever pointed that out before.
"Gez, Malfoy," Harry grinned. "You people are weird. Hell and Damn. Great acronyms you got there."
"Yeah well… Hermione Anne Granger! HAG! Ha, so there!" I felt proud.
Hermione was seemingly pissed. "You're so immature, Malfoy!" she wailed. She sounded like she was on the brink of tears as she turned away.
"Yeah, Malfoy," Ron agreed as he shot me a glare. Harry seemed to think the same.
"What!?" I sighed as I flailed my arms up and let them fall. "Were you guys not just mocking me? Did I miss something?" Something was wrong. It was a weird life I lived.
A weird life I lived at 3 a.m. in the morning. Damn. And this time I'm not talking about my initials.
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A/N: Thanks for my reviews! I don't have time to thank everyone tonight, my sibling is demanding the computer. So, I thought, I could post now and put em up later, or just not post at all until tomorrow. That's what I thought. Here's your chapter, and I'm hoping for at least 90 reviews total? Gracias! If I get 100, I'll find some weird bonus thing, I dunno, like a story preview or w/e. But I'll think of something.
THANKS!!!
3, Escritora the Late Poster Who is Incredibly Sorry for the Inconvenience
Forgive me, and I'm still so amazed at the response I got for this story. I'll try to keep it funny and full of Draco's sadistic, amusing thoughts. Love you, thanks for the patience.
Oh, and pronounce "Farrah" like so: FAIR-uh.
Neiman=NAY-min.
(The rest should be obvious.)
Disclaimer: Sorry, here is the chapter—unfortunately, only the idea is mine, the rest is JK's.
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I was almost hesitant to unfreeze Ron and Harry and finish the "bonding session" I was having with Hermione. But, all good and strange things must come to an end and Hermione used her superior magic skills to wake up only Ron and Harry from the spell.
We stood, waiting for a reaction. They didn't move. "Hermione," I whispered nervously, nudging her in the side, "are you sure that you did this right? They're not moving."
"So I noticed," she hissed, equally under her breath.
"Do something."
"Like what?" she snapped, eyeing Ron and Harry's still bodies suspiciously.
"I don't know." I let my eyes wander around the room. They settled on a long, sleek wire from Harry's broomstick kit. It was used for filing the wood or something or other; I had never paid much attention to anything Harry had said. "Perfect," I exclaimed with a plotting smile lining my face. I picked up the metal stick and ran my bare fingers along it. It was cold to touch, like ice.
"Here," I said, thrusting it in Hermione's direction. She took a step back, unwilling to take it from me. Instead, I received a "What-is-wrong- with-this-kid?" look.
"Why do I need a Broom Musker?" asked Hermione. So that was what that thing was called. "I don't think Ron or Harry need to have a shiny coat on their wooden bodies."
"Poke him."
"WHAT!?"
"I said, 'Poke him'."
"You're mad!" she said, but Hermione took the Broom Musker. I watched her, in great detail, as she studied the long, smooth object and held it out tentatively in Harry's direction (he was closest). Hermione turned to me one final time. "You really are." And she drew closer to Harry, the Broom Musker getting closer and closer to him until it was only an inch… only a centimeter… only a…
"—some clothes on, come on guys! Lets—Hermione? What's going on?"
Hermione and I screamed as Harry snapped to life. He was bewildered, and rightfully so. The last thing the Boy-Who-Lived had known, he had caught Neville and Pansy in bed together. I shudder, just thinking of it. Note the shoulders making a shuddering motion.
"What in the blazes…? You froze everyone!" That was Ron. He had now gained motion as well. He and Harry were causing quite the ruckus, whereas Hermione and I sat quietly on the edge of Neville's (and Pansy's—shudder) bed, waiting for them to calm down. And they did. Until Ron pointed out that his lips tasted like cherry and Harry took a close look at Ron's face, that is.
A race to find a mirror ensued, and Hermione finally held up the compact one that she had brought in. Everyone held his breath as Ron flung the mirror in front of his face. It was quiet. "Hermione," Ron said calmly, "did you do this?"
Hermione took a deep, solemn breath. "Yes."
"And Draco?" Ron continued.
I nodded. "Uh huh."
"Well then," Ron said. "Will someone please tell me why I am covered in makeup before I hurt someone!?"
His voice rose and cracked while he spoke. What a time to go through puberty. "Easy there, Ron," Hermione soothed. "Draco has his reasons for having stopped time. Just listen."
"And I imagine he has his reasons for the makeup too? And did you just call him Draco?"
"No," Hermione said curtly.
"Of course not," said I.
"You must be mistaken."
"But I'm quite sure—"
"You must be hearing things," Hermione cut in, moving along. "Now, let Draco talk."
I faced dry expressions as I explained to them my predicament with the whole "I'm-going-to-die-because-I'm-not-quite-evil-but-that-doesn't- mean-I'm-nice-so-keep-your-pants-on" story. They sat quietly, and I admired that they were willing to hear me out. Hermione seemed to beam that she had heard this before; Mione was always one to vie to be on top of everything and in the know.
"How long were we frozen? What time is it?" Ron asked to break the awkward silence that had followed my story.
I groaned but grudgingly checked my watch. "2:10. Thanks a lot."
"For what?"
"Nothing, Weasley." My foul mood was growing worse and it didn't help that stupid, unnecessary questions were being asked. "Let's just go."
"Pardon me, Your Highness, but 'let's just go' where?" Everything Ron said dripped with sarcasm. It was too annoying.
"Yeah, Draco," Harry chimed in. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
An internal debate thus began in my head. Oh, I had ideas about what I had to do. I knew exactly what I should do, anyway. But it had never crossed my mind that Harry and Ron would be on it too. If I was going to be like a martyr, I sure as hell didn't want them getting the glory too but able to live. Nuh uh. Things just didn't work that way with me.
But… I couldn't exactly shake them now. Hermione would disapprove, and there was no way I was leaving her behind. She was my first love and, judging by the fact that I was to die in less than twenty-two hours, chances were that she'd be my only love.
Why did I love Hermione Granger? May wonders never cease. For my defense, my father didn't like her. Isn't that reason enough for a teenage boy to ogle over a girl? But I'd be lying if I said that I loved her for being a curse word in my household. Hermione had life. Life, living, breathing, loving, laughing… something I'd never had. She had zest, zeal, friends, adventure, and spirit. Which were all things that had been excised of me as a child. I had to admire her internal beauty—but let me tell you, she wasn't hard on the eyes at all. I am a teenager, after all, cut me a break.
Anyway, it was too late to change my mind now. Harry and Ron were in on it, for better or for worse. By the looks of it, for worse. Did I mention that Hermione had a radiant glow to her? Okay. Just checking.
I cleared my throat. "We're going to the Mansion."
Hermione made a face. "Why do we have to go to your house, Dra—Malfoy? I thought that you wanted to do right today, not bring us into the favorite hangout of your Death Eater friends."
On impulse, I whipped out my wand and made a move to shove her against the wall. I stopped myself before I laid a hand on Hermione; everyone stared at me, blinking. Blinking hard. Blinking at the maniac that was about to strike a girl with his wand. Strike a girl with a stick, like a Muggle would. I made my voice low, trying to threaten although clearly I was not in an intimidating mood. "Listen, Granger, I'm not a Death Eater. I told you that. Get over it."
She straightened her blouse and sighed disgustedly, but remained meekly quiet as I spoke. "Now, we're going to the Mansion. Anyone have any problems?"
They shook their heads in unison. I chuckled. "Weasley?"
"Yeah?"
"You might want to take that stuff off now. I have a feeling some of Father's friends might try to hit on you, looking like that." Ron scowled and performed a purifying spell; the sad part was that I was not kidding. Not in the last bit. More shuddering.
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I bet that you've read over and over that the path to my house is full of trickery and subterfuge. Well, it's not. Unless, of course, you consider walking on a pebble path, climbing over a gate, and knocking on a door deception.
Unfortunately, that's the way it would be if I wasn't traveling with Harry Potter. My father and his band of Death Eaters. We could only travel by Apparition up until a mile away from my house, because any closer and my father would track us.
We landed at 2:30 in the woods by my tree house as a kid. I used to love that thing. I'd climb it every day with Farrah Young and Hugh McGregor when we were children. Now, of course, Farrah was an exclusive Death Eater prostitute at eighteen-years-old and Hugh was paralyzed from the waist down from one of Voldemort's plans gone wrong. That's what I get for making friends with the children of my father's cronies—Death Eaters.
"What is that crude thing?" Ron asked as he peered up into an old oak tree.
"That," I replied tartly, "is my tree house."
Hermione snorted.
"What?"
"You don't seem like the type to have buddies sleep over in a tree house and eat pizza all night long."
I gave Hermione a blank stare. "We made hit lists." That shut her up.
"Ow!" Harry complained, swatting at his leg. "I just got bit by a mosquito!"
I almost laughed out loud. Harry could handle the Dark Lord, but not a mosquito? This one was going down in the journal. Er, not that I kept a journal or anything… more like a log… moving right along…
"Draco, which way to the Mansion?" As usual, Hermione was the voice of reason.
"There we go again, I heard 'Draco'!"
"No you didn't," said Hermione.
"Not at all," I agreed.
"But I think—" Harry wore a confused face.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
By this time Hermione and I had started to laugh. I needed not to get distracted; I don't think the other three realized how important what we were going to do really was. Then again, they didn't even know what we were going to do in the first place. How I pitied their ignorance.
The counselor had taught me to calm myself down. So I did.
10…
9…
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…
Okay, so it's cliché, but it works for me. I opened my eyes and gasped. "Farrah?"
I jumped over a mossy log and knelt down to where the battered body lay. I heard the crunch of leaves as Ron, Harry, and Hermione followed and crouched beside me. "Who is that?" Hermione whispered, and quickly added, "I'm not poking her!"
I knew who it was without rolling her over, which I did. Her nose was broken and bleeding; her eyes bloodshot and swollen; her body covered with bruises and marks; and her clothes were as dirty and matted as her usually long blonde hair. "That," I announced as the chills took over my body, "is Farrah Young."
If I had hoped for a dramatic, sitcom-ish reaction, then I had been let down. Ron bluntly said, "So?"
I shoved him over from where he knelt and he tumbled onto his side. "So, I know her. And she's in trouble."
"You know her?" Hermione's eyes were narrowed.
"What, jealous?" I mocked sourly. "Harry, help me get 'er up."
Harry nodded glumly and we hoisted her up into a sitting position against a tree. Her head rolled back, and I pushed it back up. She opened it to talk, but almost collapsed again.
"She smells horrid," Harry stated, but he didn't seem to be complaining.
"That's alcohol, Harry," I smirked as I pulled a few pasty strands of hair out of her face. "One day you'll learn all about it."
"I know what al-key-doll is!" Harry insisted furiously. Was it a bad sign that I was too weary to poke fun at him?
"Fine," I replied. "Now shutup."
Farrah made a croaking sound. It hurt to see her face. Last time we had met, I had been eleven, she had been twelve. Her long hair had been tied in a neat braid down the spine of her back, laying on the velvet cloth of her forest green Christmas dress. I remember how she had sung "Silent Night." That was pre-harlot Farrah.
Now, she wore what seemed to be a man's dirtied overshirt, and nothing else at all. Her legs and arms were stained with dirt and blood. Her face was covered with smeared makeup and more blood. Yes, more blood. I will not shudder again.
"Draco," Harry whispered, "what happened?"
"I'm supposing that she was raped."
Harry's mouth formed an "O." Poor, naïve git. I almost pitied him.
"That's awful," Hermione murmured.
"Help me."
"What, Mione?"
"That wasn't me, that was Tara!"
"Farrah," I corrected through gritted teeth.
"Help," Farrah repeated.
"I can't do any spells," I admitted sheepishly. "My father will track us if magic is used."
"Do you want your friend to die?" Harry said harshly. My stomach sank.
"Fine," I muttered. "Hermione, you're training to be a Healer, right?"
"Right," she said, and we stood back to let her do her thing.
I waited until Hermione stepped back, and there was Farrah. She was clothed in rich robes and fresh-faced. She looked up groggily at me. "Who are you? I know you, don't I?"
Again, Hermione snorted and I tossed her a dirty look. Then I edged my way back to Farrah. "Yes. It's me. Draco."
She smiled weakly. "Draco Adrian Malfoy-Neiman," she whispered. I flinched at the sound of my full name (Neiman was my mother's maiden name). "It's Farrah. Farrah Young, do you remember me?"
"Of course I do," I replied, trying to requite the smile. "Are you okay, Farrah?"
"Now," she said, and suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Draco!" she shrieked.
"Shh, calm down. I'm here."
"No, no listen!" She threw her hand to my mouth in an effort to silence me. "It's bad! In there, it's bad!"
"Farrah, I know. Shh, I know."
"You don't! Draco, HELL!"
"HELL?" I repeated back, suddenly very, very scared.
"Dirty mouth she has, doesn't she," Hermione muttered. Ron snickered. Harry shrugged.
"Hell is a code," I told them, watching my hands shake. "It's an acronym."
"What for?" said Hermione curiously.
"He Envisions Local Land."
"Um…" Ron wagged his eyebrows skeptically.
Only Harry seemed to catch on. "Does it mean…?"
"Yes. It's worse than I thought. The plan's in a much farther place than I thought that it would be at this point."
"Plan?" Hermione was confused, and I couldn't blame her.
"Mione," Harry said, "I think that what Draco is trying to say… is that Voldemort is here."
For the umpteenth time that night, Hermione was silenced. She shrank against the trunk of a tree and sank to the ground, nearby where Farrah sat. "Farrah?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have your grounds pass?" I asked her urgently.
She reached for where the man's shirt was strewn beside her. Out of the chest pocket she pulled a rectangle card. "Yes. Right here. But don't you?"
"Yes," I said, tapping my foot impatiently, "but I can't use it. I need you to use your card to cut the dimension and get into the Mansion. Then, disable the apparition tracker gizmo, okay?"
"Draco, she's in no state to do this!" Hermione protested.
"Look, they're on their way." I felt like I was in a soap opera. "They tracked the magic by now and I'm sure that they're coming. Farrah can use the card as a portkey, as it's deigned to do, to get in and flick just one green button. It's the only choice we have."
The secret object of my affections nodded. "I guess so," she admitted. I loved it when I won. Victory was mine. For the second, anyway. "Farrah, can you?"
"Yes!" She seemed eager to do something. She seemed to have little trouble getting up; I steadied her and she nodded at me to release her. "Stand back," she warned. I motioned to Harry, Hermione, and Ron to follow me behind the log I had jumped over. We peered over from our location on the hard ground.
Farrah took a deep, shaky breath and then flung the card into the air. Everything around her but her herself was blown away with the force of the whirlwind created. An unmaterialistic door appeared. It was clear, but visible. A voice spoke.
"STATE YOUR NAME!" It bellowed over the wind.
Farrah screamed back what must have been "Farrah Jane Young" but I couldn't hear. The door sucked her in and, after a moment, sucked itself in.
We stood up, dusting ourselves off. "Did that just happen?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Damn!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed.
"Who has the dirty mouth now, Her—uh, Granger?" I laughed.
"No, damn!"
"Yeah, we heard you," Ron chuckled. "What? Break a nail?"
"No! Draco's initials! Draco Adrian Malfoy-Neiman. They're an acronym, too. Damn."
I blushed and then scowled. As if no one had ever pointed that out before.
"Gez, Malfoy," Harry grinned. "You people are weird. Hell and Damn. Great acronyms you got there."
"Yeah well… Hermione Anne Granger! HAG! Ha, so there!" I felt proud.
Hermione was seemingly pissed. "You're so immature, Malfoy!" she wailed. She sounded like she was on the brink of tears as she turned away.
"Yeah, Malfoy," Ron agreed as he shot me a glare. Harry seemed to think the same.
"What!?" I sighed as I flailed my arms up and let them fall. "Were you guys not just mocking me? Did I miss something?" Something was wrong. It was a weird life I lived.
A weird life I lived at 3 a.m. in the morning. Damn. And this time I'm not talking about my initials.
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A/N: Thanks for my reviews! I don't have time to thank everyone tonight, my sibling is demanding the computer. So, I thought, I could post now and put em up later, or just not post at all until tomorrow. That's what I thought. Here's your chapter, and I'm hoping for at least 90 reviews total? Gracias! If I get 100, I'll find some weird bonus thing, I dunno, like a story preview or w/e. But I'll think of something.
THANKS!!!
3, Escritora the Late Poster Who is Incredibly Sorry for the Inconvenience