Disclaimer: I am making no profits of the property of JK Rowling.
Reviews: Thank you. SUGAR-PLUM-FAERIE, I will be addressing most of your concerns in the soon future. As for your curiosity, I was raised in Italy (UN brat), but I did spend a year abroad in London. The UK rocks! I have traveled all around England, Ireland, and Scotland, and had a great time everywhere! You guys really know how to party! Much friendlier than over in the US. Though I am being overly negative, the US definitely has its share of good times. The US government is hardly representative of its party hardy populace. We are, after all, all human beings, and most human beings know a good time when it slaps itself in their faces! Rock on! (Yikes, do I ever feel cheesy, but that's what you get for posting personal questions and comments). Anyhoo, on with the show. . .
Ch. 17: DM, the Consultant
Tuesday kicked off with breakfast as usual in the Great Hall, where Hermione was talking about her discussion with Padma and Luna concerning the DA lesson they had planned for that evening. Padma Patil was apparently going to show off the various appearance-altering charms that she had perfected, while Luna was going to demonstrate some of her most effective memory charms.
"You should've been there, Harry," Ron said with obvious amusement. "The nutjob and the ditz show, it was hysterical."
"No, it wasn't," Hermione contradicted irritably. "It was living proof that intelligence does not equal depth."
Ron laughed at that, and Harry chuckled a little, but he was too preoccupied to really join in. He hated to interrupt their banter, especially as the last two days since the Slytherin party had been particularly awkward between them, but something was weighing heavily on his mind. "Guys, where's Dumbledore?"
His two friends' heads jerked toward the teachers' table where the Headmaster could almost always be found. Hermione turned back to Harry with a distressed expression on her face. "Oh no. Do you think it has something to do with the massacre at the kindergarten?," she whispered.
"Or maybe something to do with the Order?," Ron added conspiratorially.
Harry looked back and forth between his two friends. He had asked them a question, and they had shot back their own questions, as though he had any answers. Merlin, he wished knew something. He just shook his head. "I don't know. Damn! How'm I supposed to defeat Voldemort when they won't even tell me what's going on?!"
Seamus, Neville, Dean, Ginny, and a few of the other nearby Gryffindors looked up worriedly at the fact that Harry had violated the unspoken agreement to pretend that nothing serious was going on. But something serious was going on and it was driving Harry to distraction.
Luckily, Ron had become an expert over the years at distracting Harry from the stress of his daily life, so he eventually broke the quiet, "So, uh, how did your meeting with Malfoy go?" There was a slightly hostile edge to his question, but he had enough of a sense of hypocrisy not to openly hate the Slytherin that had invited them to the party that he had so thoroughly enjoyed not just two days previously. (To his horror, he had actually greeted Crabbe, his eating challenger, outside of Transfiguration the day before; incidentally, Crabbe had won the contest, and after witnessing the large boy's astonishing capacity for ingestion, Ron hadn't the heart, or stomach, to be sore: Crabbe had clearly deserved his victory, and Ron had no particular desire to be any more piggy than he already was).
Harry blushed uncharacteristically. "It went okay. I insulted him and got him pissed off enough to send a wall up in flames."
Hermione looked thoughtful and Ron whistled softly. "Wow, I wish I could go all wandless just by getting mad. . . hey, you need any help? I'm sure I could do a good job pissing him off."
Hermione indulged herself with the rare giggle, and Harry smiled. "As tempting as that offer is, somehow, I don't think it would be a good idea."
Ron and Hermione paired up during Potions, leaving Harry to choose either Padma or someone from another house. After briefly meeting eyes with DM, who was still paired with Parkinson, he sat next to Padma. The class was characterized by furtive glances at DM, who was honestly trying to dedicate his attention to the potion instructions Pansy was reading off. Harry couldn't have known that the main distraction DM was warding off was the bizarre memories of the last few days, most of which featured one Harry Potter. As it was, they only met each other's eyes once during the class, both anticipating the projected arena of their next interaction: the DA session scheduled for that evening.
During lunch, DM ingested a total of three cups of coffee. He hated the foul tasting beverage, but he was absolutely determined not to fall asleep during Transfiguration after lunch. Sure enough, he spent the entire hour and half clenching his teeth and having to pee. He found himself jutting his hand skywards to obsessively answer every question, even when he didn't know the answer. Though initially pleased by his enthusiasm (which outweighed even Granger's) McGonagall eventaully told him to stop responding to questions to which he clearly didn't know the answer. He spent the rest of the class harassing Blaise, who looked distinctly displeased after the fifth poke. Harry, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly irritated by the jealousy that flared with every poke he witnessed. He, at least, had mastered the art of not paying attention while appearing to be completely enraptured. It seemed pretty obvious to him that the key was no to twitch, and turn, and look around, and why was Malfoy/Diem looking so appetizing even when he was clearly behaving so neurotically?
After dinner, Harry sat in the library with Hermione and Ron, trying to do homework, while DM was subjugated to a detention with McGonagall. He fell asleep a total of three times, but he also managed to complete two backlogged assignments that he owed her. So she let him leave with only a severe bitching out.
What a bitch, he thought emotionlessly before heading off to the Room of Requirements only fifteen minutes after the DA's scheduled commencement. He sneaked into the room to find thirty something students watching Padma Patil change her appearance into a white chick. . . then into an ugly white chick. . . then into an ugly white guy. . .
At which point people began to be aware that Hogwart's most unpopular Slytherin was attempting to blend into the shadows and watch the lesson.
"Hey!," Neville accused indignantly. "What's HE doing here?!" Thirty something faces turned to glower spitefully at Malfoy, who readily glared back with matching dislike. Within seconds Zacharias Smith, Neville Longbottom, and several other DA members less clued into Harry's recent activities had wands out and were pointing them aggressively at Malfoy. Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott were had both scrambled over to DM's side and were currently brandishing their wands in defense of their leader. In the meantime, DM was looking very tense, borderline hostile, and Harry (as well as Hermione) faintly registered the telltale sign of mounting magical energy.
"Everyone just calm down!," Harry shouted authoritatively before events got out of hand. Attention was shifted to him, even though no one lowered their wands and the level of magical energy in the room remained volatile. "I invited him. This is a school endorsed club, and so we can't deny any student who wants to participate. Furthermore, it is semi-public knowledge that Malfoy here has been rejected by Voldemort, and while it may be a trick, I am willing to give him a benefit of the doubt, as I am willing to give most of you a degree of my trust. Mafloy is just sitting in this time as a consultant. Given his connections, he might actually have some valuable advise on the subject of defeating Death Eates."
Harry finished his speech, and waited for a tense moment before his DA members warily lowered their wands; Bulstrode and Nott did the same, and the magical tension in the room gradually began to fade. Harry gave DM a weak smile before everyone settled in to pay attention to the rest of Padma's demonstration and instruction.
Then about ten minutes later an unwelcome deja-vu took place: Gregory Goyle clopped his way into the Room of Requirements with such a lack of subtlety that again many of the DA members had their wands out pointed in the direction of the new Slytherin, who (though bewildered) soon found himself defended not only by DM, Bulstrode, and Nott, but also Luna Lovegood, who promptly began to shout frantically, "Don't cast! I invited him! We're, uh, friends! We're trying to convert people, remember?! Not just kill them!"
No one knew what to say before her hysteria, and everyone lowered their wands more in deference to her, uh, enthusiasm, than in conviction of her argument. And so the DA session progressed, much to the stress of everyone involved. It eventually ended with twenty minutes practicing memory and appearance charms, while DM watched with no small amount of dismay. When it was followed by ten minutes of general dueling, his expression turned to one of complete horror.
Harry walked over to him grimacing. "Are they that bad?"
DM didn't react for a moment, before finally turning to the Gryffindor. "Harry, they're terrible. Hopeless even. Mordred, look at Longbottom. And I hate so say this about one of my friends, but Greg's hardly any better off."
Harry looked over at Neville, only to feel embarrassment at the sight before him: the awkward boy had apparently tried an appearance charm, only to be reinvented with a second, not quite identical head. Both heads were crying to his partner (who was on the floor laughing hysterically) to fix him. Goyle on the other hand was sitting catatonic on the floor, having apparently cast a complete memory erasing charm on himself. Nott was kneeling over him, vainly trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and Luna was watching worriedly from a distance.
"But the trophy definitely goes to your two sidekicks."
Oh Merlin, Harry really didn't want to see this one. Sure enough, the two had made a complete spectacle of themselves. Hermione was looking infuriated, sporting a pair of massive, size D breasts (courtesy of Ron) that had ripped her robes; meanwhile, Ron was crawling around on his hands and knees, barking like a dog (courtesy of who-knows-what kind of retaliatory memory charm of Hermione's). Oh, and there was the prize shot: canine Ron trying to hump Hermione's leg and her shrieking, "I hate men! I hate men!"
Trying to be optimistic, Harry gestured over to Millicent and Parvati who were actually managing a respectable and ominously realistic duel. DM snorted. "Well, you know what they say, every thorn has its rose."
Harry gaped at the closed-off Slytherin. "They do not say that!," he accused good naturedly, then laughed. "Though that's probably the first time anyone every compared Bulstrode to a rose!"
DM just rolled his eyes.
At 10:15 Harry called it quits, and he, Hermione, Padma, and Luna went around the room lifting the various charms that had been misplaced on or were simply unremoved from various students. When Luna had lifted the curse from Greg, and then sometime later Parvarti had lifted a different curse from Theodore, they joined DM and Millicent, and then the group of Slytherins left, with Harry and DM trading faint nods of farewell.
Despite his usual metal exercises, Harry's night was plagued by unusual dreams.
The location was a very posh casino, and he was dressed a smart tuxedo and introducing himself as, "Bond, Harry Bond," to a voluptuous blonde with striking blue eyes and an oddly familiar face. Damn, she was hot in that clingy blue silk gown!
Lipstick smiled invitingly and elegant fingers grasped his. "Draconian Measures, at your service, but my friends call me Diem. . . you know, like Carpe Diem." While in the waking world such behavior would have been the height of ridiculousness, it only made dream Harry want to jump the luscious babe even more.
"Hmmm, don't mind if I do," Harry leered, pulling the blonde into his arms and kissing those inviting lips. She made no protest, but pulled away after a few seconds. She used a perfectly manicured thumb to wipe away the lipstick, then smiled secretly.
"I've got something you might be interested in, Mr. Bond," she stated invitingly.
"Oh, I'm sure you do."
With a flash of perfect teeth, Draconian Measures pulled up her purse so that it was lodged between them. She unfastened the clasp, opened it, then peered inside. Harry followed her gaze to a see. . .
"What is that?," he whispered huskily.
Now she was smirking, and leaned forward so that her breasts were firmly against his body and she whispered seductively in his ear, "C4. Heavy duty muggle explosives. Enough to bring down this whole establishment."
The green eyed Bond jerked away from the pale beauty and asked critically, "And what do you plan to do with it?"
In an instant she was once again pressed up against him, smelling alluringly like coconut. "You see those three men over my shoulder at the high stakes table?"
Harry's arm creeped up to caress her smooth, bare back, and looked over at the indicated table, where three conspicuous and very familiar men sat. One had long, platinum blond hair and had a cruel, calculating sneer plastered to his face (he also appeared to be cheating at cards, though Harry had no idea how he knew that). The second was a greasy, fat, unpleasant looking man that Bond vaguely recognized, who seemed to be pandering to the third man: a hideous, red-eyed, snake man who emanated power and evil and was decked out in dark red velvet, crocodile boots, and the most hideously gaudy blingbling he had ever seen (including a gold necklace as thick as a bicycle chain from which hung a gold and diamond 'V' the size of a small hand).
Draconian Measures brought her face over to interrupt his view. When she spoke, her voice was solemn and her expression was dangerous, but she had never looked as sexy. "Those men are none other than the notorious and infamous Axis of Evil: Money Malfoy, Influence Fudge, and Power Riddle. . . and, in a glorious twist of fate, I am going to kill all of them with this simple, muggle-made bomb."
Gazing deep into the sincere, if somewhat fanatical glow of her eyes, Harry Bond grasped his hands over those thin fingers that held the bomb He nodded. "But one last kiss, in the name of love."
Measures looked deeply into the forest jade of his eyes, then leaned into him and they kissed desperately, passionately, in the name of love. She tasked so good, like sugar and vanilla. . . And that was how they died, when a globe of fiery, explosive death erupted from the heart held tightly between them.
Harry awoke with a start, sitting straight up in his bed with a racing pulse, immediately plagued by the flooding memories of his dream. He knew without even thinking about it that his subconscious was trying to tell him something, something important, but as soon as he tried to revisit the dream, he became too confused to know anything from anything.
Was it telling him that he had a thing for Malfoy? He knew that already. . . Was it telling him that Malfoy was against Voldemort? He knew that already too. . .And Merlin only knows what it was trying to say about his sexuality. He had never been into a bloke before, while there had been several chicks of passing interest. Was he bi? Or was it just Malfoy? 'In the name of love'? Surely he wasn't in love with Malfoy. . .
Maybe the dream wasn't about Malfoy. Maybe it was talking about Fudge being a threat, but he knew that already too, didn't he? Was Fudge in league with Voldemort? Was Lucius Malfoy still alive? Surely not. . . And what about that the bomb? Would that work?
He rubbed his face and reached over to his clock to bring it closed enough to his face to see the numbers: six thirty. Not too early to get up then.
Harry was at breakfast so early that he was the only person at his table; indeed, the only house that sported anyone in the Great Hall at 6:50 was Ravenclaw, and the handful of them were staring unenthusiastically at textbooks. Students began shuffling in over the next forty minutes, and Hermione eventually arrived, tailed by Ron who was vigorously apologizing for the events of the night before. The mail arrived just as Hermione took a seat between Harry and Ginny, forcing Ron to sit across the table from her and give her his most pathetic puppy eyes. Harry grimaced at their behavior and reached for Hermione's Daily Prophet. Sure enough, there another unpleasant Daily Prophet headline:
FUDGE AND DUMBLEDORE MEET WITH MUGGLE AUTHORITIES
Minister of Magic Fudge, attended at his request by Albus Dumbledore, met with muggle authorities yesterday concerning recent incidents of muggles perpetrating violence against the wizarding community, with suspected links to You-Know-Who. Adrian Ruby and Patricia Thatcher, two squibs acting as liaisons from the muggle Ministry of the Interior, were initially appointed for their perceived impartiality in dealing with relations between muggles and the wizarding community, but evidence came forth in their meetings with the Minister that their impartiality has been compromised, as they falsely accused the Minister of doing nothing while the muggles of Great Britain were being victimized by You-Know-Who and on-going hate attacks. Since the brutal attack on our kindergarten last Sunday, vigilantism has sharply increased as wizards and witches try to protect themselves against growing danger and hostility from muggles. . .
The article got worse and worse, emphasizing the peril presented to the wizarding community, mostly by muggles, but also by Voldemort, and then describing in detail the suspiciously fascist policies Fudge was forcing on the general populace in the name of safety. After the Umbridge debacle the year before, Dumbledore and Hogwarts were relatively untouchable, but they had also been squeezed out of the news to a large degree. Dumbledore's name was dropped from time to time, in relation to little of significance, and The-Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived had been completely absent from the headlines since the incident at the Ministry at the end of the last school year. While Harry appreciated this fact, it was also unnerving. Had Fudge decided that if he couldn't discredit Harry Potter, then ignoring him would allow him to be forgotten amidst all the panic and deaths? Harry frowned at the thought: no matter who else forgot about him, Voldemort would never forget.
Gripping the newspaper brutally in his fists, a memory flashed though his mind and he turned to Hermione to interrupt the bizarre staring contest she was having with Ron. Merlin, how he wished those two would just get together and stop being so obnoxiously besotted. "Listen, Hermione, I've got a question. Is there any reason why a muggle bomb wouldn't work against Voldemort?"
Hermione was taken aback by the question, blinking at him for a moment in surprise, then frowned in order to give it due consideration. Meanwhile, Ron asked, "Bomb? Like a stink bomb? How would that help?"
Harry couldn't help a wry grin. "No, Ron. Not a stink bomb. Muggles make these bombs that explode with a lot of energy and destroy everything within a large radius. They even make ones big enough to destroy whole cities, kill millions of people. Scientists say they have enough bombs now to blow up the entire world seven times over."
Ron looked a little horrified. "Again, not something I would mention to muggle-haters. Fuel and all that."
Then Hermione spoke. "I don't see why not. He probably has wards against outside energy blasts, but if you could get a bomb inside his wards. . . But Harry, where are you going to get a hold of a bomb?"
Harry shrugged despondently. "I dunno. It was just a thought."
There was a pensive silence in which the voices of the school around became suddenly more audible. Finally, Harry decided that he would rather be alone by himself than in the company of others, so got up to leave, slapping the crumbled newspaper down on the table. "You two might want to take a look at this."
His friends tried to object, but he left anyway, heading off to Potions a good half hour early. As fate would have it, there was already someone there, hunched over book as though he was blind. The Slytherin's hair was once again in twisted rows tied off at the base of his neck, but the semblance to the hot chick from his dream was obvious, and he found himself feeling rather flustered. . . He also found himself walking over to the oblivious boy and then sitting next to him. Only then did DM looked up and cock a scarred eyebrow. Making contact was like a breath of fresh air, inspiring Harry to throw away (for the time being) all his morose thoughts about Voldemort and bombs and massacres of children.
"Whatcha reading, Diem?," Harry asked cheerfully (annoyingly emphasizing DM's name), throwing himself full force into his false alter ego who basically acted like a seven year old; but at least he was carefree and actually capable of having fun. DM was beginning to get used to the fact that Harry Potter was a tad manic depressive, oscillating between anger and determination, gravity and responsibility, humor and optimism, and desperation and recklessness. He was better at hiding it than DM was at hiding his prolonged lapses of attention and insane fits of rage, but DM was showing improvement, while Harry's troubles looked to only be getting worse. Harry Potter was strong, no doubt, but was he strong enough to take on Voldemort? Strong enough to take on the world?
A rare wave of sympathy prompted him to smile kindly at Harry, eliciting a large grin (and several inappropriate thoughts) from the Gryffindor. DM closed the ancient book on his desk, and moved it so that Harry could read the title, "A History of the Science of Magic, by Bunnag Flopperhop." Harry frowned cutely, "Whatcha reading that for?"
DM shrugged and inspected the book. "Dumbledore told me that I would find some answers in it, and from the looks of the contents and introduction, I figure it's about why magic is stronger in some than in others. Ollivander said that the strength of my magic is what keeps shorting out my wand, so I'm hoping it will explain that. And there's a section on wandless magic that I've tried to read, but it's terribly boring, and detailed, and scientific. . . I honestly can't get more than a page without falling asleep – right on top of this dirty, smelly book I might add. I've woken up like a dozen times with the literary filth of the ages smeared on my face."
Towards the end, DM had begun to rant somewhat endearingly, and Harry's grin returned, along with the impulse to plant a big smooch on his ex-rival. Somehow, though, in this mode such desires were less worrisome. "You want me to help? Or maybe Hermione? She's really good at that stuff," Harry offered.
Harry tried (and failed) to appear as though he was taking the matter seriously, as DM looked at him critically, trying to decide what the chances were that there was something in the book that he didn't want Harry and Granger to know. And if there was, was letting them help him worth that risk? Finally, DM looked back the old book and rubbed his temples, "Let me think about it."
Harry felt a loss when DM broke eye contact, and continued to watch the alluring boy as he rubbed his forehead, then his eyes, seeming rather tired. He didn't realize how long he had been staring until DM cautiously glanced back at him. "Stop looking at me like that," he muttered nervously.
Harry blushed, but naively assumed that his true feelings weren't obvious. "Like what?," he asked breathlessly, hypnotized by oceanic eyes.
DM forced his voice to harden, "Like you want to kiss me."
Harry jerked back as though he had been slapped in the face, happy Harry instantly gone, replaced by defensive Harry. "I don't want-"
DM's whole body was tense now as he interrupted, "I know. You don't like guys, and you don't like me. It's just that this body is so. . . beautiful." He spat the last word out like it was disgusting. "Don't worry, Potter, Harry, you're gardly the first to get suckered in, and while Malfoy would have used that to his advantage, I have stopped the sordid situation on my end by closing down shop. Do you get what I'm saying?"
Harry's face was burning with humiliation and resentment at Malfoy for so unnecessarily doing this to him, but he nodded. He noticed finally that a number of students had arrived for class, and were giving the two of them strange glances, so he angrily stood to find a seat on the Gryffindor side of the room, but then a thin hand shot out and gripped his wrist. "No, Harry, we have an agreement. You're going to help me, and I'm going to help you, remember? So what you're going to do is sit here and learn not to give attractive people ANY power over you, got that?"
Again, resentment flared at being told what to do, by Malfoy no less, but he found himself sitting back down anyway, because. . . because he wanted to stay. DM, for his part, was grim and surly, but also determined. He was not going to let his stupid fucking body ruin anything; he and Potter were going to establish a working relationship, superficial attraction, volatile magic, and emotional instability be damned!
The next three hours were characterized by slightly scandalized looks from just about everyone (Hermione being the notable exception), and by an aloof and professionally conducted potion brewing as Harry strived to be as cold to Malfoy as Malfoy clearly was capable of being towards him. He berated himself for trying to be friends with the blond menace, and even tried to convince himself that Malfoy really hadn't changed at all. By the time they were cleaning away their ingredients, he had worked up quite a hatred for his supposedly former rival.
That was when DM stopped Harry's furious wiping with a gentle hand on his wrist, and he wrenched away from the touch to look up at DM's serious face. "Demonized me enough, Harry?," he whispered softly. "It's not that I want to go back to being your enemy, 'cause I don't, but for your own sake, keep some perspective. Keep that hidden sliver of hate. It will help you stay sharp and strong. . . and independent of the influence of others. You want me to point out your weaknesses, well, I'm telling you now that a penchant for pretty faces is a particularly easy weakness to exploit."
DM looked just a little sad, then the impression was lost when he gave Harry a faint, if reassuring smile, and leaving Harry's confused about the whole situation.
For the first time in Harry's potions career, he received full marks for the potion he had worked on.
Sorry that this chapter is a bit boring and long winded, but I need some transitional material. More excitement on the way! PLEASE REVIEW! Advice, comments, questions, anything!
