WOW! So many reviews, I'm excited. Unimaginably excited. So, in answer to your reviews…
Weasley Wonders: THANK YOU! You've reviewed every one of my chapters and you were my first reviewer so my deepest and most sincere thanks.
Skye: I have to ask… why is Harry a sick ba*truck goes by*? Aside from the fact that he bit Draco and all that ::snickers::
Tuxedo Jack: Aw, you know I love the entendres. I'm completely ineffectual at writing anything less than blatant insinuations when it comes to innuendo. As for detail, I really don't know, I could add endless detail, but I've come to hate purple (prose). Anyway, once again, thank you.
Cardboardboxkid: Have I mentioned how much I love your pen name? Well, firstly, WOW! I ought to self-advertise more often. Anyway, I'm happy to know that the glass slipper, however a bizarre sleep-deprived induced comment, helped. Thank you SO much for reviewing for me! SO Much.
Flowerfunleah: It's a bummer that you don't read the first bits (but you will know that they're all in the same format lol), I know they're not exactly wild and adventurous (not yet), and chapter 3 sucked, but the others should be worth while. ANYWAY! Thank you for reviewing for me; frankly I don't know when they'll kiss. I'm trying to keep people in character while maintaining the basic storyline so it may take a while. Confrontations ahead.
Mandraco: Thank you for your review, though on the grammar thing, I would be willing to bet that all contradictions are intentional. I'm usually pretty careful with grammar and homonyms because I'm critical of that when I review other people, I watch that so I'm not hypocritical. Actually, a lot of my contradictory adverbs hold a deeper meaning such as deliberate confusion versus perfect, insightful clarity into a characters psyche. Anyway, thanks again, keep reading and I will put this through the editing grind just in case.
Layce74: Thanks, I like it too… though I don't know where it's come from or where it's going yet.
Tuulikki: Thank you thank you… I talk to you via email so… yeah. I will do my best to read said recommended fic.
Author's Notes: Do you know, I still haven't found a name for my vampy friend. I was thinking something like Mordavarius, old school ne? I really don't see the necessity of a name for him but calling him 'the feeder' all the time is getting old. Anyway, let me know what you think. It's funny really, there are about two-thousand things I want to warn you about or explain after you read the second half of this chapter, but I had to limit myself to… well, I don't know that I said anything. Anyway, this is your only warning, "I have my reasons."
Disclaimers: I neither own nor hold responsibility for what I do to these characters. Somehow, I think this is now out of my control.
In Darkness Found, Light Revealed
Chapter 4: Politics
The infamous Harry Potter. His little Birdy was the famous and much revered Harry Potter. Even in his world, far away from the mortal news circuit he had heard of Harry and his conquests. Throughout the wizarding world the boy was renowned, loved, cherished, and put on the pedestal of heroism. Poor little Birdy.
On one of his many jaunts into the boy's mind, the feeder realized as Harry looked into a mirror and blew his bangs out of his eyes, exactly what the scar on his forehead meant. This boy would be harder to obtain than any other victim, harder to consume than any food before him. His identity explained so many inconsistencies with his character. His dear little Birdy felt the need to save everything from everything else, but he also felt the need to destroy the world and everything in it. His anger and resistance were now charming aspects of his life instead of inconveniences; however, endearing as they may be, his will was not something to be trifled with.
Once again the feeder had to revise his scheme; clearly luring the boy out into the forest would raise questions. Such a conspicuous force as Harry Potter would surely not be allowed back into the land which housed so many things that desired nothing more than his death. Birdy's earlier intrusion had been a mistake, obviously it was not something intentional and certainly something that was not planned, merely precipitated by fate. He had seemed so sad and vulnerable, perhaps he was lost.
Then again, there was the hope that Harry's midnight escapade in the Forbidden Forest was indeed premeditated. There was the hope that he would come back. He had been so close, the feeder could feel his approach, he had finally given in to the summoning and he was on his way. He had almost been outside the castle, and from there it was a short expedition to where he would be whisked away for all of time, but it was not to be. His own weariness had interrupted his fate, bludgering him into unconsciousness and breaking the trance. His Birdy had teetered at the edge of obedience until some unknown force interjected, it was unjust to be sure, but perhaps appropriate.
Someone had interfered.
Indeed, he would have to work to acquire Harry Potter as a pet. He would have to expend energies that he hadn't in centuries. This would be quite enjoyable. It had been a ridiculously long time since he'd been stirred to action like this; he had spent a disgustingly long time trapped in the torpor of inaction. The bore of his daily functions had become too much to bear, this unexpected motivation to conquest was a long desired necessity.
It was time for a change in policy.
No longer could he afford to wait for his Birdy to come to him, upon discovery, the price would be too great. He could, however, make a show of eliminating Potter from the mortal realm. The beautiful thing about hunting a hero was that a hero had enemies.
A missing savior would arouse no suspicion, if in the unlikelihood of being asked he could instead blame the disappearance of the celebrated hero on the equally nefarious Voldemort.
Time to call in a favor.
Of course, he wasn't contacting a reliable source. If anything, the man was irresponsible, reckless and sadistic; fortunately, he was utterly predictable. It made him a wonderful asset to his homicidal tendencies, but it also made him a bore.
He'd met Tom Riddle some fifty years ago much the same way he'd met Harry, alone in a clearing, full of emptiness. But unlike Potter, Riddle was arrogant, performing a ritual of bravery, proving to himself that he could defeat anything in the Forbidden Forest and elsewhere. Coincidentally, he was wrong. Devoted to strength and anything he anticipated using in the future, Riddle was like a lap dog; though thankfully lacking in slobber.
Of course there was a certain risk involved, a risk of being used as a tool to exterminate his former minion's arch enemy. But he was far removed from the naivety of his past, no longer innocent enough to be used as he had so many times before.. Then again, a former minion meant eternal gratitude from said minion, gratitude for being privileged enough to live. If young Tom disobeyed his order, that privilege could be revoked easily enough. If young Tom decided to take action against his new pet, he would know pain beyond the agony of death; he would know suffering beyond the 11 years he spent in purgatory.
If Tom betrayed him, there would be hell to pay.
***
Cold. It was cold, and he was being pulled by something, towards something warm. He was freezing, numb with the cold, there were needles of ice piercing his skin. So cold, oh how he wanted that warmth, but he couldn't reach it from where he was. Where was he?
He was reminded of a time when Dudley threw him in a river, the spring melts had begun and flowers were springing up in hordes, Petunia wanted nothing more than a Sunday picnic by a river and what Petunia Dursley wanted, Petunia Dursley got. Harry was thrown into the river by his cousin and nearly dragged down the rocky river-bed before he got his balance. The water was so cold, tiny spider webs of ice were re-forming where Harry had broken them with his ungainly flight into the water. He could feel the water flowing through and around him, pulling him away from his family, but he could not heed its call. His Uncle Vernon pulled him out a second before he lost his balance again, he could not follow the frigid water to its final destination.
Just as he could not now. "Harry! Harry do wake up, you slept in the chair again! Harry, you're going to be late for class."
Class was all that seemed to matter to Hermione Granger even as she tutted around him like a mother-hen, fussing over his disregard for his personal well-being. Harry gasped and coughed, jerking awake as though he were seizing, his muscles were sore and stiff, his neck cramped and his feet were asleep, though he didn't realize that until he tried standing up. The common room was freezing, someone had left a window open the night before and the fire had been blown out by a gust of wind. Everyone in the vicinity was wrapped in spell-warmed bathrobes and slippers – Harry was still wearing his dirty jeans and a thin T-shirt. "C-cold."
"Yes Harry, we know it's cold. What were you doing with the window open, it is mid-February!" She scolded him, glaring where he was still sprawled against the heavy upholstery.
"Wasn't…" he was going to say 'me' but that would have been illogical because he was the last one in. He couldn't remember who opened the window, he'd been asleep, but someone had been with him, someone else had opened the window. "Sorry."
Harry pushed himself to his feet and climbed the stairs to his dorm, how wonderful it would be to skive off classes for the day and just sleep. It wasn't as though he didn't deserve it; the constant feeling of having been run over by a bull-dozer was not one he particularly enjoyed. He slowly peeled off his sweat-damp clothes and stretched his shoulders, it would be a blessing when these miserable detentions were over, the stress was killing him.
"Aw to hell with it." He groaned and flopped into his bed, leaving his clothes crumpled on the floor. Missing a day of classes wouldn't kill him, McGonagall might, but at least he would have a chance to catch up on the pile of homework that had been building on his desk before he died.
Indeed, McGonagall was unhappy with him, at approximately 2 pm, he received an angry owl that rudely interrupted his strange dream by pecking him on the nose. The note read "Potter, I trust you have a valid reason for not attending class, a reason that I'm sure you will be willing and able to explain in its entirety during your detention."
Harry sighed heavily, he had five hours to do homework, one hour to beg Hermione for help, and the remaining hour to prepare himself for yet another detention in what seemed like a never ending cycle of misery. Detention with Malfoy. Harry suddenly decided he had a headache, slowly his memories of the previous evening had returned to him, but there had to have been something missing. He remembered Malfoy opening the window, and Malfoy scrubbing sinks, but between those two incidents, everything was a haze of unconsciousness. Why the hell was Malfoy in his dorm anyway?
With another resigned groan he shifted his potions assignments into his lap and settled down for hours of work. He would have loved going outside and getting fresh air, taking a lap around the castle on his broom would be like heaven but if someone saw him he'd be in trouble. After all, he was supposed to be sick enough to stay in bed, not reveling in the feel of the crisp air. Instead he forced himself to be content with an open window and the promise that he would eventually see the outside world again.
He should have gone to class, that's all Harry could think as the day neared its end. Tuesdays meant Care of Magical Creatures, the fresh air would have done wonders for him but he'd missed it. As sunset slowly crept by, Harry continued working on his homework, dreaming of a midnight jaunt around the castle grounds. Maybe into the forbidden forest, he knew he was begging for trouble, but he felt so confined in the castle. Every breath he took felt stuffy and heavy because hundreds of people had breathed the same puff of air before him. The simple yet oh-so-complicated act of thinking was making him dizzy and tired.
The hours ticked by and Harry began to feel the pull of sleep, and the pull of something stronger. It was an effort to keep his eyes open, and an impossible task to focus on his work, the mere act of holding his head up took strength that he did not have. He felt drugged, laden down by deprivation induced morphine, he needed rest. True rest.
His daydreaming cost him precious time, there was no opportunity to ask Hermione for help, and he completely forgot to go to dinner. There just weren't enough hours in the day to do everything and take care of himself. Harry forced himself to his feet, 'accio'd a sandwich from the kitchens and plodded down to his detention in the dungeons, accepting his fate.
McGonagall was stern, Snape was smirking, and Malfoy was staring at him with a mixture of haughty superciliousness and concern. Everything was normal. Harry was basically forced to grovel for his professors' forgiveness, his apology and subsequent explanation complete with 'Yes professor, no professor,' and 'never again professor' in line with their questions. By the time they finally let him be, Harry was tempted to tell them to bugger off. Though that still left Malfoy in the immediate vicinity.
Miraculously, said blonde didn't say a word about Harry's absenteeism, nor did he make a peep about Harry's seeming disrespect for their esteemed professors. In fact, Malfoy barely said a word save "could you pass me that rag," it was an unsettling reprieve from his biting comments. Harry was actually beginning to miss the witty, if cruel, banter; this silence was uncomfortable, and (dare he think it?) unwelcome.
Harry's discomfort peaked as he picked up a trophy for polishing then put it down again with vehemence, accidentally banging into a display cabinet. Malfoy still hadn't said a word, not even a casually infuriating 'Problems Potter?'
Well there were problems, whether Malfoy liked it or not! Harry was confused, tired, and above all, fed up with the situation. Never mind that he was being irrational, this could not go on, if Malfoy was going to sit here and pointedly ignore him, then there was no point in being around. The trophies could always be polished later; he was going for a much-needed walk.
"Where the hell do you think you're going Potter?"
Oh, so now he existed, "Out."
"You are aware of the fact that you're in the middle of detention?" Instead of malevolent his voice was merely incredulous.
"You are aware of the fact that you're a prat?"
"Now that was just childish." Malfoy let his polishing tin fall to the floor with a clatter as he hurried to catch up with Harry, if Potter could walk out on a detention, there was no reason why he couldn't. "Where are you going?"
"Outside, now leave me alone."
Malfoy sneered, "Is going outside, living in the wild, a Gryffindor trait or just a personal preference?"
Harry turned and glared, then suddenly resumed his march towards the doors, ignoring the blonde that was following on his heels. "Bugger off Malfoy, is it a crime to want some fresh air?"
"When you're in detention it is!" Harry stead-fastedly ignored him. "Oh! Stop! There's plenty of fresh air in here and I don't want to get in trouble because of you. I've had enough of detention!"
Harry was about to grin, one of the many advantages of being Harry Potter included getting one's enemies into trouble, but something struck him. This scenario seemed familiar somehow; he was here last night too! "You hexed me!" he announced suddenly, though he had no idea how he'd drawn that conclusion from simple de'ja'vu.
"I did no such thing! You fainted!"
"I do not faint!"
"Well if you don't faint, you give a damned good impression. What else would explain your collapsing followed by the inability to walk on your own? Face it Potter, you were helpless."
Harry didn't have an argument for that, he couldn't remember much of last night because he was so tired. It was highly possible he fell asleep and the London Philharmonic Orchestra played the 1812 symphony from his bedside table, he wouldn't have known it. "So if I fainted last night, why didn't you mention it?"
"Because you weren't around all day."
Oh how that condescending tone hurt, as though he were a child and the complexities of life were being explained to him, by a Malfoy no less. Harry was beginning to hate the superiority of others, "I'm well aware of that, but if this hypothetical fainting incident occurred, you've had the last two hours to poke fun at me for it."
Malfoy rolled his eyes skyward, "It's no fun when there are no people around. It wouldn't have been poking fun at all, it would just be taking jabs at the mentally challenged. The look of confusion on your face isn't half as rich as that of mortification."
Harry was silent, glaring at Malfoy with something akin to hatred. There was no point in thinking up a witty comeback, anything he said would henceforth be regarded as slow, therefore pointless. There was one lingering question though, why had Malfoy opened the window? "Why did you help me then?" Well, that question was just as good.
"I don't know." The blonde actually looked sheepish; there was no logical explanation, even in his head. He couldn't lie because his actions of the night before would contradict everything he said. Or maybe he just didn't feel like lying, "I guess… there's no honor in kicking a man when he's down, you know?"
"No. I don't know, I thought Malfoys had no honor." It was hitting a bit below the belt, but Harry didn't care. Draco Malfoy had been the bane of his school years since that very first day in Diagon Alley, sometimes, he deserved what he got.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but that's not what I meant. There were no witnesses to see you fall on your face, and it just… it's not right to tease someone who can't stand up for himself anymore. You should have seen it, you were like putty, I just didn't feel like –"
But just what Malfoy didn't feel like they never found out, for at that moment a very irritable Argus Filch came bursting into the room, "Two detention escapee's I see."
Both boys groaned.
Post Author's Notes: Eugh! Tom Riddle, cliché much, sorry but I don't know what I was on and I'm not patient enough to fix it. Equally Eugh, Harry's being completely irrational, I need his strange dreams and other impulses to affect him in ways beyond weariness. Yeah, Hermione is acting like my mom and will continue to do so in the future (when I'm about to die, she badgers me about class), and yes, I've based Harry's sleeping patterns and the results of said patterns on my own life, if you know me personally and if you've ever tried to wake me up, you'll know what I'm talking about. I just want to know when I'll faint into a Malfoy's arms… ah to be so fortunate.