This part may end up more slashy than the last. And I need a beta-reader, someone to bounce half-finished parts and random ideas off of and someone who can thwap me if I get too slow. Any volunteers?
This is dedicated to Zara, who gave me the sweetest review I've ever had! *hug* Also, thanks to Apocolypse, Haruka-chan (*poke*), Androgyny, Tarot, Jivanna, and Goddess. Thanks so much, you guys! *group hug!*
And to Mizzy, who made me laugh for one of the first times in several days... Can't wait to see what you wrote.
People like my fic! *runs in circles*
Also... everyone go read 'Haven' by Ivy Blossom, because it's written amazingly well. Scary, but well written.
Part two begun: December 2, 2001
"A Clockwork Neurosis" (the title, btw, isn't taken from the fic 'A Clockwork Romance,' but rather from a song by the band Plastic Tree)
Part two posted:
Part 2: Something Takes a Part of Me
[Something takes a part of me
Something lost and never seen
Every time I start to believe
Something's raped and taken from me... From me]
KoRn, "Freak on a Leash"
The same dawn in which Draco Malfoy finally took short refuge in sleep woke Harry Potter with a start, grass-green eyes snapping open, accompanied by a sharp gasp and a deep seated terror whose source he couldn't recall, but thankfully had been lost deep in his subconscious - until the next time he went to sleep.
He frowned, that vivid green light still bright when he blinked, and pushed the dream out of his mind. Of course, his nightmares were hardly unfounded. Voldemort's return hung over him like a storm cloud spelled onto the ceiling of the Great Hall, yet Voldemort could do so much more than a latent image. The first casualties had been last year, culminating in the tragic murder of Cedric Diggory, an event that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He'd heard little over the summer, though even the utter hatred of the Dursleys and their menial labor had been a welcome respite from the underlying fear that had plagued his last few days at Hogwarts and the train ride back to the station. Each night he had fairly collapsed onto his bed in Dudley's extra room, too exhausted for anything but the occasional, detached nightmare that he could barely remember come morning.
Now, though...
Shopping with Ron and Hermione had been a happy affair, even though just seeing them had brought back the cold shock of Voldemort's rebirth and all its consequences. On the train, they had immediately been spotted by Seamus and Dean, who were apparently feeling some sense of unity, and had insisted on dragging them in to sit with Neville, Lavender, and Parvati. Crammed into the compartment with the seven of them, Harry realized how little he actually knew all his year mates save Ron and Hermione. Sure, he knew about Neville's parents, which had created something of a one-sided empathy, but he didn't even know if an of the other had siblings.
That train of thought led naturally to the 'Marcus Incident,' as he'd come to call it. Lavender, in the presence of all the Gryffindor fifth years, had grilled her poor brother over how the bag had ended up quite literally in the grip of possibly the worst person Harry had ever known, with the exception of Dudley, whose time as Smeltings had done nothing but make him more selfish and vindictive.
Marcus' explanation had been nothing short of astounding. Draco Malfoy had been haunting his thoughts since the incident at the Hogwarts platform, that curious look of sudden, anguished guilt that had flown across Malfoy's perfected sneer and left an irreparable wake. It was no stretch to say that silver-haired boy had fled, dragging with him enough of Harry's coherent thought that he was able to little but agree and laugh distractedly as Ron and Hermione chattered, and he could barely remember who had been sorted into Gryffindor, except for Lavender's brother. He'd been busy running through his mental catalogue of confrontations with Malfoy, searching for any previous warning of the crack that had appeared in the ferret's perfect mask of superiority. Yet he could find none, only that cold, haughty, despicable sneer that had haunted so many years at Hogwarts.
According to Marcus, Draco had been civil, bordering even on friendly. if the boy hadn't appeared perfectly lucid and had Lavender vouching for his sanity, Harry wasn't sure he would have believed a word of the curious story that unfolded. The image of Draco Malfoy with a chocolate frog perched haphazardly on his aquiline nose would not be one he would soon forget. Even thinking of it now brought a short chuckle to his lips. It was almost... endearing.
As he watched the sun rise majestically over shards of mountain tops, spilling over the inky smear of the forbidden forest and shining on the lake, he realized that he had never once seen Malfoy smile. A genuine smile, one of happiness or laughter, not the smirk that spread slowly like spilled, sour milk across his porcelain features whenever something went his way. It was curious; he could not even imagine the expression.
He had difficulty reconciling Marcus' tale with his hard knowledge of what he could only assume was the real Draco Malfoy. The fact that there could be another side to that boy who had become his archenemy was had never, ever occurred to him, and that was upsetting, because it meant he'd judged Draco just as badly as Draco had Ron or Hermione. Well, perhaps not quite so, but to the extent that he'd never given a second thought to the idea that there just might be a horribly repressed but still somewhat good-natured person trapped beneath Malfoy's cold exterior. And that with every carefully planned barb or spur-of-the-moment insult, they'd been chipping away cruelly at that person just as much as Malfoy and his henchmen had hurt Ron, Hermione, and Harry himself.
Could he truly have been that wrong?
----
A year ago, six months ago, he could easily have written off these doubts as unfounded and unimportant, as they were only dishing out to Malfoy what they had first received. But the Hufflepuffs still looked at him with mild suspicion or anger, and it was all because of his horrible mistake at the end of the Triwizard tournament, that had resulted in the death of the Hogwarts champion. Even a passing glance at Cho tightened his throat and the muscles in his fist and forearm clenched tightly, nails digging into his palm until they dug neat little half circles that left red crescent moons in each palm. The evidence of his failure was everywhere, in the guarded looks from the Hufflepuff students and even some in Ravenclaw and in the small memorial some well-meaning students had set up in Cedric's memory.
He had left for breakfast that morning without waiting for Ron or Hermione. In fact, the common room, usually so bright and full of his good-natured housemates, had been silent and lit only by the sunlight streaming in through high windows. Hogwarts still seemed like a dream, and he was waiting apprehensively for the moment Uncle Vernon woke him with a hoarse yell and a heavy hand on the door. Whether he would be relieved or downcast to be back in the Dursley home, he couldn't say. The school's halls were foreboding and dark, weak beams of light threading through dust motes and serving only to call as pale shine on his surroundings and deepen the shadows in corners and cracks.
A slight lurch beneath his feet distracted him from his dark train of thought. He had been traveling more on instinct than actual coherent thought, and hadn't even realized when he'd ended up on the staircase. Who knew where he'd end up now? Sighing, he resigned himself to the fickle, unpredictable will of the staircase.
The stairs began a slow, cumbersome arc whose path, if he judged correctly, would take him to the infamous third floor from first year. His eyes widened as he realized that it had been nearly four years since he, Ron and Hermione had accidentally stumbled into that corridor, terrified of Filch's cat. He had been so happy then, nothing short of ecstatic to discover an alternate world so close to his own, where he was not despised or looked down upon, but in fact exalted because of something he could barely remember. He had been so successful, at Quidditch and making friends and making everything turn out all right in the end. Everything had been so cut and dry when the startled trio had taken refuge here; they were good, Malfoy was bad, and nothing had been able to keep him down for long. How Voldemort had returned, he was responsible for the death of possibly the most beloved student at the school, and even Malfoy couldn't be relied upon to stay his contemptuous, hateful self.
It occurred to him that he had never inquired about the third floor since the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone [1] at the end of first year. However, just as he was reaching out to open the ancient, dusty door, a slight cough grabbed his attention.
"You know, Harry, I never did retract my warning about the third floor."
Harry nearly squeaked at that familiar voice, laden with the same mocking severity and wisdom.
"I - I was - just - I -" He couldn't seem to think of a good reason for skulking through the halls like a criminal when it wasn't yet light out, and he doubted Dumbledore would fall for any of his excuses, anyway.
"Whatever it was, it saves me the trouble of going all the way to the Gryffindor dorms for you... We haven't yet gotten a chance to talk this term, so if you haven't anything better to do, I'd enjoy a moment of your time."
Perplexed, Harry nodded mutely. he was used to being summoned to Dumbledore's office at all strange times and dates, but before breakfast on the first day of term had to be a new record.
Harry couldn't bring himself to question his Headmaster as he walked a meek step behind him, full to exploding of dread that something had happened to Sirius or Professor Lupin, or, foremost in his mind, that Harry was too dangerous and Dumbledore could no longer afford to keep him so near the other students. Absurd though it sounded, he knew how much his fault Cedric's demise had been, and not only were other parents probably uncomfortable with that knowledge, Dumbledore himself could hardly put an entire school of children in danger for one hunted boy. He was a liability...
Nor did Dumbledore speak, whether out of respect for Harry's confusion or because he, as well, didn't know what to say, until they reached the entrance to his study. And then it was only, "Pumpkin tarts," just enough to get them in.
Something about the familiar setting, whether it was Fawkes, resplendent and young in a corner, or the same furniture and decorations, right down to the cabinet housing the pensieve, made him feel more at ease, like he truly was as protected as Hermione said.
"What is it, sit? Is there a problem?" Was it just his own dismal mood that dimmed the customary twinkle in Dumbledore's wise, kind eyes?
"Not immediately, no. Harry, there are going to be many changes around school this year. Especially for you."
"Changes, sir?" Harry echoed, mind racing through possibilities, none of which ended in a cheery, happily-ever-after scenario.
"Yes. It's a pity you had to live in such a time, Harry. Though it has given you opportunity to shine so brightly, that sheen has come at a cost I fear it is hardly worth."
Harry stared, unsure of how to reply or if he was even supposed to. There was so much he wanted to ask Dumbledore, but couldn't figure out how to word his inquiries. It felt annoyingly like an essay on a final, when you know exactly what you want to say, yet your thoughts just won't transfer properly to your quill.
"Harry, I understand if you feel unsafe or vulnerable here; It must be hard to trust a place or its people when they failed to protect you before, and with such dire consequences. Indeed, you wouldn't be the only one who felt this way. Your godfather, perilous though his situation is, felt you needed a more constant guard. With Voldemort risen again and the chance of deception everywhere, he told me he wouldn't leave you under anyone's care but his own," Dumbledore finished, a slight smile flitting through his thick beard.
"You mean..." Harry couldn't finish, nothing short of staggered and overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions that suddenly welled through him like a storm flood surging over a cracked dam.
"Today at breakfast," Dumbledore continued, "you will ne introduced to a specially trained dog, acquired through Hagrid, which will remain by your side until this threat is dispelled."
Once again Harry could find no reply. He had a sudden urge to urge to leap over and hug his aging headmaster. Being able to see and speak with Sirius constantly, even in the form of a dog - was something out of his wildest dreams. However, underneath his happiness, some of his dread was confirmed. The fact that Sirius would go to such risks - or, more important, that Dumbledore would let him act on such risks - meant the situation truly was grave.
Dumbledore either took his introspective silence to be stunned shock, or just realized that little he said could assuage the boy's sudden fear, simply reached out and put an almost paternal hand on Harry's shoulder. "We will make this all right, Harry," was all he said.
Nodding numbly, Harry excuse himself with the excuse of hunger pangs. Taking a roundabout, meandering path to the Great Hall, tried to sort through his twisted emotions. As soon as he walked through those giant doors, he would see Sirius again. The thought almost brought a smile to his lips, until he remembered again his earlier insight.
He knew that a short time ago he would have been overjoyed at such news, no matter what the reasons.
So why did he feel suddenly like his worst fear had just been confirmed?
I HATE this chapter. It's downright awful, and I was so tired at the end... 'Twasn't more slashy. Next chapter, I promise... I have it somewhat planned out... Soon I shall have to start the sap... Should I be scared or happy?
Notes:
[1] This is much easier to type than 'Sorcerer,' which just seems to be spelled wrong. x.x
Everyone, go to www.moderhumorist.com/mh/0005/harry - possibly the funniest thing ever. XD
What'd you all think? *glomp*
This is dedicated to Zara, who gave me the sweetest review I've ever had! *hug* Also, thanks to Apocolypse, Haruka-chan (*poke*), Androgyny, Tarot, Jivanna, and Goddess. Thanks so much, you guys! *group hug!*
And to Mizzy, who made me laugh for one of the first times in several days... Can't wait to see what you wrote.
People like my fic! *runs in circles*
Also... everyone go read 'Haven' by Ivy Blossom, because it's written amazingly well. Scary, but well written.
Part two begun: December 2, 2001
"A Clockwork Neurosis" (the title, btw, isn't taken from the fic 'A Clockwork Romance,' but rather from a song by the band Plastic Tree)
Part two posted:
Part 2: Something Takes a Part of Me
[Something takes a part of me
Something lost and never seen
Every time I start to believe
Something's raped and taken from me... From me]
KoRn, "Freak on a Leash"
The same dawn in which Draco Malfoy finally took short refuge in sleep woke Harry Potter with a start, grass-green eyes snapping open, accompanied by a sharp gasp and a deep seated terror whose source he couldn't recall, but thankfully had been lost deep in his subconscious - until the next time he went to sleep.
He frowned, that vivid green light still bright when he blinked, and pushed the dream out of his mind. Of course, his nightmares were hardly unfounded. Voldemort's return hung over him like a storm cloud spelled onto the ceiling of the Great Hall, yet Voldemort could do so much more than a latent image. The first casualties had been last year, culminating in the tragic murder of Cedric Diggory, an event that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He'd heard little over the summer, though even the utter hatred of the Dursleys and their menial labor had been a welcome respite from the underlying fear that had plagued his last few days at Hogwarts and the train ride back to the station. Each night he had fairly collapsed onto his bed in Dudley's extra room, too exhausted for anything but the occasional, detached nightmare that he could barely remember come morning.
Now, though...
Shopping with Ron and Hermione had been a happy affair, even though just seeing them had brought back the cold shock of Voldemort's rebirth and all its consequences. On the train, they had immediately been spotted by Seamus and Dean, who were apparently feeling some sense of unity, and had insisted on dragging them in to sit with Neville, Lavender, and Parvati. Crammed into the compartment with the seven of them, Harry realized how little he actually knew all his year mates save Ron and Hermione. Sure, he knew about Neville's parents, which had created something of a one-sided empathy, but he didn't even know if an of the other had siblings.
That train of thought led naturally to the 'Marcus Incident,' as he'd come to call it. Lavender, in the presence of all the Gryffindor fifth years, had grilled her poor brother over how the bag had ended up quite literally in the grip of possibly the worst person Harry had ever known, with the exception of Dudley, whose time as Smeltings had done nothing but make him more selfish and vindictive.
Marcus' explanation had been nothing short of astounding. Draco Malfoy had been haunting his thoughts since the incident at the Hogwarts platform, that curious look of sudden, anguished guilt that had flown across Malfoy's perfected sneer and left an irreparable wake. It was no stretch to say that silver-haired boy had fled, dragging with him enough of Harry's coherent thought that he was able to little but agree and laugh distractedly as Ron and Hermione chattered, and he could barely remember who had been sorted into Gryffindor, except for Lavender's brother. He'd been busy running through his mental catalogue of confrontations with Malfoy, searching for any previous warning of the crack that had appeared in the ferret's perfect mask of superiority. Yet he could find none, only that cold, haughty, despicable sneer that had haunted so many years at Hogwarts.
According to Marcus, Draco had been civil, bordering even on friendly. if the boy hadn't appeared perfectly lucid and had Lavender vouching for his sanity, Harry wasn't sure he would have believed a word of the curious story that unfolded. The image of Draco Malfoy with a chocolate frog perched haphazardly on his aquiline nose would not be one he would soon forget. Even thinking of it now brought a short chuckle to his lips. It was almost... endearing.
As he watched the sun rise majestically over shards of mountain tops, spilling over the inky smear of the forbidden forest and shining on the lake, he realized that he had never once seen Malfoy smile. A genuine smile, one of happiness or laughter, not the smirk that spread slowly like spilled, sour milk across his porcelain features whenever something went his way. It was curious; he could not even imagine the expression.
He had difficulty reconciling Marcus' tale with his hard knowledge of what he could only assume was the real Draco Malfoy. The fact that there could be another side to that boy who had become his archenemy was had never, ever occurred to him, and that was upsetting, because it meant he'd judged Draco just as badly as Draco had Ron or Hermione. Well, perhaps not quite so, but to the extent that he'd never given a second thought to the idea that there just might be a horribly repressed but still somewhat good-natured person trapped beneath Malfoy's cold exterior. And that with every carefully planned barb or spur-of-the-moment insult, they'd been chipping away cruelly at that person just as much as Malfoy and his henchmen had hurt Ron, Hermione, and Harry himself.
Could he truly have been that wrong?
----
A year ago, six months ago, he could easily have written off these doubts as unfounded and unimportant, as they were only dishing out to Malfoy what they had first received. But the Hufflepuffs still looked at him with mild suspicion or anger, and it was all because of his horrible mistake at the end of the Triwizard tournament, that had resulted in the death of the Hogwarts champion. Even a passing glance at Cho tightened his throat and the muscles in his fist and forearm clenched tightly, nails digging into his palm until they dug neat little half circles that left red crescent moons in each palm. The evidence of his failure was everywhere, in the guarded looks from the Hufflepuff students and even some in Ravenclaw and in the small memorial some well-meaning students had set up in Cedric's memory.
He had left for breakfast that morning without waiting for Ron or Hermione. In fact, the common room, usually so bright and full of his good-natured housemates, had been silent and lit only by the sunlight streaming in through high windows. Hogwarts still seemed like a dream, and he was waiting apprehensively for the moment Uncle Vernon woke him with a hoarse yell and a heavy hand on the door. Whether he would be relieved or downcast to be back in the Dursley home, he couldn't say. The school's halls were foreboding and dark, weak beams of light threading through dust motes and serving only to call as pale shine on his surroundings and deepen the shadows in corners and cracks.
A slight lurch beneath his feet distracted him from his dark train of thought. He had been traveling more on instinct than actual coherent thought, and hadn't even realized when he'd ended up on the staircase. Who knew where he'd end up now? Sighing, he resigned himself to the fickle, unpredictable will of the staircase.
The stairs began a slow, cumbersome arc whose path, if he judged correctly, would take him to the infamous third floor from first year. His eyes widened as he realized that it had been nearly four years since he, Ron and Hermione had accidentally stumbled into that corridor, terrified of Filch's cat. He had been so happy then, nothing short of ecstatic to discover an alternate world so close to his own, where he was not despised or looked down upon, but in fact exalted because of something he could barely remember. He had been so successful, at Quidditch and making friends and making everything turn out all right in the end. Everything had been so cut and dry when the startled trio had taken refuge here; they were good, Malfoy was bad, and nothing had been able to keep him down for long. How Voldemort had returned, he was responsible for the death of possibly the most beloved student at the school, and even Malfoy couldn't be relied upon to stay his contemptuous, hateful self.
It occurred to him that he had never inquired about the third floor since the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone [1] at the end of first year. However, just as he was reaching out to open the ancient, dusty door, a slight cough grabbed his attention.
"You know, Harry, I never did retract my warning about the third floor."
Harry nearly squeaked at that familiar voice, laden with the same mocking severity and wisdom.
"I - I was - just - I -" He couldn't seem to think of a good reason for skulking through the halls like a criminal when it wasn't yet light out, and he doubted Dumbledore would fall for any of his excuses, anyway.
"Whatever it was, it saves me the trouble of going all the way to the Gryffindor dorms for you... We haven't yet gotten a chance to talk this term, so if you haven't anything better to do, I'd enjoy a moment of your time."
Perplexed, Harry nodded mutely. he was used to being summoned to Dumbledore's office at all strange times and dates, but before breakfast on the first day of term had to be a new record.
Harry couldn't bring himself to question his Headmaster as he walked a meek step behind him, full to exploding of dread that something had happened to Sirius or Professor Lupin, or, foremost in his mind, that Harry was too dangerous and Dumbledore could no longer afford to keep him so near the other students. Absurd though it sounded, he knew how much his fault Cedric's demise had been, and not only were other parents probably uncomfortable with that knowledge, Dumbledore himself could hardly put an entire school of children in danger for one hunted boy. He was a liability...
Nor did Dumbledore speak, whether out of respect for Harry's confusion or because he, as well, didn't know what to say, until they reached the entrance to his study. And then it was only, "Pumpkin tarts," just enough to get them in.
Something about the familiar setting, whether it was Fawkes, resplendent and young in a corner, or the same furniture and decorations, right down to the cabinet housing the pensieve, made him feel more at ease, like he truly was as protected as Hermione said.
"What is it, sit? Is there a problem?" Was it just his own dismal mood that dimmed the customary twinkle in Dumbledore's wise, kind eyes?
"Not immediately, no. Harry, there are going to be many changes around school this year. Especially for you."
"Changes, sir?" Harry echoed, mind racing through possibilities, none of which ended in a cheery, happily-ever-after scenario.
"Yes. It's a pity you had to live in such a time, Harry. Though it has given you opportunity to shine so brightly, that sheen has come at a cost I fear it is hardly worth."
Harry stared, unsure of how to reply or if he was even supposed to. There was so much he wanted to ask Dumbledore, but couldn't figure out how to word his inquiries. It felt annoyingly like an essay on a final, when you know exactly what you want to say, yet your thoughts just won't transfer properly to your quill.
"Harry, I understand if you feel unsafe or vulnerable here; It must be hard to trust a place or its people when they failed to protect you before, and with such dire consequences. Indeed, you wouldn't be the only one who felt this way. Your godfather, perilous though his situation is, felt you needed a more constant guard. With Voldemort risen again and the chance of deception everywhere, he told me he wouldn't leave you under anyone's care but his own," Dumbledore finished, a slight smile flitting through his thick beard.
"You mean..." Harry couldn't finish, nothing short of staggered and overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions that suddenly welled through him like a storm flood surging over a cracked dam.
"Today at breakfast," Dumbledore continued, "you will ne introduced to a specially trained dog, acquired through Hagrid, which will remain by your side until this threat is dispelled."
Once again Harry could find no reply. He had a sudden urge to urge to leap over and hug his aging headmaster. Being able to see and speak with Sirius constantly, even in the form of a dog - was something out of his wildest dreams. However, underneath his happiness, some of his dread was confirmed. The fact that Sirius would go to such risks - or, more important, that Dumbledore would let him act on such risks - meant the situation truly was grave.
Dumbledore either took his introspective silence to be stunned shock, or just realized that little he said could assuage the boy's sudden fear, simply reached out and put an almost paternal hand on Harry's shoulder. "We will make this all right, Harry," was all he said.
Nodding numbly, Harry excuse himself with the excuse of hunger pangs. Taking a roundabout, meandering path to the Great Hall, tried to sort through his twisted emotions. As soon as he walked through those giant doors, he would see Sirius again. The thought almost brought a smile to his lips, until he remembered again his earlier insight.
He knew that a short time ago he would have been overjoyed at such news, no matter what the reasons.
So why did he feel suddenly like his worst fear had just been confirmed?
I HATE this chapter. It's downright awful, and I was so tired at the end... 'Twasn't more slashy. Next chapter, I promise... I have it somewhat planned out... Soon I shall have to start the sap... Should I be scared or happy?
Notes:
[1] This is much easier to type than 'Sorcerer,' which just seems to be spelled wrong. x.x
Everyone, go to www.moderhumorist.com/mh/0005/harry - possibly the funniest thing ever. XD
What'd you all think? *glomp*