By: DaDomz (Branw3nand Lestat)
DISCLAIMER: WE DON'T OWN NOTHING.
WARNINGS:
1.) This is a HP/DM fic. But not entirely. Read it and understand.
2.) Also an R/Hr fic so be warned!
3.) Idea derived from the Travelers Incognito.
DEDICATIONS:
1.) Mech; Ron has his 'rightful' position now.
Chapter Six: Harry Potter and the Naïveté Within
Harry Potter paced out even steps as he exited the Infirmary and headed for the Great Hall, trying hard to make it seem less of the escape than it actually was. It was just about time for dinner and he was quite famished. The chocolate that seemed to be a staple for every perfect meal in Mdm. Pomfrey's disillusioned mind didn't agree with his stomach all that well. He unconsciously lay a hand on his ribs before catching himself. The MediWitch had done a wonderful job fixing him up, as usual. Though, he would have to give those Hufflepuff Beaters, Barnes and Marshall, some well-deserved credit.
They sure got him good.
But he got them back better, catching the Snitch and all, nearly concurrent to his impact with both Bludgers. It made him wonder where the Gryffindor team's own Beaters were. Ron had decided to play Keeper, then, seeing as to Dennis had taken ill. Ron's position had been taken up by Shivhan Traverson, a quite potent Third Year, though evidently lacking in training. Ron had nearly killed the Creeveys and Mdm. Pomfrey for that, though he did discover his truer calling as a Keeper.
His brief stint at the Infirmary did save him from having to complete that three feet essay for Transfiguration, though as he now thought about it, he might've gladly endured broken bones and that to escape from Mdm. Pomfrey's disgusted sniffles about the dangers of Quidditch, her tirades on why it should be banned altogether and the cot in which she laid him on.
He hadn't been allowed to rise unless it was to use the bathroom and that was just irritating. The plus side, if one could call it that, was his discovering that Mdm. Pomfrey only washed the sheets once a month. Such data was evident for the cot in which she had laid him on had been the same bed Malfoy had occupied no less than a week ago. That, in itself, was unnerving.
Drifting off to sleep with that scent, relaxing as it was, had been unsettling. Especially since with every move he made, from the tiniest fidget to restlessly rolling about to find a comfortable position as he slept, caused disparate yet surprisingly not incongruous scents to envelope him.
Now, as he approached the Great Hall, he found it even more so. Through his disgust, he could perceive the numerous little clusters in which students, in groups of three or four, had lingered behind, poorly concealing themselves while gossiping. The new rumour this week? He didn't know, but it just had to be better than the one of Filch's tryst with Mdm. Hooch. Thinking about that made him want to churn out his lunch.
Even more so were the rumors of McGonagall's queer dominatrix inclinations and Hagrid's more than questionable fetish for Blast-Ended Skrewts.
Never one to have believed or showed any interest in such trivial things, he entered the already open majestic double doors of the Great Hall and was surprised at what he heard, or rather what he had not heard. The usually boisterous hall was only halfway filled, mostly Hufflepuffs had gone missing, he silently noted. Whether this had any particular relevance to the immediate situation, he was unsure.
Spotting Ron and Hermione, he quickly made his way towards them, seating himself right across the unusually silent couple. Ron seemed to have a look of abject horror on his face while Hermione took in her surroundings in silent consternation. Wryly, he noticed that most of the current attendees of the Great Hall had similar expressions, those and that of ill-concealed mirth. He wondered if this epidemic had reached the teachers.
McGonagall seemed a bit too reticent; Dumbledore, his usual amused benevolence; Sprout trying to peer over the enormous turkey inconveniently set before him; Trelawney with smug gratification; Hagrid with utter perplexity and Snape, Snape was glaring unmercifully at every male student in his immediate vicinity, and even those vacating the Hall.
Harry was now obstinately sure that the news had something to do with Snape… perhaps it entailed his strange nightly rendezvous with Sinistra and their more than questionable bondage methods, appalling as that may seem.
He returned his attention to his two preoccupied best friends who'd barely noticed his arrival, if at all.
"Ron? 'Mione?"
Hermione blinked a couple of times, probably clearing her vision before allowing her eyes to settle on Harry. He offered a grin.
"Harry!" she exclaimed, reaching over, struggling to envelope him in a hug which might have been impossible to execute had he not leaned over to aid her. She removed her arms from his neck and asked, "When did you arrive?"
"Just now, actually."
She gave him a sheepish smile. "Very sorry."
"Consider it forgotten."
She smiled once more and he was reminded once more of Ron's nearly unreasonable obsession with her. Though he was relieved to state that his appreciation was limited to that of brotherly pride. He only hoped that they'd get married before they mauled one another.
They both turned to regard Ron who still had a flabbergasted expression on his face.
"Ron?"
"Love?"
Harry shook his head and turned to see what had held Ron's amazingly short attention span on the other side of the room. He scanned the expressions of the various students occupying the Hall with them but found none that would extract this particular reaction from Ron. Nothing warranted this look of sheer incredulity.
"Care to enlighten me, Hermione?"
Her head whipped around to confront him and she shrugged nonchalantly, too blasé for his liking. "Must be the food."
Harry gave her a look of pure disbelief. "Must be."
No need to badger her for answers she was unwilling to give. Ron didn't seem to be in too much danger and the Quidditch Captain would most likely confide in him later, if he remembered to ask.
* * * * *
Pansy Parkinson flicked a cautious glance over Draco, who sat beside her, silently reducing her piece of steak into bite-sized pieces as if it were absolutely necessary to the world's continued existence that they be perfectly even. But Pansy wasn't even going to try to throw a scathing remark at the blonde. She was in too much trouble already.
She could curse herself for her idiocy. Revealing everything the Malfoys, well Lucius Malfoy, to be exact, had worked tirelessly for in the span of a few seconds. She wanted to slap herself, yet thank the gods for her continued subsistence. She wondered how Draco had talked Malfoy Sr. out of murdering her.
But she was grateful enough as it was, no need to bother the girl. Though she was a bit pleased with herself for revealing Draco's true identity. She and Narcissa had been conspiring about it for ages. She herself was not partial to Lucius Malfoy's insistence on Draco's cross-dressing. But she was only Draco's playmate, not entitled to an opinion, in his eyes, but not to his wife's.
Despite her immense regret towards her actions, foiling Malfoy Sr.'s plans and all, she liked to think of her calculated counter-plan as some sort of favor that Draco had yet to appreciate, though it seemed that its other recipient, the rest of the world, had realized, right off the bat, her donation to the world's varied human species. Draco, in herself, was atypical enough when compared to the rest of the female species to garner a different category, one all for herself.
Before they had gone to Hogwarts, Narcissa had cornered her right beside Draco's bedroom and asked her of her opinions on Draco. Meaning if she thought of her as male or female. She vehemently replied that she was quite partial to the latter and Narcissa had nearly bawled out her relief. Good God! The woman had thought she wanted to marry Draco! Even thinking of it now, she was still quite disgusted. Yes, given her escorting the little devil to the Yule Ball had caused numerous rumors of their supposed relationship to surface but she had done that out of necessity; her life or reputation as Lucius Malfoy had so subtly put it, but that did not equate with those talks surfacing about her sticking her tongue down Draco's throat.
For heaven's sake! Draco had been just about her height then and she had surpassed the twit in that area by now. She liked a man whose eyes she could look up into, one who would take her in his arms and…
Yes, well, let's not get into that, shall we? Who knows who might be looking at her now, observing her too crimson pallor-
She regarded her plate and began to eat, surveying the populace of Hogwarts, the ones that decided to enter the Great Hall for dinner instead of scurry about the castle gossiping about the incident in Transfigurations which happened a few hours ago and to which she was present and a major participant.
She pitied those poor souls, those male students to which Snape relentlessly glared at, regardless of age, as they swept appreciative or astonished gazes at Draco only to look up and encounter Snape's death gaze. Weasley, for one, she noticed, had been staring at Draco with absolute disgust since the start of dinner. Snape had nearly given up on trying to dissuade him. He shot Weasley a glare or two in between glaring at every boy who dare stare at his Goddaughter with ill-concealed admiration.
She couldn't blame them, though. Even she would have been blind as to not perceive Draco's ostensibly unnatural beauty and that strange allure she had inherited from her mother. People here were just plain stupid. Draco, a boy, with her little prissy ways and her non-violent fight-starting methods. Just idiots. Served them right to be intensely glowered at by Snape.
Well, those glares couldn't add up to the one he gave Potter as the boy entered. Pansy couldn't help but eye him appreciatively. He was every Hogwarts girl's fantasy, present company, still preoccupied with dicing her steak, excluded.
He reminded her of that other scarring conversation she had with Narcissa back in the summer after her Third Year.
"Now, dear," she smiled at Pansy, looking up from the gilded mirror, temporarily frustrating the house-elf that was painstakingly applying her make-up. "Do you know why I have called you here?"
Pansy shook her head, eyeing the cosmetics with veiled interest.
"Have you any interest in boys at all, Pansy?" She turned back to face the house-elf perched on the sturdy and fashionable vanity desk as it continued to apply some mascara on her face, glancing at Pansy from the corner of her eye just in time to see her daughter's best friend blush.
"I take it you do."
Pansy nodded, quite unsure as to where this conversation was headed. Narcissa Malfoy was a pleasant enough woman whose faults may have lied at her obsessive tendencies over her daughter. Though in this situation, it was highly rational, what with Draco being a cross-dresser and all.
"What about Draco, then?"
She knew it. This would all eventually lead up to Draco. The house-elf, Twinky, had come from Narcissa's ancestral home and had raised both Narcissa and Draco had always known of Draco's predicament turned to face Pansy, eagerly awaiting an answer. Narcissa was not at all unfazed by this, anyone who showed any remote interest in Draco, whose opinions on the child agreed with her own, was a possible confidant and co-conspirator. Pansy had been unknowingly included in this group since she was ten.
"None that I know of. She shows no remote interest in any boy. Well, other than that Weasley," she let out a disgusted sniffle before continuing. "And that Potter. She seems determined to make life miserable for them."
Twinky let out a disgruntled sort of sigh, rolling her abnormally huge irises before applying some blush to Narcissa's cheeks.
Narcissa let out a soft curse, most possibly to her absent husband before resuming the conversation. "That unhealthy obsession with those boys just has to stop! I could just strangle that man for putting her up to this!"
Her exclamations were delicate and refined. How could a woman like this produce a child like Draco, whose greatest amusement in life was participating in belching contests with Blaise, Vince and Greg? That and spitting! Yes, she might have had a tiny-enormous!- crush on Zabini but his blasé and quite abhorrent fixations were absolutely repugnant and in their First Year at Hogwarts, he had taken to the notion of bringing Draco under his tutelage, teaching her how to draw up quite an amount of phlegm in her throat, spit it into the air and have it land back in one's mouth.
She had thought of Draco as above it back then, being the aristocrat she was but some Neanderthalic urge that Pansy had supposed only appeared in men had managed to surface in Draco and had embedded this strange concept in the younger girl of having to prove her 'guy-ness' through initiating senseless acts. Pansy had unluckily been on the receiving end of that particular instance, having had a large ball of spittle land on her brand new white silk frock. That was when the entire Slytherin population had then learned of her ear-shattering shrieks and had resolved to never play pranks on her for hear of shattering their eardrums.
"Pansy," her voice was quite serious now as she laid a light hand on Pansy's shoulder. "I want you to promise me that you will find my daughter a suitable boy to accompany her to this Yule Ball. And please tell her to refrain from disturbing those boys. Who knows what ideas they might get."
She bit her lip to refrain from screaming profanities at Mrs. Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy would kill her!!! His 'son' accompanied by a fellow male student? He'd 'Avada Kedavra' her on the spot! Besides, Lucius had already cornered her a few days ago, berating her for her detrimental influence on Draco and ordering her to have Draco escort her to the upcoming Ball. Why did she have to be associated with this highly dysfunctional lot?
She wanted to go with Blaise! It just wasn't fair. But she was sharp enough to refrain from mentioning all of that to both Lucius and Narcissa. Instead she nodded.
She was awarded with an indulgent smile.
God, this woman was thick. Unbelievably so, in fact. If she expected Pansy to risk life and limb for her precious Draco then she was absolutely nutters.
"Find her some nice Ravenclaw boys, I've seen the current batch of Slytherins and they just don't seem right for her, they all seem so… I'm at a loss here…Oh, yes! Odd and smugly flamboyant like her father. We can't have that, now can we? Well, maybe a Gryffindor, Harry Potter, you say? Well, he doesn't seem like much, not quite handsome enough for Draco. Those Witch Weekly pictures of him don't seem much..."
Right, she also had the power to make Draco fall in love with Weasley. Well, according to Draco's forecast, flaunting her nonexistent Seeing abilities, Granger would end up with Potter. It was either him or the Weasel. Pansy had bet on the latter, the safer choice.
Next, this woman would be color coordinating Draco's dress robes. Probably pink, no something much more blatant than pink, fuschia or magenta maybe.
"Oh, Twinky!" the statuesque blonde woman gestured at her wardrobe. "Set out my turquoise robes and set up an appointment with Madam Zhuan. Have her bring out her rose pink swatches of fabric. And her designs for young women, have her unearth her records of Draco's measurements. And while you're at it, would you retrieve that gold box inlaid with emeralds. Yes, the one with the ebony backdrop. Oh, those rubies would look positively magnificent against the color magenta and would enhance the ivory color of her skin!" She clapped her hands in excitement as inspiration lit her eyes.
'Damn it! I may have true Seer aptitude or maybe I've spent so much time with these people.'
Lucius had already called on Madam Zhuan, their private dress maker, and had her whip up the smartest-looking dress robes for Draco and for her, as well, so that they would match, to which Madam Zhuan cheerily concurred, clasping her hands together with plans of designs floating around her head.
She knew Malfoy Sr. expected her to marry Draco, which in itself was disgusting enough. First Draco was a girl, no potion nor spell would ever change that. Secondly, she was nearly a year older than the little monster. And third, she had already planned out her wedding to Blaise. Mrs. Pansy Zabini sounded great. Mrs. Pansy Malfoy did not. In fact, it sounded horrible.
She had always dreamed of a garden wedding, with Blaise as her husband and Draco fulfilling the maid-of-honor role, though now it seemed as if she were leaning towards the best man position. She wanted lots of sunshine and dandelions on the lush green grass during her marriage ceremony and diamonds embedded onto her nine foot long trail.
And someday, hopefully, she'd be surrounded by the lovely noise of children; Blaise Jr. and Patricia Parkinson-Zabini. Oh how she wanted a daughter, helping raise Draco had been challenging but wonderful…
If Draco's inner Aphrodite didn't emerge soon then who knows what hell her life would turn into…
She was screwed.
Now, it wasn't as if she thought Potter was perfect for little Draco, he would look perfect with anyone. But other than torturing Potter under her father's orders, what other reason did Draco have for bothering Potter? Draco and Potter, even the thought made her want to laugh out loud. He sat down and patiently waited for his otherwise occupied best friends to notice him, serving himself huge spoonfuls of potatoes.
Draco would never admit it but Pansy could sense some inexplicable sort of attraction between the two, one so palpable that it was even abysmal that the thick-headed occupants of the castle couldn't quite grasp the concept and therefore set itat the back of their minds. Well, considering that throughout the course of that implied relationship, Draco had been a male… Right, well, now that Draco was officially a female she could finally approach Potter. He wasn't all that horrible looking but Draco had yet to grasp at the notion of liking boys.
She observed him with a mix of interest and disdain. He had grown over the years, nearly as tall as Weasley but not as gangly. And he had some rather well-defined muscles, though she was unsure if it could all be accounted to Quidditch. All he ever did was fly around and reach out for the Snitch. Fat lot of work and energy that used up. Draco, who occupied the same position on their team, hadn't grown a single inch nor gotten stronger for all the practice she put them through. That theory could probably be attributed to genes. Strangely enough, they both came across as perfect.
Granger reached out to hug him and she suddenly remembered that long ago bet she and Draco had conducted. Malfoy never did pay up. She turned to address the shorter girl but halted, her mouth open halfway. Was ickle Dracie staring at Potter?
That was just wonderful, for her.
If Draco and Potter didn't mesh well, Adrian Pucey could be considered as a second option. She was desperate to escape the farce of a marriage she and Draco would have if she failed and those Potions Masters Malfoy Sr. had hired succeeded. Besides, Pucey wasn't all that bad, in fact, he could be considered as a walking dream if tall, ruggedly handsome men were much more preferred by the school population. That boy was only a few inches taller than Draco, for heaven's sake!
The subject of Pansy's musings had finally begun masticating her frighteningly equally cut steak and was, to the untrained eye, staring off into space. Well, Pansy's eye was more than accustomed to Draco's habits and she was practically ogling the boy in her own assessing way. Could that be a spark of interest in those astonishingly clear grey eyes of hers?
She bent her blonde head over her plate, speared a perfectly cubed portion of meat with her fork and daintily stuck it in her mouth, content with staring off into nothing, or Potter, once more.
"What are you looking at, Parkinson?"
Pansy could've slapped herself for her slip up but instead, covered it up with a playful grin. "Nothing."
"Better moon over Zabini. I've no interest in you, never will have."
She was tempted to reply with, 'Oh, because you're so interested in Potter's ass right now.' She was quite proud with her limit of self-control. Wait, when did Draco know about her little crush, well, maybe obsession, with Blaise?
"You've read my journal! You bitch!"
'Oops. And I had so thought I had the upper hand. Damn her manipulating nature.'
"I think you mean bastard. And what with you having left it on my desk, of course I read it. And shut the bleedin' hell up, you fucking cow, I'm a bit preoccupied and have no desire to conduct idle prattle with you."
Preoccupied indeed.
Something was definitely wrong with Draco. The insults were delivered with the least amount of life in them, didn't even bother to defend herself or call Pansy a number of slighting names for leaving her possessions on Draco's pristine desk.
"Are you quite well?"
"Of course I am. Why would you think otherwise? What with the entire school discovering my true gender and everyone gossiping about me behind my back, why wouldn't everything be all right?"
Blatant sarcasm, not Draco's style.
"And to add to all that, the soddin' Weasel's shooting me gazes of pure disbelief and the Mudblood's scrutinizing every single thing about me and my feeling violated. But other than all of that, I'm absolutely fine."
"At least Potter's had his back to you the entire time."
"Sod off."
* * * * *
"Bloody fucking hell!"
Draco yelped as she turned and came face to face with a humungous Bludger, nearly losing her nose if she hadn't swerved out of the way at just the exact moment. She wildly searched for Crabbe and Goyle, finally spotting them by the hoops, the former staring at the copious variety of birds and butterflies tittering about his head while the latter absent-mindedly picked his nose, clubs nowhere in sight.
"Crabbe! Goyle!"
Both blinked several times before turning their heads in her direction, staring absently at their Captain. "Where in the-" She ducked as another Bludger made a pass at her cranium and redirected itself at Pansy, who was busy flirting with Zabini. "Hell have you both-" She ducked as Pucey ineptly swung the Quaffle at her. "Been? And Pucey?!?! If you do that again, I'll hit you over the head with my broom! What is wrong with you people?! Do you want to lose another bleeding game? Being labeled as losers, common rabble, might be quite alright with you lot but I, for one, am not!"
He gave her a charming grin before diving back down to retrieve the red ball. That boy could beguile the trousers off anyone. Hmm…if that potion didn't work she could always…Draco Pucey…Eurgh! She never even thought of that, never passed her mind at all. Besides, she never really liked dark haired boys. He did have nice brown eyes…Shut up! She was beginning to sound like Parkinson!
That was when the other Bludger had decided it had neglected her and was determined to demonstrate its remorse by attacking her. She didn't notice it until it was a few inches from her. She tried to pull up and luckily or unfortunately, it struck her broom handle. Eyes widened, its color changing to a stormy grey as she fell to the ground. Her mouth opened and shut itself as she let go of the remnants of her broom, plunging fifty feet to the ground. If she didn't break her neck, then she'd be paralyzed. She only hoped Mdm. Pomfrey could cure paralysis.
Out of its own accord, her body twisted into a somersault fifteen feet from the ground and she managed to land on all fours as she alighted on the ground, dust spreading all around her, her robes stained from the damp grass. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She could perceive Pansy's screams from a distance and could feel the air shift around her as Blaise quickly alighted a few feet above her, leaping off his broom, scrambling over to reach her. Blaise was a sort of older brother that she never had. Sometimes she wondered if Pansy bullied him into taking care of her, as if Vince and Greg weren't enough fortification.
"Draco, Draco, you all right?"
He took her elbow and helped her into a sitting position, lifting her palms to his eyes, inspecting them.
"I'm fine, Blaise," she sniffed disdainfully. Oh, sure, she wanted people to fuss over her but not in this way. She did not want people to treat her as some sort of invalid because of her gender. Girls like Parkinson enjoyed it, she did not. Not yet, anyway, according to the cow.
"Oh my, oh my, oh my…"
Parkinson was hyperventilating. Trying to draw Zabini's attention, most likely.
"Shut up, Pansy. There's nothing wrong with me."
"YOU INCONSIDERATE LITTLE PRAT!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE FINE? YOU TOOK A GREAT FALL! DID YOU EVEN CONSIDER MY DAMN FEELINGS WHEN YOU DECIDED TO JUMP OFF YOU BROOM?"
Pansy took her by her ear and dragged her up while she screamed into it. Draco winced before slapping her hand away.
"I did not jump off! I've more sense than that!" She rubbed her abused and quite raw ear huffily. "Whose idea was it to have Crabbe and Goyle on the team? Yours and my father's! But the incompetent buffoons they are, they'll likely kill me than protect me!"
"YOU'RE GOING TO SEE MDM. POMFREY THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!!!"
Draco shot her a patented sneer, snatching her damaged broom from the ground and stalking off the field, that is, until Blaise grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and carried her over his shoulder towards the Infirmary, her screaming and kicking all the way as Pansy simpered at her for she had in all likelihood ordered Zabini to haul her off.
* * * * *