(Author's Thanks: lecada chan, JazzPizza, and Edana for reviewing.
Summary: Draco Malfoy has joined Dumbledore's side as the Final Battle draws near. The wizarding world is in chaos, but so is Draco's heart and mind. The Malfoy must confront his demons if he's truly going to be loyal to Dumbledore, and a certain Weasley has been recruited by Dumbledore to help him confront them.
Disclaimers: All of these characters belong to Rowling, who (surprise!) isn't me. Look, people, if I was Rowling, I'd be rolling around in a pool filled with money instead of writing fan fiction.. I mean, really.
Warnings: This story contains slash. This means male/male relationships. If homosexuality or bisexuality is against your religion or simply against your ethics, please don't read this. If you do and send a flame, I will show it to Lady and laugh at your stupidity with her. Thank you.
Author's Notes: Sorry about taking a while with this chapter. I could write it perfectly fine, but when I'd reread over it, I'd hate the lack of imagination in it, and delete half of it in a fit of writer's angst. Here's the final revision. I just won't mention how many times I redid the entire chapter. *sheepish look*
Oh, and the *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* symbols mean that we've switched to another person's POV. The story will stay in third person, but which each of these symbols we can delve deeper into the mind of that person. Oh, you'll see what I mean once you start reading. Enjoy the latest part of Convinced of My Deception!
~Cinaed)
Convinced of My Deception
By Cinaed
Draco Malfoy's upper lip was curled in distaste as he entered the room which he would be occupying for the next few weeks. A real Malfoy wouldn't have been caught dead in the room that was rather cheery but much smaller than his bedroom at the Malfoy Manner. The creamy walls were a color that no Malfoy in their right mind would have chosen to coat even the borders of a room with.
"Oh, Dumbledore certainly knows /my/ taste in rooms," he sneered, well aware that he shouldn't be talking out loud to himself. Gray eyes caught sight of a silver envelope resting on the white pillow that adorned his butter-colored bed, a refreshing blankness that offset the horrible buttery color of the rest of the room. After a moment's hesitation, the teen reached out and picked up the envelope with slender fingers. He quickly read the letter, his lips pursing in a gesture that was half-amused at the headmaster's stupidity, half-scornful at the older man's senility. Nevertheless, he obeyed the letter's orders, moving to stand right in front of the gaudy mirror that had too many fake jewels adorning it.
Draco scowled into the mirror, and then jumped a little as the mirror said dryly, "I love you too, boy." His pale cheeks flushed, but he didn't retort, instead snatching up the blue baseball cap that was resting on the dresser next to the mirror. His visage betrayed his distaste at the American cap; even so, he fitted the Muggle hat atop his silvery-blond crown of hair and glanced at himself in the mirror. In Draco's opinion, he now looked like a complete and total moron, with his robes and Muggle cap contradicting each other. Wondering why the headmaster had told him to wear such a ridiculous Muggle article of clothing, he sighed and slipped on the sunglasses that would almost complete the outfit. Great, now he looked like a mixture of an American jock and troublemaker. Sneering at his reflection, he finished the outfit by changing from his robes to a white T-shirt, a leather jacket, ragged blue jeans, and a pair of old sneakers.
"Oh my!" declared the mirror in an almost gasp.
"What're you talking about?" growled out the blonde as he moved to gaze at himself in the stunned mirror. "Shit!" The Slytherin gawked at his reflection, all arrogance wiped away in that moment of shock.
No longer did he look even remotely like Draco Malfoy. In his place stood a tall, muscular rebel with startled (and startling) blue eyes as his sunglasses slid down to the tip of his nose. Dressed in the same clothes that a certain Malfoy had just donned, his tresses were down to his shoulders and colored jet-black. Instead of fair flesh, this rebellious teenager was tanned from hours out in the sun.
Draco moved his hand in front of his eyes, and gazed at the now brown skin for a long moment. After a long pause, his lips quirked into a half-smile. "Remarkable disguise, Dumbledore." He jumped at the suddenly deep voice. Apparently Dumbledore had used the outfit to disguise his voice too. Shaking his head, the masquerading young man moved to collapse onto the butter-colored bed. He had a feeling the rest of his life had suddenly gotten much more interesting.
~~A little over a month later~~
"Goodbye, Harry!" The final words of Mrs. Weasley were stolen away by the wind as Harry waved to her. The plump, cheerful mother of his best friend offered him an affectionate smile before she vanished, Apparating back to the safe house where she and Arthur lived and where the rest of the Weasley crew had lived during the summer, out of Voldemort and his Death Eaters' grasps.
The black-haired seventh year turned to see Ron board the train, his brilliant red locks catching the sun and seemingly bursting into flame before he ducked inside, the cerise tendrils returning to their normal moderate red out of the sun. Grinning, the Boy-Who-Lived hauled his trunk in after him; Hedwig was nestled comfortably in her cage in a separate compartment with the rest of the animals. It would be good to be back at Hogwarts. Although he had felt safe at the Weasley safe house, he had had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right all summer. Not to mention that Voldemort's deadly rampages made him crumple every couple of days, clutching at his cursed scar in agony while Ron and the rest of the Weasley brood could only look on helplessly.
He dragged his heavy trunk into the last compartment and glanced around even as the door shut behind him and the train slowly began its trek towards Hogwarts. The compartment was empty, save Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and himself.
"Hermione, how was your summer?" he asked as soon as they had gotten settled. Emerald green eyes danced with roguish mirth. "Besides the enormous event of your becoming Head Girl, of course."
Before the bushy-haired brunette could respond, a horrified groan filled the compartment, and the quartet jumped. "Don't tell me Granger's Head Girl!" The deep voice came from a corner, and Harry squinted, only then realizing that there was a figure there.
"Who's there?" Ron demanded, scowling in the direction of the corner, his cerulean eyes searching for the challenger of his best friend's reputation.
The formerly unnoticed person sat forward, at last catching the light of the compartment. It was a black-haired, tanned boy who Harry had never met before, but he wore an unpleasant sneer that seemed eerily familiar. "I am. Got a problem with that, Weasel?" He was dressed in a rebellious Muggle outfit, with a leather jacket to boot, his wand twirling absently between long, slender fingers.
"As a matter of fact I do!" Ron's freckled visage had turned bright pink by the time the question had been issued, splotches of rose pink vivid amid his numerous freckles. "Listen, whoever you are, we don't appreciate jerks like you in our compartment."
"It's a free country, Weasel, and I was here first." The drawling, deep words had a tone of familiarity, but Harry couldn't quite place the tone. The boy pushed his sunglasses down long enough to give them a defiant look with his bright blue eyes.
"So?"
"Oh, what a brilliant comeback, Weasel-" The sneering teen didn't have a chance to finish his mordant reply as the compartment doors slid open with quiet sounds and three familiar figures walked in. Harry gazed in bewilderment, searching for another familiar person to make it the normal foursome. There was no sign of the short blonde. Since when had Pansy Parkinson become the ringleader for Goyle and Crabbe instead of Draco Malfoy? He noticed the unfamiliar person had abruptly fallen silent.
Parkinson smirked as her beady, remorseless eyes landed on the group. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? The Boy Who Lived and his little pets." She ignored Ron's low, warning growl and instead peered at the boy in the corner, the beady eyes sparking with cruel interest. "And who're you?"
"None of your business," hissed out the brunet, glaring at her and scrunching back into the corner in an almost retreat. "I was just telling Potter and his gang of clowns to get lost. Why don't you get out too?" His tone dripped with aversion, and Harry wondered if the brunet liked /anyone/.
"Who made you the boss of us?" Parkinson demanded, scowling at the egotistical teenager, who laughed mockingly in return but didn't retort. She nodded towards Crabbe and Goyle, who stepped forward to block Harry's view of the cocky brunet. "I said, who do you think you are?"
"Don't try to threaten me, bitch," snapped the teenager, and Harry could hear him standing as his leather jacket made soft rustling noises that seemed almost loud in the hushed compartment. The silence was shattered once more when the brunet continued. "I don't have to answer you or your backstabbing cronies."
Parkinson eyed him for a moment before a malicious smirk twisted her lips, making her face decidedly unpleasant to look at. "Vincent, Gregory, why don't you two show this misinformed Mudblood how good of cronies you are?"
"Er, what?" She had lost Crabbe on that, and beside Harry, Ron bit back a snicker.
"I mean rough him up a little, moron." Parkinson's tone was harsh with impatience and a hint of incredulity at her cronies' stupidity.
"Oh, right." The two hulking Slytherin moved closer, and Harry heard the brunet growl something under his breath. In the next instant, Goyle and Crabbe were tumbling head over heels; the duo crashed against the other side of the compartment and made it shudder violently from the dual impacts.
With Goyle and Crabbe sprawled on the floor, the Gryffindor group had clear view of the stranger now; but he was no longer a stranger. Instead the brunet had shrunk and been replaced by the very familiar Draco Malfoy. His sunglasses and hat were on the floor, the blue cap and the dark glasses seeming almost forlorn by the blonde's feet.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco kept his wand pointed directly at Pansy. He had never liked the clingy bitch. He noticed, from the corner of his eyes, that the Gryffindor gaggle looked thunderstruck. The Slytherin glanced down and noticed that his flesh was pale once more. The disguise must have vanished when Crabbe and Goyle had yanked his sunglasses and cap off. Muttering a profane word under his breath, the teenager raised an eyebrow, trying to enjoy Pansy's shock. He should get used to calling her Parkinson, shouldn't he? After all, she was now his enemy. That, however, did not mean he had to call the Gryffindor gaggle anything remotely near their given names. He raised an eyebrow that betrayed his smugness at her look of disbelief. "Surprised, Parkinson?"
"D-Draco?" His fellow Slytherin seemed to be in shock for a moment, and the Malfoy smirked faintly. After that initial moment of disbelief, Parkinson regained her composure and sneered, her face twisting into a hideous mask of hatred. At that moment, Draco was very glad that he had been disowned by his father and gotten out of marriage with her. She reminded him of gray gargoyles that been fixed in convulsions of agony as they clung with frantic, knobby fingers to the spires of the Malfoy Manor, the ones that had been there for hundreds of years and had eventually been covered by grime, which only enhanced their hideousness. "You're actually showing your face around Hogwarts? You must have a death wish."
The blonde laughed a harsh, hollow laugh that made the older Weasley in the compartment jump at the void resonance. "I have a death wish for only one person, Parkinson, and you know who that is."
"Your father?" Parkinson inquired, her words dripping with sarcasm as she earned a pair of rolled eyes.
"Very funny, bitch. Where /did/ you get that sense of humor?" If Parkinson's words dripped with scorn than the Malfoy's was saturated with it.
"From you, my former fiancé." The female Slytherin's voice was sickeningly sweet, enough that Draco was reminded of the time he had received eight pounds of candy for Christmas and had attempted to devour every piece within the week. By the fourth day, the taste of chocolate had been cloying and nauseating. The young blonde had refused to have another bonbon or toffee for a whole two months, and it took another month after that for him to choke down a piece of chocolate. Even now, more than a couple candies at a time made him queasy.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
"Gross." The word was out of Ron's mouth before he realized what he was doing. Both Parkinson and Malfoy glanced over at him, their expressions suggesting they were quite preoccupied, and for a moment the Weasley fought the urge to blush. Instead, he glowered back without another word and refused to take back his comment. The mental image of the two together was indeed a repulsive sight to consider, and as soon as the two Slytherin seventh-years returned to glaring daggers at each other, the Gryffindor shuddered and tried to chase the horrific image from his head.
"You can't possibly expect to be welcomed in the Slytherin House, Draco."
"I don't," was said matter-of-factly. "But I'm not about to be frightened away from my seventh year at Hogwarts because of my Slytherin brethren." A pleased smirk curved the blonde's lips that made Ron instinctively want to hit him, as he added, in a tone of total complacency, "After all, Hogwarts needs its Head Boy, doesn't it?"
"/You're/ Head Boy?" Hermione and Harry cried out as one, both sounding horrified. Ron and Ginny were both too stunned to speak.
Malfoy turned a smirk upon the quartet, looking extremely pleased with himself. "It's quite interesting how having nothing to do during the summers can help you get ahead in classes and get fairly decent grades."
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco bit the inside of his cheek to bite back a snicker at the aghast looks on the Gryffindor gaggle's faces. He simply would 'forget' to mention that his father had forced him to study like a mad demon in the hopes that his son would get better grades than Granger the Mudblood. Well, he was still behind Granger, but he had scraped together the best grades of the male section of his year since the rest of them were lazy gits, and so he had been honored with being Head Boy. Much to the dismay of McGonagall and pleasure of Snape, naturally.
"You mean we're going to have to work together?" Granger said, looking quite ill at the thought. Her flesh had a greenish tinge to the normally vigorous hue and her mouth was compressed so tightly like McGonagall that her lips had all but disappeared, replaced by a white streak against a greenish visage.
"Yes, and I'll treasure every moment of it, Mudblood." The sardonic words flowed from his lips easily and he ignored Weasley's low growl. Silvery eyes flickered back to Parkinson, and did a near double-take. Since when had Goyle and Crabbe learned the art of stealth? The lumbering oafs were back at Parkinson's side, their glares focused on him. Draco shoved any feeling of uneasiness aside for the moment as he ordered, "Get lost, Parkinson. You know I can best you and these two in a duel."
"Ah, but you don't have a second, do you?" Parkinson commented with more than a hint of malicious glee in her words.
The blonde's lips curved into another faint smirk as his overconfidence returned to its full degree. "I don't need one. /Expelliarmus/!" Parkinson's wand wrenched itself from her hand and Draco deftly caught it, the wood warm and moist from her sweating palms. "/Expelliarmus/!" Goyle's wand joined Parkinson's in the blonde's grip. If the witch's wand was damp, then Goyle's was slick. Almost lazily, he added, "/Expelliarmus/!" to steal away Crabbe's. Smirking at the disarmed witch and wizards, he raised an eyebrow and waited for a retort, attempting to ignore the horrible fact that he was holding three sticky wands in one hand. If they had to sweat, couldn't they have worn gloves like civilized people?
Parkinson's face turned crimson with rage and she glared venomously at her former fiancé, resembling a goblin more than a gargoyle this time when Draco mused on it. "You'll pay for that, Draco."
"Really. Sounds like an idle threat to me, Parkinson," drawled the blonde, the smirk never leaving his face. He kept his eyes trained on Goyle and Crabbe, waiting for any sudden movements. Even with wands, the duo usually resorted to brute force, and if Draco was caught by surprise, he knew they were stronger in the area of physical strength. Not to mention that they had at least a foot each on him in height and many, many pounds.
The compartment door slid open, and his silvery gray eyes met the surprised hazel eyes of a very different Neville Longbottom than he remembered.
"Harry, Hermione-" The seventeen-year-old who looked nothing like he had the spring of their sixth year froze, gazing into Draco's eyes and taking a step back, out of the compartment so that no one could see his altered features. "Um, this is probably a bad time-"
"Yes, it is," the blonde agreed coolly, raising an eyebrow at the transformed but still bumbling Gryffindor. Unfortunately, he had done exactly what he had warned himself not to do, and had allowed himself to get distracted.
Needless to say, Crabbe took the opportunity to punch Draco in the stomach.
Four wands clattered on the ground as the blonde doubled over, gasping as all of his breath left him with that painful clout. A part of him was mildly impressed at the fact that Crabbe had needed no prompting from Pansy, but the rest of him was just focused on breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out-
"Not so cocky now, are you, Draco?"
Breathe in. Breathe out. Get the wand and kill the bloody bitch. Breathe in. Breathe Out.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Ron's view of Malfoy was blocked by Crabbe and Goyle's hulking figures, but everyone had seen Crabbe's arm motion and knew that the blond Slytherin had been punched. He could hear the rapid gasps escaping the blonde's lips like a rabbit that had been hunted over hills and through vales by a determined, lethal hawk, and wondered exactly how hard Crabbe had hit him.
"Go get laid, bitch." The rasped comment held the usual scorn within each syllable, but everybody in the compartment could hear the pain he was struggling to hide. "Maybe that'll improve your mood."
"Vincent, Gregory, hit him some more."
The two hulking Slytherin eagerly obeyed, and they had landed about three punches each before Harry shifted beside Ron and stood, training his wand at the trio of abusers and frowning darkly. Ron had grown used to see dark looks on the visage of the Boy-Who-Lived. He had frowned more often than he had smiled during the summer, a tense, apprehensive type of look to his weary face most of the time, especially when one dared and glanced at him when he had thought everyone was busy with other things. The Weasley was secretly relieved that they were back in Hogwarts, as much as he missed his parents and worried about them. Harry was much safer in Hogwarts under Dumbledore's watch.
"Hey, leave him alone and get lost. He's Head Boy, after all." Although Harry still sounded slightly ill at the prospect of Malfoy being Head Boy, his tone held a familiar ring of steel. "He's earned /some/ respect."
"Why, I didn't know you cared, Potter." The hoarse reply came from the hidden Malfoy. His voice was even weaker than before, and had an unpleasant grating sound underlying it that reminded Ron of the time George had fallen off his toy broom and broken a rib. Fred had been inconsolable for an entire three days afterwards, because he had been the one to plant the exploding bouncing ball where a sibling would find it. He hadn't thought that the sibling would be his twin. "Now, get your nose out of my business."
Ron didn't even have to glance at Harry to know the brunet had rolled his eyes in annoyance. He understood his best friend's aggravation. Here Harry was, attempting to help his major rival keep from getting his arse kicked, and the git was telling him to get lost. "Don't /ever/ think I care, but I do think it's entirely unfair for Parkinson to pit Crabbe and Goyle against you." Although the brunet was sincere, there was a hint of exasperation tingeing his words.
Parkinson turned to sneer at Harry, and Ron found himself rising to aim his wand at the unpleasant leer planted on the Slytherin girl's visage. He glowered at Parkinson, and added, the attitude of the redhead commanding and unsympathetic, "You heard Harry; leave the compartment."
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco sat, doubled over and clutching his stomach, as he listened to Potter and Weasley stand up for him. What were those two morons doing? His pale fingers grasped through the Muggle fabric, clutching at sensitive skin that would be displaying numerous bruises when he woke up for the first morning at Hogwarts, although his stomach wasn't the area that pained him the most. It was his side, just below his shoulder. One of Vincent's meaty fists had crashed into that agonizing spot, and Draco suspected at least one, if not more, of his ribs had shattered at the impact. At least the broken rib (or ribs) hadn't punctured a lung. He'd probably have been on the floor writhing in suffering if such a thing had occurred, gasping desperately for breath even more so than he was now, and coughing up blood as he bled internally.
He saw Parkinson's squinty eyes narrow to slits in consideration. She was still disarmed, since she hadn't thought to snatch her wand from the floor where it had fallen, so there was no way she could fight Potter. After a moment, she glowered but said, "Vincent, Gregory, let's go. We might get infected with Gryffindor germs." Her tone was rebellious, and Draco knew this wasn't the last of Parkinson and her newest cronies.
Ah well, the Malfoy hadn't expected life to be easy after he had backstabbed his father.
Silvery gray eyes that were squinting against the hazy pain that filmed over his vision watched the three Slytherin slowly grab their wands from the floor and shuffle from the compartment, past Longbottom, who cowered away at their approach and then stepped cautiously into the compartment once the trio had vanished from sight.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Neville chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, glancing between Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Malfoy. Should he actually stay? He didn't want to be this close to the blond Slytherin, but from the ashen look to the Malfoy's visage, the Longbottom suspected he wouldn't be much of a threat.
Making up his decision, the splendidly-altered Gryffindor took a second, cautious step into the compartment, smiling his same bashful smile at the group of Gryffindor and single Slytherin. If his smile and personality was most the same, the rest of him was not. The Gryffindor looked like a completely different person than he had been when he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express that spring to return home to his overbearing grandmother.
The plump seventeen-year-old was no longer plump, and instead of roundness, he was pure muscle. He had been out in the sun for hours upon hours during the summer it seemed, for his flesh was bronzed, giving him a robust appearance like a Greek demigod who had trained in the heights of Olympus. He had had his final growth spurt, which had helped him look like he had lost more pounds than he had. His eyes were the same bright hazel, but his dirty-blond locks had lightened out in the sunlight, the curly tresses falling to his chin and making a sharp contrast against his suntanned skin.
His smile was the same bashful smile, and his eyes had the constant gleam of hopeful acceptance that the hazel orbs always had shimmering within their brownish-green depths. And when he spoke, his voice hadn't changed; it had the consistent, uncertain lilt to it that it always had. "Would you all mind if I sat with you?"
Silence reigned and enclosed him, becoming a haze that wrapped its fatal limbs around him and reached through his softly smiling mouth into his form to grasp at his heart, all too ready to crush the wildly beating organ in one swift blow if there should be a negative reply from the group.
At last someone spoke, but the noiseless hands remained lightly on his heart, the invisible fingers almost caressing the fragile body part, waiting to see how this played out.
"Neville?" The soft, incredulous name ghosted from between parted lips as emerald green eyes gazed at the other boy as if seeing him for the first time.
Neville Longbottom simply offered Harry Potter the same self-conscious smile he always had.
(To be continued
Author's Notes: I know some of you might be annoyed at my altercation of Neville's looks, but I think if his granny whipped him into shape, he could look good-looking. I hold no tuck whatsoever to the movies and so I don't picture him like the sweetie who plays him in the cinemas. Plus, his transformation was inspired by the fact that this round-faced boy did the exact thing last summer. Now he's oh so hot. *drools and then gets control of herself*
Also, I just thought I'd point out that this entire chapter was written in the span of 11:10 PM to 1:29 AM. Why must my muses reign supreme at night? *yawns tiredly and hopes her parents don't wake up when she creeps upstairs* Please remember to review!
~Cinaed)
Summary: Draco Malfoy has joined Dumbledore's side as the Final Battle draws near. The wizarding world is in chaos, but so is Draco's heart and mind. The Malfoy must confront his demons if he's truly going to be loyal to Dumbledore, and a certain Weasley has been recruited by Dumbledore to help him confront them.
Disclaimers: All of these characters belong to Rowling, who (surprise!) isn't me. Look, people, if I was Rowling, I'd be rolling around in a pool filled with money instead of writing fan fiction.. I mean, really.
Warnings: This story contains slash. This means male/male relationships. If homosexuality or bisexuality is against your religion or simply against your ethics, please don't read this. If you do and send a flame, I will show it to Lady and laugh at your stupidity with her. Thank you.
Author's Notes: Sorry about taking a while with this chapter. I could write it perfectly fine, but when I'd reread over it, I'd hate the lack of imagination in it, and delete half of it in a fit of writer's angst. Here's the final revision. I just won't mention how many times I redid the entire chapter. *sheepish look*
Oh, and the *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* symbols mean that we've switched to another person's POV. The story will stay in third person, but which each of these symbols we can delve deeper into the mind of that person. Oh, you'll see what I mean once you start reading. Enjoy the latest part of Convinced of My Deception!
~Cinaed)
Convinced of My Deception
By Cinaed
Draco Malfoy's upper lip was curled in distaste as he entered the room which he would be occupying for the next few weeks. A real Malfoy wouldn't have been caught dead in the room that was rather cheery but much smaller than his bedroom at the Malfoy Manner. The creamy walls were a color that no Malfoy in their right mind would have chosen to coat even the borders of a room with.
"Oh, Dumbledore certainly knows /my/ taste in rooms," he sneered, well aware that he shouldn't be talking out loud to himself. Gray eyes caught sight of a silver envelope resting on the white pillow that adorned his butter-colored bed, a refreshing blankness that offset the horrible buttery color of the rest of the room. After a moment's hesitation, the teen reached out and picked up the envelope with slender fingers. He quickly read the letter, his lips pursing in a gesture that was half-amused at the headmaster's stupidity, half-scornful at the older man's senility. Nevertheless, he obeyed the letter's orders, moving to stand right in front of the gaudy mirror that had too many fake jewels adorning it.
Draco scowled into the mirror, and then jumped a little as the mirror said dryly, "I love you too, boy." His pale cheeks flushed, but he didn't retort, instead snatching up the blue baseball cap that was resting on the dresser next to the mirror. His visage betrayed his distaste at the American cap; even so, he fitted the Muggle hat atop his silvery-blond crown of hair and glanced at himself in the mirror. In Draco's opinion, he now looked like a complete and total moron, with his robes and Muggle cap contradicting each other. Wondering why the headmaster had told him to wear such a ridiculous Muggle article of clothing, he sighed and slipped on the sunglasses that would almost complete the outfit. Great, now he looked like a mixture of an American jock and troublemaker. Sneering at his reflection, he finished the outfit by changing from his robes to a white T-shirt, a leather jacket, ragged blue jeans, and a pair of old sneakers.
"Oh my!" declared the mirror in an almost gasp.
"What're you talking about?" growled out the blonde as he moved to gaze at himself in the stunned mirror. "Shit!" The Slytherin gawked at his reflection, all arrogance wiped away in that moment of shock.
No longer did he look even remotely like Draco Malfoy. In his place stood a tall, muscular rebel with startled (and startling) blue eyes as his sunglasses slid down to the tip of his nose. Dressed in the same clothes that a certain Malfoy had just donned, his tresses were down to his shoulders and colored jet-black. Instead of fair flesh, this rebellious teenager was tanned from hours out in the sun.
Draco moved his hand in front of his eyes, and gazed at the now brown skin for a long moment. After a long pause, his lips quirked into a half-smile. "Remarkable disguise, Dumbledore." He jumped at the suddenly deep voice. Apparently Dumbledore had used the outfit to disguise his voice too. Shaking his head, the masquerading young man moved to collapse onto the butter-colored bed. He had a feeling the rest of his life had suddenly gotten much more interesting.
~~A little over a month later~~
"Goodbye, Harry!" The final words of Mrs. Weasley were stolen away by the wind as Harry waved to her. The plump, cheerful mother of his best friend offered him an affectionate smile before she vanished, Apparating back to the safe house where she and Arthur lived and where the rest of the Weasley crew had lived during the summer, out of Voldemort and his Death Eaters' grasps.
The black-haired seventh year turned to see Ron board the train, his brilliant red locks catching the sun and seemingly bursting into flame before he ducked inside, the cerise tendrils returning to their normal moderate red out of the sun. Grinning, the Boy-Who-Lived hauled his trunk in after him; Hedwig was nestled comfortably in her cage in a separate compartment with the rest of the animals. It would be good to be back at Hogwarts. Although he had felt safe at the Weasley safe house, he had had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right all summer. Not to mention that Voldemort's deadly rampages made him crumple every couple of days, clutching at his cursed scar in agony while Ron and the rest of the Weasley brood could only look on helplessly.
He dragged his heavy trunk into the last compartment and glanced around even as the door shut behind him and the train slowly began its trek towards Hogwarts. The compartment was empty, save Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and himself.
"Hermione, how was your summer?" he asked as soon as they had gotten settled. Emerald green eyes danced with roguish mirth. "Besides the enormous event of your becoming Head Girl, of course."
Before the bushy-haired brunette could respond, a horrified groan filled the compartment, and the quartet jumped. "Don't tell me Granger's Head Girl!" The deep voice came from a corner, and Harry squinted, only then realizing that there was a figure there.
"Who's there?" Ron demanded, scowling in the direction of the corner, his cerulean eyes searching for the challenger of his best friend's reputation.
The formerly unnoticed person sat forward, at last catching the light of the compartment. It was a black-haired, tanned boy who Harry had never met before, but he wore an unpleasant sneer that seemed eerily familiar. "I am. Got a problem with that, Weasel?" He was dressed in a rebellious Muggle outfit, with a leather jacket to boot, his wand twirling absently between long, slender fingers.
"As a matter of fact I do!" Ron's freckled visage had turned bright pink by the time the question had been issued, splotches of rose pink vivid amid his numerous freckles. "Listen, whoever you are, we don't appreciate jerks like you in our compartment."
"It's a free country, Weasel, and I was here first." The drawling, deep words had a tone of familiarity, but Harry couldn't quite place the tone. The boy pushed his sunglasses down long enough to give them a defiant look with his bright blue eyes.
"So?"
"Oh, what a brilliant comeback, Weasel-" The sneering teen didn't have a chance to finish his mordant reply as the compartment doors slid open with quiet sounds and three familiar figures walked in. Harry gazed in bewilderment, searching for another familiar person to make it the normal foursome. There was no sign of the short blonde. Since when had Pansy Parkinson become the ringleader for Goyle and Crabbe instead of Draco Malfoy? He noticed the unfamiliar person had abruptly fallen silent.
Parkinson smirked as her beady, remorseless eyes landed on the group. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? The Boy Who Lived and his little pets." She ignored Ron's low, warning growl and instead peered at the boy in the corner, the beady eyes sparking with cruel interest. "And who're you?"
"None of your business," hissed out the brunet, glaring at her and scrunching back into the corner in an almost retreat. "I was just telling Potter and his gang of clowns to get lost. Why don't you get out too?" His tone dripped with aversion, and Harry wondered if the brunet liked /anyone/.
"Who made you the boss of us?" Parkinson demanded, scowling at the egotistical teenager, who laughed mockingly in return but didn't retort. She nodded towards Crabbe and Goyle, who stepped forward to block Harry's view of the cocky brunet. "I said, who do you think you are?"
"Don't try to threaten me, bitch," snapped the teenager, and Harry could hear him standing as his leather jacket made soft rustling noises that seemed almost loud in the hushed compartment. The silence was shattered once more when the brunet continued. "I don't have to answer you or your backstabbing cronies."
Parkinson eyed him for a moment before a malicious smirk twisted her lips, making her face decidedly unpleasant to look at. "Vincent, Gregory, why don't you two show this misinformed Mudblood how good of cronies you are?"
"Er, what?" She had lost Crabbe on that, and beside Harry, Ron bit back a snicker.
"I mean rough him up a little, moron." Parkinson's tone was harsh with impatience and a hint of incredulity at her cronies' stupidity.
"Oh, right." The two hulking Slytherin moved closer, and Harry heard the brunet growl something under his breath. In the next instant, Goyle and Crabbe were tumbling head over heels; the duo crashed against the other side of the compartment and made it shudder violently from the dual impacts.
With Goyle and Crabbe sprawled on the floor, the Gryffindor group had clear view of the stranger now; but he was no longer a stranger. Instead the brunet had shrunk and been replaced by the very familiar Draco Malfoy. His sunglasses and hat were on the floor, the blue cap and the dark glasses seeming almost forlorn by the blonde's feet.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco kept his wand pointed directly at Pansy. He had never liked the clingy bitch. He noticed, from the corner of his eyes, that the Gryffindor gaggle looked thunderstruck. The Slytherin glanced down and noticed that his flesh was pale once more. The disguise must have vanished when Crabbe and Goyle had yanked his sunglasses and cap off. Muttering a profane word under his breath, the teenager raised an eyebrow, trying to enjoy Pansy's shock. He should get used to calling her Parkinson, shouldn't he? After all, she was now his enemy. That, however, did not mean he had to call the Gryffindor gaggle anything remotely near their given names. He raised an eyebrow that betrayed his smugness at her look of disbelief. "Surprised, Parkinson?"
"D-Draco?" His fellow Slytherin seemed to be in shock for a moment, and the Malfoy smirked faintly. After that initial moment of disbelief, Parkinson regained her composure and sneered, her face twisting into a hideous mask of hatred. At that moment, Draco was very glad that he had been disowned by his father and gotten out of marriage with her. She reminded him of gray gargoyles that been fixed in convulsions of agony as they clung with frantic, knobby fingers to the spires of the Malfoy Manor, the ones that had been there for hundreds of years and had eventually been covered by grime, which only enhanced their hideousness. "You're actually showing your face around Hogwarts? You must have a death wish."
The blonde laughed a harsh, hollow laugh that made the older Weasley in the compartment jump at the void resonance. "I have a death wish for only one person, Parkinson, and you know who that is."
"Your father?" Parkinson inquired, her words dripping with sarcasm as she earned a pair of rolled eyes.
"Very funny, bitch. Where /did/ you get that sense of humor?" If Parkinson's words dripped with scorn than the Malfoy's was saturated with it.
"From you, my former fiancé." The female Slytherin's voice was sickeningly sweet, enough that Draco was reminded of the time he had received eight pounds of candy for Christmas and had attempted to devour every piece within the week. By the fourth day, the taste of chocolate had been cloying and nauseating. The young blonde had refused to have another bonbon or toffee for a whole two months, and it took another month after that for him to choke down a piece of chocolate. Even now, more than a couple candies at a time made him queasy.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
"Gross." The word was out of Ron's mouth before he realized what he was doing. Both Parkinson and Malfoy glanced over at him, their expressions suggesting they were quite preoccupied, and for a moment the Weasley fought the urge to blush. Instead, he glowered back without another word and refused to take back his comment. The mental image of the two together was indeed a repulsive sight to consider, and as soon as the two Slytherin seventh-years returned to glaring daggers at each other, the Gryffindor shuddered and tried to chase the horrific image from his head.
"You can't possibly expect to be welcomed in the Slytherin House, Draco."
"I don't," was said matter-of-factly. "But I'm not about to be frightened away from my seventh year at Hogwarts because of my Slytherin brethren." A pleased smirk curved the blonde's lips that made Ron instinctively want to hit him, as he added, in a tone of total complacency, "After all, Hogwarts needs its Head Boy, doesn't it?"
"/You're/ Head Boy?" Hermione and Harry cried out as one, both sounding horrified. Ron and Ginny were both too stunned to speak.
Malfoy turned a smirk upon the quartet, looking extremely pleased with himself. "It's quite interesting how having nothing to do during the summers can help you get ahead in classes and get fairly decent grades."
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco bit the inside of his cheek to bite back a snicker at the aghast looks on the Gryffindor gaggle's faces. He simply would 'forget' to mention that his father had forced him to study like a mad demon in the hopes that his son would get better grades than Granger the Mudblood. Well, he was still behind Granger, but he had scraped together the best grades of the male section of his year since the rest of them were lazy gits, and so he had been honored with being Head Boy. Much to the dismay of McGonagall and pleasure of Snape, naturally.
"You mean we're going to have to work together?" Granger said, looking quite ill at the thought. Her flesh had a greenish tinge to the normally vigorous hue and her mouth was compressed so tightly like McGonagall that her lips had all but disappeared, replaced by a white streak against a greenish visage.
"Yes, and I'll treasure every moment of it, Mudblood." The sardonic words flowed from his lips easily and he ignored Weasley's low growl. Silvery eyes flickered back to Parkinson, and did a near double-take. Since when had Goyle and Crabbe learned the art of stealth? The lumbering oafs were back at Parkinson's side, their glares focused on him. Draco shoved any feeling of uneasiness aside for the moment as he ordered, "Get lost, Parkinson. You know I can best you and these two in a duel."
"Ah, but you don't have a second, do you?" Parkinson commented with more than a hint of malicious glee in her words.
The blonde's lips curved into another faint smirk as his overconfidence returned to its full degree. "I don't need one. /Expelliarmus/!" Parkinson's wand wrenched itself from her hand and Draco deftly caught it, the wood warm and moist from her sweating palms. "/Expelliarmus/!" Goyle's wand joined Parkinson's in the blonde's grip. If the witch's wand was damp, then Goyle's was slick. Almost lazily, he added, "/Expelliarmus/!" to steal away Crabbe's. Smirking at the disarmed witch and wizards, he raised an eyebrow and waited for a retort, attempting to ignore the horrible fact that he was holding three sticky wands in one hand. If they had to sweat, couldn't they have worn gloves like civilized people?
Parkinson's face turned crimson with rage and she glared venomously at her former fiancé, resembling a goblin more than a gargoyle this time when Draco mused on it. "You'll pay for that, Draco."
"Really. Sounds like an idle threat to me, Parkinson," drawled the blonde, the smirk never leaving his face. He kept his eyes trained on Goyle and Crabbe, waiting for any sudden movements. Even with wands, the duo usually resorted to brute force, and if Draco was caught by surprise, he knew they were stronger in the area of physical strength. Not to mention that they had at least a foot each on him in height and many, many pounds.
The compartment door slid open, and his silvery gray eyes met the surprised hazel eyes of a very different Neville Longbottom than he remembered.
"Harry, Hermione-" The seventeen-year-old who looked nothing like he had the spring of their sixth year froze, gazing into Draco's eyes and taking a step back, out of the compartment so that no one could see his altered features. "Um, this is probably a bad time-"
"Yes, it is," the blonde agreed coolly, raising an eyebrow at the transformed but still bumbling Gryffindor. Unfortunately, he had done exactly what he had warned himself not to do, and had allowed himself to get distracted.
Needless to say, Crabbe took the opportunity to punch Draco in the stomach.
Four wands clattered on the ground as the blonde doubled over, gasping as all of his breath left him with that painful clout. A part of him was mildly impressed at the fact that Crabbe had needed no prompting from Pansy, but the rest of him was just focused on breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out-
"Not so cocky now, are you, Draco?"
Breathe in. Breathe out. Get the wand and kill the bloody bitch. Breathe in. Breathe Out.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Ron's view of Malfoy was blocked by Crabbe and Goyle's hulking figures, but everyone had seen Crabbe's arm motion and knew that the blond Slytherin had been punched. He could hear the rapid gasps escaping the blonde's lips like a rabbit that had been hunted over hills and through vales by a determined, lethal hawk, and wondered exactly how hard Crabbe had hit him.
"Go get laid, bitch." The rasped comment held the usual scorn within each syllable, but everybody in the compartment could hear the pain he was struggling to hide. "Maybe that'll improve your mood."
"Vincent, Gregory, hit him some more."
The two hulking Slytherin eagerly obeyed, and they had landed about three punches each before Harry shifted beside Ron and stood, training his wand at the trio of abusers and frowning darkly. Ron had grown used to see dark looks on the visage of the Boy-Who-Lived. He had frowned more often than he had smiled during the summer, a tense, apprehensive type of look to his weary face most of the time, especially when one dared and glanced at him when he had thought everyone was busy with other things. The Weasley was secretly relieved that they were back in Hogwarts, as much as he missed his parents and worried about them. Harry was much safer in Hogwarts under Dumbledore's watch.
"Hey, leave him alone and get lost. He's Head Boy, after all." Although Harry still sounded slightly ill at the prospect of Malfoy being Head Boy, his tone held a familiar ring of steel. "He's earned /some/ respect."
"Why, I didn't know you cared, Potter." The hoarse reply came from the hidden Malfoy. His voice was even weaker than before, and had an unpleasant grating sound underlying it that reminded Ron of the time George had fallen off his toy broom and broken a rib. Fred had been inconsolable for an entire three days afterwards, because he had been the one to plant the exploding bouncing ball where a sibling would find it. He hadn't thought that the sibling would be his twin. "Now, get your nose out of my business."
Ron didn't even have to glance at Harry to know the brunet had rolled his eyes in annoyance. He understood his best friend's aggravation. Here Harry was, attempting to help his major rival keep from getting his arse kicked, and the git was telling him to get lost. "Don't /ever/ think I care, but I do think it's entirely unfair for Parkinson to pit Crabbe and Goyle against you." Although the brunet was sincere, there was a hint of exasperation tingeing his words.
Parkinson turned to sneer at Harry, and Ron found himself rising to aim his wand at the unpleasant leer planted on the Slytherin girl's visage. He glowered at Parkinson, and added, the attitude of the redhead commanding and unsympathetic, "You heard Harry; leave the compartment."
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Draco sat, doubled over and clutching his stomach, as he listened to Potter and Weasley stand up for him. What were those two morons doing? His pale fingers grasped through the Muggle fabric, clutching at sensitive skin that would be displaying numerous bruises when he woke up for the first morning at Hogwarts, although his stomach wasn't the area that pained him the most. It was his side, just below his shoulder. One of Vincent's meaty fists had crashed into that agonizing spot, and Draco suspected at least one, if not more, of his ribs had shattered at the impact. At least the broken rib (or ribs) hadn't punctured a lung. He'd probably have been on the floor writhing in suffering if such a thing had occurred, gasping desperately for breath even more so than he was now, and coughing up blood as he bled internally.
He saw Parkinson's squinty eyes narrow to slits in consideration. She was still disarmed, since she hadn't thought to snatch her wand from the floor where it had fallen, so there was no way she could fight Potter. After a moment, she glowered but said, "Vincent, Gregory, let's go. We might get infected with Gryffindor germs." Her tone was rebellious, and Draco knew this wasn't the last of Parkinson and her newest cronies.
Ah well, the Malfoy hadn't expected life to be easy after he had backstabbed his father.
Silvery gray eyes that were squinting against the hazy pain that filmed over his vision watched the three Slytherin slowly grab their wands from the floor and shuffle from the compartment, past Longbottom, who cowered away at their approach and then stepped cautiously into the compartment once the trio had vanished from sight.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Neville chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, glancing between Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Malfoy. Should he actually stay? He didn't want to be this close to the blond Slytherin, but from the ashen look to the Malfoy's visage, the Longbottom suspected he wouldn't be much of a threat.
Making up his decision, the splendidly-altered Gryffindor took a second, cautious step into the compartment, smiling his same bashful smile at the group of Gryffindor and single Slytherin. If his smile and personality was most the same, the rest of him was not. The Gryffindor looked like a completely different person than he had been when he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express that spring to return home to his overbearing grandmother.
The plump seventeen-year-old was no longer plump, and instead of roundness, he was pure muscle. He had been out in the sun for hours upon hours during the summer it seemed, for his flesh was bronzed, giving him a robust appearance like a Greek demigod who had trained in the heights of Olympus. He had had his final growth spurt, which had helped him look like he had lost more pounds than he had. His eyes were the same bright hazel, but his dirty-blond locks had lightened out in the sunlight, the curly tresses falling to his chin and making a sharp contrast against his suntanned skin.
His smile was the same bashful smile, and his eyes had the constant gleam of hopeful acceptance that the hazel orbs always had shimmering within their brownish-green depths. And when he spoke, his voice hadn't changed; it had the consistent, uncertain lilt to it that it always had. "Would you all mind if I sat with you?"
Silence reigned and enclosed him, becoming a haze that wrapped its fatal limbs around him and reached through his softly smiling mouth into his form to grasp at his heart, all too ready to crush the wildly beating organ in one swift blow if there should be a negative reply from the group.
At last someone spoke, but the noiseless hands remained lightly on his heart, the invisible fingers almost caressing the fragile body part, waiting to see how this played out.
"Neville?" The soft, incredulous name ghosted from between parted lips as emerald green eyes gazed at the other boy as if seeing him for the first time.
Neville Longbottom simply offered Harry Potter the same self-conscious smile he always had.
(To be continued
Author's Notes: I know some of you might be annoyed at my altercation of Neville's looks, but I think if his granny whipped him into shape, he could look good-looking. I hold no tuck whatsoever to the movies and so I don't picture him like the sweetie who plays him in the cinemas. Plus, his transformation was inspired by the fact that this round-faced boy did the exact thing last summer. Now he's oh so hot. *drools and then gets control of herself*
Also, I just thought I'd point out that this entire chapter was written in the span of 11:10 PM to 1:29 AM. Why must my muses reign supreme at night? *yawns tiredly and hopes her parents don't wake up when she creeps upstairs* Please remember to review!
~Cinaed)
