Disclaimer: I've got no money, so don't bother suing. Just for the record,
Harry Potter does not belong to me.
"They're not your friends anymore, Harry. You only have yourself. That's why we're so alike, you and I. We're made to do great things, Harry, and these people are just obstacles, blocking us away from the prize." The seductive, lilting voice echoed. Harry looked around him; all around him were darkness, so cold, and yet so welcoming.
"No, they're my true friends. They're loyal to me."
"Loyal? Never, Harry, never loyal. They just want fame, Harry Potter, and who easier to provide them that than you, the famous Harry Potter?"
Harry shook his head stubbornly. "No! They're my friends. Ron, and Hermoine!" An amused chuckled rang out in the darkness. "What's so amusing?" Harry demanded defensively.
"Poor poor Harry, don't you know? Your loyal friend Ron is right now scheming to steal your precious Hermoine away. You think she really loves you, Harry Potter? You're just a substitute for Ron!
Harry shook his head again. "It can't be," he denied, his voice softer, as if trying to convince himself. From the darkness, two red blinking lights appeared.
"But it is happening. They've turned against you. You're alone. ALONE."
Harry sat up sharply, panting heavily. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and his scar was positively burning. His first reaction was to wake Ron up and confide to him about his dream, but as he stared as his friend sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face, Harry felt his anger boil up. He's dreaming about Hermoine. He's thinking of ways to get her back. He's not my friend. He's evil.
Unknown to him, Harry clenched his fists tightly, barely noticing as his nails drew blood from his palm. His green eyes shone with a sadistic light, and seemed to narrow in concentration. He reached for his wand, but stopped when the voice in his head called out. Be patient, Harry. Soon you will be the most powerful. Soon you will have your revenge.
"But-," Harry started, as he looked at himself in the mirror. His mirror image took on a stance of an evil villain - narrowed eyes, lips pursed tightly, tensed jaw - all in all, a look that could kill. No buts. To do great things, Harry, you must be patient. Be patient.
Harry nodded obediently to his mirror image, his eyes big and innocent, like a young child listening to words of advice from his grandfather. "Yes, I will be patient," he whispered. He laid his head against the soft pillow, and promptly fell asleep.
+++
"Harry, wake up." Harry opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. He stared groggily at Ron for a few minutes, before focusing his gaze on the sky outside. It was a bright blue, with a thin mist covering it. He turned back to Ron and frowned.
"Weasley, it's dawn. Isn't it a little too early?" Harry asked, sitting up. He had a weird feeling at the back of his head, and he had the sudden urge to snap at Ron. Using all his self-control, he forced himself to rein his anger in before it could burst out.
"Well, captain. You were the one who wanted us to practice today. The entire team's waiting for you. Come along now, Harry."
"Hang on a minute," Harry said, raising a hand. "Why don't you go down and tell the team to have some breakfast first. I'll be down shortly." Ron nodded, and jauntily sauntered off. Harry stared at his retreating back and wondered for the life of him why he was so angry with Ron. "Must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Potter," he muttered to himself, as he reached for his clothes and headed to the bathroom.
+++
After two hours of grueling practice, Harry stumbled into the secret room, glad for the air-conditioner that Hermoine, who was curled up on the couch reading, had considerately conjured up. She looked up and gave him a sweet smile, and Harry felt his heart stop. There was a nagging feeling in him, a part that was angry with Hermoine, but he couldn't figure out why, and frankly, he didn't care. He can never be angry with Hermoine, not unless he was seriously possessed.
"Thanks for the air-conditioner," he said as a greeting, pointing up to the subject of his sentence. He sat on the floor next to the couch, and whipped out his wand. Muttering a spell, he felt a wave of cool air brush past him, and he looked down. His perspiration that had drenched his hair and face was gone, as if evaporated into thin air. His robes were neatly worn, and his tie was in a perfect knot.
"How was practice?" Hermoine asked, as she bent down to give him a greeting kiss. Harry closed his eyes, and deepened the kiss. After seconds, he pulled away and dropped his head back, against the couch.
"Terrible. The team still can't get used to the new routine, and we're playing against Hufflepuff in a week. We have to win this game." Hermoine slipped a quill between the pages of the book she was reading and put it down. She sat up and placed her hands on either side of Harry's shoulder blades, gently messaging them. "Thanks you," he said gratefully.
"Try to relax, Harry. It's just a game," Hermoine said. Although she did agree that Quidditch was a great spectators' sport, she just didn't see the fuss about it.
Harry snapped his head back up and turned to glare at her. "It's not just a game to me, ok?" he started hotly, his face flushing an angry red. "It's really important, and I'm sorry if you don't get it, but it's my life!" Hermoine widened her eyes, and Harry could see the hurt in those hazel pools. He immediately felt guilty, and despite his sudden anger, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Herm. I'm just really stressed right now."
She gave him a small smile; small, yet forgiving smile. "I understand," she assured him. "No offense taken."
Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I've been really hot- tempered today," he confided with a sheepish smile. "Must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?"
"You don't say," Hermoine drawled sarcastically, a mischievous grin on her face. "You're just stressed," she told him. "Turn around, I'll give you that massage again." Harry shook his head and leaned his head forward, his forehead touching hers.
"There ARE other things to help me de-stress," he hinted, not very subtly, with a twinkle in his green eyes. Hermoine gave a soft and short laugh, as she leaned forward to kiss him. In that moment, Harry felt the anger that had been stirring at the back of his head disappear, if only but for a moment. +++
A/N: Well then, Chapter eight's up! =P. You guys, please please please review. I'm begging you, REVIEW! =P.
"They're not your friends anymore, Harry. You only have yourself. That's why we're so alike, you and I. We're made to do great things, Harry, and these people are just obstacles, blocking us away from the prize." The seductive, lilting voice echoed. Harry looked around him; all around him were darkness, so cold, and yet so welcoming.
"No, they're my true friends. They're loyal to me."
"Loyal? Never, Harry, never loyal. They just want fame, Harry Potter, and who easier to provide them that than you, the famous Harry Potter?"
Harry shook his head stubbornly. "No! They're my friends. Ron, and Hermoine!" An amused chuckled rang out in the darkness. "What's so amusing?" Harry demanded defensively.
"Poor poor Harry, don't you know? Your loyal friend Ron is right now scheming to steal your precious Hermoine away. You think she really loves you, Harry Potter? You're just a substitute for Ron!
Harry shook his head again. "It can't be," he denied, his voice softer, as if trying to convince himself. From the darkness, two red blinking lights appeared.
"But it is happening. They've turned against you. You're alone. ALONE."
Harry sat up sharply, panting heavily. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and his scar was positively burning. His first reaction was to wake Ron up and confide to him about his dream, but as he stared as his friend sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face, Harry felt his anger boil up. He's dreaming about Hermoine. He's thinking of ways to get her back. He's not my friend. He's evil.
Unknown to him, Harry clenched his fists tightly, barely noticing as his nails drew blood from his palm. His green eyes shone with a sadistic light, and seemed to narrow in concentration. He reached for his wand, but stopped when the voice in his head called out. Be patient, Harry. Soon you will be the most powerful. Soon you will have your revenge.
"But-," Harry started, as he looked at himself in the mirror. His mirror image took on a stance of an evil villain - narrowed eyes, lips pursed tightly, tensed jaw - all in all, a look that could kill. No buts. To do great things, Harry, you must be patient. Be patient.
Harry nodded obediently to his mirror image, his eyes big and innocent, like a young child listening to words of advice from his grandfather. "Yes, I will be patient," he whispered. He laid his head against the soft pillow, and promptly fell asleep.
+++
"Harry, wake up." Harry opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. He stared groggily at Ron for a few minutes, before focusing his gaze on the sky outside. It was a bright blue, with a thin mist covering it. He turned back to Ron and frowned.
"Weasley, it's dawn. Isn't it a little too early?" Harry asked, sitting up. He had a weird feeling at the back of his head, and he had the sudden urge to snap at Ron. Using all his self-control, he forced himself to rein his anger in before it could burst out.
"Well, captain. You were the one who wanted us to practice today. The entire team's waiting for you. Come along now, Harry."
"Hang on a minute," Harry said, raising a hand. "Why don't you go down and tell the team to have some breakfast first. I'll be down shortly." Ron nodded, and jauntily sauntered off. Harry stared at his retreating back and wondered for the life of him why he was so angry with Ron. "Must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Potter," he muttered to himself, as he reached for his clothes and headed to the bathroom.
+++
After two hours of grueling practice, Harry stumbled into the secret room, glad for the air-conditioner that Hermoine, who was curled up on the couch reading, had considerately conjured up. She looked up and gave him a sweet smile, and Harry felt his heart stop. There was a nagging feeling in him, a part that was angry with Hermoine, but he couldn't figure out why, and frankly, he didn't care. He can never be angry with Hermoine, not unless he was seriously possessed.
"Thanks for the air-conditioner," he said as a greeting, pointing up to the subject of his sentence. He sat on the floor next to the couch, and whipped out his wand. Muttering a spell, he felt a wave of cool air brush past him, and he looked down. His perspiration that had drenched his hair and face was gone, as if evaporated into thin air. His robes were neatly worn, and his tie was in a perfect knot.
"How was practice?" Hermoine asked, as she bent down to give him a greeting kiss. Harry closed his eyes, and deepened the kiss. After seconds, he pulled away and dropped his head back, against the couch.
"Terrible. The team still can't get used to the new routine, and we're playing against Hufflepuff in a week. We have to win this game." Hermoine slipped a quill between the pages of the book she was reading and put it down. She sat up and placed her hands on either side of Harry's shoulder blades, gently messaging them. "Thanks you," he said gratefully.
"Try to relax, Harry. It's just a game," Hermoine said. Although she did agree that Quidditch was a great spectators' sport, she just didn't see the fuss about it.
Harry snapped his head back up and turned to glare at her. "It's not just a game to me, ok?" he started hotly, his face flushing an angry red. "It's really important, and I'm sorry if you don't get it, but it's my life!" Hermoine widened her eyes, and Harry could see the hurt in those hazel pools. He immediately felt guilty, and despite his sudden anger, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Herm. I'm just really stressed right now."
She gave him a small smile; small, yet forgiving smile. "I understand," she assured him. "No offense taken."
Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I've been really hot- tempered today," he confided with a sheepish smile. "Must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?"
"You don't say," Hermoine drawled sarcastically, a mischievous grin on her face. "You're just stressed," she told him. "Turn around, I'll give you that massage again." Harry shook his head and leaned his head forward, his forehead touching hers.
"There ARE other things to help me de-stress," he hinted, not very subtly, with a twinkle in his green eyes. Hermoine gave a soft and short laugh, as she leaned forward to kiss him. In that moment, Harry felt the anger that had been stirring at the back of his head disappear, if only but for a moment. +++
A/N: Well then, Chapter eight's up! =P. You guys, please please please review. I'm begging you, REVIEW! =P.