Dark Temptations

A/N: Well, I'm in an okay mood I think, sitting here with Alanis' Jagged Little Pill to help me here. See? No distractions! . . . for a change. Pshaw.

Disclaimer: What do you think? If I were the owner, I wouldn't be here, now would I? I would be wasting my money in a Borders Bookstore, drowning in anime, music, homework, etc. So logically, I'm not the owner. I only own Lolita, and the mysterious voice, and the atmosphere, and the deranged personalities. . . wait, nope, I don't own those either. My friends do, though, so that's okay.

Oh, and this starts where we left off with Ron, I guess, or something along those lines.

If confusion is increased, then I immensely apologize! Mostly because I am, too!


Chapter 12 –Breaking Points


Lolita stood there against the walls of the greenhouse they were located in today, watching both Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs take notes on the Adam's tulip. She was savoring the sweet smell of dirt all around her. It enveloped her like a summer's breeze, cooling her as well as warming her at the same time. Moments like these were rare to her, this peace, this close connection to nature. Being stuck inside Transfiguration had been her greatest bore yet.

"And to conclude our lesson today, I shall have each of you take a seed and plant it anywhere within Greenhouse number 3 for you mid-term exams," Professor Sprout stated, watching some cheer and the other sigh in disgust.

Gratefully lunch was about to be served, and no one was willing to miss a single minute of it. Lolita watched them help each other clean up, so they could all arrive on time and for once in peace.

Only Ron still seemed troubled. He and Seamus had arrived late, but Hermione gave Professor Sprout the reason to why they would be absent at the beginning of class. Something about a traumatized Dean and Neville. They both had moved to their usual seats in silence, Ron with Hermione, Seamus alone in his desk today, no one bothering to ask questions for a change. The must be getting used to it, she thought in amusement.

She stalked over to him, swaying slightly with her steps, having enjoyed the smell of earth here too much. "What's with you today?" she asked casually.

Ron just grunted, fussing around with a leaf that kept wriggling every time he touched it with the tip of his quill. "Something's not right", he muttered, still looking down at the leaf squirm and twitch in delight or pain, it wasn't very obvious which.

"What is that?" Hermione asked him as she leaned in closer, looking down at the wiggling creation, her face slightly cringed in distaste.

"No clue." Ron sighed and continued to mess with whatever it was even after everyone else had left.

Hermione shook his arm gently, trying to get his attention back to reality. "Let's go Ron, we're going to miss lunch." He didn't respond right away and she was getting impatient. "Please, let's leave."

Lolita didn't want to intrude on their thoughts anymore, having gained their trust and friendship she respected their privacy, no matter how tempting. But there were others whose conscience would allow them to be sneaky. People such as-

"If you're in such a hurry to eat, then why don't you just go already?" Ron snapped at her, irritated for some reason neither of them knew.

Hermione was hurt. Deeply in fact. Ron had never snapped at her, and she was still aching from where Harry had hissed at as if she were something vile, evil, not the loving friend he had known for so long. "Fine", she said, her eyes shimmering with the threat of tears. "If you want to stay here and mope all day, be my guest." She shifted her bag to rest in a more comfortable position on her shoulder and walked past without once looking back.

"Hell's teeth", Ron swore, now looking up as the greenhouse door slammed shut behind Hermione.

Lolita stood, facing the door as well. "You know, you were sort of unfair towards her," she said, rocking on her heels slightly.

"Aren't you going to yell at me, too?" he said, his feelings changing from moping to self-pity.

"You were unfair towards her," she agreed, turning her head to look at him.

Ron had flicked the leaf onto the floor, where it squirmed even more, as if frying. "I can't ever truly say the right things to her", he admitted, slowly gathering his belongings to leave as well.

Lolita felt a little sorry for their relationship. She had never truly thought about a lifemate, someone to share the rest of whenever with. But their time was limited, they didn't have the option of living as long as her. And she felt sorry for them. "You know," she began thoughtfully, "it's sometimes best to talk with each other, even if it is an argument."

Ron snorted. "And what do you propose? I've always somehow been distant from her, even if I do love her." He slapped his hands to his mouth, having not meant to say that out loud.

Lolita raised an eyebrow. "So you do admit it?" she challenged him.

He stayed silent, his better conscience fighting with his pride. The quietness finally got to him and he nodded his head in defeat.

"And why can't you just tell her that?" Lolita turned to face him now, her green eyes swirling into a dark blue-green until finally it settled into some midnight Prussian.

Ron couldn't look her in the face, still not understanding his emotions. "She", he started, then cut himself off. He thought of how to say it, tried putting into sensible words. "She is the most important person to me alive. But I can't tell her, at least not yet."

She sighed, listening to them talk. This was so sweet, so romantic, yet so mushy she could smack herself; if only he knew the truth. But then there was always Dean. And Dean was more comforting than Ron, but Ron had a closer connection with Harry.

Lolita didn't feel her presence, hadn't expected anyone as a matter of fact. But she did hear her sigh out. "Who's there?" she said, wanting to jump over to the door to lower the possibility of the intruder to run, but she stopped in mid-leap. They didn't know about her yet, about the difference between her and them, and they weren't going to find out. Not if she could help it.

Taking on a quick pace, she easily sprinted across, dodging random vines and branches that shifted to be in her way. Reaching the door, she found only the lawn, the butterflies, the sound of the birds calling and water splashing from the lake. No sneak, no spy, no one.

Ron had gotten up and walked up behind her, curious as to what she had seen. "Is something out there?"

"I don't know," her eyes continuously shifted from one direction to the other. "I thought I heard something, but I must have been dreaming." She turned and went to gather her stuff, Ron holding the door open for her so both of them could leave together.

"I could write a letter," he suddenly said, just out of thought probably.

"What?" Lolita hadn't paid him much attention after the previous little incident, her trying to seek out if someone had truly been listening into their conversation.

"I was thinking", Ron said, looking at the ground move past him with each step, "maybe I could write her a letter and you could give it to her?"

How often had someone admitted his or her affection through ink and parchment? Lolita thought of how Shakespeare began this whole message-carrying thing, thinking he did leave more of an impression besides most of the English words and plays of modern times. She grinned, proud that for once his ego didn't get in the way of matters of the heart. "You know Ron, I think she would like that."

The windows of Hogwarts seemed darker than usual, even though the sun was at its brightest point today. Within these castle walls, an additional number was to come and additional trouble as well. Lots more trouble. But allow them the tranquility of the moment. The calm before the storm.

They watched the castle, the entrance wide open shift closer each second. But to distract, she agreed with him, trying to hide any trace of worry.

" I think she would truly like that."


"What. . . what happened?"

Harry's mind buzzed with the rapidness of having been knocked down by Draco. He was still winded from when he somehow got moved without realizing it. Only moments after having been underneath his weight a searing pain coursed through his body. A tingling feeling ran through his muscles, as though his skin had been contorted, making it seem like it wasn't his own, only to fit back into its original state once the chill swept over him.

His eyes were shut tight, the towel thankfully still in place, for the cold of the marble tiles under his stomach contrasted cruelly with the previous warmth of the bath. It hurt to move, but Harry had to know where he was. Every cell in his mind screamed for him to lay down, gravity having decided to increase by a tenfold. Turning his head to lay on his cheek instead of his chin, he slowly peeked out from between slits, once again grateful for not needing glasses anymore. A slight throbbing began, coming from around the scar.

The light was dim, close to being non-existent. But a hazy glow emanated from somewhere deep inside the chamber he was in, allowing him to see a bit of his surroundings in the poor light. It seemed strangely familiar as he shifted his weight onto his elbows, pushing up to try and stand.

His muscles feeling like putty and his legs threatening to give way, Harry decided it best if he just use the gloomy illumination if not use his hands to find a safe path towards the walls and stand there.

The chill in the air seemed to thicken as he moved closer to the direction he guessed would be the wall, his sight becoming hazy. It seemed a tiresome task alone to find the other side of the room, barely making out the shapes to his left that seemed like stalls.

. . . Stalls?

At that moment the atmosphere truly did shift molecules to create was seemed like a thick blanket that Harry had to inhale, his breathing becoming labored. The air became thready, heavy, threatening to suffocate him, to fill his lungs and his mind, push out thoughts and life, stay until no more could fit and then allow him to slowly suffer. He was losing consciousness until a seedy voice called out to him, for him.

"Children should not be here in the air of death," it cooed, the voice soothing yet terrifying all at once.

Harry finally hit his head on marble as his fingers dug into little gutters encircling a pillar in the middle. He hit himself again as he lifted his head, having to crawl back to look up properly. It was a sink he had hit his head on, sinks with pipes connecting all to the marble. It didn't seem like it was speaking English, yet he perfectly understood every single syllable passing through supposed invisible lips. Weird, where had-

"It can become very dangerous," it continued, no more than a whisper, making the air seem it moved with the different pitches, up and down, thicker, then thinner, "if one is left alone, or is lonely."

'Who are you?' he tried to talk, but as he held on to the sink for support, all he managed was a croak. His throat was dry, a familiar ache slowly throbbing on his forehead.

There was a long moment of silence, the only sound was a far-off dripping and Harry's struggles for air. "You are lonely, aren't you?" it concluded, the voice texture becoming silky, alluring, making it seem more feminine, "A lonely heart is easy to corrupt, and in one such as yourself . . . ," the voice faded, not finishing it's sentence.

Harry wanted to tell it he wasn't lonely, that he was loved and wanted by . . . by whom? His headache became worse, trying to remember that face. His lips moved as if to talk, but no sound came. He couldn't recognize that face! He knew it had caressed his skin, tasted his very being; he knew it had whispered gentle things, promises, had told him that he loved him, that he was loved.

That he wasn't alone. But no matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't remember.

"Maybe," the voice liked to play with the first word, as if emphasizing hope, "it isn't as real as it seems, as if in a dream. You can't remember, yet you swear you are wanted. Possibly not for love, but just for satisfaction. Doesn't it hurt, not to be truly desired?"

The air seemed to crush his already struggling lungs, making his chest heave with effort, his body ready to collapse and give into gravity's force. 'Did it read minds?' he wondered, knowing it couldn't have heard him speak. 'Who was it that I had such a connection with?' His mouth and throat parched, it seemed that everything around him was trying to push his awareness, his memories of someone into the back of his mind. The harder he tried to remember, the more it seemed his headache grew.

But now that he thought about it, he was alone, and it did hurt. When he cried out at night as fear consumed him, when he fell and needed a hand to help him back to his feet, when the darkness had encircled him and he couldn't find a light. No one came. Nobody was around. The silver-blue guide had faded into the shadows.

Maybe he was alone. His entire being trembled as reality struck him in the face.

"Perhaps", the way it said 'perhaps' reminded Harry of a satin river, gentle ripples no matter how big the splash, "I can help ease it, help lessen the pain."

The voice left it hanging, as if waiting for Harry to reply, as if they had all the time to consider it. 'Too bad I don't have all time for myself', he thought bitterly, wondering why this voice was talking of helping.

He finally managed to swallow, the air lifting its pressure to allow him to moisten his cracked lips, to gain his proper footing without the chance of falling. "How. . .?" that was all he could muster before needing to swallow again. "How can . . . you . . .?" Harry didn't bother to finish, guessing the voice would understand his question.

Harry couldn't see it, but his sense told him that whatever he had been conversing with smiled, its eyes flashing pure malice.

"Just give yourself to the night, Harry." The voice caressed his name, enveloped him in a satin web of promises, hopes, blocking out the possible lies.

He shook his head, his good sense telling him that this was evil what he was dealing with, that he should not succumb. Harry wondered if it was that simple, to just leave everything to the shadows and darkness of the night. The night was very secretive as he learned and she kept her children hidden well. Could it truly be that easy? Even as he had these inner conflicts, he still needed to know. "What . . . must I. . . ?" His strength always faded before he could fully embody his question. But he needn't to.

He could swear he heard faint laughter, a sinister yet mysterious melody, enticing his thoughts yet scaring him shitless. "Release me," it stated simply, its tone turning into an alluring dark, like bittersweet chocolate.

Harry was confused, not understanding until he looked down. The air he had been breathing felt as if it had manifested itself inside him, taking control of him. Something inside made him look down, only to be fighting with another pleading him to keep his eyes upward. But of course having to give in to curiosity at the marking, he stooped lower, the air only now a shimmering fog, making the chamber recognizable.

Before the whispering hiss could pass his lips, a shrill voice called out his name. "Harry! Harry Potter! Here you are!"

Harry heard a splash and quickly turned around, his heart slamming, his hand clutching the towel that had loosened itself around his small hips and needed to be re-tucked. As his eyes focused, he saw the ghostly silhouette of a girl with big glasses, a devious smile on her face, though her eyes held concern.

"Myrtle", he breathed, his heartbeat slowing down to a less painful rate. It might have been his imagination as a supposed growl hovered in the air, but it too, diminished.

She glowed, it seemed, easily brightening the chamber he was in. "Sneaking into the girls' bathroom again, are we?" she asked, giggling as if keeping a mischievous secret. "Come to see a certain ghost, perhaps? And even stripped down to a towel, I see?" she eyed him with amazement, stunned that he would even dare THINK about coming here like THAT. 'Dang, he's gotten hotter since last time' she thought, trying to burn this picture of him into her memory.

"What?" Harry had no idea what she was talking about.

"You're in the girl's bathroom where we first met!" she exclaimed happily, as if he'd remembered some kind of anniversary including her and himself.

To prove the fact, he bent down towards the pipe he had been looking at, searching for that little mark that had enthralled him only moments ago. And there it faintly shimmered.

A single snake on the pipe. This truly was the bathroom that led to Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.

The pain on his forehead throbbed once more, making it feel like his mind would split in two. Then, amazingly, it subsided just as quickly as it had come.

"Are you alright?" she asked, unsure of what she should do next. "Everyone has been looking for you, you know. That dozing Mermaid from the bathroom told me so, and I asked a couple of portraits if they had seen you, but they all said the same thing, 'Nope, not today'."

He shook his head a couple times to try and clear his thoughts. "Who was looking for me?" he asked skeptically, the silk that had stroked his heart, encircling his soul, was now gone, replaced by a curious burning sensation, like drops of acid trying to multiply within his being.

"The new professor and Draco." Myrtle continued to hover in front of him, not really trusting to move closer, wanting to be guaranteed he wouldn't suddenly lash out. "That fish-tailed bimbo said a rotten stench had awoken her from her 'beauty sleep'," she muttered in disgust, "as if she needs it. She's a canvas, for Peat's Sake! What's going to change about that? A color wash-out?" It was obvious her and the painting didn't get along very well, or not at all, to be very accurate.

He smiled at her hidden concern for him, feeling guilty for having forgotten her existence completely over the passed months. "Myrtle?" he gently asked, giving her his most refined smile, "thank you." He stepped out to hug her, allowed the chill to settle in as he forgot that he couldn't touch her. She was dead, after all.

Nonetheless, she was touched deeply by his affection. Staring at him with bright shimmering eyes, he pictured them to have been a dazzling hazel brown with green tints as he looked deeper.

"Harry", Myrtle whispered in awe and affection. She slowly reddened and sniffed once, twice, then the familiar wailing of when he first met her took place again. She ran, rephrase, flew back into the u-bend of the toilet she always used to occupy with a splash, her hiccups resounding off the walls.

He gazed after her, glad that she hadn't passed through his nether regions; that would have been too cold for even him to handle at the moment. The voice had been feminine as well, he was almost positive, wondering why it seemed familiar.

The bathroom was now profoundly brighter than before, making it easier for Harry to find the door and use a secret passageway to get back to Gryffindor tower. He only prayed he would not meet anyone on the way back.

But in his insides a writhing feeling was taking place. As if his soul was fighting the very air he breathed, slowly losing to the new antagonist that kept him alive. Something else nagged him, though, in the very back of his mind.

Who is Draco?


Draco stopped on the stairs leading down to the third floor, Harry's delicate scent now stronger in the air, mingled with a little decay and . . . something unfamiliar to him.

He glanced at Gregori, his stormy silver eyes hardening, warning Gregori that if anything had happened to Harry, he would be among the ones who would pay. And he acknowledged it without flinching.

He could hear the increase in volume as the classes were about to end, releasing the students for lunch.

'Crap,' he swore mentally, blocking out the sound to reach out to Harry's mind. Amazingly, he was only a few meters away from him, walking up some hidden passage back to Gryffindor tower. Sighing in relief, he made a mental note to visit the ranting crackp- visit Dumbledore later. 'Be nice,' he mentally chided himself, taking quick note of Gregori leaving to the Great Hall, then he himself flew up to meet Harry.

Draco easily glided into the Common Room that was empty, the faint smell of blood clinging in the air. It was familiar blood, Dean's probably, not a strong enough scent to have been a fatal wounding, but with that strange little sweetness that he had smelled before made him stay on guard. Just in case, of course.

He settled himself into one of the couches next to the fireplace, awaiting the return of his soon to-be lifemate. But before Harry could reach him first, Nearly Headless Nick floated out from the wall directly next to him, looking seriously miffed.

Draco held his breath, as if nearly suffocating would help make him invisible. Then he remembered his early childhood training of hiding within the most obvious. Before Nick could catch a proper glimpse of him, Draco allowed himself to scatter, but hover close enough so as not to slip away and wait for some kind of breeze to throw him back together again. He had been acting very un-malfoyish since the beginning of the year, he mused at himself. Wonder why?

Nick had not even bothered to look in his direction, his eyes glaring at nothing in particular in front of him, but her still muttered to himself nonetheless. "I should be chasing him. . . make me bet my head indeed. . . "

Luckily, Draco didn't have to try and focus to know what was wrong, Ron racing in at the most perfect of times.

Draco couldn't believe what was happening. 'Did I do something wrong in my former life?' he asked himself, wondering why the person he was waiting for didn't show up.

Ron stopped, did look directly at Draco, though he didn't know what he was looking at. Did Ron have a slight sixth sense? But he went back to the obvious problem in front of him. "Nick?" he asked cautiously, unsure of whether a ghost could harm a person physically. "Nick, are you okay?"

"Does it look like I'm 'okay'?" he shot back, his head bobbing dangerously. "Because I have run out of other suggestions, they expect me to try and be-head myself properly, so they can use my head for volleyball! Volleyball! That is an outrage!" Nick crossed himself as if about to pray, fervently whispering, "Forgive me, but Merlin, I truly wish to damn that Hufflepuff monk into limbo!"

Ron cautiously moved around the depraved ghost, succeeding only halfway.

"And where," Nick growled at him in a very unusual manner, his face contorted into a grimace holding pure malice, "do you think you're going?"

Ron swallowed, having dreamed the night before of being possessed and doing . . . unspeakable things. "I- I just- paper-quill-ignoring-" he couldn't form his sentence, his gaze locked with Nicks' smoldering view.

"Quit taking a leaf out of Quirrell's book and spit it out!" he ordered, his head now officially flopped over to one side, his body trembling with pent-up frustration.

"Come now, you're scaring the boy half to death," a sultry voice said from behind him. Both looking in that direction, Draco included. They came face-to-face with another lady ghost whom neither of the students had ever met. Her hair shimmered a silver-gray, which was probably a standard for the haunting dead, and a dress that was embroidered along the lines of 16th century. "Pleased to meet you," she nodded at Ron, who stared openly at her, "I am one of the Resident ghosts from Ravenclaw, Ruthy Von Schrieder." Although she was dead, her eyes held strange and comforting warmth that calmed Nicholas extremely.

"More like Ruth-less Von Shrieking," he muttered under his breath, ignoring her glowering at him.

Ron closed his mouth, shaking himself out of his momentary stun and had to pause a moment before introducing himself.

Draco decided he had had enough of these niceties, feeling a slight distress in Harry, however faint their connection, his smell now very heavy in the air. His emotions for the boy were very strong, which also added on to the thin threads that would bond them for eternity. Cautiously gliding above them, Draco had to be cautious, for ghosts could sense such disturbances within the balance of natures' forces, and shifting over to the other side to the bedrooms.

He was still suspended within the air as the sudden impact of pain overcame him, quick, and merciless. Draco was almost knocked back together and would have been revealed within the enemy, no, Gryffindor territory.

'Something's happening', Draco's mind was in a furious flutter, concentrating on where Harry was, sending out his mind to only find...

emptiness.

As if Harry had never existed, the only remaining proof of him ever having been was his qiuckly wavering scent. And within moments, it too, was gone.


A/N: Sorry about that one being cut so short! It was actually longer, until I re-read it and thought 'Nah, gotta change it'. So as soon as school begins its torturous educational efforts in vain to try and get me to pass math, I will dedicate my time once again to conspire on how this could end...muwahahahaha!!

Fine, honestly, I'm still plotting, and there's a possibility of snogging in the next chapter, so as the boy scouts put it - Be Prepared! (Not a boy-scout, but I was considered an 'Honorary boy scout', so I feel special.)