Chapter 19
"So you really think that Aurora has something to do with Hermione?" Ron asked after a long confiding from Harry. Harry nodded and looked down at the floor, his legs tucked underneath him and his hands fidgeting absentmindedly. They were the only ones awake, for Harry had been restless during the night and Ron had for some reason woken very early. They could hear the soft snores and breathing of their fellow students.
"But I don't have any proof or even theories," Harry said after Dean Thomas snorted in his sleep. "It's just been haunting me. Like last night, with that dream I told you about." While saying this, he shivered slightly, remembering Hermione's cold fingers and the word that still echoed in his mind.
'Traitor.'
He tried to push it to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the sudden transformation from Hermione to Aurora, when he had looked down and seen Aurora covered in blood.
Ron didn't reply to Harry's last comment. He instead looked toward his brown, leather trunk as if it would give him an answer.
"And then there's that whole thing with Malfoy." Harry raised his gaze and saw Ron sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, his eyes focused on the trunk, the first rays of dawn peeking through the small window and making the sheets shine. Harry shifted his position, his legs now dangling over the side of his bed. "Did you notice yesterday the way he was looking at her? It was as if /he/ knew something and /we/ don't."
A long silence followed as each of the friends contemplated what that entailed. Harry lowered his head again, his fingers playing with the hem of his flannel shirt. After a few moments, suddenly, Ron sat up and stared at Harry as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. "Wait," he said in a hurry, "isn't Malfoy's father a Death Eater?"
Harry's eyes widened at this prospect. He looked up sharply. "You don't think – "
"It could be," Ron interrupted. "Listen, Voldemort's been after you since you were a baby, and recently he got really close to killing you but . . ." Ron paused for a moment and took a small breath. "But he killed Hermione instead. So, what better way to settle the score than to send Aurora to kill you herself." Harry did not notice it, but Ron had said Voldemort's name without flinching.
Swallowing the first part of Ron's explanation with some difficulty, Harry finally shook his head. "I don't think so. As much as I hate Aurora right now, I hardly can imagine her being capable of murder."
Ron looked out the window and chose his words slowly and carefully. "/She/ isn't. But /he/ is."
The realization crept into Harry like an icy breeze and his skin crawled. It made sense, and yet Harry refused to believe it.
"No, it can't be," Harry said, half to himself and half to Ron. "It's unthinkable!"
"No, it isn't!" Ron exclaimed. "Don't you remember what he did to my sister? He possessed her! He's doing the same to Aurora!"
The more Ron talked about it, the more Harry felt inclined to believe it. His memories of Ginny and the Chamber of Secrets could not be denied.
"But if it's true, why doesn't my scar burn when I get near her?" Harry inquired after the thought crossed his mind.
"Harry, no offense, but your scar hurting isn't the most reliable thing. We have no idea why it hurts, it just does at random times."
Harry tensed, now starting to believe the entire accusation. Aurora was being possessed. It explained everything – his dreams, her secret and her abnormal behavior around him. ". . . So . . . what am I supposed to do now?"
Ron's eyes narrowed. "I know one thing. Stay the hell away from her."
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After everyone had dressed and gone downstairs for breakfast, Harry and Ron followed them to the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table. It seemed like a normal day, filled with crunching and muttering and Neville blowing up something or another. However, a cloud of excitement hung over the Gryffindor table today. Everyone was talking excitedly and people were whispering about some rumor. Harry would not have paid attention if he hadn't heard someone say "Aurora" in their chattering. Fearing the worst, Harry and Ron both looked up sharply and found that she was sitting all by herself at one end of the table. Harry glared at her with his newfound wariness, and yet wanted to look away, fearing that she may turn around and bear those bright, red eyes he loathed.
Ron was first to turn to Seamus and ask, "What's going on? What's everyone talking about?"
Seamus swallowed his bacon with some difficulty, and then said, "It's Aurora."
"What about her?" Harry quickly pressed. He prayed that nothing bad had happened, that she hadn't attacked anyone.
Seamus leaned in a bit closer. "I don't know myself, but I heard it from Angelina. Apparently someone screamed last night and they found Aurora rocking on her bed and muttering, 'You're not real.' Pretty weird, if you ask me."
Once Seamus had mentioned Aurora's rocking, Harry and Ron both looked at each other and thought of the dream. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. How could it be possible . . .? But it was, and it only further proved the connection between Voldemort and Harry, which had become Aurora and Harry!
They didn't notice Seamus glancing between them, completely confused. "Do you two know something about it?"
"No," Harry lied rapidly. "No, we don't."
That claim didn't stop Seamus' curious look.
"So, did anything else happen?" Ron asked, changing the subject.
Seamus sunk back to his normal self. "That's all I heard. You can probably ask some girl for more information, though."
Harry and Ron both took this into consideration and Ron searched the table for someone. Before Harry could ask for whom Ron was looking, Ron got up, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him off of the bench, dragging him along.
"Ron, what – "
"Hey, Ginny," Ron said to his sister as he stood behind her back and finally allowed Harry to stand on his own feet. Ginny turned around and smiled at both of them.
"Hi Ron, Harry," she said.
"Yeah, hi. Listen," Ron rushed through the greeting, "do you know anything about what happened last night?"
Ginny's smile faded and she sighed, signaling she had probably been asked about this multiple times before. Assuming they had already heard the basic plot line, she told them, "Yes, I woke up with the scream, because her bed is only a few away from mine. It was . . . I don't know what time, but it was really dark outside, and so when I sat up I could barely see anything except for Angelina moving toward the bed. I got out of bed, pulled out my wand and lit it while walking toward the bed with Angelina. Then I saw that Aurora was rocking back and forth on the bed, hugging her legs, and muttering, 'You're not real.'" Ginny closed her eyes for a moment and continued. "So Angelina and I both tried to snap her out of it, but when we attempted it she just looked up at us and whimpered. She suddenly seemed to become herself again and stared blankly at us, then got completely embarrassed. We tried to ask her what was wrong, but of course everyone was staring now and she refused to say anything. That was all that happened. But now everyone's avoiding her."
Harry's eyes were gradually widening throughout Ginny's story, and a single thought crossed his mind. *She had /my/ dream.*
There was a pause before Harry spoke, and when he did he was slow and precise. "What exactly do you mean by 'becoming herself again'?"
Ginny shook her head. "I don't really know, it just felt as though she wasn't . . . herself."
Ron and Harry both looked at each other. Ron turned around, muttered, "Thanks, sis," and grabbed Harry again, this time taking him toward the exit.
"Ron!" Harry tried to twist his body to face him while keeping his balance. "Ron, I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet!"
Ron did not answer until they were out of the room, at which point he let go of Harry. As soon as he did, Harry turned and stared at Ron.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" Harry asked, completely confused.
"Now we know," Ron voiced his thoughts aloud, ignoring the question. "We're positive. There's no way it can't be."
Though still puzzled about the whole dragging scene, Harry did not answer immediately. At a loss for words, he shrugged.
"This is worth more than a shrug, Harry," Ron said, almost with a glare.
Harry stared at Ron. This wasn't normal at all. "Ron, what's wrong with you?"
Ron frowned and looked away. He spoke with firmness and rage that Harry had never heard from him before, and his hands curled into fists. "That bloody bastard killed one of my best friends, and I'll be damned if I loose the other."
Harry blinked at Ron, who was still looking away. There was a silence as Ron's words sunk in. When their eyes did finally meet again, Harry saw a flame burning in his eyes.
"Ron," Harry said quietly, "it's you who's in danger. After he killed Herm – her – he told me that he would make me suffer, kill all of my friends one by one and make me live with the misery of knowing I had the chance to prevent it. That means . . . he's going to try to kill you."
Ron did not speak, and Harry thought he was in shock and hadn't heard these words before. But Harry was proven wrong when Ron's fists vibrated and his frown etched deeper in his face. His words were faint and barely audible, as though thoughts themselves.
"Good."
Harry's eyes widened to their fullest extent and his mouth opened like a goldfish, no voice coming out. Ron was still staring at Harry, and Harry could tell just by looking at his face that he wasn't kidding.
Before Harry could find his voice, a bunch of students poured out of the Hall, each going their own direction like a river. An oblivious Harry was bumped into several times as though he was in a daze. Correction, he /was/ in a daze. Ron had just blown him away. Without waiting a long time, standing there in the middle of the crowd, Harry felt himself being grabbed and pulled away. He looked up at the redhead and smiled to himself.
Now he understood the dragging, and he knew he couldn't have asked for a better friend.
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"When you grind the roots, you must make sure that you do so with the 2 ounce mallet and not any other, because then you'll either end up with dust or chunks in your potion."
Harry managed to catch and write down that bit of information before his thoughts led elsewhere again. Sitting in the middle of Potions with Ron by his side like always, Harry just wanted to have time to think about it all; his dream, whether or not Hermione blamed him, the new threat of Aurora, and Ron's vow. It was all too much in one day . . . not even that, for only three hours had passed since he woke up. Gazing at his nearly blank scroll, Harry kept his eyes from glancing to the side of the room, since he knew that Aurora would be sitting there. And the last thing he wanted to see was her.
"Mr. Potter!" Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by that familiar, dreadful voice. He looked up to see Snape advancing on him. He nearly rolled his eyes, not caring the least bit about Snape at the moment. Snape stopped before his desk with a face of scorn while Harry returned with very little care.
"Were you daydreaming again, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked. Harry wanted to ask if he was stupid.
"No, sir, I wasn't," Harry lied. He was in enough trouble already, he realized, and it wouldn't help to add detention onto his list of worries.
"Then, tell me, what kind of mallet should you grind the roots with?"
Harry sighed, half with relief and half with agitation. "A two ounce mallet, because with an alternative you either end up with dust or chunks in your potion."
Snape's face twisted. "True, but perhaps you did not take the time to write it down."
"Yes, I did," Harry said plainly.
"Then let me see your paper," Snape said slowly and critically. Sighing again, softer so that Snape wouldn't notice, he handed his scroll to Snape, who took it and read through. If possible, his face became more twisted and he nearly threw down the notes. He shook one bony finger at Harry. "Don't let me catch you looking like that again."
Finally satisfied, Snape moved on and Harry smiled, discovering that paying attention in Potions can actually be beneficial.
Just before he was about to settle into his thoughts again, Harry heard Snape's voice. "Miss Withertopp," the voice declared with satisfaction. Despite himself, Harry turned in his seat to see Snape bent over Aurora's desk with a wide smile perched on his face. Aurora was looking down, studying her desk and avoiding his gaze. The Gryffindors seemed uneasy.
"I couldn't help but wonder, Miss Withertopp, why you are sitting all the way over here," he prodded her desk, "when your so-called friends are over there." Snape wagged his finger in the direction of Harry and Ron.
At that moment Harry's blood boiled, and he didn't know whom he hated more: Aurora or Snape.
Aurora didn't answer Snape's question.
"And, there also seems to be more Slytherins over here than your beloved Gryffindors. Aren't you feeling a little out of place?"
It occurred to Harry that of course Aurora would start sitting with the Slytherins. This was Voldemort they were dealing with, the Voldemort who used to be a Slytherin himself.
Aurora shrugged, still not looking up. A few of the boys behind her chuckled and she shifted in her chair uncomfortably.
Snape's smile was fading and his patience was wearing thin. There was no fun if the student did not protest or at least answer the question.
"Perhaps you've had a change of heart," Snape said with a smirk, lightly pushing himself back to an upright position. "I hope you find your new company to be satisfying."
Harry didn't even have to guess what that meant, judging on Aurora's sudden stiffness as she crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders while hungry looks were shot her way from some of the boys. If it were any other person, any other girl, Harry would feel the overwhelming urge to punch a few of them for their sickly intentions. But this was no ordinary girl. This one housed his enemy, Voldemort, the murderer who killed his parents and Hermione. With that set in his mind, he tore his gaze away from the scene, leaving Aurora in the hands of the Slytherins. After all, it was where she belonged.
The rest of Potions class passed agonizingly slowly, and when it was finally over Harry was happy to stuff his scrolls and books into his bag and sling it over his shoulder, ready to go. Waiting for Ron while the other students rushed out, he tapped his foot and looked absentmindedly over to where Aurora was sitting. She wasn't there, and Harry suddenly realized the implications of her departure, and he recalled the greedy eyes that had devoured her during the period. Had not interfering left her wide open for . . . Oh, god, he couldn't even think the word!
"You okay?" He heard Ron ask. He glanced over and Ron was clearly amazed at Harry's depth of worry. Harry hurriedly gave him a plain answer.
"I'll tell you later."
They began to exit when Ron swore. "I forgot! I'm supposed to go see Professor McGonogall for something now!" He glanced at his watch and swore again. "I'm dead!"
"You should go, I'll see you next class," Harry replied to Ron's retreating back, after which Ron turned to run backwards, wave, and turn to continue sprinting.
Looking around the room, Harry realized he had forgotten his quill. Walking calmly across the now empty classroom, as Snape had departed as well, he reached across the desk but someone got it first. He quickly looked up to see none other than the blond slime ball. His face twisted in disgust as Malfoy gave him a smirk.
"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked without trying to hide his irritation. Malfoy smiled and twirled the quill expertly around his fingers, watching its light rotation with his blue eyes.
"How delicate things can be." Malfoy spoke with an air of patience as though speaking to a child, "So frail and vulnerable. All it takes is someone with the initiative." His fingers placed the fragile quill on top of his index and middle finger, and then with one swift movement he snapped it with his thumb and released the pieces, which floated to the floor beneath their feet. "And once it's taken, you can't get it back." Harry watched stared at the two pieces and glared back upward.
"What are you talking about?" Harry growled and Malfoy answered with a grin. "Don't bullshit me, Malfoy," he warned with a step toward him. Malfoy remained unmoved.
It suddenly hit Harry what that could mean.
"You . . . wouldn't . . . dare . . ." Harry said while his hand twitched, attempting to mask his panic about the implications being true.
Malfoy smiled at him, and Harry felt a burning, flaring feeling. He was incredibly close to lunging at the perverted, sick bastard, but managed to restrain himself –
"You haven't attacked me yet," Malfoy calmly observed, watching Harry's tense form. Harry's eyes narrowed.
"I'm damn close."
"But you haven't," Malfoy informed him. Harry stood rooted at the spot, trying to make himself attack, but something held him back. "Could it be you're not sure she's worth protecting? That she's hiding whom the mask hides?"
Harry's bag slipped off of his shoulder and dropped with a smash to the ground. Malfoy looked at it with satisfaction and a little chuckle.
"Bull's-eye," Malfoy said aloud. He raised his gaze. "You /are/ seeking that information, aren't you?"
Harry did not answer.
"I thought so, but I'm not sure whether to tell you or not." Malfoy's words were slow and playful.
Harry advanced slightly. "Tell me what it is," he said firmly.
Another smile. "I don't feel like it." It obviously was a game to him. Harry frowned; he would /not/ be used as a toy.
"What is her secret?" His voice rose with every word.
Malfoy slowly shook his head and Harry lost control.
"JUST TELL ME, DAMN IT!" Harry shouted as he lunged forward and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders. Malfoy, caught by surprise, tried to wrench himself away but Harry had caught him at the right angle and his body was pinned to the wall within seconds. Harry's arms were fixed, each hand planted halfway between each of Malfoy's shoulders and his neck while Malfoy held onto Harry's wrists but did not struggle. Harry was panting slightly and a wisp of black hair fell into his right eye. "Tell . . . me . . . now . . ."
"Or what?" Malfoy asked calmly. He briefly scanned Harry's body just a few inches away from his own and laughed. "Are you planning to molest me if I don't, Potter?"
Harry could've thrown up at the thought. "You're disgusting, Malfoy," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"You can never be too careful," Malfoy said in a tone that hinted at implications about other people.
"SHUT UP!!" Harry screamed at him, seizing him by his collar and throwing him downward. But Malfoy had anticipated it, and the instant Harry released Malfoy he grabbed onto a nearby desk and with a whip of his cloak he had his wand pointing at Harry's forehead. Harry froze. There was no telling that Malfoy wouldn't use a horrible curse now, maybe even one of the Unforgivables. Malfoy pushed himself up slowly, the smile gone from his face. Instead, he glared at Harry with fierce eyes and Harry returned the animosity.
"Son of a dead bitch," Malfoy said quietly.
"Ferret," Harry returned with a hiss.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his frown etched deeper into his face. Apparently, he hadn't forgotten the incident with Mad-Eye Moody either. His wand inched closer to Harry's face, but Harry refused to move and show any intimidation.
The sound of footsteps made both of them freeze and turn their heads toward the empty doorway. Moments later they came low, incomprehensible mumbling. As though struck with a sudden surge of energy, Malfoy returned his wand to its place in a flash and Harry stepped back, four eyes now staring expectantly at the door.
Sure enough, Snape appeared at the doorway, his dark hair quivering slightly with his ongoing mumbling. He did not even notice them at first, beginning to take off his cape, but when his eyes fell upon Malfoy and Harry, his mumbling was cut off by a stare of disbelief. Flushing slightly, he resumed his upright posture and glared at the two of them.
"What would two students be doing in class when they're already dismissed?" Snape's tone was colder than ever, the tone of someone who wanted to hide something. A moment's silence hung between them, unbroken until Harry finally spoke.
"I forgot my quill," he replied truthfully before crouching down and grabbing the two halves. As he rose again, Malfoy's smirk nearly pushed Harry into another attack.
"Your quill?" Snape repeated slowly and distastefully. "Really, Mr. Potter, I would expect a better lie from you."
Harry's eyes widened with the injustice of the situation. "I wasn't lying!"
"I'm sure, Mr. Potter," Snape answered smoothly, shifting back into his comfortable position as torturer. "Perhaps you can give me a better explanation . . . in detention."
Harry's mouth opened like a goldfish's, without a sound coming out. Finally, he decided to simply grab his bag and turn to leave. As he did, he heard Malfoy's whisper, quiet enough so that only Harry heard it. "If you want information," Malfoy hissed, "Go to the source."
With a silent glare in Malfoy's direction, and Snape still oblivious of everything on Harry's mind, Harry departed.
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Harry later decided that he couldn't tell anyone about Malfoy's threat with the quill. Not only was it really unspeakable, but what /would/ he say? He couldn't just burst into Dumbledore's office like he had in the past and yell, "Professor Dumbledore, Aurora's in danger, and not of losing her 'life'!" No, Dumbledore would smile in that comforting and warm way and politely ask Harry if he needed to see the nurse. But while he was at it, Harry mused, he should yell, "And also Voldemort's possessing Aurora!" Wait a minute, Harry thought to himself: if Aurora's being possessed by Voldemort, and Malfoy wants to . . . to . . . do that to her . . . ew! A smile on Harry's face despite Harry's attempt to suppress it. Wouldn't Malfoy be surprised! But back to the other point, Malfoy was probably just blowing off steam with the entire threat. He's hard-headed, not a real criminal. And besides, Harry added to himself, why should he care what happens to that . . . that . . . her?
But the question of Aurora's reliability still remained, nagging on Harry's mind. So, during lunch, Harry told Ron about his encounter with Malfoy, minus the quill.
"So," Ron managed to grumble with a full mouth, "what do you think he meant by 'the source'?"
"I have no idea," Harry replied sourly as he poked his food. Ron never ceased to amaze him with the ability to eat – and a lot, for that matter – in such situations. At the moment, Ron was on his fourth helping.
"Well, let's think logically," Ron suggested, followed an audible gulp that made a smile flicker on Harry's face. "Where can we get information on Aurora? If you ask me, it would have to be the same place you'd find dirt on any student." His brow furrowed in thought. "I don't think we can ask my brothers – "
Harry cut Ron off with a quiet chuckle before sinking into his serious train of thought. After a few moments, his fork clanged loudly on his plate and Harry stared at it. "Of course," Harry said with a groan. "Why didn't I think of it before?" His eyes locked with Ron's, which were still confused. "McGonogall's office! She has an entire cabinet full of records!"
Ron's lips twisted into a frown. "Oh great," he mumbled sarcastically. "Now I get to visit Mr. I'm-not-a-cat-you-unworthy-scum-of-a-human-why-if-I-was- human-I'd-beat-the-hell-outta-you. Just what I need." And in went yet another mouthful.
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"Ouch! Ron, you stepped on my foot!"
"Sorry! But couldn't they make these bloody cloaks bigger?"
"I don't think they designed the cloak with sneaking around Hogwarts School at night as its purpose. And we've both gotten bigger since our last outing."
"Well, you told me that your father used this bloody cloak with a bunch of his friends!"
A pause. "Yeah, well, you're taking up nine tenths of the sheet."
"I am not!"
"Oh come on, Ron. Look at yourself."
". . . Hey, I'm just making sure that I'm not seen."
"You're impossible, you know that?"
"Well bloody thanks for informing me."
"You're bloody welcome."
"Harry?"
"Bloody hmm?"
"Shut up."
"Bloody, bloody, bloody."
"No, really, shut up."
"Bloody will do."
A frustrated but light sigh escaped from Ron while Harry grinned widely at his companion. Fairly recently, Harry had begun teasing Ron excessively, though unsure as to why. Now in absence of a friendly bickering, their footsteps seemed to vibrate through the empty hallway as they neared McGonogall's office. Somehow, tonight, it seemed more forbidding than ever before. Perhaps it was merely the fact that it was after midnight and therefore darker than dark in the hallway. Perhaps Harry's conscience was just silently and mentally chiding him for sneaking and trying to find out Aurora's secret.
*I have to find out,* Harry assured himself. *It's not just snooping. Hell, she could be possessed!*
With this firmly set in mind, Harry glanced downward to maneuver his feet away from another painful encounter with Ron's. After falling into a rhythm of soft patting that resulted in no painful cries, his head raised and barely grazed Ron's red hair. Despite the methodical reassurance of their footsteps and the lack of other noise, Harry still felt as though someone was watching them as they came closer . . .
A piercing screech rang through the night and made the pair jump, Ron letting out a muffled yelp. A foot got caught in their cloak and they stumbled, flailing arms, yet the scream continued. Once finally free of the heavy cloak, they looked up and saw the old woman in the portrait across from the office screaming her head off.
"Oh my god! Burglars! Thieves! Oh, somebody, come help!" The woman managed to let out this high-pitched plea with a raspy breath before returning to her screaming routine. Ron flinched from the sound and Harry tried to hush her.
"Please, don't scream," Harry begged in a stage whisper, but the woman would not heed. Filch would be sure to catch them now!
"I say," a new voice interrupted, "do give us some peace!"
Ron looked down and yelped again at the sight of a black fuzz ball, which after a few seconds had become focused into a cat.
"My god, get a hold of yourself," Ramdeon uttered, glaring at Ron for a moment. Harry's mouth opened, but before any sound came out, Ramdeon was already talking to the old lady in the portrait. "Madam, will you kindly stop that infernal noise?" The cat inquired, though quite loudly to be heard over the yelling.
The old lady's mouth freeze mid-scream, and her bottom lip quivered slightly. "You," she spat, her eyes narrowing in accusation. "You little hair ball! You're in this plot, too! You're helping these criminals!"
"Let me assure you, madam," Ramdeon continued quietly, "that these are not criminals, but friends of mine."
"Friends," Harry heard Ron vaguely echo in a whisper only meant for Harry. "Since when?"
Meanwhile, the old lady was not getting any more convinced. "Pah! Friends! Even more reason to alert the rest of the school!" Her mouth opened wide again and the piercing noise made Harry want to cover his ears, but he found himself instead praying that no one would hear.
Ramdeon's hair stood on end and made him seem twice his normal size. He swiftly turned to Harry, who was fortunate – or unfortunate – enough to be standing right beside the painting. "Excuse me," Ramdeon said to Harry, but before Harry could inquire about what, Ramdeon's claws were digging into the pants of Harry's pajamas. Stiffening, Harry felt the cat jump up onto his shoulder, reach over to the portrait, and make a soft ripping sound.
"Oh, my word!" Exclaimed the old woman, now with a large scratch over her face. Harry was astounded at Ramdeon's bravery until the woman shifted her head to the side and he realized that the scratch was over her face, not etched into it.
"As I have asked before," Ramdeon growled, just as politely but coldly, "please do hold your peace."
The old woman glared at the cat, mumbled something about hairy balls, and disappeared.
As Ramdeon dropped gracefully to the ground, Harry found that his ears were ringing with the lack of noise. Moreover, his shoulder was aching where Ramdeon had been perched.
"Thanks, Ramdeon," Harry began, but Ron's rushing forward and into McGonogall's office cut Harry short. That, combined with the fact that another foreign voice interrupted their conversation. Filch's voice, distant but distinctive. "Oh, damn!" Harry cursed before stumbling with the cloak into McGonogall's office. Ramdeon slid through the closing door and looked up expectantly at Harry. Harry glanced over at Ron, who was busy fumbling through a large cabinet on the other side of the room.
"Hurry up, Ron, Filch's coming!" Harry urged as he heard Filch's muffled footsteps through the door.
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!" Ron mumbled as he reached for the last batch of folders and flipped through the top where the names where labeled. Of course, the one cabinet could hold all the student's information at Hogwarts. It was finding the right information that was incredibly difficult. "Vintette, Weasely, Weatherbee, Weathervane, Weckle, Wittle . . ." Ron let out an audible groan. "There's no Withertopp here, Harry!"
Harry swore again, but this time sensed that Filch heard him. "Quick, the two of you," Ramdeon whispered, "get behind the desk."
Wondering silently why Ramdeon was helping them but not bothering to question his cooperation, Harry and Ron obeyed clumsily by diving into their hiding spot seconds before the door rattled.
"Is there someone in here?" Filch demanded, though in a muffled voice, on the other side of the door. Ramdeon leaped atop the desk and looked at the door with a face of disgust before answering.
"Yes, I am in here, sir."
"Is that you, Ramdeon?"
"Very true, sir."
"Open the goddamn door!"
"I'm sorry, sir," Ramdeon replied with a catty grin, "I do not wield the necessary equipment."
"What?" Came the disbelieving shriek of Filch.
"Thumbs, good sir," Ramdeon clarified with too wide a smile.
"Good God, Ramdeon, use magic!"
"I'm not supposed to, sir."
The door stopped rattling and Harry suppressed a chuckle. Filch, however, was insistent as ever. "Well, Ramdeon, is there anyone else in there with you?"
"Anyone else?" Ramdeon echoed thoughtfully, glancing around the room.
"Yes, goddamn it! Is anybody else in the bloody room?"
"I do not recall . . ."
"Goddamn you!" Filch screamed at the door, his voice entering the room like a siren.
Ramdeon was thoroughly enjoying this, from the look on his little face. "Pardon me for asking, but is 'goddamn' your favorite word today?"
Ron chuckled, but Harry's elbow seemed to stop him.
"Godda- Ramdeon! I swear I'll catch you someday, you little rat!"
"Cat, good sir, cat."
"Shut up, you old flea bag!" With a cry of frustration, Filch's footsteps could be heard getting quieter and quieter, fading and fading . . .
"That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed when it was safe to emerge, as he did with a huge smile on his face. Ramdeon grinned at Ron and bowed his head.
"Thank you, good gentlemen," Ramdeon replied in a quiet and imitatively cocky sort of way. "But," his face suddenly fell, "I must tell you both something very important – "
"No time," Harry whispered urgently, shoving Ron out the door. "Knowing Filch, he'll be back soon, and now's our chance to leave."
"But – "
"Thanks for your help, Ramdeon."
"But it's about – "
The door shut quietly, and Ramdeon was left alone.
"Hermione," Ramdeon finished quietly to himself. With a lonely sigh, he curled up on the desk and remained silent, yet awake, for no less than a few hours.
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"I can't believe it." Harry sat on his bed, unable to fall asleep, boring holes into the floor with his eyes. "I can't believe it."
"I know, there was no folder on Aurora," Ron mumbled from his spot on the bed.
"It's not just that, Ron," Harry groaned and gritted his teeth. "How could I have been so /stupid/?"
"What're you talking about, Harry?" Ron's voice seemed distant and uninterested, as though concentrated on sleeping. This gave Harry a comforting feeling as he lay back on his bed and proceeded to stare at the ceiling.
"I actually trusted that ferret. I actually trusted Draco Malfoy. Of all the bloody bastards in the world to trust – Malfoy!" His words began to tumble one after the other. "How can I do this? How can I be driven to the point of not trusting someone I thought was my friend, and instead my enemy? It's so screwed! /I'm/ so screwed!"
"Stop hating yourself, Harry," Ron said a little bit more intelligibly. "Maybe Professor McGonogall needed that folder."
"No, no, it's not just that!" Harry was growing more impatient by the second. "Can't you see, Ron? Malfoy /told/ Filch I was going to be there! That's why he was there! Didn't you notice that Filch would have had to hear the screaming all the way across the school and come running in order to reach there when he did?" Harry's breath came out as a ragged and twisted exhale, but then his breathing slowed. "This is exactly what he wanted."
"Who?"
"Voldemort."
"To get you in trouble?"
"No! To make me this confused! Ron, I have no idea how to trust anymore! I trusted Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater, with a matter about Voldemort! For crying out loud, this was exactly what he wanted! He's doing this to me. It's . . . torture! I . . . I don't know . . ." Harry's voice became weak. "Ron, I don't want to be close to anyone anymore."
"Don't say that bull." Harry could hear Ron clearly, and realized that Ron was now sitting upon his own bed, staring at Harry. "He wants you to think that way. He wants you to be this confused. But, my god, Harry!" Ron's eyes flickered with intensity. "Don't hand what he wants to him on a silver platter!"
Ron's words hit Harry sharply, and Harry almost recoiled. "But Ron . . ." His memory of the dragging scene that morning flew before Harry's eyes. "It's like you said . . . I've already lost . . . I don't – "
"Bloody hell!" Suddenly Ron appeared before Harry's eyes, staring at Harry with a look of pure determination so unexpected that Harry literally jumped. "Harry, whether you like it or not, I'm not leaving just like that! Hermione – get used to her name, Harry! – Hermione was my best friend too. And I want to kill that bastard with everything I've got for that." Ron's hands shook slightly. "And I'm not going to let him play with you like this! Snap out of it, Harry!" Harry felt Ron's hands planted on each of his shoulders. "I know this isn't like you! Not to give up without a fight! He's got you in his grasp, look at what you're saying! Goddamn it all! Fight back!" Ron's gaze made Harry's breath clog in his throat – a deep and pure hatred, not directed at Harry but instead the source of all the pain. The voice became much softer, as though sensing Harry's desire to recoil. "Harry, if you don't do it for yourself," Ron whispered, "do it for Hermione. She wouldn't want you like this. Do it for me. /I/ don't want you like this . . . Isolation just isn't the answer . . . And no matter what, I'll fight with you."
The silence that followed comforted both of them with a mutual feeling of understanding. Ron's hands awkwardly left Harry's shoulders, and he drew a deep breath with his eyes still locked with Harry's. With a quiet and reassuring smile, Ron strolled back to his bed and tucked himself under the covers.
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." The words left Harry with a deep feeling; he was truly grateful to have such an incredibly loyal friend.
It seemed that Ron had had enough of awkward silences. "Don't get all mushy on me."
Harry chuckled a little loudly at that and gave the nearly sleeping Ron a large smile. "Mushy? Mushy, says Mr. Mushy-King-of-Mushiness?"
"Well, why don't we call the Department of Redundancy Department?"
"Hah, hah, hah. Did you come up with that all on your own, Ron?"
"Oh shut up, you moron."
At that moment Harry realized why he had begun teasing Ron so much. With a hesitant smile still tugging at the corners of his lips and a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry lay his head back down and closed his eyes.
"Oh, and good night, Mr. Redundant."
"Good night, Mr. Bloody-Mushy-King-of-Mushiness."
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Author's Note: Yes, I am slow. Yes, you all have the right to kill me. My only excuse is these two horrible words: high school. God, vacation doesn't feel like vacation anymore! Okay, so now I'll answer the two reviews that I got for the last chapter and pray for the forgiveness of other faithful reviewers.
[Padfoot]: Well, as you can see, it is /not/ the end of the story, and about Hermione being Voldemort . . . talk about weird dress-up day! o.O But I hope you saw the significance of that dream in this chapter . . . yeah. And, yes, the last chapter was very dramatic. I'm a drama queen, through and through. ^ - ^ Thanks for reviewing again!
[bakadesu]: Asterisk, comes out from hiding under a rock with an evil smile, asterisk. You are not pwned . . . you are HOHNED! By the Hohn kids! Muaha! Asterisk, talks in third person, asterisk. ^ - ^
"So you really think that Aurora has something to do with Hermione?" Ron asked after a long confiding from Harry. Harry nodded and looked down at the floor, his legs tucked underneath him and his hands fidgeting absentmindedly. They were the only ones awake, for Harry had been restless during the night and Ron had for some reason woken very early. They could hear the soft snores and breathing of their fellow students.
"But I don't have any proof or even theories," Harry said after Dean Thomas snorted in his sleep. "It's just been haunting me. Like last night, with that dream I told you about." While saying this, he shivered slightly, remembering Hermione's cold fingers and the word that still echoed in his mind.
'Traitor.'
He tried to push it to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the sudden transformation from Hermione to Aurora, when he had looked down and seen Aurora covered in blood.
Ron didn't reply to Harry's last comment. He instead looked toward his brown, leather trunk as if it would give him an answer.
"And then there's that whole thing with Malfoy." Harry raised his gaze and saw Ron sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, his eyes focused on the trunk, the first rays of dawn peeking through the small window and making the sheets shine. Harry shifted his position, his legs now dangling over the side of his bed. "Did you notice yesterday the way he was looking at her? It was as if /he/ knew something and /we/ don't."
A long silence followed as each of the friends contemplated what that entailed. Harry lowered his head again, his fingers playing with the hem of his flannel shirt. After a few moments, suddenly, Ron sat up and stared at Harry as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. "Wait," he said in a hurry, "isn't Malfoy's father a Death Eater?"
Harry's eyes widened at this prospect. He looked up sharply. "You don't think – "
"It could be," Ron interrupted. "Listen, Voldemort's been after you since you were a baby, and recently he got really close to killing you but . . ." Ron paused for a moment and took a small breath. "But he killed Hermione instead. So, what better way to settle the score than to send Aurora to kill you herself." Harry did not notice it, but Ron had said Voldemort's name without flinching.
Swallowing the first part of Ron's explanation with some difficulty, Harry finally shook his head. "I don't think so. As much as I hate Aurora right now, I hardly can imagine her being capable of murder."
Ron looked out the window and chose his words slowly and carefully. "/She/ isn't. But /he/ is."
The realization crept into Harry like an icy breeze and his skin crawled. It made sense, and yet Harry refused to believe it.
"No, it can't be," Harry said, half to himself and half to Ron. "It's unthinkable!"
"No, it isn't!" Ron exclaimed. "Don't you remember what he did to my sister? He possessed her! He's doing the same to Aurora!"
The more Ron talked about it, the more Harry felt inclined to believe it. His memories of Ginny and the Chamber of Secrets could not be denied.
"But if it's true, why doesn't my scar burn when I get near her?" Harry inquired after the thought crossed his mind.
"Harry, no offense, but your scar hurting isn't the most reliable thing. We have no idea why it hurts, it just does at random times."
Harry tensed, now starting to believe the entire accusation. Aurora was being possessed. It explained everything – his dreams, her secret and her abnormal behavior around him. ". . . So . . . what am I supposed to do now?"
Ron's eyes narrowed. "I know one thing. Stay the hell away from her."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
After everyone had dressed and gone downstairs for breakfast, Harry and Ron followed them to the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table. It seemed like a normal day, filled with crunching and muttering and Neville blowing up something or another. However, a cloud of excitement hung over the Gryffindor table today. Everyone was talking excitedly and people were whispering about some rumor. Harry would not have paid attention if he hadn't heard someone say "Aurora" in their chattering. Fearing the worst, Harry and Ron both looked up sharply and found that she was sitting all by herself at one end of the table. Harry glared at her with his newfound wariness, and yet wanted to look away, fearing that she may turn around and bear those bright, red eyes he loathed.
Ron was first to turn to Seamus and ask, "What's going on? What's everyone talking about?"
Seamus swallowed his bacon with some difficulty, and then said, "It's Aurora."
"What about her?" Harry quickly pressed. He prayed that nothing bad had happened, that she hadn't attacked anyone.
Seamus leaned in a bit closer. "I don't know myself, but I heard it from Angelina. Apparently someone screamed last night and they found Aurora rocking on her bed and muttering, 'You're not real.' Pretty weird, if you ask me."
Once Seamus had mentioned Aurora's rocking, Harry and Ron both looked at each other and thought of the dream. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. How could it be possible . . .? But it was, and it only further proved the connection between Voldemort and Harry, which had become Aurora and Harry!
They didn't notice Seamus glancing between them, completely confused. "Do you two know something about it?"
"No," Harry lied rapidly. "No, we don't."
That claim didn't stop Seamus' curious look.
"So, did anything else happen?" Ron asked, changing the subject.
Seamus sunk back to his normal self. "That's all I heard. You can probably ask some girl for more information, though."
Harry and Ron both took this into consideration and Ron searched the table for someone. Before Harry could ask for whom Ron was looking, Ron got up, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him off of the bench, dragging him along.
"Ron, what – "
"Hey, Ginny," Ron said to his sister as he stood behind her back and finally allowed Harry to stand on his own feet. Ginny turned around and smiled at both of them.
"Hi Ron, Harry," she said.
"Yeah, hi. Listen," Ron rushed through the greeting, "do you know anything about what happened last night?"
Ginny's smile faded and she sighed, signaling she had probably been asked about this multiple times before. Assuming they had already heard the basic plot line, she told them, "Yes, I woke up with the scream, because her bed is only a few away from mine. It was . . . I don't know what time, but it was really dark outside, and so when I sat up I could barely see anything except for Angelina moving toward the bed. I got out of bed, pulled out my wand and lit it while walking toward the bed with Angelina. Then I saw that Aurora was rocking back and forth on the bed, hugging her legs, and muttering, 'You're not real.'" Ginny closed her eyes for a moment and continued. "So Angelina and I both tried to snap her out of it, but when we attempted it she just looked up at us and whimpered. She suddenly seemed to become herself again and stared blankly at us, then got completely embarrassed. We tried to ask her what was wrong, but of course everyone was staring now and she refused to say anything. That was all that happened. But now everyone's avoiding her."
Harry's eyes were gradually widening throughout Ginny's story, and a single thought crossed his mind. *She had /my/ dream.*
There was a pause before Harry spoke, and when he did he was slow and precise. "What exactly do you mean by 'becoming herself again'?"
Ginny shook her head. "I don't really know, it just felt as though she wasn't . . . herself."
Ron and Harry both looked at each other. Ron turned around, muttered, "Thanks, sis," and grabbed Harry again, this time taking him toward the exit.
"Ron!" Harry tried to twist his body to face him while keeping his balance. "Ron, I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet!"
Ron did not answer until they were out of the room, at which point he let go of Harry. As soon as he did, Harry turned and stared at Ron.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" Harry asked, completely confused.
"Now we know," Ron voiced his thoughts aloud, ignoring the question. "We're positive. There's no way it can't be."
Though still puzzled about the whole dragging scene, Harry did not answer immediately. At a loss for words, he shrugged.
"This is worth more than a shrug, Harry," Ron said, almost with a glare.
Harry stared at Ron. This wasn't normal at all. "Ron, what's wrong with you?"
Ron frowned and looked away. He spoke with firmness and rage that Harry had never heard from him before, and his hands curled into fists. "That bloody bastard killed one of my best friends, and I'll be damned if I loose the other."
Harry blinked at Ron, who was still looking away. There was a silence as Ron's words sunk in. When their eyes did finally meet again, Harry saw a flame burning in his eyes.
"Ron," Harry said quietly, "it's you who's in danger. After he killed Herm – her – he told me that he would make me suffer, kill all of my friends one by one and make me live with the misery of knowing I had the chance to prevent it. That means . . . he's going to try to kill you."
Ron did not speak, and Harry thought he was in shock and hadn't heard these words before. But Harry was proven wrong when Ron's fists vibrated and his frown etched deeper in his face. His words were faint and barely audible, as though thoughts themselves.
"Good."
Harry's eyes widened to their fullest extent and his mouth opened like a goldfish, no voice coming out. Ron was still staring at Harry, and Harry could tell just by looking at his face that he wasn't kidding.
Before Harry could find his voice, a bunch of students poured out of the Hall, each going their own direction like a river. An oblivious Harry was bumped into several times as though he was in a daze. Correction, he /was/ in a daze. Ron had just blown him away. Without waiting a long time, standing there in the middle of the crowd, Harry felt himself being grabbed and pulled away. He looked up at the redhead and smiled to himself.
Now he understood the dragging, and he knew he couldn't have asked for a better friend.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"When you grind the roots, you must make sure that you do so with the 2 ounce mallet and not any other, because then you'll either end up with dust or chunks in your potion."
Harry managed to catch and write down that bit of information before his thoughts led elsewhere again. Sitting in the middle of Potions with Ron by his side like always, Harry just wanted to have time to think about it all; his dream, whether or not Hermione blamed him, the new threat of Aurora, and Ron's vow. It was all too much in one day . . . not even that, for only three hours had passed since he woke up. Gazing at his nearly blank scroll, Harry kept his eyes from glancing to the side of the room, since he knew that Aurora would be sitting there. And the last thing he wanted to see was her.
"Mr. Potter!" Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by that familiar, dreadful voice. He looked up to see Snape advancing on him. He nearly rolled his eyes, not caring the least bit about Snape at the moment. Snape stopped before his desk with a face of scorn while Harry returned with very little care.
"Were you daydreaming again, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked. Harry wanted to ask if he was stupid.
"No, sir, I wasn't," Harry lied. He was in enough trouble already, he realized, and it wouldn't help to add detention onto his list of worries.
"Then, tell me, what kind of mallet should you grind the roots with?"
Harry sighed, half with relief and half with agitation. "A two ounce mallet, because with an alternative you either end up with dust or chunks in your potion."
Snape's face twisted. "True, but perhaps you did not take the time to write it down."
"Yes, I did," Harry said plainly.
"Then let me see your paper," Snape said slowly and critically. Sighing again, softer so that Snape wouldn't notice, he handed his scroll to Snape, who took it and read through. If possible, his face became more twisted and he nearly threw down the notes. He shook one bony finger at Harry. "Don't let me catch you looking like that again."
Finally satisfied, Snape moved on and Harry smiled, discovering that paying attention in Potions can actually be beneficial.
Just before he was about to settle into his thoughts again, Harry heard Snape's voice. "Miss Withertopp," the voice declared with satisfaction. Despite himself, Harry turned in his seat to see Snape bent over Aurora's desk with a wide smile perched on his face. Aurora was looking down, studying her desk and avoiding his gaze. The Gryffindors seemed uneasy.
"I couldn't help but wonder, Miss Withertopp, why you are sitting all the way over here," he prodded her desk, "when your so-called friends are over there." Snape wagged his finger in the direction of Harry and Ron.
At that moment Harry's blood boiled, and he didn't know whom he hated more: Aurora or Snape.
Aurora didn't answer Snape's question.
"And, there also seems to be more Slytherins over here than your beloved Gryffindors. Aren't you feeling a little out of place?"
It occurred to Harry that of course Aurora would start sitting with the Slytherins. This was Voldemort they were dealing with, the Voldemort who used to be a Slytherin himself.
Aurora shrugged, still not looking up. A few of the boys behind her chuckled and she shifted in her chair uncomfortably.
Snape's smile was fading and his patience was wearing thin. There was no fun if the student did not protest or at least answer the question.
"Perhaps you've had a change of heart," Snape said with a smirk, lightly pushing himself back to an upright position. "I hope you find your new company to be satisfying."
Harry didn't even have to guess what that meant, judging on Aurora's sudden stiffness as she crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders while hungry looks were shot her way from some of the boys. If it were any other person, any other girl, Harry would feel the overwhelming urge to punch a few of them for their sickly intentions. But this was no ordinary girl. This one housed his enemy, Voldemort, the murderer who killed his parents and Hermione. With that set in his mind, he tore his gaze away from the scene, leaving Aurora in the hands of the Slytherins. After all, it was where she belonged.
The rest of Potions class passed agonizingly slowly, and when it was finally over Harry was happy to stuff his scrolls and books into his bag and sling it over his shoulder, ready to go. Waiting for Ron while the other students rushed out, he tapped his foot and looked absentmindedly over to where Aurora was sitting. She wasn't there, and Harry suddenly realized the implications of her departure, and he recalled the greedy eyes that had devoured her during the period. Had not interfering left her wide open for . . . Oh, god, he couldn't even think the word!
"You okay?" He heard Ron ask. He glanced over and Ron was clearly amazed at Harry's depth of worry. Harry hurriedly gave him a plain answer.
"I'll tell you later."
They began to exit when Ron swore. "I forgot! I'm supposed to go see Professor McGonogall for something now!" He glanced at his watch and swore again. "I'm dead!"
"You should go, I'll see you next class," Harry replied to Ron's retreating back, after which Ron turned to run backwards, wave, and turn to continue sprinting.
Looking around the room, Harry realized he had forgotten his quill. Walking calmly across the now empty classroom, as Snape had departed as well, he reached across the desk but someone got it first. He quickly looked up to see none other than the blond slime ball. His face twisted in disgust as Malfoy gave him a smirk.
"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked without trying to hide his irritation. Malfoy smiled and twirled the quill expertly around his fingers, watching its light rotation with his blue eyes.
"How delicate things can be." Malfoy spoke with an air of patience as though speaking to a child, "So frail and vulnerable. All it takes is someone with the initiative." His fingers placed the fragile quill on top of his index and middle finger, and then with one swift movement he snapped it with his thumb and released the pieces, which floated to the floor beneath their feet. "And once it's taken, you can't get it back." Harry watched stared at the two pieces and glared back upward.
"What are you talking about?" Harry growled and Malfoy answered with a grin. "Don't bullshit me, Malfoy," he warned with a step toward him. Malfoy remained unmoved.
It suddenly hit Harry what that could mean.
"You . . . wouldn't . . . dare . . ." Harry said while his hand twitched, attempting to mask his panic about the implications being true.
Malfoy smiled at him, and Harry felt a burning, flaring feeling. He was incredibly close to lunging at the perverted, sick bastard, but managed to restrain himself –
"You haven't attacked me yet," Malfoy calmly observed, watching Harry's tense form. Harry's eyes narrowed.
"I'm damn close."
"But you haven't," Malfoy informed him. Harry stood rooted at the spot, trying to make himself attack, but something held him back. "Could it be you're not sure she's worth protecting? That she's hiding whom the mask hides?"
Harry's bag slipped off of his shoulder and dropped with a smash to the ground. Malfoy looked at it with satisfaction and a little chuckle.
"Bull's-eye," Malfoy said aloud. He raised his gaze. "You /are/ seeking that information, aren't you?"
Harry did not answer.
"I thought so, but I'm not sure whether to tell you or not." Malfoy's words were slow and playful.
Harry advanced slightly. "Tell me what it is," he said firmly.
Another smile. "I don't feel like it." It obviously was a game to him. Harry frowned; he would /not/ be used as a toy.
"What is her secret?" His voice rose with every word.
Malfoy slowly shook his head and Harry lost control.
"JUST TELL ME, DAMN IT!" Harry shouted as he lunged forward and grabbed Malfoy by the shoulders. Malfoy, caught by surprise, tried to wrench himself away but Harry had caught him at the right angle and his body was pinned to the wall within seconds. Harry's arms were fixed, each hand planted halfway between each of Malfoy's shoulders and his neck while Malfoy held onto Harry's wrists but did not struggle. Harry was panting slightly and a wisp of black hair fell into his right eye. "Tell . . . me . . . now . . ."
"Or what?" Malfoy asked calmly. He briefly scanned Harry's body just a few inches away from his own and laughed. "Are you planning to molest me if I don't, Potter?"
Harry could've thrown up at the thought. "You're disgusting, Malfoy," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"You can never be too careful," Malfoy said in a tone that hinted at implications about other people.
"SHUT UP!!" Harry screamed at him, seizing him by his collar and throwing him downward. But Malfoy had anticipated it, and the instant Harry released Malfoy he grabbed onto a nearby desk and with a whip of his cloak he had his wand pointing at Harry's forehead. Harry froze. There was no telling that Malfoy wouldn't use a horrible curse now, maybe even one of the Unforgivables. Malfoy pushed himself up slowly, the smile gone from his face. Instead, he glared at Harry with fierce eyes and Harry returned the animosity.
"Son of a dead bitch," Malfoy said quietly.
"Ferret," Harry returned with a hiss.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his frown etched deeper into his face. Apparently, he hadn't forgotten the incident with Mad-Eye Moody either. His wand inched closer to Harry's face, but Harry refused to move and show any intimidation.
The sound of footsteps made both of them freeze and turn their heads toward the empty doorway. Moments later they came low, incomprehensible mumbling. As though struck with a sudden surge of energy, Malfoy returned his wand to its place in a flash and Harry stepped back, four eyes now staring expectantly at the door.
Sure enough, Snape appeared at the doorway, his dark hair quivering slightly with his ongoing mumbling. He did not even notice them at first, beginning to take off his cape, but when his eyes fell upon Malfoy and Harry, his mumbling was cut off by a stare of disbelief. Flushing slightly, he resumed his upright posture and glared at the two of them.
"What would two students be doing in class when they're already dismissed?" Snape's tone was colder than ever, the tone of someone who wanted to hide something. A moment's silence hung between them, unbroken until Harry finally spoke.
"I forgot my quill," he replied truthfully before crouching down and grabbing the two halves. As he rose again, Malfoy's smirk nearly pushed Harry into another attack.
"Your quill?" Snape repeated slowly and distastefully. "Really, Mr. Potter, I would expect a better lie from you."
Harry's eyes widened with the injustice of the situation. "I wasn't lying!"
"I'm sure, Mr. Potter," Snape answered smoothly, shifting back into his comfortable position as torturer. "Perhaps you can give me a better explanation . . . in detention."
Harry's mouth opened like a goldfish's, without a sound coming out. Finally, he decided to simply grab his bag and turn to leave. As he did, he heard Malfoy's whisper, quiet enough so that only Harry heard it. "If you want information," Malfoy hissed, "Go to the source."
With a silent glare in Malfoy's direction, and Snape still oblivious of everything on Harry's mind, Harry departed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Harry later decided that he couldn't tell anyone about Malfoy's threat with the quill. Not only was it really unspeakable, but what /would/ he say? He couldn't just burst into Dumbledore's office like he had in the past and yell, "Professor Dumbledore, Aurora's in danger, and not of losing her 'life'!" No, Dumbledore would smile in that comforting and warm way and politely ask Harry if he needed to see the nurse. But while he was at it, Harry mused, he should yell, "And also Voldemort's possessing Aurora!" Wait a minute, Harry thought to himself: if Aurora's being possessed by Voldemort, and Malfoy wants to . . . to . . . do that to her . . . ew! A smile on Harry's face despite Harry's attempt to suppress it. Wouldn't Malfoy be surprised! But back to the other point, Malfoy was probably just blowing off steam with the entire threat. He's hard-headed, not a real criminal. And besides, Harry added to himself, why should he care what happens to that . . . that . . . her?
But the question of Aurora's reliability still remained, nagging on Harry's mind. So, during lunch, Harry told Ron about his encounter with Malfoy, minus the quill.
"So," Ron managed to grumble with a full mouth, "what do you think he meant by 'the source'?"
"I have no idea," Harry replied sourly as he poked his food. Ron never ceased to amaze him with the ability to eat – and a lot, for that matter – in such situations. At the moment, Ron was on his fourth helping.
"Well, let's think logically," Ron suggested, followed an audible gulp that made a smile flicker on Harry's face. "Where can we get information on Aurora? If you ask me, it would have to be the same place you'd find dirt on any student." His brow furrowed in thought. "I don't think we can ask my brothers – "
Harry cut Ron off with a quiet chuckle before sinking into his serious train of thought. After a few moments, his fork clanged loudly on his plate and Harry stared at it. "Of course," Harry said with a groan. "Why didn't I think of it before?" His eyes locked with Ron's, which were still confused. "McGonogall's office! She has an entire cabinet full of records!"
Ron's lips twisted into a frown. "Oh great," he mumbled sarcastically. "Now I get to visit Mr. I'm-not-a-cat-you-unworthy-scum-of-a-human-why-if-I-was- human-I'd-beat-the-hell-outta-you. Just what I need." And in went yet another mouthful.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Ouch! Ron, you stepped on my foot!"
"Sorry! But couldn't they make these bloody cloaks bigger?"
"I don't think they designed the cloak with sneaking around Hogwarts School at night as its purpose. And we've both gotten bigger since our last outing."
"Well, you told me that your father used this bloody cloak with a bunch of his friends!"
A pause. "Yeah, well, you're taking up nine tenths of the sheet."
"I am not!"
"Oh come on, Ron. Look at yourself."
". . . Hey, I'm just making sure that I'm not seen."
"You're impossible, you know that?"
"Well bloody thanks for informing me."
"You're bloody welcome."
"Harry?"
"Bloody hmm?"
"Shut up."
"Bloody, bloody, bloody."
"No, really, shut up."
"Bloody will do."
A frustrated but light sigh escaped from Ron while Harry grinned widely at his companion. Fairly recently, Harry had begun teasing Ron excessively, though unsure as to why. Now in absence of a friendly bickering, their footsteps seemed to vibrate through the empty hallway as they neared McGonogall's office. Somehow, tonight, it seemed more forbidding than ever before. Perhaps it was merely the fact that it was after midnight and therefore darker than dark in the hallway. Perhaps Harry's conscience was just silently and mentally chiding him for sneaking and trying to find out Aurora's secret.
*I have to find out,* Harry assured himself. *It's not just snooping. Hell, she could be possessed!*
With this firmly set in mind, Harry glanced downward to maneuver his feet away from another painful encounter with Ron's. After falling into a rhythm of soft patting that resulted in no painful cries, his head raised and barely grazed Ron's red hair. Despite the methodical reassurance of their footsteps and the lack of other noise, Harry still felt as though someone was watching them as they came closer . . .
A piercing screech rang through the night and made the pair jump, Ron letting out a muffled yelp. A foot got caught in their cloak and they stumbled, flailing arms, yet the scream continued. Once finally free of the heavy cloak, they looked up and saw the old woman in the portrait across from the office screaming her head off.
"Oh my god! Burglars! Thieves! Oh, somebody, come help!" The woman managed to let out this high-pitched plea with a raspy breath before returning to her screaming routine. Ron flinched from the sound and Harry tried to hush her.
"Please, don't scream," Harry begged in a stage whisper, but the woman would not heed. Filch would be sure to catch them now!
"I say," a new voice interrupted, "do give us some peace!"
Ron looked down and yelped again at the sight of a black fuzz ball, which after a few seconds had become focused into a cat.
"My god, get a hold of yourself," Ramdeon uttered, glaring at Ron for a moment. Harry's mouth opened, but before any sound came out, Ramdeon was already talking to the old lady in the portrait. "Madam, will you kindly stop that infernal noise?" The cat inquired, though quite loudly to be heard over the yelling.
The old lady's mouth freeze mid-scream, and her bottom lip quivered slightly. "You," she spat, her eyes narrowing in accusation. "You little hair ball! You're in this plot, too! You're helping these criminals!"
"Let me assure you, madam," Ramdeon continued quietly, "that these are not criminals, but friends of mine."
"Friends," Harry heard Ron vaguely echo in a whisper only meant for Harry. "Since when?"
Meanwhile, the old lady was not getting any more convinced. "Pah! Friends! Even more reason to alert the rest of the school!" Her mouth opened wide again and the piercing noise made Harry want to cover his ears, but he found himself instead praying that no one would hear.
Ramdeon's hair stood on end and made him seem twice his normal size. He swiftly turned to Harry, who was fortunate – or unfortunate – enough to be standing right beside the painting. "Excuse me," Ramdeon said to Harry, but before Harry could inquire about what, Ramdeon's claws were digging into the pants of Harry's pajamas. Stiffening, Harry felt the cat jump up onto his shoulder, reach over to the portrait, and make a soft ripping sound.
"Oh, my word!" Exclaimed the old woman, now with a large scratch over her face. Harry was astounded at Ramdeon's bravery until the woman shifted her head to the side and he realized that the scratch was over her face, not etched into it.
"As I have asked before," Ramdeon growled, just as politely but coldly, "please do hold your peace."
The old woman glared at the cat, mumbled something about hairy balls, and disappeared.
As Ramdeon dropped gracefully to the ground, Harry found that his ears were ringing with the lack of noise. Moreover, his shoulder was aching where Ramdeon had been perched.
"Thanks, Ramdeon," Harry began, but Ron's rushing forward and into McGonogall's office cut Harry short. That, combined with the fact that another foreign voice interrupted their conversation. Filch's voice, distant but distinctive. "Oh, damn!" Harry cursed before stumbling with the cloak into McGonogall's office. Ramdeon slid through the closing door and looked up expectantly at Harry. Harry glanced over at Ron, who was busy fumbling through a large cabinet on the other side of the room.
"Hurry up, Ron, Filch's coming!" Harry urged as he heard Filch's muffled footsteps through the door.
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!" Ron mumbled as he reached for the last batch of folders and flipped through the top where the names where labeled. Of course, the one cabinet could hold all the student's information at Hogwarts. It was finding the right information that was incredibly difficult. "Vintette, Weasely, Weatherbee, Weathervane, Weckle, Wittle . . ." Ron let out an audible groan. "There's no Withertopp here, Harry!"
Harry swore again, but this time sensed that Filch heard him. "Quick, the two of you," Ramdeon whispered, "get behind the desk."
Wondering silently why Ramdeon was helping them but not bothering to question his cooperation, Harry and Ron obeyed clumsily by diving into their hiding spot seconds before the door rattled.
"Is there someone in here?" Filch demanded, though in a muffled voice, on the other side of the door. Ramdeon leaped atop the desk and looked at the door with a face of disgust before answering.
"Yes, I am in here, sir."
"Is that you, Ramdeon?"
"Very true, sir."
"Open the goddamn door!"
"I'm sorry, sir," Ramdeon replied with a catty grin, "I do not wield the necessary equipment."
"What?" Came the disbelieving shriek of Filch.
"Thumbs, good sir," Ramdeon clarified with too wide a smile.
"Good God, Ramdeon, use magic!"
"I'm not supposed to, sir."
The door stopped rattling and Harry suppressed a chuckle. Filch, however, was insistent as ever. "Well, Ramdeon, is there anyone else in there with you?"
"Anyone else?" Ramdeon echoed thoughtfully, glancing around the room.
"Yes, goddamn it! Is anybody else in the bloody room?"
"I do not recall . . ."
"Goddamn you!" Filch screamed at the door, his voice entering the room like a siren.
Ramdeon was thoroughly enjoying this, from the look on his little face. "Pardon me for asking, but is 'goddamn' your favorite word today?"
Ron chuckled, but Harry's elbow seemed to stop him.
"Godda- Ramdeon! I swear I'll catch you someday, you little rat!"
"Cat, good sir, cat."
"Shut up, you old flea bag!" With a cry of frustration, Filch's footsteps could be heard getting quieter and quieter, fading and fading . . .
"That was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed when it was safe to emerge, as he did with a huge smile on his face. Ramdeon grinned at Ron and bowed his head.
"Thank you, good gentlemen," Ramdeon replied in a quiet and imitatively cocky sort of way. "But," his face suddenly fell, "I must tell you both something very important – "
"No time," Harry whispered urgently, shoving Ron out the door. "Knowing Filch, he'll be back soon, and now's our chance to leave."
"But – "
"Thanks for your help, Ramdeon."
"But it's about – "
The door shut quietly, and Ramdeon was left alone.
"Hermione," Ramdeon finished quietly to himself. With a lonely sigh, he curled up on the desk and remained silent, yet awake, for no less than a few hours.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I can't believe it." Harry sat on his bed, unable to fall asleep, boring holes into the floor with his eyes. "I can't believe it."
"I know, there was no folder on Aurora," Ron mumbled from his spot on the bed.
"It's not just that, Ron," Harry groaned and gritted his teeth. "How could I have been so /stupid/?"
"What're you talking about, Harry?" Ron's voice seemed distant and uninterested, as though concentrated on sleeping. This gave Harry a comforting feeling as he lay back on his bed and proceeded to stare at the ceiling.
"I actually trusted that ferret. I actually trusted Draco Malfoy. Of all the bloody bastards in the world to trust – Malfoy!" His words began to tumble one after the other. "How can I do this? How can I be driven to the point of not trusting someone I thought was my friend, and instead my enemy? It's so screwed! /I'm/ so screwed!"
"Stop hating yourself, Harry," Ron said a little bit more intelligibly. "Maybe Professor McGonogall needed that folder."
"No, no, it's not just that!" Harry was growing more impatient by the second. "Can't you see, Ron? Malfoy /told/ Filch I was going to be there! That's why he was there! Didn't you notice that Filch would have had to hear the screaming all the way across the school and come running in order to reach there when he did?" Harry's breath came out as a ragged and twisted exhale, but then his breathing slowed. "This is exactly what he wanted."
"Who?"
"Voldemort."
"To get you in trouble?"
"No! To make me this confused! Ron, I have no idea how to trust anymore! I trusted Malfoy, the son of a Death Eater, with a matter about Voldemort! For crying out loud, this was exactly what he wanted! He's doing this to me. It's . . . torture! I . . . I don't know . . ." Harry's voice became weak. "Ron, I don't want to be close to anyone anymore."
"Don't say that bull." Harry could hear Ron clearly, and realized that Ron was now sitting upon his own bed, staring at Harry. "He wants you to think that way. He wants you to be this confused. But, my god, Harry!" Ron's eyes flickered with intensity. "Don't hand what he wants to him on a silver platter!"
Ron's words hit Harry sharply, and Harry almost recoiled. "But Ron . . ." His memory of the dragging scene that morning flew before Harry's eyes. "It's like you said . . . I've already lost . . . I don't – "
"Bloody hell!" Suddenly Ron appeared before Harry's eyes, staring at Harry with a look of pure determination so unexpected that Harry literally jumped. "Harry, whether you like it or not, I'm not leaving just like that! Hermione – get used to her name, Harry! – Hermione was my best friend too. And I want to kill that bastard with everything I've got for that." Ron's hands shook slightly. "And I'm not going to let him play with you like this! Snap out of it, Harry!" Harry felt Ron's hands planted on each of his shoulders. "I know this isn't like you! Not to give up without a fight! He's got you in his grasp, look at what you're saying! Goddamn it all! Fight back!" Ron's gaze made Harry's breath clog in his throat – a deep and pure hatred, not directed at Harry but instead the source of all the pain. The voice became much softer, as though sensing Harry's desire to recoil. "Harry, if you don't do it for yourself," Ron whispered, "do it for Hermione. She wouldn't want you like this. Do it for me. /I/ don't want you like this . . . Isolation just isn't the answer . . . And no matter what, I'll fight with you."
The silence that followed comforted both of them with a mutual feeling of understanding. Ron's hands awkwardly left Harry's shoulders, and he drew a deep breath with his eyes still locked with Harry's. With a quiet and reassuring smile, Ron strolled back to his bed and tucked himself under the covers.
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." The words left Harry with a deep feeling; he was truly grateful to have such an incredibly loyal friend.
It seemed that Ron had had enough of awkward silences. "Don't get all mushy on me."
Harry chuckled a little loudly at that and gave the nearly sleeping Ron a large smile. "Mushy? Mushy, says Mr. Mushy-King-of-Mushiness?"
"Well, why don't we call the Department of Redundancy Department?"
"Hah, hah, hah. Did you come up with that all on your own, Ron?"
"Oh shut up, you moron."
At that moment Harry realized why he had begun teasing Ron so much. With a hesitant smile still tugging at the corners of his lips and a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry lay his head back down and closed his eyes.
"Oh, and good night, Mr. Redundant."
"Good night, Mr. Bloody-Mushy-King-of-Mushiness."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author's Note: Yes, I am slow. Yes, you all have the right to kill me. My only excuse is these two horrible words: high school. God, vacation doesn't feel like vacation anymore! Okay, so now I'll answer the two reviews that I got for the last chapter and pray for the forgiveness of other faithful reviewers.
[Padfoot]: Well, as you can see, it is /not/ the end of the story, and about Hermione being Voldemort . . . talk about weird dress-up day! o.O But I hope you saw the significance of that dream in this chapter . . . yeah. And, yes, the last chapter was very dramatic. I'm a drama queen, through and through. ^ - ^ Thanks for reviewing again!
[bakadesu]: Asterisk, comes out from hiding under a rock with an evil smile, asterisk. You are not pwned . . . you are HOHNED! By the Hohn kids! Muaha! Asterisk, talks in third person, asterisk. ^ - ^