"Draco's acting awfully different," Pansy noted, staring after Draco, who had run up the old, creaking spiral staircase. Everyone in the common room had heard the heavy doors of the boy's dormitory slam shut, and Pansy blinked and sounded slightly worried.
Blaise Zabini, the handsome, purple-eyed, black-haired Slytherin glanced up from his homework, looking amused, "We've noticed. Every night he would be moaning and writhing. Maybe he has this urge to ravish you, Pansy."
Pansy cocked up a brow, "Knock it off, Blaise."
"Yea," Blaise said, grinning widely, "Millicent's probably more of his type, anyway." He looked around for Millicent to shoot malicious teasing stares, but found only a few fifth years, a bunch of third years Slytherin girls and even fewer first years. Blaise half expected Millicent Bulstrode to be in bed at this time anyway.
Eyes shifted to the woman, "Where's Goyle? He definitely does not go to sleep at this time, twelve is too early for him."
Pansy looked around as well, placing her slender hands on her shapely hips, "I don't really know. I didn't see him at supper. " She yawned. "Well then, anyway, Blaisey, I think I'll retire to bed now."
"Right," he muttered, looking back down at his parchment. He heard the familiar creaking of that old staircase again as Pansy disappeared down the stairwell, (as the girls' dormitories were down) and shook his head. There was one line that kept repeating in his head. Yes, something was definitely wrong with Draco… maybe it was a crush?
A crush on Pansy?
Nah.
About the moaning and writhing part he told her, —He was lying. He *thought* he had heard some strange noises coming from his bed at around three in the morning, and presuming Draco had those kinds of "dreams" he crept up with a smirk and peeped in. No, Draco was not having that kind of dreams. In fact, he had not been in the bed at all.
Strange. Almost as strange as the bizarre clothing he wore. It was as if he was hiding something beneath that strange long-sleeved, turtleneck shirt of his… Blaise heard that Draco would not even take a bath if someone else was in the Quidditch male shower rooms along with him, he reasoned he had been use to the privacy and demanded some while at Hogwarts. Hah, hogwash to Blaise, he didn't complain last year!
Blaise was bursting with curiosity and layback amusement. If ickle Drakkie poo had a little secret, he had to know. It was his obsession to be subtly suspicious, it was his given talent! And once he knew, torture would probably ensue. Depending on his best interest, he would announce it to the whole of Hogwarts on a particular time. Maybe he'll have fun sending rumors that hit close to the spot, he how they'll act, see how his victim will act. See how fast it would spread. Maybe he could blackmail Draco for money every day of his life!
Hmm… sounds devious.
He was put in Slytherin, why wouldn't it be?
But then… Blaise sighed and looked up, staring in an unfocused way. There was some odd feeling he had inside him, some dark ominous type of feeling. He didn't like that feeling one bit, but curiosity DID kill the cat. If there was something mistrustful and evil about Draco, he was determined to find out. There was something else troubling in him as well…
I'll just pretend I didn't see those abnormal red eyes.
---
Draco was distracted. Pansy could not ignore this. He had been quiet, detached, subdued and jaded. Forgetful of the world and hidden in the deepest, darkest corner of the room in every class. When he was questioned, he would snap back fiercely.
However, his school studies were not ignored. He had suddenly begun reading more often, it seemed. He was so good in Defense Against the Dark Arts today that the female teacher, Echo Hedgren, had to ask where he had found out about those dark information. Draco had not replied.
Since the start of the school year, he had been this strange. But why?
Why did he have to wear such different clothes? Pansy was used to seeing Draco wearing smart, sleek, expensive, top-of-the-line-stylish clothing and this year had been quite different. True that even now when you looked close enough the threads are weaved very finely, the edges clean and perfect. But the style… It was very… strange. Having a turtle-neck long enough to hide part of your chin was very unsettling indeed.
Pansy shook her head. She shouldn't be asking or checking on Draco. After all, he did not like it when people were peering into his privacy. And she did not intend, or even *want* to be known as the nosy little bitch. Still, Pansy felt fear inching into her heart. It was almost like Draco was a totally different person.
She also felt that there was something wrong… She had a very bad feeling about this. There was something about him she didn't like. Oh, Pansy did have a very slight crush on him, (more on Blaise, though) but with all the things going on, she felt in unease, wanting to keep distance between the blonde and herself. She could feel something dark unfold, but she did not know if this feeling was just her fear, or if it was really a sign of danger.
---
It was half past two. Blaise Zabini simply did not care. He was the only one in the common room now, but he liked it this way. He was always brooding at this time of night, he would not be able to sleep unless he did… It was a ritual.
The room was dark and sinister. All was still and lifeless, the stars twinkling faintly behind those windowpanes. Someone from Slytherin had bewitched the glass long ago, to make sure no light would penetrate those windows too much. (They left it like that since then, it was pretty comfortable.)
The dim, green candlelight in the room did not fail him though. They were tirelessly on fire, floating right above small, dungy end tables. And they giggled when Blaise stared at them. He rolled his eyes. They just *had* to be female.
He looked down on his parchment. He had been reading repeatedly about the great Merlin and his escapades in his younger years. Truthfully, it did remind him about that Harry Potter in Gryffindor. He had always sneaked out of his common room at night, meddling with these things that often saved everyone's lives.
He had heard about the Sorcerer's stone, and how Harry and his two best friends managed to make their way to Professor Quirrell. He had heard about the giant serpent… the basilisk, wasn't it? And how Harry (technically Hermione) had figured it all out. He had heard about Harry escaping Sirius, that murderous criminal who broke in one night. How Harry had won the Triwizard Cup last year, even if he was underage. He had heard that he got transported to where You-Know-Who was and stayed alive to tell the tale.
Harry Potter would have been Blaise's idol if he was in Slytherin. He would have flanked the famous boy like what Vince and Greg did (and still do) to Draco. He would marvel at him, be his best friend…
But Harry Potter was a goody-goody. That was *not* his type for a best friend. He could just imagine all the little complaints he would make if Blaise did any wrong. 'But Blaise, that's *hers*' 'But Blaise, you'll be caught…' 'Blaise, that's cruel!' Ugh. That would suck.
Blaise snapped out of his trance and watched his blonde classmate thunder down the creaking steps of the stairway. Draco did not see him. Where was he going? A sudden feeling of snoopy-ness washed over him like a blast of ice-cold water. He shot out of his seat, his parchment forgotten, following Draco out of the Slytherin common room.
Draco was walking differently, Blaise noted. He had often sauntered with precise, brushing, magnificently *perfect* steps, his shoulders bold, upright and stiff, chin held high. It was, after all, the way he was brought up, elegant, aristocratic, with a presence of a vain predisposition that made Richie Rich look like a stable boy. Draco Malfoy was proud and filthy wealthy, and he flaunted it thoroughly as he traveled down the halls.
But not this time. This time was a complete opposite. His steps were quiet, small, as if uneasy and scared. His shoulders sagged and his chin was down, looking at the floor as he went. It was as if he did not want to be noticed.
This was very disturbing.
Blaise clambered out of the dark common room quietly and trudged on behind Draco. The blonde boy did not take notice. He seemed immensely troubled, because he usually sensed someone following him five miles away. Blaise knotted his brows, and reached out, seizing Draco's right arm. Draco gasped in surprise. Blaise thought he heard a low growl, before the blonde turned to him, and attempted to shove Blaise away. But he gripped his arm tighter.
"Let me GO!!!" Draco screeched, struggling violently beneath the vice-like grip. He swung his arm around, trying his best to cease that painful stinging that felt like his hand was being chopped off inch by inch. Blaise saw anguish in his attractive face, but held on stubbornly.
"Why Draco?! I'm not holding that hard! Why does it hurt?!"
Draco snarled, grabbing his ebony wand from his pocket and pointing at Blaise,
"Flippendo!"
Blaise stumbled back, letting go. Draco looked enraged. He was heaving like a dragon and his eyes were wide with anger.
"What the HELL do you think you're doing, Zabini?!"
But Blaise didn't answer. His back had hit a cold, damp wall, and he slumped upon it, staring disbelievingly at Draco. His purple eyes gleamed, as the green torches along the wall danced fluidly.
"Draco," he mumbled, for once losing his cool, "Your eyes…"
Draco stiffened, looking at him stone-faced, before swiftly turning away, adjusting his black turtleneck and watching the floor with sudden great interest. He breathed once, and, not taking his eyes of the pretty grey ground, he warned, "Mind your own business, Zabini. Or you might just get killed."
He walked away, his Hogwarts robe billowing behind him as he took fast strides, disappearing into the darkness. Blaise's mouth hung open, speechless.
Those eyes were definitely red.
***
Draco could hear him. He could not move, though, instead something— someone else was moving him. Prodding him to walk. It was shameful to obey, but he could not stop himself. Was he under the Imperius curse? No. The Imperius would order him around. He was not being ordered, he practically did not know what he would be doing. He could only hear another voice talking to him, lecturing... not commanding.
"We could hear the river in his veins, we know it can quench our thirst. Blood is sinful to the eye, and it is a drug we feed upon, boy. It is delicious and sweet, wonderful to taste. Especially that boy's… You remember his face well, is he someone you like? No matter, we will get him… We will soothe our thirst through his lovely bright red blood…"
***
It was a strange day indeed, agreed Harry. He kept picturing that little incident that happened in the Great Hall. He remembered it so clearly. Bright pumpkin lights hanging in midair, surrounding the four long tables that separated each house. The sky outside was calm and dark, and the room was filled with the scent of the wonderful feast. The Halloween feast.
He had come late, but he did not mind. Not much people paid attention as he sat down for once. He was glad for it. Having too much popularity did irritate Harry, he wondered why Ron wanted it so much.
He was minding his own business when it happened. It was no secret, almost everyone turned around and the room went hush. Harry looked. He saw a blonde boy running down the hall, out the door and out of sight. The room was suddenly filled with murmurs. He did not know if he was the only one or not, but Harry had heard him scream.
What had happened? Why the hell did Draco Malfoy scream? Frustration? Anger? Joy? Why?
Why indeed. There was something strange going on with Goyle too. Drawing that mock-funny drawing was completely insane. It made Harry smile. A little.
Damn demented Slytherins.
He stretched out on his bed. The gentle snores from the fifth year boys were rhythm in his ears. He was use to them; it wasn't exactly a problem when he wanted to sleep. Tracing the back of his hand down the soft, cold linen of the pillow, his eyes wandering over the canopy of the bed, he reflected on what else had happened that day.
The red eyes. He could not forget them. That vision he had, the noise and the blackout. What did it all mean? Was Voldemort hiding under his bed, waiting for him to fall asleep so he could kill him? Was there this evil creature lurking around Hogwarts? Was it his imagination playing tricks on his mind?
He had remembered nothing of what happened when he was writhing in madness. Hermione and Ron had provided him the details. Of who had screamed, of who had almost fainted, of who did not lift a finger to help. And who did.
Neville Longbottom was the first to collect his courage and hold Harry. It made Harry grin wider. It was particularly peculiar of why he did. He had been thinking of Neville for a long time now. Since the time he found out about his parents' predicament. He felt pity for the boy, and maybe there was something beneath that, too. Actually he felt pity for the forgetful lad since a long time ago. Draco Malfoy had loved bullying him.
Draco Malfoy. The second one to help him. It had been quite of a nasty shock when he pictured the selfish little prat pinning him down, while he was flailing his arms around and attacking everything like a blind bull. He had never imagined his cold arch-nemesis contributing his strength to helping everyone else and "Potter." He almost chuckled loudly, but instead he managed a small grunt of amusement.
A sleepy voice near his bed, "Harry?"
"You're still awake Ron? Sorry."
A slight groan, "Go to sleep…"
Sleep. He didn't want to sleep yet. He was… not… —yawn— …sleepy.
His eyes involuntarily shut close.
*
Shadows looming over me, like rabid beasts sulking in the dark, eyeing its prey. Hanging drearily, like the feelings of guilt and bothersome regret. Fear courses through my veins, my heart pumps faster and faster.
I see blood.
The warm crimson trickles down my body. I am bare. I am stained with blood and I do not know why.
Why?
A blinding flash of white. A burning heat cloaking my flesh.
Then darkness.
Where am I?
There! I see something beneath these sheets of black. A glowing emblem hovering, floating across, towards me.
I gasp as the atrocious design registers in my mind. A skull…no… It is more than that.
The Dark Mark.
With gleaming crimson eyes?!
*
Harry Potter's eyes shot open, bright emerald gems shining in the still room. Sitting up abruptly, he gripped the hem of his covers, wildly scanning the area. He had heard something, and so he asked, quite quietly,
"Who's there? Who's awake?"
No one answered. But something that blended into the shadows shifted. He looked at it, but could not distinguish what it was. Harry Potter immediately grabbed his glasses from his bedside table and attempted to crawl out of bed.
The mysterious shadow backed away as Harry stood. The Gryffindor fifth-year's quarters was reeking with darkness and stillness, only Harry and the intruder stood awake, barely three meters away from each other. They were just standing there, waiting for the first to move.
Harry squinted his eyes, trying hard to figure the intruder's facial features but it was too dim to see anything more than a tall silhouette of a teenage boy.
Suddenly, the silhouette swiftly turned and ran, so Harry jerked in action. He too crept cautiously and quickly, following the trespasser.
They weaved among beds, and trunks and many other obscure obstacles, Harry bit his lip as he passed by his sleeping classmates, scared he might rouse them. But his curiosity pushed him farther and farther, trailing the ominous shadow hastily.
They came to a dead end. He had cornered the unknown boy with a large look-out window that stood even taller than them. He tried to see his face again, but the little rays on moonlight were not enough to distinguish his face properly.
"Who are you?!" Harry whispered, almost desperately.
The boy did not reply.
Harry's brow knotted, "Why are you here? Who are you!?"
The famous boy started to advance on the other, but the intruder whipped back his hand and opened the large, glass window. With one last look at Harry Potter, the figure jumped down. Harry gasped, shocked, and he darted forwards to the edge of the open window. The body was quickly engulfed by the evening mists that crawled upon Hogwarts at night.
The moonlight provided Harry with sight for a few seconds. He could have sworn that this intruder…
Had pale, blonde hair.
---
I'll have the next chapter posted if I have a satisfying review for this one. Thanks for everyone who reviewed so far. I have revealed little facts here and there, I wonder if you spotted them. OH! BTW! I'm not sure where I got Snuffles as the codename of Sirius… I thought it was in the book but I think it's not. I got it out of a fanfic. It got embedded in my head. If only I can remember WHICH fanfic had snuffles in it…. So sorry! If you guys know which fanfic it came from, please tell!!! Please?! Oh don't look at me like that! Grr… Oh well. Wehehe… grin
God bless!