My Friend of Misery

by Girl 17

AU Forth Year. A horrible accident claims the lives of most of the Ravenclaws, and Hogwarts must be resorted. But on top of it all, Draco's been cursed with something he may not be able to bare.

2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2

Authors notes: I wrote this several weeks before the Rhoad Island fire. My heart goes out to those who were lost, and to the band. Also, some elements (Draco's guilt) are sorta like The Subtile Knife. Again, I wrote this several weeks ago, and me and the author of that story just think along similar veins. Anyway, enough apologizing! Onto the reviewers!

To my reviewers: flamin-phyinix (I haven't gotten your e-mail. Could you please resend? OhSoKorny@hotmail.com) Lady Lestrange (Thank you SO much for adding this story to your favorites. It makes me feel special. *G* And even though your story doesn't have slash in it, it's still damned good!) Freddie (Thanks for the input on the story. I tried to make my characters less flat. What disturbs me is that you think I care who you are, and I magically know where you live. I don't know what you've "heard about me", but look into taking some pills. They'll make you a lot happier.) Jose (I really wrote this next part with your comments in mind. Your review is by far the most helpful. The only way I'll be able to get good is if people let me know what I do wrong.) Cerberis (Thank you for your review! I'm afraid this chapter was a little late in coming, but the next one won't be. *Crosses fingers*) Silver Angel (You were the first to review, and your comments made me feel so good! Thank you!)

Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, but in reality Ron didn't feel that way at all. He wasn't afraid of the upcoming wizards duel... in his mind he saw little chance of Harry loosing even _if_ Malfoy showed his face. Harry seemed to have an unnatural amount of luck, as well as the ability to show grace under pressure. Yeah, Harry would probably come out the victor tonight, especially if he used the new-found spell. That was the problem, and it was what scared him.

"Is there a counter curse in there, anywhere?" Ron asked, peering at the book with slightly squinted eyes.

Harry shook his head, and shut the book, tucking it away among his textbooks. He was grinning... a scary, really unnatural wolfish grin that didn't appear to look natural on his face. "How about we just leave it on him? Let him know how it feels-"

"Are you nuts?!" Ron demanded, none too kindly. Then, he figured out what must be going through his friend's mind... or at least, he think he did. "This is about that dirty dementor trick Malfoy pulled last year, isn't it? You think this will make you and Malfoy even!"

Again, Harry shook his head, but at least the wolfish grin faded, "No, winning the cup put us even. Ron... you don't understand-"

"What wouldn't I understand? You don't think I hate Malfoy as much as you? You don't think that I wouldn't want to see his face when you win? But... but it's not the fact that you win, it's _how_ you win. Bewitching Malfoy like that is dirty and-" he broke off for a moment, screwing his face up in a look of distaste, "and I'm starting to sound like my Mum."

"Yeah," Although he hated to admit it, Ron did have a bit of a point. This spell was dirty, but was it no less dirty than the things Malfoy was going to try on him? Did that make it right? No, it didn't.

Harry glanced once more at the leather-bound book, "Look... I won't use it unless it's absolutely necessary."

Ron didn't say anything for a moment. Harry's behavior was strange, to say the least. Maybe it was due to nerves? He tried a joke. "It's a shame the spell has nothing to do with ferrets," he said, with a quirk of a smile, "I would love to see his face..."

********

After that, eleven o'clock couldn't come fast enough. Despite Ron's earlier joke, there was an amount of tension still hanging between the pair. Harry should have felt like he had an ace up his sleeve... but every time he glanced at Ron, he just felt guilty. He tried to content himself with the fact that if this was anyone but Malfoy, this curse would have been out of the question.

Unfortunately, it didn't help.

This whole week, he had been preparing for the upcoming duel. Now, he found himself half wishing that Malfoy wouldn't show up at all, like in the first year. But to his and Ron's surprise, Draco was actually waiting for them in the trophy room. What was more surprising was that he was all alone.

"What happened to your second?" Ron blurted.

"What happened to your mud blood second?" Draco shot back, leaning against one of the walls and idly twirling his wand. He ended up answering Ron anyway. "Flitwick gave them detention," he shrugged, "Not that it matters. I won't be needing a second."

For one brief second, it struck Harry as terribly sad that Draco didn't have anyone to back him up. If it had been Harry, anyone in his house would have jumped to his aid. Draco's friends would rather serve detention then be there for him. The pity was quickly squashed when he remembered that Draco was the one who had started this.

The anger was returning now, washing out all of the fear and doubt of the last few hours. It rolled inside him, clenching up his stomach and leaving him feeling sick. He needed to exorcise it.

Without another word, Harry walked to the middle of the room, wand out. Ron was muttering a silencing curse behind him, making sure that no one would hear this duel outside the room unless they accidentally walked in.

Draco, seeing the duel was about to start, did the same. They both bowed to one another, and then took ten paces back (Ron did the counting).

Draco was the first to strike, "Silencio!"

Harry reacted mostly on impulse, spitting out the first spell that came to mind, "Expelliarmus!"

The two sparkling spells collided in mid air with a crack, knocking each other out.

"That was dirty, Malfoy!" Harry yelled. If he were to be silenced, he couldn't conjure a thing. In essence, he would be knocked out of the fight and left to Draco's whims. Suddenly, Harry's own curse didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Draco actually laughed, his eyes dancing with an almost unholy glee. How long now had he wanted to take on The-Boy-Who-Lived? "I've always wanted to shut you up, Potter."

Harry's mistake was carrying on his conversation, and trying to think of a retort. His moment of hesitation gave Draco the chance he needed to cast another spell. "Impotermia Fredda!"

Instantly, Harry was cold. So cold that he could hardly move. He tried casting a spell of his own, but all that came out of his mouth was a puff of frozen air, the moisture within freezing and falling to the ground. Shivers shook a body that didn't seem to belong to him any longer, and he fell to the floor. The impact didn't hurt... his limbs and skin was far too cold to hurt.

Distantly, he could hear Draco laugh and turn on Ron... Ron... his second... The person who was supposed to step in if Harry were dead or incapacitated... if Draco won…

It was the anger, deep seeded in a heart that was slowly freezing to death, that got him to act. He would not let Draco win. He would _not_ let Draco win! Numbed fingers clutched at a wand he couldn't feel, pointing it at himself.

"R-riscalitin," he whispered. The warming charm worked immediately, spreading hot pins and needles through his body. Harry was able to stand up in time to see Ron just barely block a bewitchment by Draco. "Viggio!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at Draco's feet.

Sometimes the simple spells, such as tripping, worked the best. Draco legs were knocked right out from under him. Harry cheered, and looked over at Ron to share in the quick glory... but Draco seemed to be made of rubber, and bounced right back to his feet again.

"Babina Arresto!" he snarled. A round knot formed somewhere in Harry's throat, blocking any air in or out. Green eyes widened in horror, and his hands flew to his neck, forgetting about using any counter spell. Choking, Harry clawed at his neck, trying and failing to suck in air.

Ron ran over to Harry, but there wasn't much that he could do, "Stop this, Malfoy! You're going to kill him!"

Draco smirked, and made a point of examining his fingernails for a few moments before responding, "If he kisses the floor, I'll fix him."

Ron cursed something and advanced on Draco a few paces, wand held out. Then he paused, torn between wanting to tear Draco a new one, and begging him to help his friend, "Help him!"

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Draco drawled, now flicking a piece of lint off his robes, "Not until he kisses the floor, Weasel."

Ron glanced at Harry who was beginning to twitch a little. He didn't think that Harry was in any shape to listen to him. Maybe something simple would work? He had to try, "Respril,".

In truth, the spell was a cure for something else, a stuffed nose, but incredibly the knot in Harry's throat disappeared. Struggling to get up once more, Harry dragged in one ragged breath after another.

"You bloody cheaters." Draco sounded half amused, as if he was teaching children an important lesson in dueling. He had won.

Ron hauled Harry to his feet, "C'mon, let's get out of here." He murmured.

Harry looked at him with dull green eyes, trying to figure out what Ron said from the haze in his mind. Draco's won... No. Not after what Draco pulled last year. Not after he had tried to make Harry and his friends miserable for the last three years. His sense of justice was fully ignited, and he lurched out of Ron's grasp. "No!"  Unsteadily, he pointed his wand at Draco.

The smirk on Draco's face could not have been wider,

"What are you going to do, Potter? Trip me again? Give me jelly legs?"

"No." The spell that Harry had found in the leather-bound book had been long and complex sounding. It was hard on Harry's scratched and sore throat, "Nemico Ditimare Dentro!"

For a moment, he feared that it had not worked. That his last stand had been a very pathetic one, indeed. After all, he hadn't any practice with the bewitchment curse. Usually, one did not just spit out a string of words and have them work their magic. And this bewitchment was a very complex one… if it worked, it would make the victim see in the caster whatever he or she most feared.

It was said that Harry had the best luck in the world, and maybe it was true. Draco stared at Harry, his gray eyes growing so wide that Harry could easily see the whites from across the room. "Wha-what are you playing at, Potter?" He demanded, taking a step back.

Harry found himself grinning. It wasn't a nice grin at all, "Something wrong, Malfoy?"

Despite his earlier reservations, Ron was trying hard not to laugh. The look on Draco's face was classic. He was trying so hard not to look scared, and failing so miserably, "See something you don't like?"

Draco raised his wand to point it at Harry, but to everyone's surprise (including his own) his hand was trembling violently. "Don't... don't you come near me." This time, he took two steps backwards, accidentally dropping his wand in the process. His arrogant, aristocratic manner was slipping right off him.

Draco seemed to shrink within himself for a second, and he didn't dare bend down to pick up the wand. "Call... call it off, Weasel." Despite his manner, Draco seemed to be trying to force a drawl... still trying to keep his composure.

"Why don't you kiss the floor first?" Harry suggested, taking a few more steps forward, consequently making Draco take steps backwards until his back hit the far wall with the shelved trophies.

"I... no... eat him!" Desperately, Draco pointed at Ron, who looked insulted.

"Eat him?" Harry repeated, then understood. He knew that the bewitchment caused the victim to see in the person who cast it, whatever they feared the worst. It must also be twisting his own words in Draco's mind, making them more frightening.

 Suddenly, Harry felt disgusted. As if a cloud had been lifted over his mind, he knew what he was doing was vile and sick. There wasn't any excuse to use someone's fears against them like this. It was exactly what the dementors did. Pointing his wand at the scared boy, Harry cast the best counter curse he knew, "Finite Incantatem."

Draco shuddered visibly, but otherwise seemed unaffected. Hands clutched at the shelving behind him, and he actually began to beg, "Weasely... Ron... call it off. Call it... oh... oh..." His bewitched mind was showing him something that neither Ron or Harry could see. His eyes locked with Harry's for a moment, and there was only terror within.

"Malfoy, get a grip. It's only Harry!" Ron snapped, "Harry, maybe you should get out of here until he calms-"

For reasons only known to him, Draco snapped. He started screaming, screaming as if he was being eaten alive. Screaming as if... well, as if he was stuck in a room with his greatest fear.

"Be quiet!" Harry hissed, glancing towards the door. He knew that Ron had put a silencing charm on the room, but charms didn't last forever. There was a good chance it had already worn off.

Draco seemed beyond reason. His legs gave way and he was on the floor, trying to backpedal against the wall, eyes locked with Harry, still screaming. Harry didn't want to do it. This was his fault... all his fault... but Draco needed to be silenced. He raised his wand, but Ron was faster, "Stupify!"

Draco's body gave a convulsive jerk, his eyes rolled up inside his head and he collapsed, unconscious.

For a moment, Harry could only stare at Draco... his mind refusing to believe what he had done. That he had actually taken a measure of pleasure from seeing the terror in Draco's steel colored eyes.

"I would hate to see what could scare _him_ that badly." Ron muttered, lightly poking Draco with his foot. Harry couldn't answer right away. Where there had been anger, now all he felt was sick. There was no way he could leave the bewitchment on Draco now. Ron had been right... he shouldn't have used the curse.

Counting himself lucky that he had the foresight to bring the leather-bound spell book with him, Harry went to get it. He had it hidden along with his invisibility cloak.

"Let me see that," Ron said, gesturing for Harry to toss him the book. His nonchalance was amazing, and he smiled at Harry's startled look. "My brothers have been cursing me with things for years. Everything has a counter curse." When he started flipping through the book, though, his face fell, "Too bad it's not in English..."

 "Yeah." Harry eyed the sleeping Draco. He was so pale that he would have looked dead if not for the shallow rising and falling of his chest. Draco appeared to have used less gel than usual with his hair, and some strains had come loose, spilling over his face. It was a shame that a person who looked like that turned out to be such a bad seed.

Ron gave up his search after only five minutes, "If it's in here, it's not translated." He paused, "I wish Hermione were here."

Harry did too, and desperately. Hermione would probably know at least a dozen counter charms. And even if she didn't, she would know precisely where in the library to look. "I do too, but it looks like we're on our own."

He and Ron had no choice but to try for the library themselves. They couldn't leave Draco behind. Both knew that the moment he woke up, he would probably go snitch on them. And even if he didn't... unless the bewitchment suddenly wore off, there was no way he could be normal around Harry. People would easily suspect something, and the truth would be out.

Ron nodded when Harry spoke his worries out loud, "Right. You get his left side, I'll get the right... oof, he's heavy!" For such a slim person, Draco did seem to weigh a whole lot. Harry and Ron tucked under each arm, carrying him in the middle. Draco's head flopped limply about as they moved, coming to rest on Harry's shoulder several times.

It was one of the scarier moments Harry had gone through all school year. The library was only a few hallways down, but there was no way the invisibility cloak could mask all three boys. Any moment he expected Filch to come around a corner and catch them. Or far worse... Snape.

 Luck seemed to be with them that night, and the hallways were clear.

"Here!" Ron puffed as the entered the library, "Drop him into the broom closet." Neither he nor Harry wanted to choose between hiding themselves or Draco if they were discovered. Besides, out of sight was out of mind. The unconscious boy was unceremoniously dropped into the closet like a sack of potatoes, and the door closed behind him.

Now, the search for the curing spell started. Every couple of minutes, Harry would either find himself glancing to the nearby closet for signs of movement, or to the window for signs of sunrise. There were many anti curses and anti hexes... but not many of them seemed to be anti-bewitchments.

Worse yet, about forty minutes into the search, Harry and Ron heard a low groan coming from the closet. Harry sighed and pushed his book away. "I guess he's waking up." Ron didn't look up from his book, and Harry was painfully reminded of Hermione.

"You deal with him," said Ron, "I don't want to explain a black eye tomorrow. Plus, he's scared of you. I think I'm onto something."

Well that was good news, at least. Harry hesitated before pushing back from the desk and walking to the closet. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to see Draco or anyone's face looking at him like that again... as if he were a monster. Maybe he could talk some sense into Draco? That was, assuming, he had some sense in that slimy head of his. The bewitchment might weakened a bit by now. It was a vague hope, but a hope he was willing to follow.

Harry quickly opened the closet door, stepped inside, and closed it again. He was not going to let Draco escape to tell on them.

 It was pitch black inside the broom closet, but Harry could clearly hear Draco moving around. He was probably just waking up, and trying to figure out where his limbs were, if he was hurt, and how the hell he got wherever he was. "Draco," Harry whispered, choosing to use the other boy's first name.

The moment he spoke, the sounds of moving stopped abruptly, "Draco, listen to me. You're bewitched. Ron and me are trying to figure out a way to cure you. You can help us out if you like, but you need to be quiet." This sounded very reasonable to himself, but when Draco started to make low terrified sounds, Harry knew the bewitchment still had a strong hold.

His suspicions were confirmed when the sounds turned into words, "Please... please... don't..."

Harry sighed. Who would ever believe this? Draco Malfoy reduced to pleading. "Don't what?" He asked, keeping his voice very neutral. He heard Draco choke on his own words, as if there wasn't enough air in the closet. "Don't rip my arms off..."

Harry snorted, silently wondering what kind of thing Draco thought him to be. At least he was being quiet... Harry wasn't sure he would be doing the same if the positions were reversed. "I'm not going to hurt you-"

At that moment, while leaning forward in an unconscious attempt to drive his point in, Harry accidentally knocked into one of the brooms that inhabited the closet. The handle fell forward, crashing against the closed door with a loud bang.

 Draco used this moment to fight for his freedom. He lashed out, punched Harry in the chest and tried to scramble around him to get to the door. He would have gotten out, if not for the same broom handle that fell, tripping him, and making him fall right on top of Harry.

An all out fight ensued. Harry, as winded from the punch as he was, didn't know how he got the best of Draco. But somehow, he found himself on top of him, pinning Draco's arms between their bodies. Draco was screaming again. Screaming hysterically and trying to kick free of Harry's grasp.

When his knee came dangerously close to Harry's groin, his temper finally snapped. Harry's free hand grabbed a hunk of Draco's hair, pushing Draco's head into the floor. "Shut up or I will rip every one of your limbs off. Do you hear me?"

It didn't quite break through Draco's hysteria, but it did stop his screaming. Instead, he groaned... something animal... something terrified. Like a fox caught in a foot trap. Harry let go of Draco's hair and covered his mouth instead, trying to silence him as much as possible.

I'm sorry, he thought, but I don't have a choice. As much as he didn't like him, Harry felt a swell of pity. What sort of thing turned a haughty, arrogant person into... into this? A shivering boy inside of a closet. Furthermore, what kind of a monster cast a spell that did this to people? Draco was his worst enemy, and Harry did not even wish it on him.

Warm wetness suddenly spread under Harry's legs, and it took every ounce of self-control not to jump off of the other boy. Draco had wet himself. Actually wet himself in fear. Draco's body jerked once, and he gave a muffled groan. Small tremors shook him as he dissolved into embarrassed tears.

Wisely, Harry said nothing. Not even when he felt the tears against the hand that was covering Draco's mouth. Draco was trying to preserve what dignity he had left by crying silently, and Harry gave it to him.

Draco was embarrassed, exhausted and more terrified than any moment of his life combined. This was coupled with the fact that he _knew_ he was in for a very slow, very painful death. His body began to convulse more violently, and he couldn't get enough air... he couldn't breathe... any moment now, he was going to feel those teeth on his neck…

Harry recognized that Draco was working himself up into another hysteria. All he could do was ride through it until Draco exhausted himself. The minutes ticked by slowly, and eventually Draco seemed to get some hold on himself. He even tried shifting his body ever so slightly to see if he could break Harry's grasp... until Harry snapped at him sharply.

Finally, finally Ron opened the closet door. The sudden light illuminated Harry's face, and whatever shreds of control Draco managed to gather were lost. He could clearly see Harry,  above him, holding him down... and all he could do was scream. Well, scream and buck up and do anything, _anything_ to get his horror to release him.

"Use what you have, Ron!" Harry yelled, seeing Ron frozen in surprise.

There was only a moment's more pause before Ron acted. "Collegminto Antico!"

A strange sort of warmth flowed through Harry, followed by an unusual sensation. It was as if he was touching one of his own limbs, and finding it numb.

Terror over washed his senses. But this wasn't the sort of terror that he felt while facing Tom Riddle or Sirius (before he knew what he was). No, this was a nameless fear. A fear a child felt when looking under the bed in the middle of the night... only so much worse. Nothing ever came out from under the bed, but now... now it was holding him down. Torturing him. Playing with him like a cat would a mouse.

For only a moment, Harry realized that his mind was actually touching Draco's. Then, he was looking through Draco's eyes to see what was terrifying him so much. Above him, pinning him down was not Harry Potter but... a clown.

Yes, a clown. Complete with painted face, red wig and a red nose, this clown even had a mess of balloons behind him. Ah, but it wasn't just any clown. It was one from some dumb American Movie. "It" by Steven King. This was Mr. Pennywise above him.

The realization jumped from Harry's mind to Draco's, and the image of the clown shifted slightly, jumped, and then faded away completely to be replaced by the far less scary features of Harry Potter.

In Draco realizing the source of his fears, the bewitchment had been broken.

For one long moment after the boys were back in their own minds, they stared at each other, almost disbelieving. Then... "Get off me, Potter."

The good old Malfoy arrogance was back in Draco's tone, although his voice was trembling ever so slightly.

Harry shook his head, and got up, all too happy to be rid of a position that was ever so intimate.

Draco didn't sit up... not right away. He instead took several deep breaths, appearing to collect his composure. But his dignity was in shreds, and there wasn't nearly enough left to grab. It was hard... so very hard to be dignified when he had just disgraced himself in a number of ways in front of his enemy. A blush started around his neck, and had grown to his cheeks by the time he sat up. "What are you staring at?" He snapped, seeing Ron's wide eyes.

"Malfoy, did you wet yourself?" Ron demanded, staring in horror at Draco's clothes.

Draco visibly flinched, as if he had been slapped. He wanted to curse Ron right then... show him how it felt to be pinned in a dark closet by a fear... but it had all been a trick. Some lousy Gryffindor trick... "This... this didn't happen, Weasel... Potter... this didn't happen."

Harry nodded, finding Draco's words more than just a little sad. The other boy was shifting around uneasily, smoothing his already gelled hair and rearranging his cloak as if to cover up his embarrassment. Image meant everything to Draco, and here he was, still acting the aristocrat. Not even admitting that he had lost the wizards duel.

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "This is our secret." Draco nodded, more like a tilt of his head. Ever the aristocrat, he stood up and turned around in a way that should have made his cloak billow out behind him... if it had not been soaked in urine. With one final look at Harry, as if to remind himself that he was not the clown, Draco strode out of the library.

 "Lousy git," Ron muttered, watching him leave, "Not even a thank you for fixing him..."

Harry wanted to agree, but found himself shrugging instead. Draco's disgrace hadn't been limited to his own clothes... it had gotten on Harry as well. Now, all he wanted to do was to take a long shower, go to sleep, and forget that this night had ever happened.

It wasn't going to be that easy, of course. He already knew that this night was going to haunt him... and for good reason. The way he had acted was... sickening. Bewitching Draco with something he barely knew anything about was unforgivable... he had lowered himself to the Slytherin's level just to beat him in a stupid duel, and there wasn't any excuse for that.

Muggles did not throw dirt in one another's eyes to win a fight, and he shouldn't have used that bewitchment. The way that Draco had looked at him... those wide, terrified eyes... Harry was sure he wasn't going to forget that for quite awhile either. He never wanted to be looked at like that again.

 *******

As much as Harry wanted the night to magically erase itself, Hermoine wasn't going to let him forget it. She swooped down on Ron and Harry the very next day. The two boys had completely slept through breakfast from staying up all night for the duel. At lunch, they were staring at their turkey sandwiches, puffy eyed and more than a little pale.

"What happened?" Hermoine asked, sitting across the table from them. Although she wasn't about to forgive them for acting stupid and taking Draco up on a duel, there was a good amount of pity in her eyes.

"When did you decide to talk to us again?" Ron demanded, around a half asked yawn.

She ignored that question completely, "Malfoy didn't even show up until half the Arithmacy Class was over. And when he did... he looked really terrible."

 Harry winced at that. Just as he feared, he had been plagued in his sleep with nightmares about hearing Draco's screams. Draco couldn't have faired very much better, "I don't blame him," he said, exchanging a look with Ron, "It was pretty bad."

"Oh!" Her shoulders dropped, and she stared worrying her lip ever so slightly. Obviously, she felt pretty bad for deserting her friends over the week. "So, you lost, then?"

"No," Now Ron was taking small bites out of his sandwich, speaking through his food, "We won, but..." he cast a guilty look at Harry.

Harry's stomach gave a rumble, but it had nothing to do with the food. His mind had flashed back once more to Draco's eyes. "We... I used a curse on him." Harry blurted. Hermione was his friend, so maybe she would have something comforting to say. Something to drive away his guilt and self disgust, "It made him see in me whatever he most fears."

"The Neminco curse." Hermoine rattled off, looking slightly stunned, "You used that? Harry, that's... that's not a very nice thing to do."

Ron scowled, "Well Malfoy was cursing Harry with a lot of other not nice things too, you know. That reminds me, Harry. Do you know what scared him like that?"

"Yeah, I saw it. Draco's terrified of clowns," Harry said, wearily.

Ron stared at him in disbelieve, then started to chuckle to hard he nearly choked on his sandwich until Harry slapped his back.

Hermione was grinning as well. First ferrets, and now clowns. My, they were learning a lot about their resident snooty Slytherin this term. But something was itching at her brain, "What do you mean, you saw it?"

Harry's story came out in a rush. Maybe if Hermionie knew what had happened, she could forgive him. And if she forgave him... maybe he could forgive himself for last night. "Hermionie, you should have seen Malfoy. He... well, he soiled his robes. We couldn't just leave him with that, and hope it went away on its own. We took him to the library, and Ron found a counter curse that let me see what it was that was scaring him, and somehow, it worked."

She made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, ruining Harry's hopes at redemption. "'Somehow it worked'? Honestly, spells aren't something you play with. They aren't toys..." But her severe look slowly faded away into a small smile, "So, he's afraid of clowns? Are the red noses too much for him?"

 Harry looked up in startlement, then chortled. The first smile since last night crept across his face as he finally found a little bit of humor in what had happened. "I actually think it's the balloons..."

                                                ******

The next few weeks passed with their usual uncanny speed of Hogwarts. Excitement about the upcoming Tri-wizard championship was growing, and it was the main topic of gossip in the common rooms. What would the people coming from the other schools be like? Who would be defending Hogwarts honor?

Hermoine ended up being the center of discussion in the Gryfinndor common rooms, both interesting and boring the socks off of people who asked her about previous championships.

It was two weeks before Holloween, when the other schools were going to show up. Hermione was whispering one such rendition of a previous Tournament to Ron and Harry in their History of Magic class. (An effort to keep her friends awake.)

Professor Binns was floating several inches off of his stool in the front of the class, reciting the seven main causes of the goblin rebellions, when the screaming started.

Harry sat bolt upright in his chair, as did many of the students, looking around for the source of the blood curtailing scream. It sounded as if someone was being murdered right inside of their classroom.

Soon another scream, this one a male voice, started... and another, and another. The screams seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere all at the same time. Unending, but horrible... like the screamers were being put through the worst tortures imaginable, with no let up in sight.

"Where are they coming from?!" Ron yelled, hands clapped over his ears. Professor Binns was trying to restore order in the classroom, saying it was probably a charm gone wrong, but he was failing miserably. What kind of a charm could do this?

Dumbledore's voice, magically enhanced, cut through the air. "All students report to the great hall immediately. Teachers, meet at the front entrance."

All too gratefully, the history class piled out into the hall way... but the screams were there as well. More of them, louder than before, more agonized. The screams seemed to be coming from the walls themselves. If anyone thought that they would get relief from the Great Hall, they were sorely mistaken. The screams seemed to bounce against each other, and even more filtered in, tripling the sound.

The only thing that the students could do was wait it out. Huddling in small groups, ears were pressed against shoulders. The more sensitive people were cuddled in the middle. Prefects tried to give out orders in the din, but their voices were easily shut out. The screams rolled over them, for how long... no one knew for sure. It felt like forever.

Slowly... ever so slowly, the screams reached a high point, and then faded out, one by one. Finally, there was only merciful silence in the Great Hall.

The only one who spoke at first was a Hufflepuff prefect male, "Everyone is to stay inside."

Those who were muggle-born felt like they had gotten out of a very loud, concert. Everyone's ears were ringing, and normal sounds were very dimmed... very strained.

"This had better not be the Tri-Wizard Championship," said a very familiar voice. Harry looked up from his group and realized that Draco Malfoy was very near by, huddling with the rest.

Actually, the group seemed to be composed of people from all four houses. In times like these, it seemed, it didn't matter who the other person was. Just as long as their body blocked a little of the sound.

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy." Hermoine snapped. She was looking around, her intelligent brown eyes darting everywhere in the room, doing some kind of a headcount.

"Where did all the Ravenclaws go?" Everyone in the group looked around as well. Hermoine was right... it seemed as if half the Ravenclaw house was missing.

"Egh, the walls are wet!" Ron jumped back, knocking into a Hufflepuff girl. The wall he had been leaning against was damp and cold with condensation.

It was a very subdued bunch of students who populated the great hall. Voices were low, muted and just a little scared. There hadn't been any word from the teachers for hours, and roomers circled the population over and over, getting more wild with each telling.

Overhead, the enchanted ceiling crackled with a thunderstorm. And still, the students waited.

*******

Evening had begun to set in when they finally got word. Rations, provided by the prefects, had been handed out. It was a simple packet that when sprinkled with enchanted water, grew to become a hot, fully fledged meal.

Two great knocks, sounding like hollow booms, alerted the students before one of the side doors opened. Dumbledore walked in, followed by Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall. Their robes were streaked with soot. The sight of the heads of houses in such a state silenced everyone immediately.

Every eye was locked on Dumbledore. He looked old at that moment... so very old. His voice, when he spoke, was gruff. "My students," he said, placing a hand on Flitwick's shoulder. The little man shuddered visibly, as if the hand carried with it a too heavy weight to bare. "This is truly a sad day." Dumbledore paused again before speaking, "It is my duty to announce a tragedy. The Astronomy class was taking a field trip outside of school grounds. Professor Snape was heading the class, because Mrs. Sinistra had been stricken with a cold." Dumbledore faltered. Actually faltered. "The class was allowed a side trip to the bookstore. There was a fire-"

Many of the students took a collective gasp, putting the pieces together before Dumbledore spoke again. "Many of the students were lost in the panic. Professor Snape was burned badly trying to save who he could."

A numb sort of silence took over the student body, only broken by tiny Flitwick who drew in a sob. The Astronomy class had been filled with his Ravenclaws. One of the rare all ages classes... fire was not a thing that discriminates against the younger or older students.

From the folds of his sooty robes, Dumbledore drew out a length of parchment paper. "The names of the deceased," he read, "Terry Boot... Lisa Turpin Stewart Ackerly... Morag MacDougal... Roger Davies..." and the list went on and on.

Each name was met with a sort of a strangled cry from his or her friends, followed by muffled or very loud sobs. Harry was watching Dumbledore, pale faced, twisting the hem of his robes in his hands. Silently begging him not to call out Cho's name... "Orla Quirk..." Dumbledore continued.

Draco leaned against the still damp walls, away from Crabbe and Golye, his pale face almost translucent. His stomach was clenched in so tight of a knot, he could hardly breathe. He could have been on that list. If his father had not "insisted", if he had not given in, if Dumbledore had not approved of the schedule change... he would have had that Astronomy class. The only Slytherin in a class of Ravenclaws. He probably would have been caught up in the fire. Dumbledore... Dumbledore would say his name, his house would gasp... and that would be it. He would be dead. Burned to a crisp. Weakness took over his body, causing him to slide down the wall, hyperventilating. It could have been him... it could have been him... If not for his father... his father... oh no..

"Thomas Youngblood." Dumbledore let the last name ring out over the hall, a small tribute to those who had perished. Again he spoke, his voice quiet, gentle. "This has been a most terrible day. Classes will understandably be canceled for the next three days, and grief councilor wizards will be on hand tomorrow if you should need it."

The wet walls caught his eye, and he placed a hand upon one, shaking his head, "It seems as the school itself is weeping for those who were lost. Prefects, please return the students to their houses. Tomorrow, we shall morn." With that, he clapped his hands once. Instantly, all of the drapes, all the hangings, and even the fabric of the students clothes became shrouded in black.

It was horrible for Harry as he trudged back to his common room, happy that Cho's name had not been called out, but numb from all of the rest of the loss. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he were a Ravenclaw, going back to a common room devoid of so many people.

Hermione was sniffling to the side of him, leaning against Ron as they walked. She wasn't the only one. Fred and George were in front of the group, hands around each other's shoulders in brotherly affection.

Normally, they would be joking around right now... but now there was only sadness. There would be no more jokes for quite some time.

******

A mass funeral was held by the lake for the Hogwarts students two days later. Along with the deceased Ravenclaws, some of the other students were missing too... they had been pulled out of school for the weak to attend smaller, private funerals with friends and family.

The remaining students sat in chairs outside under a crisp October sky. A sea of transfigured black with only a few bursts of white here and there. Everyone who could walk out of the hospital wing had made it, most of the burn victims still in healing bandages.

Draco sat between Crabbe and Golye, staring straight ahead as speaker after speaker came up to talk... but not even listening at all. The only signs of tension in his long frame were his hands... hands that were gripping the bottom of his chair so hard that the knuckles had long ago turned white.

He had been fine, really, up until this morning. In grip of denial, he had told himself that his fathers actions, while mysterious, were much above murdering a whole bunch of teenagers for no reason. Besides, most of the Ravenclaw students were pure-blooded. He should be feeling grateful, really, that his father had been insightful enough to recommend a better class for him... Then he had gotten the letter. A letter of worry and relief that he had not been caught in the fire, signed by both of his parents. It was a letter that most of the students had received, because it was normal behavior... but it wasn't normal for his parents.

How many times had it been drilled into his head? Letters written without emotional detachment were objects that could be used in blackmail. Things like that had a magical energy all its own, that could be used against the sender if intercepted. His mother and father's letters had always been short, concise and to the point.

Even when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, the letters had shown no more concern than if Draco had a bad week at school. Plus, this letter had been signed by both of them... another thing that was very, very unusual. Try as he might, Draco couldn't imagine his mother and father sitting in the study, dictating together a letter for his benefit. It was almost as if his parents were anticipating his worries, and had devised it ahead of time...

Instead of reassuring Draco, all it did was reopen the wound in his mind, casting his father in a shadow of doubt once more. What if he did help with the fire? What if his father had been responsible? The thought of his father creeping around Hogsmede, playing an arsonist was nearly as absurd as the idea of him and his mother dictating a letter together.

The idea of his father being involved in some... shady dealings was hardly a new one. What was done had to be done, his parents often said. But these were his classmates... Never before had death hit so close to Draco, and it left him feeling angry, confused and more than a little betrayed. If Lucius had been involved, why didn't he tell Draco? Did he not trust his only son?

Maybe if Draco knew ahead of time, he could have done something... dropped hints at the right points, saved a few lives... Wait... what was he thinking? He didn't go around saving people for the Hell of it. That was the job of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors. Still, the thought that he could have done something plagued him, and twisted at his stomach.

Draco squared his shoulders, mind set firmly against the emotions of guilt and pity. He was a Malfoy, after all. Feeling this way only wasted time and energy. Most of the people who died had to have been idiots, anyway. Why didn't they all head to the door in a calm and orderly fashion when they saw that a fire had broken out? Yes, it was probably them loosing their heads that caused most of the deaths… unless, of course, the exits were magically sealed.

The image of that gruesome end brought a shiver down his spine, although he was careful not to look disturbed. If his father _had_ been involved (which was still unlikely) he would have had a very good reason. Malfoys weren't thieves, and they weren't plunderers. There were things -- political things -- that Draco still wasn't aware of. Maybe that had something to do with it.

Yes, he had to have trust in his father. He had to trust him that he wouldn't soil the name and kill a bunch of _kids_ for a stupid reason. There was no way Draco should tell anyone... should he? His stomach gave another angry twist, and he turned his attention to the funeral again, the mental images of his schoolmates deaths still fresh in his head.

Guilt was a weakness, his father often said. He had nothing to feel guilty about... he didn't know anything for sure. It was hard to tell himself these things, though, when sitting in a mass funeral.

*******

Classes resumed that Thursday, and for Harry it meant Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid, the Slytherins and the Blast Ended Skrewts. "Today we're gonna let the 'skrewts out of the boxes for a bit." Hagrids voice boomed out over the groans of the students. "They'v' been cooped up in the cages fer too long, ya see. They're gettin' restless."

Restless was an interesting word for it, seeing as the magically fire proofed boxes were starting to smolder. The students were to form a ring around the skrewts, pinning them in and discouraging some of the more rambunctious ones from escaping.

At least, that was the theory. In actuality, all Hell broke loose once the first box was open. No one, not even the Gryffindors, wanted to be on the wrong end of either a sucker or a stinger. One skrewt in particular, seemed to want to have a taste for Malfoy flesh.

Draco's mouth twisted into a sneer, as if he couldn't believe that such a stupid, pitiful creature would be senseless enough to come towards _him_. Well, he would teach the stupid thing. And rid the world of one less skrewt while he was at it. "Stupify!" But his wand emitted no spell, and the charging skrewt was not slowed at all. Draco tried again, "Stupify! Stupify! You stupid piece of-" he smacked his wand against his knee, trying to knock the magic out of it, "Stupify!"

The skrewt was nearly on him, and he was turning to run when Hermione's voice rang out, "Stupify!" The skewt, instead of being stunned, literally blew up. Parts of the skewt rained down upon the very unhappy students.

"You okay there, Malfoy?" At least Hagrid had his heart in the right place, looking after his students before the skrewt.

Draco was okay... grossed out, but okay. "No thanks to you." he said, trying and failing to pick some skewt goo out of his robes. First Hippogriffs and now Skrewts. What was next? He simply had to mail his father about... no... he didn't want contact him just yet. For someone who had hardly questioned his father in his life, this was a slightly disturbing thought.

 Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief, remembering very well the last time Draco had gotten hurt in his class. He turned to Hermione, "Try to use a weaker spell, next time Hermione. I dun have many 'skrewts left."

"I thought that I was." Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Lumos!" The tip of her wand glowed faintly in the mid-day light, then flickered and died.

"Oi, I think your wand's broken, Hermione-" Ron was cut off by a large booming sound.

 Goyle had tried the stunning spell on another skrewt. This one had not only blown up the unlucky skewt, but taken a small crater full of Hagrid's garden with it.

Hermione's own wand gave a jerk in her hand and the tip suddenly spilled with enough light to make everyone around her wince in pain. Just as quickly, it flickered and died once more.

Harry sidestepped a rampaging skrewt, and then hastily put his own wand away. "What's going on?"

 "I... I don't know-"

BOOM

"Sorry!" Ron called, to a now stricken looking Hagrid, "I was just trying to slow it down a little... well, it only looks a little frozen..."

 *****

The rest of the classes that day were just as eventful. Transfiguration was a mess, with McGonagall's own demonstrations popping back and forth from their transfigured state to their normal ones.  The toads that they were supposed to be turning into toadstools went either unchanged, or simply blew up.

The exceptions were Hermione and Draco... Draco couldn't even manage to get his wand to shoot out sparks, and Hermione managed to get her toad into the shape of a toadstool for a limited amount of time before it popped back into normality again.

The Professors seemed to be at the end of their ropes, having to stop ten times an hour during their lectures to correct a student's magic gone horribly wrong.

 "I wonder if they'll cancel classes again?" Ron asked that evening in the great hall. His stomach was aching with hunger... it seemed that the house elves were having just as much luck with magic as they were. The food was very slow in coming, indeed.

Overhead, the enchanted sky rolled with colors not found in nature, from florescent pink to vomit green.

Hermione was busy with a book of Hogwarts, A History. Harry, who was just as hungry as Ron, was looking up at the head table. The some of the teachers looked worried, and McGonagall looked extremely unhappy.

"I mean," Ron continued, "It seems like the entire school's magic has gone crazy. We can't learn anything."

 Harry turned his eyes to the very pitiful looking Ravenclaw table, feeling a burst of sadness. It was going to be awhile until anyone could think of that house, and not reflect on death. "Maybe the school is still grieving."

"You mean, the castle itself?" Hermione asked. For a witch in training, she did seem a little cynical about the idea of Hogwarts having a mind.

 "Maybe. I'd feel pretty rotten if a fraction of my students just... died."

Ron moaned, "I could go down there and make dinner faster than this..." He brightened suddenly as the side door opened and Dumbledore made his appearance. "Finally!" He said, clearly thinking that the sight of their headmaster meant that dinner was on the way.

But Dumbledore did not sit down in his usual seat. Instead, he remained standing. "Today has been a most interesting day!" He said, causing quite a few murmurs from the crowd. "I know that most of you want to fill your stomachs, but first I'm afraid I must bore you with a little bit of Hogwarts History."

Dumbledore glanced back at the teachers, silently imposing his will before turning back to the sea of transfigured black robes before him. The teachers managed to school their faces from unhappy to blank, "The reason that Hogwarts makes such a wonderful place of learning is the simple fact that its power is made and maintained within the four houses. Each house, and the students within, give out their own special magic and also create a very elaborate system of checks and balances to keep that magic contained. That balance was upset by our recent tragedy. We now have two choices set before us to regain the balance; Transfer in new students from other countries, or redistribute the population."

 The murmur among the students increased abruptly at that news, until Dumbledore put up his hand for silence. "Because the state of current affairs, and the fact that we are in the middle of the first school term, transferring other students is out. I've had a word with the sorting hat-" again, he was interrupted by murmurs, and again he had to put up his hand for silence, "And it has agreed due to this most unusual set of circumstances. I will allow one day for everyone to set things in order, and then you will all be resorted. Most will stay in their current houses, but some will not. This is not some sort of a punishment, but rather a necessity. The balance must be restored." With that, Dumbledore sat down and the food magically appeared on everyone's plate.

Appetites were few and far between, on that night.

To be continued…

Questions? Comments? Death threats?