Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the world. Ergo, I own nothing.
Reviewers: Thank you! As per most of your advice, the mystery of Malfoy will continue to unravel slowly only as Harry begins to understand.
Ch. 8: The Lightening Rod
Hermione had a field day getting everything set up for DA. She contacted all the old members, found a few cautious recruits from Slytherin, had the club okayed by Dumbledore and sponsored by McGonagall. Within a week of her talk with Harry, she had drawn up a schedule of meeting leaders and times.
Tuesday, November 8th – Harry Potter
Tuesday, November 15th – Hermione Granger
Tuesday, November 22nd – Padma Patil and Luna Lovegood
Harry quickly scanned the thirty something names – most of the 6th year Gryffindors, a few 5th and 7th year Gryffindors, some of the 5th, 6th and 7th year Ravenclaws, a handful of Hufflepuffs, and a couple of Slytherins.
"Millicent Bulstrode?," Harry asked skeptically, forcing Ron to spit out his orange juice and start choking on his own laughter. They were once again eating breakfast in the Great Hall. "And Theodore Nott?! You do know that he's repeating the year?"
Ron was gasping for breath as tears of mirth rolled down his face. Hermione ignored him entirely. "Yes, all the more reason for him to come to our meetings."
"Aren't you worried that one of them might be reporting back to Vol-uh, You- Know-Who?," Harry asked seriously as Ron pulled himself together.
"Harry, this is no longer a secret club. Word will get out anyway. Besides, I think it is more important to convert who we can. Or at least not drive them into the arms of the enemy."
Ron snorted. "A Slytherin on our side? I'll believe it when I see it." Harry's eyes flickered over the Slytherin table where Malfoy was, as usual, sitting alone and both dejectedly and crossly picking at his food.
"And you're more likely to see it if you try to make it happen," Hermione replied patiently.
Harry cut off Ron's response. "I agree. Besides, they're bound to know something we don't. A little diversity might help us cover more of our bases."
"Bases?," Ron asked.
"You explain it," Harry said to Hermione as he got up to leave. Then, with a wicked grin, he added, "And don't stop til you two get to second base. Anything beyond that and you should probably go somewhere more private."
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
"Okay. Now that everyone is here, I would like to make it clear that even though I am leading the DA meeting today, most meetings will not be like this. We are going to be taking turns leading these sessions, and each teaching what they think they are exceptionally good at." Harry eyed the two Slytherins would had just slinked in late, and who were receiving their fair share of suspicious glances. "We are also here to try and forge some kind of inter-house solidarity. Voldemort – don't flinch at his name! Don't give him that much power! Voldemort only has as much power as we give him. There is no reason anyone should want to side with Voldemort unless we give it to them, and he will not win unless we let him!"
Not the most convincing speech ever made, but the students appreciated Harry's vigor and effort, and so applauded and cheered; Bulstrode and Nott looked particularly smug.
"So, as co-founder of DA, I propose that, for today, each student will stand before everyone and first display their most powerful ability. And by this I do not mean hair straightening spells, Parvarti!"
There was light laughter, but Parvarti was popular enough to take such joking in stride. "To tame your hair it would have to be quite powerful indeed!"
More laughter, and Harry smiled, glad that morale wasn't as low as he feared, what with the disappearances and deaths that were taking place in the outside world. "Then after each demonstration, you will tell us what they would most like to work on. That way, we can pair people off to work on what they think is the most important. Any questions?"
There were, of course, some asinine questions that were answered irritably by Hermione, and the parade of talents began. The acts varied from predicable to impressive to embarrassing to ridiculous. Of particular interest and originality were Bulstrode's and Lovegood's demonstrations. Everyone had gone in alphabetical order, being able to use the previous student as their "assistant" (in other words, "target"). Bulstrode came after Lavender Brown, and laid a nasty "resilio membrum" on her which caused her arms and legs to immediately shrink to mere inches. Brown had started crying and the Gryffindors had gotten mad, but when Ron had tried to approach Bulstrode, she had aimed her wand at him and warned maliciously, "I'd stop right there if I were you, Weasel. Just remember that boys have a fifth member that also shrinks."
After some crafty mediation on the part of Hermione and Harry, the rest of the Gryffidors backed down, Lavander was returned to normal with a simple "Finite Incantantem", and Cho Chang was able exact a bit of payback during her demonstration.
Luna Lovegood, on the other hand, had proven the dangers of the imagination on a fifth year Ravenclaw named Gavin Liss. She explained that "videre species" – a spell designed to cause hallucinations (and sometimes used recreationally) – created different effects depending on pronunciation and intent of the caster. The normally inconspicuous Liss had immediately started dashing blindly around the room once hit, screeching at a non- existent "Humbledinker" to go find its jollies elsewhere. And, damn, but the boy could run. It took Harry and Hermione a good five minutes to hit him with at "Finite Incantatem" (while everyone else laughed their asses off).
All in all, the first meeting went surprisingly well – especially as a social event, with everyone leaving in good spirits. Hermione was displeased that they hadn't gotten around to pairing off, but Harry was happy, and ended the meeting by leading everyone in rounds of a song he and Ron had put together just minutes before the meeting had started:
"Laugh, laugh at Voldemort, That ugly puss-oozing uber-wart. Yes, laugh, laugh at Voldie, He's stinky and he's moldy!"
It was idiotic, but it got the point across: if you're too afraid to even speak his name, what chance do you have of fighting against him?
! ! ! ! ! ! !
The next day, about twenty minutes into double Charms, Professor Flitwick ordered the class outside. Half the class was already out the door when it became obvious that one student was not moving: Malfoy had, propped up on a thin hand, fallen asleep. It had become a common occurrence, along with his constant distraction, but it was the first time that he had been heard emitting muffled snores, and several of the students giggled.
"MR. MALFOY!"
Malfoy jerked awake, his head promptly falling to bang against the desk. There were more laughs as Malfoy jumped to his feet in a flurry of curses
"Mr. Malfoy! Watch your language! Gather your things and join the class outside."
The Professors had, for the most part, stopped taking points away from Slytherin for Malfoy's behavior: it simply wasn't fair to his house and it seemed to have no effect of Malfoy except to further incur the barely contained wrath of his housemates. Detentions too had abated somewhat as, on one hand, the teachers developed sympathy for the clearly unstable Malfoy, who had been accruing detentions faster than he could work them off; and, on the other hand, the number of fights and other incidents Malfoy participated in had declined as his behavior and situation became more settled. He was making an obvious effortto keep to himself and to perfect the art of ignoring the world, while everyone else was generally keeping their distance.
Malfoy scowled and slinked after retreating forms of Professor Flitwick and his fellow students. Why were they going outside? He couldn't think of a time that Charms had ever necessitated them being outside before. He also couldn't place this aggravating ditty that he had heard hummed almost a dozen times already that day, and was currently being hummed by Weasley and Potter. Uh, and now someone else was joining in. . .
Once on the Quidditch pitch, Malfoy stood away from the gaggle of students who completely blocked his view of his small professor, his gaze traveling disinterestedly over Parkinson's blond tresses, Zabini's chestnut curls, Granger's unruly bush. . . Then he heard Flitwick's squeaky (but surprisingly loud) voice, "Advoco aethra aqua!"
Malfoy's attention finally perked up at what happened next: a small cloud, about half a meter in diameter, condensed about two meters off the ground (above Flitwick's head, he guessed, though he couldn't actually see). Corresponding to various noises of appreciation made by some of the students, Malfoy watched rain begin to fall from the cloud. Malfoy was. . . impressed, actually; his mouth parted slightly and his frown softened.
"Okay, class. You saw how I did it. It's really not that hard. Now spread out and give it a try." The students dispersed in small groups across the field, leaving Malfoy even more alone. He took his wand out from his robes and looked at it wistfully. He had been excused from spell casting by all the teachers, and he had pretty much given up on trying anything beyond very simple spells when he was alone. Snape had offered to help him, but Malfoy knew that he had to get his own mind together before being able to get anything out of help. His mind felt like an open wound, that any touch would burn, that needed to scab over before the soothing balm progress could be applied. The two sessions he had tried to submitted himself had accomplished nothing more than aggravate both himself and Professor Snape, and Malfoy really didn't want to end up attacking and alienating the only person who seemed to actually care. So he refused the help. For the moment.
Malfoy looked up from his wand to watch his fellow students attempting the charm. He could see Granger's perfectly formed cloud and a dozen other half formed ones, and he was filled with a sudden sad longing, accompanied by a brief memory of a blond child who found comfort in the pattering sound of rain and in the rivulets of water running down his skin. He felt a connection with that boy that he never had before, and when he looked back at his knobby wand, he also felt a surge of determination and magical power. He could do this, and excitement bubbled up in him. The sudden optimism felt better than anything he had felt in so long; it was breath of relief for from the suffocating despair that he constantly fought against.
He turned his back to block his effort from as many of his classmates as possible, though none were paying any attention to him anyway. He hesitantly pointed his wand towards the sky, and with a quick swish and flick, whispered, "Advoco aethra aqua."
Nothing happened. And no one noticed.
Stealing himself against humiliation, and with a growing fear-inspired nausea battling with his hope, he raised his wand to the sky like his classmates were doing, and clearly pronounced, "Advoco aethra aqua."
The wand fired off a loud BANG, propelling Malfoy to the ground with such force that he felt consciousness waver for a second before everything snapped into high resolution clarity. Not unlike being slapped down by the gods.
He made out laughter. Malfoy could particularly identify Weasley's heehaws and Parkinson's squeals of hilarity, and he felt the familiar flood of rage and hate – not directed only at his ridiculers, but at his father, at Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and the world, and himself for his incompetence and weakness.
The laughter died down as Malfoy's faced colored and contorted, and as Professor Flitwick hurrieded where the Slytherin was lay winded. "Mr. Malfoy! Have you injured yourself? You know you are not supposed to use your wand!"
Flitwick was so short that he didn't even need to lean down to place a hand on Malfoy's arm. The touch sprang Malfoy's aching body into action, not even thinking as neurons fired reflexively, and he leaped up to his feet and stumbled away, almost falling in the process.
More laughter.
"Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou! FUCK YOU!," he screamed, whipping around like a caged animal, each face of his fellow student edging on his desperate frenzy.
"Mr. Malfoy!," Professor Flitwick exclaimed, but his voice wasn't even heard by his crazed pupil.
Weasley's mocking voice, however, did penetrate the wrathful madness that consumed Mafloy. "Hey, Malfoy! Forgot something?"
The gray eyes narrowed on the tall redhead, losing focus of everything else, and for a moment he looked like an enraged and wounded bull before a flashing red flag. He barely heard Granger's concerned and disapproving, "Stop antagonizing him."
But the words did filter through to him, and with a sudden snap, something of a breakthrough took place, with Malfoy's anger reaching a sort of critical mass beyond which he was suddenly able to seize some semblance of control. The fury was pulsing through him, rhythmically, powerfully... like magic.
"Go fry and fuck yourself with it, Weasel!," Malfoy screeched manicallyy. "I don't fucking need it!"
Logic and thinking had nothing to do with the behavior that followed – it was entirely instinctual and emotional, as though he could feel that he would burst if his rage was not released. Malfoy felt more like a conduit than a person as he flung his head back and shot his arms up in the air, and with all his force of will and effort, at the top of his hoarse lungs, he cried, "ADVOCOOO AETHRAAA AQUAAA!"
No one laughed. Malfoy had by this point worked himself into such a state that he looked positively frightening. Sweaty and discolored, every muscle tensed and bones in sharp relief, eyes squeezed shut and screaming at the sky like some raving lunatic: he looked like a figure the gods just might take pity on. For a long moment everyone nervously stared at Malfoy. When nothing happened, there were a few nervous giggles, and sighs of relief. Ron could be heard muttering, "Crazy bugger."
But then there was a girly scream from Parkinson, who was pointing at the sky, and it quickly became obvious at what: dark, bulbous clouds were not only condensing above the Quidditch pitch, but they were also migrating in from all directions. And it was a matter of fifteen seconds before the daylight sky was completely blocked out, and the air was thick with humidity.
Granger was looking up in awe, most of the other students were looking up in fear, and Potter was still looking at the human sculpture responsible. Is this what Malfoy considered "keeping it together"? There was a pregnant pause, in which Flitwick overcame his awe enough to speak out. "Mr. Malfoy! Cease and desist at once!"
Then the rain came down in heavy icy sheets, soaking everyone in seconds, while Malfoy remained as still as a statue. Flitwick was horrified that his class had gotten so out of control, and he ordered everyone back inside. Most legged it, but, typically, the Trio did little more than take a few steps towards the castle. They watched in morbid fascination as Flitwick attempted several ineffective "Finite Incantantem"s with increasing panic on his face.
A jagged streak of lightening CRACKED through the sky and struck Malfoy, forcing him to spasm and shake while still standing; there was the sound of popping and sizzling, the smell of burning flesh, an unnatural magic maintaining a line of electricity between the turbulent cloud layer, Malfoy's frail body, and the unyielding ground.
For everyone present, time creeped by, though in reality, Harry had reacted almost immediately and unthinkingly, and in a manner of seconds he slammed himself into Malfoy at a high speed. A scream of agony was ripped from Harry's chest as he too felt the energy flow through him for a fraction of a moment, before it snapped back and both Harry and Malfoy tumbled to the ground.
! # $ % &
Please review. I now I don't ever write any responses, but I read them and take them seriously, am always open to advice, and they inspire me to write on!
Reviewers: Thank you! As per most of your advice, the mystery of Malfoy will continue to unravel slowly only as Harry begins to understand.
Ch. 8: The Lightening Rod
Hermione had a field day getting everything set up for DA. She contacted all the old members, found a few cautious recruits from Slytherin, had the club okayed by Dumbledore and sponsored by McGonagall. Within a week of her talk with Harry, she had drawn up a schedule of meeting leaders and times.
Tuesday, November 8th – Harry Potter
Tuesday, November 15th – Hermione Granger
Tuesday, November 22nd – Padma Patil and Luna Lovegood
Harry quickly scanned the thirty something names – most of the 6th year Gryffindors, a few 5th and 7th year Gryffindors, some of the 5th, 6th and 7th year Ravenclaws, a handful of Hufflepuffs, and a couple of Slytherins.
"Millicent Bulstrode?," Harry asked skeptically, forcing Ron to spit out his orange juice and start choking on his own laughter. They were once again eating breakfast in the Great Hall. "And Theodore Nott?! You do know that he's repeating the year?"
Ron was gasping for breath as tears of mirth rolled down his face. Hermione ignored him entirely. "Yes, all the more reason for him to come to our meetings."
"Aren't you worried that one of them might be reporting back to Vol-uh, You- Know-Who?," Harry asked seriously as Ron pulled himself together.
"Harry, this is no longer a secret club. Word will get out anyway. Besides, I think it is more important to convert who we can. Or at least not drive them into the arms of the enemy."
Ron snorted. "A Slytherin on our side? I'll believe it when I see it." Harry's eyes flickered over the Slytherin table where Malfoy was, as usual, sitting alone and both dejectedly and crossly picking at his food.
"And you're more likely to see it if you try to make it happen," Hermione replied patiently.
Harry cut off Ron's response. "I agree. Besides, they're bound to know something we don't. A little diversity might help us cover more of our bases."
"Bases?," Ron asked.
"You explain it," Harry said to Hermione as he got up to leave. Then, with a wicked grin, he added, "And don't stop til you two get to second base. Anything beyond that and you should probably go somewhere more private."
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
"Okay. Now that everyone is here, I would like to make it clear that even though I am leading the DA meeting today, most meetings will not be like this. We are going to be taking turns leading these sessions, and each teaching what they think they are exceptionally good at." Harry eyed the two Slytherins would had just slinked in late, and who were receiving their fair share of suspicious glances. "We are also here to try and forge some kind of inter-house solidarity. Voldemort – don't flinch at his name! Don't give him that much power! Voldemort only has as much power as we give him. There is no reason anyone should want to side with Voldemort unless we give it to them, and he will not win unless we let him!"
Not the most convincing speech ever made, but the students appreciated Harry's vigor and effort, and so applauded and cheered; Bulstrode and Nott looked particularly smug.
"So, as co-founder of DA, I propose that, for today, each student will stand before everyone and first display their most powerful ability. And by this I do not mean hair straightening spells, Parvarti!"
There was light laughter, but Parvarti was popular enough to take such joking in stride. "To tame your hair it would have to be quite powerful indeed!"
More laughter, and Harry smiled, glad that morale wasn't as low as he feared, what with the disappearances and deaths that were taking place in the outside world. "Then after each demonstration, you will tell us what they would most like to work on. That way, we can pair people off to work on what they think is the most important. Any questions?"
There were, of course, some asinine questions that were answered irritably by Hermione, and the parade of talents began. The acts varied from predicable to impressive to embarrassing to ridiculous. Of particular interest and originality were Bulstrode's and Lovegood's demonstrations. Everyone had gone in alphabetical order, being able to use the previous student as their "assistant" (in other words, "target"). Bulstrode came after Lavender Brown, and laid a nasty "resilio membrum" on her which caused her arms and legs to immediately shrink to mere inches. Brown had started crying and the Gryffindors had gotten mad, but when Ron had tried to approach Bulstrode, she had aimed her wand at him and warned maliciously, "I'd stop right there if I were you, Weasel. Just remember that boys have a fifth member that also shrinks."
After some crafty mediation on the part of Hermione and Harry, the rest of the Gryffidors backed down, Lavander was returned to normal with a simple "Finite Incantantem", and Cho Chang was able exact a bit of payback during her demonstration.
Luna Lovegood, on the other hand, had proven the dangers of the imagination on a fifth year Ravenclaw named Gavin Liss. She explained that "videre species" – a spell designed to cause hallucinations (and sometimes used recreationally) – created different effects depending on pronunciation and intent of the caster. The normally inconspicuous Liss had immediately started dashing blindly around the room once hit, screeching at a non- existent "Humbledinker" to go find its jollies elsewhere. And, damn, but the boy could run. It took Harry and Hermione a good five minutes to hit him with at "Finite Incantatem" (while everyone else laughed their asses off).
All in all, the first meeting went surprisingly well – especially as a social event, with everyone leaving in good spirits. Hermione was displeased that they hadn't gotten around to pairing off, but Harry was happy, and ended the meeting by leading everyone in rounds of a song he and Ron had put together just minutes before the meeting had started:
"Laugh, laugh at Voldemort, That ugly puss-oozing uber-wart. Yes, laugh, laugh at Voldie, He's stinky and he's moldy!"
It was idiotic, but it got the point across: if you're too afraid to even speak his name, what chance do you have of fighting against him?
! ! ! ! ! ! !
The next day, about twenty minutes into double Charms, Professor Flitwick ordered the class outside. Half the class was already out the door when it became obvious that one student was not moving: Malfoy had, propped up on a thin hand, fallen asleep. It had become a common occurrence, along with his constant distraction, but it was the first time that he had been heard emitting muffled snores, and several of the students giggled.
"MR. MALFOY!"
Malfoy jerked awake, his head promptly falling to bang against the desk. There were more laughs as Malfoy jumped to his feet in a flurry of curses
"Mr. Malfoy! Watch your language! Gather your things and join the class outside."
The Professors had, for the most part, stopped taking points away from Slytherin for Malfoy's behavior: it simply wasn't fair to his house and it seemed to have no effect of Malfoy except to further incur the barely contained wrath of his housemates. Detentions too had abated somewhat as, on one hand, the teachers developed sympathy for the clearly unstable Malfoy, who had been accruing detentions faster than he could work them off; and, on the other hand, the number of fights and other incidents Malfoy participated in had declined as his behavior and situation became more settled. He was making an obvious effortto keep to himself and to perfect the art of ignoring the world, while everyone else was generally keeping their distance.
Malfoy scowled and slinked after retreating forms of Professor Flitwick and his fellow students. Why were they going outside? He couldn't think of a time that Charms had ever necessitated them being outside before. He also couldn't place this aggravating ditty that he had heard hummed almost a dozen times already that day, and was currently being hummed by Weasley and Potter. Uh, and now someone else was joining in. . .
Once on the Quidditch pitch, Malfoy stood away from the gaggle of students who completely blocked his view of his small professor, his gaze traveling disinterestedly over Parkinson's blond tresses, Zabini's chestnut curls, Granger's unruly bush. . . Then he heard Flitwick's squeaky (but surprisingly loud) voice, "Advoco aethra aqua!"
Malfoy's attention finally perked up at what happened next: a small cloud, about half a meter in diameter, condensed about two meters off the ground (above Flitwick's head, he guessed, though he couldn't actually see). Corresponding to various noises of appreciation made by some of the students, Malfoy watched rain begin to fall from the cloud. Malfoy was. . . impressed, actually; his mouth parted slightly and his frown softened.
"Okay, class. You saw how I did it. It's really not that hard. Now spread out and give it a try." The students dispersed in small groups across the field, leaving Malfoy even more alone. He took his wand out from his robes and looked at it wistfully. He had been excused from spell casting by all the teachers, and he had pretty much given up on trying anything beyond very simple spells when he was alone. Snape had offered to help him, but Malfoy knew that he had to get his own mind together before being able to get anything out of help. His mind felt like an open wound, that any touch would burn, that needed to scab over before the soothing balm progress could be applied. The two sessions he had tried to submitted himself had accomplished nothing more than aggravate both himself and Professor Snape, and Malfoy really didn't want to end up attacking and alienating the only person who seemed to actually care. So he refused the help. For the moment.
Malfoy looked up from his wand to watch his fellow students attempting the charm. He could see Granger's perfectly formed cloud and a dozen other half formed ones, and he was filled with a sudden sad longing, accompanied by a brief memory of a blond child who found comfort in the pattering sound of rain and in the rivulets of water running down his skin. He felt a connection with that boy that he never had before, and when he looked back at his knobby wand, he also felt a surge of determination and magical power. He could do this, and excitement bubbled up in him. The sudden optimism felt better than anything he had felt in so long; it was breath of relief for from the suffocating despair that he constantly fought against.
He turned his back to block his effort from as many of his classmates as possible, though none were paying any attention to him anyway. He hesitantly pointed his wand towards the sky, and with a quick swish and flick, whispered, "Advoco aethra aqua."
Nothing happened. And no one noticed.
Stealing himself against humiliation, and with a growing fear-inspired nausea battling with his hope, he raised his wand to the sky like his classmates were doing, and clearly pronounced, "Advoco aethra aqua."
The wand fired off a loud BANG, propelling Malfoy to the ground with such force that he felt consciousness waver for a second before everything snapped into high resolution clarity. Not unlike being slapped down by the gods.
He made out laughter. Malfoy could particularly identify Weasley's heehaws and Parkinson's squeals of hilarity, and he felt the familiar flood of rage and hate – not directed only at his ridiculers, but at his father, at Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and the world, and himself for his incompetence and weakness.
The laughter died down as Malfoy's faced colored and contorted, and as Professor Flitwick hurrieded where the Slytherin was lay winded. "Mr. Malfoy! Have you injured yourself? You know you are not supposed to use your wand!"
Flitwick was so short that he didn't even need to lean down to place a hand on Malfoy's arm. The touch sprang Malfoy's aching body into action, not even thinking as neurons fired reflexively, and he leaped up to his feet and stumbled away, almost falling in the process.
More laughter.
"Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou! FUCK YOU!," he screamed, whipping around like a caged animal, each face of his fellow student edging on his desperate frenzy.
"Mr. Malfoy!," Professor Flitwick exclaimed, but his voice wasn't even heard by his crazed pupil.
Weasley's mocking voice, however, did penetrate the wrathful madness that consumed Mafloy. "Hey, Malfoy! Forgot something?"
The gray eyes narrowed on the tall redhead, losing focus of everything else, and for a moment he looked like an enraged and wounded bull before a flashing red flag. He barely heard Granger's concerned and disapproving, "Stop antagonizing him."
But the words did filter through to him, and with a sudden snap, something of a breakthrough took place, with Malfoy's anger reaching a sort of critical mass beyond which he was suddenly able to seize some semblance of control. The fury was pulsing through him, rhythmically, powerfully... like magic.
"Go fry and fuck yourself with it, Weasel!," Malfoy screeched manicallyy. "I don't fucking need it!"
Logic and thinking had nothing to do with the behavior that followed – it was entirely instinctual and emotional, as though he could feel that he would burst if his rage was not released. Malfoy felt more like a conduit than a person as he flung his head back and shot his arms up in the air, and with all his force of will and effort, at the top of his hoarse lungs, he cried, "ADVOCOOO AETHRAAA AQUAAA!"
No one laughed. Malfoy had by this point worked himself into such a state that he looked positively frightening. Sweaty and discolored, every muscle tensed and bones in sharp relief, eyes squeezed shut and screaming at the sky like some raving lunatic: he looked like a figure the gods just might take pity on. For a long moment everyone nervously stared at Malfoy. When nothing happened, there were a few nervous giggles, and sighs of relief. Ron could be heard muttering, "Crazy bugger."
But then there was a girly scream from Parkinson, who was pointing at the sky, and it quickly became obvious at what: dark, bulbous clouds were not only condensing above the Quidditch pitch, but they were also migrating in from all directions. And it was a matter of fifteen seconds before the daylight sky was completely blocked out, and the air was thick with humidity.
Granger was looking up in awe, most of the other students were looking up in fear, and Potter was still looking at the human sculpture responsible. Is this what Malfoy considered "keeping it together"? There was a pregnant pause, in which Flitwick overcame his awe enough to speak out. "Mr. Malfoy! Cease and desist at once!"
Then the rain came down in heavy icy sheets, soaking everyone in seconds, while Malfoy remained as still as a statue. Flitwick was horrified that his class had gotten so out of control, and he ordered everyone back inside. Most legged it, but, typically, the Trio did little more than take a few steps towards the castle. They watched in morbid fascination as Flitwick attempted several ineffective "Finite Incantantem"s with increasing panic on his face.
A jagged streak of lightening CRACKED through the sky and struck Malfoy, forcing him to spasm and shake while still standing; there was the sound of popping and sizzling, the smell of burning flesh, an unnatural magic maintaining a line of electricity between the turbulent cloud layer, Malfoy's frail body, and the unyielding ground.
For everyone present, time creeped by, though in reality, Harry had reacted almost immediately and unthinkingly, and in a manner of seconds he slammed himself into Malfoy at a high speed. A scream of agony was ripped from Harry's chest as he too felt the energy flow through him for a fraction of a moment, before it snapped back and both Harry and Malfoy tumbled to the ground.
! # $ % &
Please review. I now I don't ever write any responses, but I read them and take them seriously, am always open to advice, and they inspire me to write on!
