Och... Part 4... Only partly done and I already have the lyrics for 5 and 6. O.O
Well... I have lots of work. But it can wait for a bit. ^^
What on earth is a Logos Naki World?
The Tolkien lists are suddenly frighteningly busy.... O.O
This part is dedicated to Sky, for the best review ever created on chapter 3, and for being a really neat person. *glomp* Yes, you've become my new sounding board. Be scared. x.x
I want terribly horribly to see Weezer (Happy b-day, guys! I wore my Mykel shirt with the 'Buddy Holly' quote for those unfamiliar with B-sides and ran around my school with Audrey! AKA Carli...) and Saves the Day and Ozma in concert, but I have no ride to Nashville! ;_; That's the closest to me that Rivers-tachi will get. ;_; I want to marry someone like Rivers. Or any of Weezer, really. They're such a great band. The Blue Album is definitely one of the best ever created. I'm now dling Maladroit, with a reputation that preceeds it.
'A Clockwork Neurosis'
Ryan Harbin (Rerisu)
Part 4: Anything Goes
Begun: 22 Jan, '02
Finished: 10 Feb, '02
Posted: 14 Feb, '02. (Screw Valentine's Day, It's WEEZER DAY!)
[Anything goes in this cosmic dare
Anything goes so I'll take care
Did you hear my heart beat to your lies?]
Reynada Hill, 'Cosmic Dare (Pretty with a Pistol)'
It was difficult to remain so melancholy around Ron, Hermione, the vast majority of the houses save Slytherin, and occasionally Sirius trying so hard to cheer him up, but somehow he managed. Perhaps it was just that: he was being treated like a pane of glass that would shatter if left unattended for a few minutes. Even the comfort of Sirius' presence was overshadowed by the gloom of his guilt and his increasing annoyance with the well-meaning but misinformed students who haunted his every move. It had extended beyond his own house to most of the school. There was always some Ravenclaw or that Hufflepuff girl he'd seen once last year hovering at his shoulder or watching from several yards away. He felt almost like a criminal under the suspicious glares of several hundred angry cops.
He had claimed nature's call and fled the watchful gaze of two Hufflepuffs of indeterminable year; they had seemed to alternate between stern henpecking, starstruck awe, and a sort of baleful wariness, as if they had been reminded of last year's baseless accusations and their disastrous consequences. Hermione had dragged Ron away to do some long neglected studying, and Sirius had been called in to speak with Dumbledore about some other impeding threat or such danger to Harry's life; he was tiring of them quickly, and he viewed them with the sort of detached distinterest that one might reward a garbage can.
Only now he wasn't entirely sure where he was, despite his many late night to early morning wandering through the darkened corridoors of Hogwarts, dodging a flighty Peeves and creeping Mrs. Norris. He judged that he was deeper in the castle's bowels than he normally ventured, by the slightly different smell and the chronic dripping sounds.
He wandered fruitlessly for another fifteen minutes until he finally admitted to himself that he was completely lost. Perhaps it was because he remembered passing the gargoyle staring balefully at him from the corner at least once if not three times, or perhaps it was because his stomach has just growled at him angrily, and it was only a few minutes to dinner and he had every reason to believe he would miss it entirely. He was stopped an 'L' intersection that he had already taken both branches of, and done nothing but traverse in a giant, probably cross-Hogwarts circle.
Not even realizing it, he had begun to pace in small circles, and he hoped it was just his own muttered attempts to retrace his steps that echoed off the gray stone walls. He froze for a heart-stopped second, muscles tensed and teeth clenched as he strove to be as silent as possible, particularly when it became apparent that those were footsteps reverberating over the distant drips, chased by muffled and obscure voices.
Harry looked around wildly for an escape, fervently hating the idea of meeting more well-meaning stalkers when he didn't even trust his direction enough to give them the slip, but there were none to be found. So he stopped, feeling like a deer facing the headlights of a tractor trailer, as those familiar tones slipped slowly into words, and Draco Malfoy could be heard approaching, talking haughtily of someone else his father had fired for a "gross display of incompetence" that was probably dropping a soup bowl or not dusting thoroughly enough.
Harry forced himself to look more dignified than he felt - muddled and lost - as his arch-rival - though quiet of late, he still deserved the title - rounded the last corner and nearly ran smack into him. Harry was forced to perform a rather awkward struggle to keep his glasses from falling to the dull, grey stones of the floor.
For a bare second Malfoy's eyes spasmed through a startling array of emotions before they settled into their customary mild glare, ready to be deepened at the slightest displeasure.
Malfoy's companion, a smug-looking Blaise Zabini, surveyed their quarry with a smirk that was a mere shadow of Malfoy's own. His mouth opened, obviously to begin some sort of ill-thought and dull insult, but Malfoy waved him on with the manner of a ruler to a peasant subject, and Blaise complied in perfect compliance with the charade, continuing along the passage to whatever direction the pair had been headed.
"Potter! What a lovely surprise! What brings you to the Slytherin neck of the woods?" asked Malfoy in a mocking, superior tone, the kind that never ceased to antagonize Harry. He was leaning, comfortable and smug, against the cold granite wall, the lackluster stone lending an even greater sheen to his hair. This was no battle of looks in the Great Hall or insult-slugging match in a classroom, or even their carefully orchestrated Quidditch competition; they were in Malfoy's territory now, the point made and stressed.
At Harry's silence, Malfoy continued his monologue. "Come to warn me off of Brown's little brother again? Scared I'll corrupt some of your fan club? You probably need every member you can get," he continued in an almost conversational tone, "after Diggory -"
Just the mention of Cedric, so freshly murdered and so heartbreakingly perfect, was enough to send Harry crashing into his foe, one forearm pressing Malfoy's chest to the drab wall and the other ground into the uneven stone next to his silver-shining hair. Their faces were bare inches away as Harry said in a harsh whisper, "Don't you ever mention Cedric again! You're not worth the dirt he walked on! If you ever -"
"Ever what?" Malfoy interrupted with a curious glint to his eyes. "Defame his memory? Insult our dead champion? He's /dead/, Potter! Dead because Voldemort killed him and you had nothing to do with it! So get over yourself!" He shoved Harry away, sending him a few stumbling steps backwards before he managed to catch himself, and stalked down the corridor in a way Harry thought he himself had taken many times with no result.
Hoping this would get him the innards of the Slytherin partition of Hogwarts, Harry caught quickly up to Malfoy, keeping his quick pace while he argued. "You don't know anything about Cedric, or his death, or me!"
Malfoy snorted at this, and Harry was abruptly reminded of Marcus Brown's curious descriptions of the Slytherin, and how delusional the boy obviously was. "I know more than you think, Potter. I know your suspicions about my father, and if they're true, do you think he keeps everything all to himself? It's all in the family, Potter, all in the family," he told Harry viciously, probably with the specific intent of reminding Harry of his own parents' deaths.
Whatever the stinging comment' purpose was, it served only to make Harry, tired and confused and already annoyed at Malfoy, angrier than he'd been in years, "You don't know anything" he exploded. "You don't know anything me, or Ron, or Hermione! Why do you do this? Why can't you just leave us alone?" His outburst finished, feeling abruptly tired, yet exhilarated and finally able to expend the energy that had been pent up these past weeks, he turned to see the other's reaction.
Malfoy sported a slightly triumphant look that vanished almost immediately, replaced by that superior ambivalence Harry had come to despise. And suddenly Malfoy stopped, extending one hand to right, and told him in a curiously flat tone, "I believe you should be able to find your way from here. As for you question: I'm a Malfoy, and you left me little choice, didn't you?"
With that he turned, walking off with his well-bred grace and a set to his shoulders that seemed even more stiff and proud than usual. Puzzled by Malfoy's cryptic response, Harry looked at his watch, dismayed to find that dinner was nearly over.
Though suddenly, he found that he wasn't so hungry. He eyed Malfoy's retreating back and debated whether to go after him, demand an explanation that Harry just couldn't seem to formulate himself, or just continue on to the remains of dinner and his guardians' nervous inqiries.
"Harry!"
His quandary was resolved as he turned instinctively to the sound of his name, seeing Ron, Hermione, and Sirius in the form of a large, midnight dog heading for him at a run, like they were scared that he'd disappear or flee if they didn't hurry. Risking one look back, he found that Malfoy had disappeared in a swirl of uniform robes and mystery. [1]
"Harry, where have you been?" Ron asked, pulling up short a few feet from his quarry. His eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed nearly as red as his disheveled hair. Harry felt a quick pang of guilt at the panic flooding Ron's voice and how obviously out of breath he was. One cursory look revealed that Hermione was in much the same state and Sirius was likewise panting.
He wanted to explain, reveal all his fears and grievances at his new situation, but was suddenly unable to find the words to even begin. And, faced with his two best friends in the world and the man he trusted most, all he could find to say, in a weak and half-convinced tone, was, "I... I got lost."
There are some parts of this chapter that I adore. Some that I don't. x.x I could extend it, but I feel right leaving it there. I'll just go work on chapter five.
Notes:
[1] Possibly the lamest sentence I've ever written. .
Well... I have lots of work. But it can wait for a bit. ^^
What on earth is a Logos Naki World?
The Tolkien lists are suddenly frighteningly busy.... O.O
This part is dedicated to Sky, for the best review ever created on chapter 3, and for being a really neat person. *glomp* Yes, you've become my new sounding board. Be scared. x.x
I want terribly horribly to see Weezer (Happy b-day, guys! I wore my Mykel shirt with the 'Buddy Holly' quote for those unfamiliar with B-sides and ran around my school with Audrey! AKA Carli...) and Saves the Day and Ozma in concert, but I have no ride to Nashville! ;_; That's the closest to me that Rivers-tachi will get. ;_; I want to marry someone like Rivers. Or any of Weezer, really. They're such a great band. The Blue Album is definitely one of the best ever created. I'm now dling Maladroit, with a reputation that preceeds it.
'A Clockwork Neurosis'
Ryan Harbin (Rerisu)
Part 4: Anything Goes
Begun: 22 Jan, '02
Finished: 10 Feb, '02
Posted: 14 Feb, '02. (Screw Valentine's Day, It's WEEZER DAY!)
[Anything goes in this cosmic dare
Anything goes so I'll take care
Did you hear my heart beat to your lies?]
Reynada Hill, 'Cosmic Dare (Pretty with a Pistol)'
It was difficult to remain so melancholy around Ron, Hermione, the vast majority of the houses save Slytherin, and occasionally Sirius trying so hard to cheer him up, but somehow he managed. Perhaps it was just that: he was being treated like a pane of glass that would shatter if left unattended for a few minutes. Even the comfort of Sirius' presence was overshadowed by the gloom of his guilt and his increasing annoyance with the well-meaning but misinformed students who haunted his every move. It had extended beyond his own house to most of the school. There was always some Ravenclaw or that Hufflepuff girl he'd seen once last year hovering at his shoulder or watching from several yards away. He felt almost like a criminal under the suspicious glares of several hundred angry cops.
He had claimed nature's call and fled the watchful gaze of two Hufflepuffs of indeterminable year; they had seemed to alternate between stern henpecking, starstruck awe, and a sort of baleful wariness, as if they had been reminded of last year's baseless accusations and their disastrous consequences. Hermione had dragged Ron away to do some long neglected studying, and Sirius had been called in to speak with Dumbledore about some other impeding threat or such danger to Harry's life; he was tiring of them quickly, and he viewed them with the sort of detached distinterest that one might reward a garbage can.
Only now he wasn't entirely sure where he was, despite his many late night to early morning wandering through the darkened corridoors of Hogwarts, dodging a flighty Peeves and creeping Mrs. Norris. He judged that he was deeper in the castle's bowels than he normally ventured, by the slightly different smell and the chronic dripping sounds.
He wandered fruitlessly for another fifteen minutes until he finally admitted to himself that he was completely lost. Perhaps it was because he remembered passing the gargoyle staring balefully at him from the corner at least once if not three times, or perhaps it was because his stomach has just growled at him angrily, and it was only a few minutes to dinner and he had every reason to believe he would miss it entirely. He was stopped an 'L' intersection that he had already taken both branches of, and done nothing but traverse in a giant, probably cross-Hogwarts circle.
Not even realizing it, he had begun to pace in small circles, and he hoped it was just his own muttered attempts to retrace his steps that echoed off the gray stone walls. He froze for a heart-stopped second, muscles tensed and teeth clenched as he strove to be as silent as possible, particularly when it became apparent that those were footsteps reverberating over the distant drips, chased by muffled and obscure voices.
Harry looked around wildly for an escape, fervently hating the idea of meeting more well-meaning stalkers when he didn't even trust his direction enough to give them the slip, but there were none to be found. So he stopped, feeling like a deer facing the headlights of a tractor trailer, as those familiar tones slipped slowly into words, and Draco Malfoy could be heard approaching, talking haughtily of someone else his father had fired for a "gross display of incompetence" that was probably dropping a soup bowl or not dusting thoroughly enough.
Harry forced himself to look more dignified than he felt - muddled and lost - as his arch-rival - though quiet of late, he still deserved the title - rounded the last corner and nearly ran smack into him. Harry was forced to perform a rather awkward struggle to keep his glasses from falling to the dull, grey stones of the floor.
For a bare second Malfoy's eyes spasmed through a startling array of emotions before they settled into their customary mild glare, ready to be deepened at the slightest displeasure.
Malfoy's companion, a smug-looking Blaise Zabini, surveyed their quarry with a smirk that was a mere shadow of Malfoy's own. His mouth opened, obviously to begin some sort of ill-thought and dull insult, but Malfoy waved him on with the manner of a ruler to a peasant subject, and Blaise complied in perfect compliance with the charade, continuing along the passage to whatever direction the pair had been headed.
"Potter! What a lovely surprise! What brings you to the Slytherin neck of the woods?" asked Malfoy in a mocking, superior tone, the kind that never ceased to antagonize Harry. He was leaning, comfortable and smug, against the cold granite wall, the lackluster stone lending an even greater sheen to his hair. This was no battle of looks in the Great Hall or insult-slugging match in a classroom, or even their carefully orchestrated Quidditch competition; they were in Malfoy's territory now, the point made and stressed.
At Harry's silence, Malfoy continued his monologue. "Come to warn me off of Brown's little brother again? Scared I'll corrupt some of your fan club? You probably need every member you can get," he continued in an almost conversational tone, "after Diggory -"
Just the mention of Cedric, so freshly murdered and so heartbreakingly perfect, was enough to send Harry crashing into his foe, one forearm pressing Malfoy's chest to the drab wall and the other ground into the uneven stone next to his silver-shining hair. Their faces were bare inches away as Harry said in a harsh whisper, "Don't you ever mention Cedric again! You're not worth the dirt he walked on! If you ever -"
"Ever what?" Malfoy interrupted with a curious glint to his eyes. "Defame his memory? Insult our dead champion? He's /dead/, Potter! Dead because Voldemort killed him and you had nothing to do with it! So get over yourself!" He shoved Harry away, sending him a few stumbling steps backwards before he managed to catch himself, and stalked down the corridor in a way Harry thought he himself had taken many times with no result.
Hoping this would get him the innards of the Slytherin partition of Hogwarts, Harry caught quickly up to Malfoy, keeping his quick pace while he argued. "You don't know anything about Cedric, or his death, or me!"
Malfoy snorted at this, and Harry was abruptly reminded of Marcus Brown's curious descriptions of the Slytherin, and how delusional the boy obviously was. "I know more than you think, Potter. I know your suspicions about my father, and if they're true, do you think he keeps everything all to himself? It's all in the family, Potter, all in the family," he told Harry viciously, probably with the specific intent of reminding Harry of his own parents' deaths.
Whatever the stinging comment' purpose was, it served only to make Harry, tired and confused and already annoyed at Malfoy, angrier than he'd been in years, "You don't know anything" he exploded. "You don't know anything me, or Ron, or Hermione! Why do you do this? Why can't you just leave us alone?" His outburst finished, feeling abruptly tired, yet exhilarated and finally able to expend the energy that had been pent up these past weeks, he turned to see the other's reaction.
Malfoy sported a slightly triumphant look that vanished almost immediately, replaced by that superior ambivalence Harry had come to despise. And suddenly Malfoy stopped, extending one hand to right, and told him in a curiously flat tone, "I believe you should be able to find your way from here. As for you question: I'm a Malfoy, and you left me little choice, didn't you?"
With that he turned, walking off with his well-bred grace and a set to his shoulders that seemed even more stiff and proud than usual. Puzzled by Malfoy's cryptic response, Harry looked at his watch, dismayed to find that dinner was nearly over.
Though suddenly, he found that he wasn't so hungry. He eyed Malfoy's retreating back and debated whether to go after him, demand an explanation that Harry just couldn't seem to formulate himself, or just continue on to the remains of dinner and his guardians' nervous inqiries.
"Harry!"
His quandary was resolved as he turned instinctively to the sound of his name, seeing Ron, Hermione, and Sirius in the form of a large, midnight dog heading for him at a run, like they were scared that he'd disappear or flee if they didn't hurry. Risking one look back, he found that Malfoy had disappeared in a swirl of uniform robes and mystery. [1]
"Harry, where have you been?" Ron asked, pulling up short a few feet from his quarry. His eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed nearly as red as his disheveled hair. Harry felt a quick pang of guilt at the panic flooding Ron's voice and how obviously out of breath he was. One cursory look revealed that Hermione was in much the same state and Sirius was likewise panting.
He wanted to explain, reveal all his fears and grievances at his new situation, but was suddenly unable to find the words to even begin. And, faced with his two best friends in the world and the man he trusted most, all he could find to say, in a weak and half-convinced tone, was, "I... I got lost."
There are some parts of this chapter that I adore. Some that I don't. x.x I could extend it, but I feel right leaving it there. I'll just go work on chapter five.
Notes:
[1] Possibly the lamest sentence I've ever written. .