Wheeeeeeeeeee! Chapter three!! I really have a boring life, even though I
live in Japan...but did you know that the LOTR movie opens in Bosnia before
in Japan??We still have another month to go here!! At least when the COS
came out, I only had to wait a week....
ANYWAYS, if you've gotten this far, it means that you haven't lost patience
with the screwy format *bows in shame* wakannai yo!! yabbai....so, as I
said, if you've pushed your way through the tangled mass that is messed up
alphabets, by all means, keep reading!!
And remember, I DON'T OWN THEM!! But I do wear Slytherin sweaters and scarfs, and people in the streets of Yokohama point at me and scream, Harii Pottaa!! Surizarin!!! In fact, there's this group of girls at school that bother me every gym class, just asking why of all people do I like Draco..
Dimly, he was aware of weak sunlight falling on his eyes, trying to force entry under the lids. He was also aware of a warmth next to his body, a warmth obviously not created by his rough blankets, simply because blankets didn't breathe gently, sending little puffs of air at his face. Of course, it could very well have been a pile of blankets just moving slightly in the light breeze sneaking in through the open window, and this theory was backed up by the fact that Harry didn't have a single blanket wrapped around his body. *Must've pushed them off during the night..* Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh, rewarded by a groan not from his own throat. His eyes snapped open immediately, only to cloud with confusion when he found himself staring into a pair of foreign long-lashed silver eyes fluttering and blinking owlishly in the light.
Gazes locked, a maelstrom of emotions flying between, then -
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Draco toppled ungainly out of the bed, right onto his wounded back, causing him to let out a string of curses and wailing that would have made Salazar Slytherin himself proud at having such a student in his House. Harry had sat up as though electrocuted, and was currently plastering himself as flat up against the wall as he could, eyes popping, face extremely red, as he added to the ruckus Draco was already making. Meanwhile, the intruder in Harry's bed had scrambled to a standing position unsteadily, being that his feet were still tangled in the stolen blankets he'd torn from the bed at his fall, and raced for the door, which he slammed on his way out.
Breathing heavily, yet disengaging himself from the wall, Harry vaguely heard two more doors slam, before his own was thrown open again when Uncle Vernon decided to pay Harry a little visit.
"What in the *blazes* do you think you're doing?!! It's 5:37 *in the morning!!* Some of us have to work today so that we can pay for *your* meals!!" Harry's agitated, red-faced uncle bellowed, not adding to the peaceful atmosphere he was trying to protect and defend. With a last glare at his disturbed and deranged nephew which sorely said that Harry dearly belonged in St. Brutus', he slammed the door a final time, and Harry distinctly heard the sound of several locks sliding into place.
By now the shock of waking up in the same bed with a Slytherin had worn begun to wear off, and Harry slowly gathered his wits together, bringing with them the events of last night, revealing just *why* Harry had woken up in the same bed with a Slytherin. The vision that started it all also came rushing back, and his hand automatically went up to his scar. It still felt oddly swollen, proving that Voldemort was indeed quite displeased at something, that something obviously being Malfoy.
Squinting, as if the past was playing in front of his eyes rather than from within his mind, Harry tried to recall the now blurry vision, muddled by several hours of thankfully undisturbed sleep. The gist was that Malfoy had disappeared, but what made Malfoy disappear in the first place? Harry began to brood, knowing that he wouldn't be disturbed any time soon.
It was definitely not out of character for the Ferret to turn tail and run, but why would he turn tail and run from a wizard he'd always put on airs of hero-worshipping? Unless.Could Malfoy be here on Voldemort's orders? No, that wouldn't send Voldemort into the rage that Harry had felt through his scar, unless.unless Malfoy had acted before the plan was to go into effect? Either way, it was not looking good for Harry, who was in any case trapped in the smallest bedroom of the same house in which Voldemort's number one Little Leaguer was planning to reside for at least two months, possibly less if this really was some plot to ensnare the wizarding world's poster boy.
Harry's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. His thoughts, which had been drifting towards depressive as Cedric's face swam into his mind's eye, were brought back to reality fairly quickly with the fact that he was only on his second day back from Hogwarts, which had not given him enough time to send out little messages-in-a-bottle to his friends and surrogate family for food, and it wasn't of any use as Hedwig still hadn't returned from her own foraging. Instead, Harry left the still-warm bed and shuffled over to his trunk, hoping to find some candy.
Five minutes and one floor littered with books, robes, and the occasional bit of spare parchment later, Harry had settled down on his bed with some chocolate frogs and a box of Bertie Bott's, pulling faces as he bit into a cooked cabbage jelly bean followed by one of cat food, and began flipping through 'Intermediate Transfiguration' in the hopes of starting his summer schoolwork, refocusing his mind in the present, now that the day had truly dawned brightly over Privet Drive.
**
Draco slammed the door, leant into it, and slowly slid down to meet the floor, his back complaining at the contact the entire time. He wrapped one arm not at all gracefully around his legs, and the other hand went up to massage the bridge of Draco's nose - he could feel a pleasant migraine coming on.
What in the name of Merlin possessed him to do *that?* Just exactly which mushrooms had he consumed at yesterday's dinner? The hand strayed from his face and pressed itself over his quickly pulsing heart. *Damn Potter!! Why did he have to be so.so..Gryffindor-ish?! Why the hell did I go along with his little befuddling game? Who does he think he is, trying to act the part of comrade-in-arms? As if he knows everything-*
Draco jumped as he felt the door shake, but the reason for this became clear before he even had a chance to register the word, *Why?* Shouting could be heard, and Draco listened with increasing interest and amusement as Potter got his comeuppance.
"--5:37 *in the morning!!* Some of us have to work today so that we can pay for *your meals!!*"
There was a final structure-shifting slam, the sound of bolts being thrown, and then stomps back to the shouter's private quarters. Silence. Draco was now facing a completely Potter-free day, possibly longer if his bad luck stayed away for a much-needed change. But just as celebration of this thought began to run into full swing, Draco felt a bucket of ice drop into his stomach - a Potter-free day with three Muggles. *Three Muggles*.
*On second thought*, Draco argued his previous standpoint, *Potter was only being his noble Gryffindor Defender self, all that I should expect from him*. Draco scowled, and his stomach got colder. *I either break him out, or risk Muggle infection*. He rolled his eyes. *Seriously, I don't know why the Ministry is so adamant about not putting Muggles under the supervision of the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control Of Magical Creatures..*
The fact that Draco could remain in his room all day never occurred to him.
**
Stage One of Draco's master scheme went off rather well despite the fright he'd received earlier, with just a little help from his godfather. It was working so well, in fact, that you could actually hear the so-thought-to-be pampered heir snoring gently, a small silver flask of Dreamless Sleep standing open on the bedside table.
**
Around 8:30AM, Harry was having trouble reading the miniscule print under his nose, and his essay looked worse for wear - too much sugar was not beneficial to one's health so early in the morning, and Harry was now fighting off wave after wave of nausea. He briefly thought of the other wizard, and envied him the food he must be enjoying right now. Not to mention, the water.
**
A polite knock jarred Draco from unconsciousness around nine, and Aunt Petunia entered bearing a tray of scrambled eggs and bacon, with a stack of toast. She smiled her misty smile, eyes shining with adoration of the boy whom she wished she could keep forever.
Oh, he'd been ever so sweet at dinner last night! Complimenting everything humbly, yet proving he had a head for intelligent conversation and a wit for belittling her nephew, not to mention the money..Petunia wasted no time as she watched him eat in telling the frankly appalled Slytherin how she was so excited to have him part of the family (Draco nearly choked on his slightly burnt toast - obviously not Potter's work - to hear that a *Muggle* wanted to practically adopt him). He'd most certainly NOT be coming back here. Petunia rattled on, completely unaware of the fact that her charge had started to move as far away from her as possible, which wasn't much considering that Draco was eating breakfast in bed, and this stalker was inching nearer from the edge of the bed.
Time for Stage Two.
Draco interrupted Petunia, though what talk he interrupted he would never know nor care.
"It was certainly kind of you to bring me breakfast, you're ever so generous!! However, isn't this work below you? Where is that servant boy..what was his name again?"
Aunt Petunia stiffened, and she pursed her lips. "Oh, him. His name is Harry, but we never go by first names with his kind. You needn't worry about offending him."
Draco opened his mouth, in actuality to protest to Horse-face and her obvious dislike for what was *his* kind, too, but Mrs. Dursley cut him off. "Oh, you'll be wanting him to attend to you, of course. I'm dreadfully sorry, but we sent him out on errands today. He won't be back till late."
*How very Slytherin of the woman*, Draco mused, *to lie outright to her 'son'. How very like some Slytherins I know*, he thought bitterly, his father for one springing to his mind. However, it looked like his original master scheme to save himself by saving Potter had failed. Time for the contingency plan.
Petunia sighed dramatically, then began collecting the tray and piling the empty plates. "You're right," she said, "this is far below my stature." And with that she left the room, a tragic figure indeed. Draco snorted, then traced her steps to the door and locked it before pulling off the silk pajamas and grabbing some black Muggle clothes from within his drawers.
Unfortunately, his new contingency plan wouldn't be able to come into effect until nightfall. *Dear Merlin, a day with Muggles*.
**
Harry had already seen the "Malfoy Meets Muggles" episode, but had he not been locked in his room, not to mention his own little world filled with Transfiguration essays, he would have witnessed one of far more disastrous effects: Malfoy Meets Muggle Devices.
Dudley, who always favored brawn over brains, had been strangely quite taken by the youth of his same age that could cause Dudley's cousin's face to turn purple with simply words and not with hands around his neck or fists in his eyes. And what was even better was the lack of effort his fellow blonde needed! It was as if Draco had been doing it for years!!
At first, Dudley had intended to share his hate of his cousin by regaling Draco with tales of his long lost passion for Harry Hunting, but then a new idea was placed in his mind: Draco was intelligent, and Dudley wanted to imitate him for the sheer joy of having two ways with which to humiliate Harry. Draco would not seem impressed by all the times Dudley had broken Harry's glasses, but what else did Dudley really know that Draco didn't? What intelligence did Dudley possess?
The answer presented itself along with Draco when he came down the stairs late that morning.
How?
The lean boy entered the kitchen to find someone to talk to, and to maybe wheedle more food from his current parental unit, the other, he discovered, having left for whatever Mugglish work he did. He found Dudley chomping on low fat granola bars, eyes being sucked into the television. Draco tried to feign disinterest again, but the noise was just too distracting, the ending of something involving Muggles and martial arts. Aunt Petunia didn't even wait for him to ask for food, but rather produced a huge tray of vegetables and dip, and with a sing-song "Here you are, sweetheart," placed it on the table. Dudley abandoned his granola bars at once, and began scooping as much dip as he could onto a head of broccoli.
It was then that the movie ended, a catchy theme song accompanying the credits. Dudley sighed contentedly, and muttered, "Wonder what's on next." However, Aunt Petunia, increasing her effort to play up to Draco, or "Drakie-darling", as she had so dubbed him in her mind, tremulously suggested, "Why not let your new brother choose?"
Somewhat reluctantly, Dudley slid the remote across the table to Draco. Draco stared at it, confused. "What's that for?"
Dudley's jaw dropped open, and if he didn't close it soon, he find himself victim to lockjaw and a few hours in the emergency room while nurses and oral surgeons fussed over him. *How could he never have seen a remote? Impossible!* Trying to cover the weak intelligence showing through, he said, "You know, it's just a remote, you change the channel with it, makes things much easier - you don't have to keep touching the buttons on the set, just sit in your chair, push the button, and *flick*, change the channel."
Draco's response, "Oh, yeah..." He hesitantly lifted the.the.remote? and cast around for which button to push, thinking fast. What was the Land- Whale talking about, change the channel? Draco did manage to locate the word "Channel" over two protuberances, but which was he supposed to hit, up or down? He chose the "up" button, being that it was closest to the word "Channel" and pushed it, not forgetting the *flick* that Dudley had mentioned, a natural movement to a hand that usually held a wand. As a result, he almost fell out of his chair when the credits on the television turned into a cooking show. "It..it moved!!" The awe upon his face would have been evident to the dullest troll, and Dudley was not quite a troll, though he may have been the missing link.
"Don't you..don't you watch TV?"
Draco's fast-thinking ability to lie kicked in. Lamely. "Oh, well, they don't have televisions in France yet."
Aunt Petunia shot him a quizzical look, wondering what the boy was on about. Draco intercepted the look, and realized he must have screwed something up. Correcting himself, he said, "At my school, we don't have TV in the dorms. I spend most of my time at school, as my parents are always traveling, so we don't have many of the comforts of this modern house."
An awkward silence followed, but Aunt Petunia's furrowed brow relaxed. For a moment, he sounded exactly like some of the people her sister had always babbled about when she came home from that.that..that school, that same school that her nephew managed to attend despite all her efforts and her "Never go up against a Dursley" attitude. *Those people that had grown up without knowledge of normal life*.
"Poor boy," she crooned. "Dudley, why don't you show him the computer?"
That's when Dudley put two and two together: Draco didn't know about video games, or how to attack aliens on computers, or even how to work a remote. These were all daily occurrences quite familiar to Dudley.
He'd finally found intelligence!!
If only Draco had seen it that way.
**
It was some time later that Draco collapsed on his borrowed bed, for he flatly refused to call it his own, massaging his temples, now playing host full on to the migraine that the Dreamless Sleep Potion had fended off that morning. He didn't think he could take another minute in this house, not with the Land-Whale's sickening passion for something that didn't involve illegal curses in any way, nor with the preschool teacher tone the walking mass adopted as he explained to Draco how to turn on the computer, how to make that warped TV projection of yourself punch your equally warped opponent via a series of complicated codes simultaneously achieved by pressing buttons on a controller. Not that Draco wasn't utterly unaffected by the Muggles' Modern Marvels, but their amusement would have been better suited for the likes of Crabbe, or even Goyle (though some of what Draco had learned today might have been over Goyle's head), all the fake bloodshed and high kicking and blowing up aliens that in no way, shape, or form resembled the aliens described in some of the Malfoy family's most secretly guarded Dark Arts books. There was no way that a real alien could have been blown up by the Muggle contrivances used in these so-called 'games', it simply defied all laws known to wizard kind.
Draco lay on the bed for some time, hoping the memory of kaleidoscope colors of the rapidly changing TV didn't send him into a seizure. Time passed, so gradually his room darkened, and it was only with some slight difficulty that he lit the bedside lamp (Harry had done it the night before when he'd come in to turn down Draco's covers on his aunt's orders - lucky he didn't think of short-sheeting - and Aunt Petunia had turned it off when she came in to wish Draco sweet dreams. Wondering vaguely whether Potter would make an appearance at dinner, or if not, if he would at least *make* dinner, being that Aunt Petunia's lunch of cottage cheese casserole had been far less than satisfactory, the tired blonde sighed and looked at the clock, now reading 6:04PM. If calculations were correct, he still had at least five hours before he could rescue his fellow prisoner, as Draco likewise thought of himself. Honestly, Draco wondered why Potter had never murdered the Muggles he lived with - but then again, there was always that fiasco from two years ago when Potter had inflated one of them. Admirable, really, of an every-noble Gryffindor, and a nice bit of wandless magic to boot.
Slytherin's Pride picked himself reluctantly off the bed and locked the door to ward off curious prying Muggles. Turning to the bureau, and only fractionally recalling his beautiful ebony one in his lost stone room that spoke of the grandeur of the Malfoy clan over the generations, he pulled some quills and parchment out from within the bottommost drawer, and after some digging produced 'Advanced Potions' from the drawer above. He sorely wished he could place a locking charm on both drawers, but he assumed correctly in thinking that once let out of his room, Potter would be forced to reclaim all cleaning responsibility.
Moving over to the cramped desk, he arranged the supplies as best he could before cracking down on his Potions essay for Severus, waiting for dinner, waiting for his plan to kick in.and waiting for Voldemort, night having begun to fall, the perfect time for one of secrecy and lies and fear to act.
**
The wind stirred his hair, pulling it off his peaceful face. A beautiful snowy owl flew in through the window on that breath of wind, silent and spectral. Her first instinct was to land in her cage for some food - her night's foraging had left her empty, and she'd spent the whole day sleeping in a tree, recovering the energy expended in her near misses. However, when her large amber eyes peered through the gloom of the bedroom and fell on her beloved master, she changed course to land on the nightstand, scattering some quills and half-eaten jellybeans, flavors like wasabi and sashimi. The curve of her wing cuffed the sleeping boy across the face, like a mother pushing back the hair of her child beforing kissing him on the forehead.
Harry's eyes opened slowly, readjusting themselves to the dimness of the room, and he smiled contentedly at the sight of his pet. "Finally come home, eh? Don't worry, I won't send you off again too soon." He lazily reached out and tenderly stroked her, a touch she enjoyed, her eyes closing in pleasure of the contact.
All too soon, it ended, as Harry pushed himself up from the bed, displacing some balled-up pieces of parchment and fortunately stoppered bottles of ink. Dusk outside meant that dinner would be commencing shortly. He groaned at the thought that he still had at least until tomorrow morning to go before he received any food, as the Dursleys had obviously given up the cat- flap method a few years ago. Sadly, he'd run out of edible jellybeans, and the chocolate frogs had long ceased to be, though he had received something that Ron would want - his long-sought-after card of Agrippa. In fact, now that Hedwig returned, he could probably send it to him, along with a letter hinting about food. But right now, his contracted stomach filled his thoughts. Had he been desperate, he would have checked the loose floorboard under his bed, but anything it could hide would be far passed unfit for human consumption.
*Damn Malfoy.* This was all *his* fault. If Malfoy hadn't scared the crap out of him this morning, Harry would have at least been able to steal some of the food he normally cooked off the plates before the rest of the family got them.
Well, there was nothing else to do. Harry turned on the lamp and went back to tidying up his sloppy Transfiguration essay.
**
Draco had brushed his teeth at least five times just to get the taste of Aunt Petunia's cooking, something low-fat and lacking flavor, out of his mouth. This was saying something about her bland cooking, being that as it had no flavor, tasting it shouldn't have left his mouth in such bad shape.
Dudley had wanted another round playing TV games, and as Draco had hoped to tire him out early, he agreed. This just made Dudley more vociferous, more involved in the games as he beat Draco again and again, his expertise to be rivaled by none. This was not a feeling common to the Malfoy pride, one of being defeated. Only Potter had ever been able to slight Draco. Potter, and now a Muggle.
Nevertheless, Draco's plan was at least an hour late by the time the Land- Whale tottered into his bedroom.
Draco silently closed his door, waiting a few moments before the creaking of Dudley's bed added to the cacophony coming from the adult Muggles' room.
Without hesitation, Draco leapt for his trunk, pulling the key out from beneath his shirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, sorta cliffhanger...I'm writing chapter four, but I've got a Nihonshi test tomorrow, Kokugo homework for the next day....Wah!! All I wanna do is write!!!!
Review if you feel like it. Jaa ne!! Baibai...
And remember, I DON'T OWN THEM!! But I do wear Slytherin sweaters and scarfs, and people in the streets of Yokohama point at me and scream, Harii Pottaa!! Surizarin!!! In fact, there's this group of girls at school that bother me every gym class, just asking why of all people do I like Draco..
Dimly, he was aware of weak sunlight falling on his eyes, trying to force entry under the lids. He was also aware of a warmth next to his body, a warmth obviously not created by his rough blankets, simply because blankets didn't breathe gently, sending little puffs of air at his face. Of course, it could very well have been a pile of blankets just moving slightly in the light breeze sneaking in through the open window, and this theory was backed up by the fact that Harry didn't have a single blanket wrapped around his body. *Must've pushed them off during the night..* Harry heaved a long-suffering sigh, rewarded by a groan not from his own throat. His eyes snapped open immediately, only to cloud with confusion when he found himself staring into a pair of foreign long-lashed silver eyes fluttering and blinking owlishly in the light.
Gazes locked, a maelstrom of emotions flying between, then -
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Draco toppled ungainly out of the bed, right onto his wounded back, causing him to let out a string of curses and wailing that would have made Salazar Slytherin himself proud at having such a student in his House. Harry had sat up as though electrocuted, and was currently plastering himself as flat up against the wall as he could, eyes popping, face extremely red, as he added to the ruckus Draco was already making. Meanwhile, the intruder in Harry's bed had scrambled to a standing position unsteadily, being that his feet were still tangled in the stolen blankets he'd torn from the bed at his fall, and raced for the door, which he slammed on his way out.
Breathing heavily, yet disengaging himself from the wall, Harry vaguely heard two more doors slam, before his own was thrown open again when Uncle Vernon decided to pay Harry a little visit.
"What in the *blazes* do you think you're doing?!! It's 5:37 *in the morning!!* Some of us have to work today so that we can pay for *your* meals!!" Harry's agitated, red-faced uncle bellowed, not adding to the peaceful atmosphere he was trying to protect and defend. With a last glare at his disturbed and deranged nephew which sorely said that Harry dearly belonged in St. Brutus', he slammed the door a final time, and Harry distinctly heard the sound of several locks sliding into place.
By now the shock of waking up in the same bed with a Slytherin had worn begun to wear off, and Harry slowly gathered his wits together, bringing with them the events of last night, revealing just *why* Harry had woken up in the same bed with a Slytherin. The vision that started it all also came rushing back, and his hand automatically went up to his scar. It still felt oddly swollen, proving that Voldemort was indeed quite displeased at something, that something obviously being Malfoy.
Squinting, as if the past was playing in front of his eyes rather than from within his mind, Harry tried to recall the now blurry vision, muddled by several hours of thankfully undisturbed sleep. The gist was that Malfoy had disappeared, but what made Malfoy disappear in the first place? Harry began to brood, knowing that he wouldn't be disturbed any time soon.
It was definitely not out of character for the Ferret to turn tail and run, but why would he turn tail and run from a wizard he'd always put on airs of hero-worshipping? Unless.Could Malfoy be here on Voldemort's orders? No, that wouldn't send Voldemort into the rage that Harry had felt through his scar, unless.unless Malfoy had acted before the plan was to go into effect? Either way, it was not looking good for Harry, who was in any case trapped in the smallest bedroom of the same house in which Voldemort's number one Little Leaguer was planning to reside for at least two months, possibly less if this really was some plot to ensnare the wizarding world's poster boy.
Harry's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. His thoughts, which had been drifting towards depressive as Cedric's face swam into his mind's eye, were brought back to reality fairly quickly with the fact that he was only on his second day back from Hogwarts, which had not given him enough time to send out little messages-in-a-bottle to his friends and surrogate family for food, and it wasn't of any use as Hedwig still hadn't returned from her own foraging. Instead, Harry left the still-warm bed and shuffled over to his trunk, hoping to find some candy.
Five minutes and one floor littered with books, robes, and the occasional bit of spare parchment later, Harry had settled down on his bed with some chocolate frogs and a box of Bertie Bott's, pulling faces as he bit into a cooked cabbage jelly bean followed by one of cat food, and began flipping through 'Intermediate Transfiguration' in the hopes of starting his summer schoolwork, refocusing his mind in the present, now that the day had truly dawned brightly over Privet Drive.
**
Draco slammed the door, leant into it, and slowly slid down to meet the floor, his back complaining at the contact the entire time. He wrapped one arm not at all gracefully around his legs, and the other hand went up to massage the bridge of Draco's nose - he could feel a pleasant migraine coming on.
What in the name of Merlin possessed him to do *that?* Just exactly which mushrooms had he consumed at yesterday's dinner? The hand strayed from his face and pressed itself over his quickly pulsing heart. *Damn Potter!! Why did he have to be so.so..Gryffindor-ish?! Why the hell did I go along with his little befuddling game? Who does he think he is, trying to act the part of comrade-in-arms? As if he knows everything-*
Draco jumped as he felt the door shake, but the reason for this became clear before he even had a chance to register the word, *Why?* Shouting could be heard, and Draco listened with increasing interest and amusement as Potter got his comeuppance.
"--5:37 *in the morning!!* Some of us have to work today so that we can pay for *your meals!!*"
There was a final structure-shifting slam, the sound of bolts being thrown, and then stomps back to the shouter's private quarters. Silence. Draco was now facing a completely Potter-free day, possibly longer if his bad luck stayed away for a much-needed change. But just as celebration of this thought began to run into full swing, Draco felt a bucket of ice drop into his stomach - a Potter-free day with three Muggles. *Three Muggles*.
*On second thought*, Draco argued his previous standpoint, *Potter was only being his noble Gryffindor Defender self, all that I should expect from him*. Draco scowled, and his stomach got colder. *I either break him out, or risk Muggle infection*. He rolled his eyes. *Seriously, I don't know why the Ministry is so adamant about not putting Muggles under the supervision of the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control Of Magical Creatures..*
The fact that Draco could remain in his room all day never occurred to him.
**
Stage One of Draco's master scheme went off rather well despite the fright he'd received earlier, with just a little help from his godfather. It was working so well, in fact, that you could actually hear the so-thought-to-be pampered heir snoring gently, a small silver flask of Dreamless Sleep standing open on the bedside table.
**
Around 8:30AM, Harry was having trouble reading the miniscule print under his nose, and his essay looked worse for wear - too much sugar was not beneficial to one's health so early in the morning, and Harry was now fighting off wave after wave of nausea. He briefly thought of the other wizard, and envied him the food he must be enjoying right now. Not to mention, the water.
**
A polite knock jarred Draco from unconsciousness around nine, and Aunt Petunia entered bearing a tray of scrambled eggs and bacon, with a stack of toast. She smiled her misty smile, eyes shining with adoration of the boy whom she wished she could keep forever.
Oh, he'd been ever so sweet at dinner last night! Complimenting everything humbly, yet proving he had a head for intelligent conversation and a wit for belittling her nephew, not to mention the money..Petunia wasted no time as she watched him eat in telling the frankly appalled Slytherin how she was so excited to have him part of the family (Draco nearly choked on his slightly burnt toast - obviously not Potter's work - to hear that a *Muggle* wanted to practically adopt him). He'd most certainly NOT be coming back here. Petunia rattled on, completely unaware of the fact that her charge had started to move as far away from her as possible, which wasn't much considering that Draco was eating breakfast in bed, and this stalker was inching nearer from the edge of the bed.
Time for Stage Two.
Draco interrupted Petunia, though what talk he interrupted he would never know nor care.
"It was certainly kind of you to bring me breakfast, you're ever so generous!! However, isn't this work below you? Where is that servant boy..what was his name again?"
Aunt Petunia stiffened, and she pursed her lips. "Oh, him. His name is Harry, but we never go by first names with his kind. You needn't worry about offending him."
Draco opened his mouth, in actuality to protest to Horse-face and her obvious dislike for what was *his* kind, too, but Mrs. Dursley cut him off. "Oh, you'll be wanting him to attend to you, of course. I'm dreadfully sorry, but we sent him out on errands today. He won't be back till late."
*How very Slytherin of the woman*, Draco mused, *to lie outright to her 'son'. How very like some Slytherins I know*, he thought bitterly, his father for one springing to his mind. However, it looked like his original master scheme to save himself by saving Potter had failed. Time for the contingency plan.
Petunia sighed dramatically, then began collecting the tray and piling the empty plates. "You're right," she said, "this is far below my stature." And with that she left the room, a tragic figure indeed. Draco snorted, then traced her steps to the door and locked it before pulling off the silk pajamas and grabbing some black Muggle clothes from within his drawers.
Unfortunately, his new contingency plan wouldn't be able to come into effect until nightfall. *Dear Merlin, a day with Muggles*.
**
Harry had already seen the "Malfoy Meets Muggles" episode, but had he not been locked in his room, not to mention his own little world filled with Transfiguration essays, he would have witnessed one of far more disastrous effects: Malfoy Meets Muggle Devices.
Dudley, who always favored brawn over brains, had been strangely quite taken by the youth of his same age that could cause Dudley's cousin's face to turn purple with simply words and not with hands around his neck or fists in his eyes. And what was even better was the lack of effort his fellow blonde needed! It was as if Draco had been doing it for years!!
At first, Dudley had intended to share his hate of his cousin by regaling Draco with tales of his long lost passion for Harry Hunting, but then a new idea was placed in his mind: Draco was intelligent, and Dudley wanted to imitate him for the sheer joy of having two ways with which to humiliate Harry. Draco would not seem impressed by all the times Dudley had broken Harry's glasses, but what else did Dudley really know that Draco didn't? What intelligence did Dudley possess?
The answer presented itself along with Draco when he came down the stairs late that morning.
How?
The lean boy entered the kitchen to find someone to talk to, and to maybe wheedle more food from his current parental unit, the other, he discovered, having left for whatever Mugglish work he did. He found Dudley chomping on low fat granola bars, eyes being sucked into the television. Draco tried to feign disinterest again, but the noise was just too distracting, the ending of something involving Muggles and martial arts. Aunt Petunia didn't even wait for him to ask for food, but rather produced a huge tray of vegetables and dip, and with a sing-song "Here you are, sweetheart," placed it on the table. Dudley abandoned his granola bars at once, and began scooping as much dip as he could onto a head of broccoli.
It was then that the movie ended, a catchy theme song accompanying the credits. Dudley sighed contentedly, and muttered, "Wonder what's on next." However, Aunt Petunia, increasing her effort to play up to Draco, or "Drakie-darling", as she had so dubbed him in her mind, tremulously suggested, "Why not let your new brother choose?"
Somewhat reluctantly, Dudley slid the remote across the table to Draco. Draco stared at it, confused. "What's that for?"
Dudley's jaw dropped open, and if he didn't close it soon, he find himself victim to lockjaw and a few hours in the emergency room while nurses and oral surgeons fussed over him. *How could he never have seen a remote? Impossible!* Trying to cover the weak intelligence showing through, he said, "You know, it's just a remote, you change the channel with it, makes things much easier - you don't have to keep touching the buttons on the set, just sit in your chair, push the button, and *flick*, change the channel."
Draco's response, "Oh, yeah..." He hesitantly lifted the.the.remote? and cast around for which button to push, thinking fast. What was the Land- Whale talking about, change the channel? Draco did manage to locate the word "Channel" over two protuberances, but which was he supposed to hit, up or down? He chose the "up" button, being that it was closest to the word "Channel" and pushed it, not forgetting the *flick* that Dudley had mentioned, a natural movement to a hand that usually held a wand. As a result, he almost fell out of his chair when the credits on the television turned into a cooking show. "It..it moved!!" The awe upon his face would have been evident to the dullest troll, and Dudley was not quite a troll, though he may have been the missing link.
"Don't you..don't you watch TV?"
Draco's fast-thinking ability to lie kicked in. Lamely. "Oh, well, they don't have televisions in France yet."
Aunt Petunia shot him a quizzical look, wondering what the boy was on about. Draco intercepted the look, and realized he must have screwed something up. Correcting himself, he said, "At my school, we don't have TV in the dorms. I spend most of my time at school, as my parents are always traveling, so we don't have many of the comforts of this modern house."
An awkward silence followed, but Aunt Petunia's furrowed brow relaxed. For a moment, he sounded exactly like some of the people her sister had always babbled about when she came home from that.that..that school, that same school that her nephew managed to attend despite all her efforts and her "Never go up against a Dursley" attitude. *Those people that had grown up without knowledge of normal life*.
"Poor boy," she crooned. "Dudley, why don't you show him the computer?"
That's when Dudley put two and two together: Draco didn't know about video games, or how to attack aliens on computers, or even how to work a remote. These were all daily occurrences quite familiar to Dudley.
He'd finally found intelligence!!
If only Draco had seen it that way.
**
It was some time later that Draco collapsed on his borrowed bed, for he flatly refused to call it his own, massaging his temples, now playing host full on to the migraine that the Dreamless Sleep Potion had fended off that morning. He didn't think he could take another minute in this house, not with the Land-Whale's sickening passion for something that didn't involve illegal curses in any way, nor with the preschool teacher tone the walking mass adopted as he explained to Draco how to turn on the computer, how to make that warped TV projection of yourself punch your equally warped opponent via a series of complicated codes simultaneously achieved by pressing buttons on a controller. Not that Draco wasn't utterly unaffected by the Muggles' Modern Marvels, but their amusement would have been better suited for the likes of Crabbe, or even Goyle (though some of what Draco had learned today might have been over Goyle's head), all the fake bloodshed and high kicking and blowing up aliens that in no way, shape, or form resembled the aliens described in some of the Malfoy family's most secretly guarded Dark Arts books. There was no way that a real alien could have been blown up by the Muggle contrivances used in these so-called 'games', it simply defied all laws known to wizard kind.
Draco lay on the bed for some time, hoping the memory of kaleidoscope colors of the rapidly changing TV didn't send him into a seizure. Time passed, so gradually his room darkened, and it was only with some slight difficulty that he lit the bedside lamp (Harry had done it the night before when he'd come in to turn down Draco's covers on his aunt's orders - lucky he didn't think of short-sheeting - and Aunt Petunia had turned it off when she came in to wish Draco sweet dreams. Wondering vaguely whether Potter would make an appearance at dinner, or if not, if he would at least *make* dinner, being that Aunt Petunia's lunch of cottage cheese casserole had been far less than satisfactory, the tired blonde sighed and looked at the clock, now reading 6:04PM. If calculations were correct, he still had at least five hours before he could rescue his fellow prisoner, as Draco likewise thought of himself. Honestly, Draco wondered why Potter had never murdered the Muggles he lived with - but then again, there was always that fiasco from two years ago when Potter had inflated one of them. Admirable, really, of an every-noble Gryffindor, and a nice bit of wandless magic to boot.
Slytherin's Pride picked himself reluctantly off the bed and locked the door to ward off curious prying Muggles. Turning to the bureau, and only fractionally recalling his beautiful ebony one in his lost stone room that spoke of the grandeur of the Malfoy clan over the generations, he pulled some quills and parchment out from within the bottommost drawer, and after some digging produced 'Advanced Potions' from the drawer above. He sorely wished he could place a locking charm on both drawers, but he assumed correctly in thinking that once let out of his room, Potter would be forced to reclaim all cleaning responsibility.
Moving over to the cramped desk, he arranged the supplies as best he could before cracking down on his Potions essay for Severus, waiting for dinner, waiting for his plan to kick in.and waiting for Voldemort, night having begun to fall, the perfect time for one of secrecy and lies and fear to act.
**
The wind stirred his hair, pulling it off his peaceful face. A beautiful snowy owl flew in through the window on that breath of wind, silent and spectral. Her first instinct was to land in her cage for some food - her night's foraging had left her empty, and she'd spent the whole day sleeping in a tree, recovering the energy expended in her near misses. However, when her large amber eyes peered through the gloom of the bedroom and fell on her beloved master, she changed course to land on the nightstand, scattering some quills and half-eaten jellybeans, flavors like wasabi and sashimi. The curve of her wing cuffed the sleeping boy across the face, like a mother pushing back the hair of her child beforing kissing him on the forehead.
Harry's eyes opened slowly, readjusting themselves to the dimness of the room, and he smiled contentedly at the sight of his pet. "Finally come home, eh? Don't worry, I won't send you off again too soon." He lazily reached out and tenderly stroked her, a touch she enjoyed, her eyes closing in pleasure of the contact.
All too soon, it ended, as Harry pushed himself up from the bed, displacing some balled-up pieces of parchment and fortunately stoppered bottles of ink. Dusk outside meant that dinner would be commencing shortly. He groaned at the thought that he still had at least until tomorrow morning to go before he received any food, as the Dursleys had obviously given up the cat- flap method a few years ago. Sadly, he'd run out of edible jellybeans, and the chocolate frogs had long ceased to be, though he had received something that Ron would want - his long-sought-after card of Agrippa. In fact, now that Hedwig returned, he could probably send it to him, along with a letter hinting about food. But right now, his contracted stomach filled his thoughts. Had he been desperate, he would have checked the loose floorboard under his bed, but anything it could hide would be far passed unfit for human consumption.
*Damn Malfoy.* This was all *his* fault. If Malfoy hadn't scared the crap out of him this morning, Harry would have at least been able to steal some of the food he normally cooked off the plates before the rest of the family got them.
Well, there was nothing else to do. Harry turned on the lamp and went back to tidying up his sloppy Transfiguration essay.
**
Draco had brushed his teeth at least five times just to get the taste of Aunt Petunia's cooking, something low-fat and lacking flavor, out of his mouth. This was saying something about her bland cooking, being that as it had no flavor, tasting it shouldn't have left his mouth in such bad shape.
Dudley had wanted another round playing TV games, and as Draco had hoped to tire him out early, he agreed. This just made Dudley more vociferous, more involved in the games as he beat Draco again and again, his expertise to be rivaled by none. This was not a feeling common to the Malfoy pride, one of being defeated. Only Potter had ever been able to slight Draco. Potter, and now a Muggle.
Nevertheless, Draco's plan was at least an hour late by the time the Land- Whale tottered into his bedroom.
Draco silently closed his door, waiting a few moments before the creaking of Dudley's bed added to the cacophony coming from the adult Muggles' room.
Without hesitation, Draco leapt for his trunk, pulling the key out from beneath his shirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, sorta cliffhanger...I'm writing chapter four, but I've got a Nihonshi test tomorrow, Kokugo homework for the next day....Wah!! All I wanna do is write!!!!
Review if you feel like it. Jaa ne!! Baibai...