Chapter 10: Connection
By Raquel
Tim bent over his essay in the half-dark common room, glasses flecked with tiny ink spots. He looked at the book he was copying from, so he could see exactly what use the Personal Transfiguration had played in the assassination of Vlad the Impaler in the 14th century. It was very complicated.
After sixteen years of limited learning, Tim's mind took to learning like a mall rat to Saks. He accepted the challenge of proving he knew what was necessary to be in the sixth year with an eagerness some would call unnatural. Luckily for Tim, he was in Ravenclaw, where anyone without a 4.0 grade average was considered a slacker. He, being the new kid and Harry Potter's brother, was almost instantly rather popular. Lots of people automatically accepted him because Cho had, and lots of people had nothing but admiration for a boy related to Harry Potter. Of course, he had also inherited some of his brothers enemies. A few Hufflepuffs made a point not to speak to him, which bothered Tim a little. He hadn't really done anything bad to them, and he didn't really want to talk to Cho about it because it obviously had something to do with Cedric.
Then there was Draco Malfoy. He had made a special point to trip Tim in the hallway and crow to his cronies about how all the Potters were alike, clumsy until they were in the air or dead. Tim, face burning, had scrambled away, fuming silently. At least he had Harry and Cho, who liked him despite the fact that he was shy and smart. And of course there was Lux, who had to be the most bad-tempered, obnoxious girl at Hogwarts. She was probably also one of the most beautiful, what with her silver hair and crystal-clear green-blue eyes. She also hated Draco Malfoy possibly even more than Tim.
Tim's eyes crinkled behind his glasses, recalling the memorable scene a week before when Malfoy had made a pass at Lux.
"Hello, beautiful," Draco had said, whistling as the blonde had walked by. Tim had immediate perked up, watching as Lux spun to face Malfoy.
"Excuse me?" Lux purred, pushing a silver-gold stand of hair behind an ear. "What did you say to me?" All the Ravenclaws and the other students who knew of Lux's record backed away. She was all kittenish, winding a strand of silver-gold hair around her finger.
To a wiser boy than Draco Malfoy, the silken tone coming from Lux would have been a warning to back off. "I said, hello beautiful," Draco said, stepping a little closer. "And now that I see your face, I can see that it's very true." Apparently he had been expecting Lux to melt in his arms like any girl at Hogwart would have. What he wasn't expecting hit him hard.
Tim had winced, laughing at the same time as Draco had hit the ground on his knees, shock upon his face as he clutched at his now bruised groin. Lux had leaned down, smiling benignly at the agony on his handsome features. "Never call me beautiful unless you want to be sterile. Good bye, Malfoy." She had turned and walked away, given a wide berth by the other students. Harry and Tim had laughed until their stomachs hurt.
Cho hadn't been there—she was desperately searching for four new team members. Tim felt sorry for her—she was trying to decipher the messy charts left to her by the previous captain, and was interviewing candidate after candidate with no success whatsoever. It seemed that all Ravenclaws were all brains and no flying skill. She'd offered him a position on the team, but he didn't have a broom stick and frankly his skills weren't altogether great. It seemed that Ravenclaw was about to face another year of loss after loss.
There was knock on the entrance: a suit of armor named Sir Lot, who was very clever and enjoyed quizzing the Ravenclaws before letting them into their common room. He was also never at a loss for words—he always had the last word.
"I say, old chap, do I look like a bloody door knocker to your distinguished green eyes? You've got to know the password, silly boy!"
Tim scrambled down from his armchair and pushed on the door that Sir Lot was bolted to. "Hullo?"
"Bad form, young chappie. Should at least give good old 'who goes there' before opening a door on the unknown, and 'Hullo' is not a suitable challenge for friend or foe."
"Shut up," Tim replied, pushing the door open farther to admit the boy who stood outside. "Hi Harry. Just ignore him next time, he never shuts up."
"Same to you, laddy!"
Harry slipped inside. "Are you lot still going at your homework? Nothing's due for at least three or four days."
Tim sighed, looking with despair at the blotted essay at his table. "That's good. Writing with a quill takes practice."
"And aren't you getting some! Look at this! Does Professor McGonagall hate you or something?"
"No, she just expects more from Ravenclaws. Having a scholarly reputation cuts both ways," Tim replied. "How's Sirius?"
"Good. Dumbledore has him sniffing around pubs, trying to find some hint of where Snape may be now." Harry sighed. "I don't really have an objection to Aunt Laura teaching the class, it's just disturbing to think that Voldemort snatched him right off the grounds. If he got him he could get us."
The twins both pushed their glasses higher on their noses and grinned: their motions were exactly alike. "So? Has he found anything?"
"Just a lot of wild rumors about people who speak to dragons, or people who are part dragon, who are eight or nine feet tall with scales. Voldemort supposedly found the last tribe of these people and has them and their dragons and is planning an attack this week or next year or tomorrow." Harry raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Dragons though…"
Tim shuddered. "Urgh. But what could He possibly want with a Professor from Hogwarts?" He'd only seen a memory of Snape—a tall, scary looking man with oily hair and black, pit-like eyes.
"Information. Snape was a Death Eater, you know. He came back to our side, but Voldemort hates him for it. Aunt Laura says if we ever see Snape alive again it will be if Voldemort brings him to Hogwarts before he performs a curse on him." Harry waved his arms around expressively.
The red-headed boy shrugged and began filling in his star-chart for Astronomy. "You can't seriously believe that he'd come to Hogwarts," Tim said reassuringly. "He's too scared of Dumbledore, right?"
Harry sagged in his chair. "You know, if you'd said that last year or even the year before, I'd have answered with a firm yes. But this year, especially since you and Laura returned—he's just a very very old man, Tim. He's over a hundred and fifty now. And sometimes I think even Dumbledore is worried about a Hogwarts takeover sometimes. Voldemort went ballistic when he found out about—well…" Harry paused, a little unsettled by the look on Tim's face. He'd stopped filling in the star chart and was staring at Harry open-mouthed. "What is it?"
"What do you mean, he went ballistic? This has to do with me, doesn't it?" Tim demanded, pushing away his papers. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything?"
Harry stood up. "I really should go."
Tim blocked his way to the doorway. "Does this have anything to do with the nightmares I've been having?"
Both boys froze, the same image in their minds. A whip, whistling through the air, the steady dripping of blood, screams too faint to be heard but still felt. The deep, emotional turmoil that woke them both in the darkest hours of the night, breathing hard and seeing a menial graveyard, little rocks with names dreadfully clear on the smooth surfaces. Both of their right hands twitched, reaching for a hand to pull themselves up.
"This is too weird," Tim said. His tone was meant to be joking, but the hollowness behind the laugh told more than the words.
Harry brushed his bangs away from his forehead. "Do you suppose there was something they forgot to tell us? Because you wouldn't think that we'd be so alike—we aren't identical or anything, but still—the dream," he said firmly. "It's the same for you, isn't it?"
"What if it is?" Tim asked. "I don't understand this."
"I don't think you can really understand this," Harry said slowly. "I want to go talk to Sirius about this. Come with me?"
"No," Tim said. "I've got to finish this essay. I'll talk to Laura in the morning."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"'Night Tim."
"Goodnight Harry."
