Chapter Two: Darkness Brewing
by Rapunzel
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. "Nobody Knows" belongs to Tony Rich Project and is definitely not mine.
Author's Note: I left FFN for awhile and didn't intend to come back ... until I kept getting reviews in my inbox from you guys, piquing my interesting once again. Thanks, it meant a lot to me.
A/N continued: I upped the rating to an R just to be safe. If you don't think it deserves it in this chapter, rest assured, it will. Well, here it is: the second chapter of HoD, Darkness Brewing. It gets darker, it gets hotter, the Mirror of Erised finally makes an appearace, and Ron goes, er, slightly ... bonkers. Enjoy!
"I pretended I'm glad you went away
These four walls closing in more everyday
And I'm dying inside
And nobody knows it but me
Like a clown, I put on a show
The pain is real even if nobody knows
And I'm crying inside
And nobody knows it but me."
-Tony Rich Project, "Nobody Knows"
Throughout the whole night, one thought ran through Ron's mind - How could they?
He didn't know.
Around three o'clock Harry returned to the dormitory. He pulled open the curtains to Ron's bed, but Ron evened his breath and put on a pretense of being soundly asleep. He heard Harry heave a sigh and let the curtains fall. Five minutes later, he opened his eyes wide.
He'd never been more awake in his life. The time on his clock slowly ticked by, as he watched the numerals flicker and then change. It was four o'clock, then five o'clock, then six o'clock ... Ron felt numb. His mind had simply been reeling with shock until around five-thirty and then he'd wondered where he'd gone wrong.
Ron felt strangely calm now. Normally he would've flown into a rage, like last year, but now he just felt numb.
He should've gotten it out of Harry, and then maybe they could've worked it out. He should've told Hermione, maybe she wouldn't have said yes to Harry. He should've, should've, he should've ... but didn't.
No use crying over spilt milk, he told himself, fiercely. What's done is done and there's no looking back.
He had to bite his lip to hold back from the tears that threatened to spill. And she had to go to Harry ... perfect Potter, perfect Harry Potter, always gets everything, fame, attention, money ... Hermione ... perfect Potter, perfect Potter, perfect Potter, over and over again in his head until it became something like a mantra - Perfect Potter, perfect potter, Harry Potter, sodding perfect and faultless at everything ...
It isn't right, a voice spoke in his head, you shouldn't rag at Harry like that. You know it's not his fault.
I don't care, Ron answered, fiercely. He's got everything a wizard could dream of, and now he has Hermione, too. Hermione's mine. Mine.
Hermione doesn't belong to anyone, and especially not Harry, you know that. She belongs to herself. Hermione isn't like that.
I don't care, how many times do you have to hear that? I don't care! It's all Harry's fault! I hate Harry! I hate Harry! I hate Harry!
Clenching the bed sheets in rage, he slowly tried to calm himself down. Oh, Merlin ... I can't believe I just thought that. Ron slowly got out of bed and pushed aside the curtains to Harry's bed, gazing down at his best friend.
Harry was fast asleep, looking naked and unprotected without his glasses. Once, during a Charms lesson, he'd cracked his glasses beyond repair, and had gotten his eyes fixed by Hermione in secret. Afterwards, Ron had helped him purchase a fake pair, which he wore out of habit, and so that the press wouldn't have a field day.
Ron's eyes fell on Harry's scar. Everything I ever wanted, ever dreamed of, lies in that scar, he thought. If it wasn't there - what would be different? What would have changed?
"Bugger," he cursed, vehemently.
Harry stirred and Ron jumped back, startled. The curtains fell back to their original positions. It was six-thirty now, and Ron decided to get up. No use staying in bed, anyway, and he didn't feel tired at all.
Fifteen minutes later, after he'd showered and dressed, he'd returned to find Harry ready as well, watching him. "Er ... good morning, Harry," said Ron, struggling to conceal the jealousy that had arose anew at the sight of the Boy Who Lived.
"Ron, there's something I have to tell you," Harry said, solemnly.
"Erm ... okay, what've you done, now?" You don't have to tell me, he thought, I already know, and I'm in hell because of it.
Harry squirmed. "Well, see, last night, at the Yule Ball, I, uh, told Hermione how I felt about her."
Ron did his best to conform his face into an expression of shock. "What? Hermione? What do you mean, 'how I felt about her'?"
"Well, ah, see, Ron ... I've fancied Hermione for a long time I've just been too much of a bumbling git to realize it. So I told her last night, and, Ron, guess what - she fancies me back!"
"Wow! That's really great to hear, Harry ... are you dating now, then?"
"Er ... I dunno, I haven't asked her about it yet."
"Oh ... okay." Ron tried to smile brightly without giving away his true feelings inside. Apparently it worked, because Harry didn't look at him strangely or anything. It felt like the hardest thing to do in the world, smiling at that instant. "Shall we go down to breakfast, then? Maybe Hermione'll be there " - and tell you last night was all a mistake and that she seriously regrets it and wants to be with me.
"All right."
So they left.
Harry thought that Ron had taken it rather well, really. He'd been afraid Ron would explode at the news, as he suspected that Ron fancied Hermione himself. But apparently, he didn't, after all. Harry really hadn't wanted a repeat of last year's events over the Tri-wizard Tournament. As for Hermione - he smiled inwardly, in anticipation of seeing her. Hermione. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her ... and she loved him back. As he shut the door to the dormitories and followed Ron down the stairs, he told himself, Stop it, you're being stupid ... it's not even seven yet, Hermione won't be up.
But a blur of brown hair and black robes proved him wrong, as she flew into his arms. "Harry! You're awake! I wanted to go to your dormitory and wake you up, but I was afraid you wouldn't want me to ... "
He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and then reached over to kiss her cheek. "Why? You know you're better than any dream I could be having, love." It was the first time he used that word towards a living person: love. Harry felt as if, any moment now, Hermione might push herself out of his arms and say, "What are you doing? I hate you!" or something equally heart-wrenching. Instead, she tightened her grip around him, and then looked up. Harry gazed down at her, memorising features already carved permanently into his heart. So absorbed was he, that he didn't even notice Ron quietly exiting the common room. Then Hermione spoke:
"We need to talk, darling."
Uh oh, said Harry, mentally. "Er ... okay. About what?"
Hermione led him over to one of the chairs near the fire. As Harry sat down, she settled herself comfortably on his lap and rested her head against his chest. "About - about last night."
"Why?" Harry was suddenly nervous. "Do you regret it, or something? Because I'm really sorry if you do, you know, I never meant to push you into - "
Hermione smiled and shushed him. "No, silly. I wanted to talk to you about the effect it would have ... on us. I couldn't sleep last night, I was down here the whole time. I was just thinking ... Are we an item? Were you drunk last night? And ... what about Ron?"
Harry laughed. "No, I wasn't drunk, Hermione ... unless you wanted me to be."
"Well, if it makes you pleasantly uninhibited and willing to experiment, sure, but you know that's not what I mean, Harry."
Harry grinned. "Ah, I see. I wasn't drunk, though, but I'm perfectly willing to experiment when I'm sober, just to let you know, if that's what you want." He took her hand and started to kiss his way up along her arm, relishing her flavor. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, exactly, but he certainly knew he wanted more. "You taste ... good, Hermione." His breathing was ragged.
Hermione turned scarlet. "Ahem, well, that's nice, then." She looked around the common room. "But what about Ron?"
Harry shrugged, busy sucking her shoulder. "I spoke to him this morning, and he congratulated me, that's all. He didn't look mad, though, but he was up really early. Where is he, anyway?" he asked, his voice muffled against her neck.
"Probably eating breakfast. Just one more thing, Harry," she said, blushing, as his hand crept slowly up her shirt, "are we dating?"
"What do you think?" Harry said, as she moaned.
"I - I guess so ... "
Harry checked his watch. It was around six-fifty. "Then we are. We've got around forty minutes before everyone wakes up, what do you say we ... ?" He grinned suggestively.
"You don't even have to ask, Harry."
She pressed his head to her neck as he continued to slowly climb up it, sucking hard on sensitive spots, stopping only when he was certain he had made a mark. Harry wanted to leave his mark all over her smooth, white body, letting the world know that she was his. He delighted in feeling her shiver underneath his fingertips, in hearing her throaty moans. He finally reached her mouth and kissed her slowly, letting his tongue creep in and explore a little. She was willing, opening as far as he wanted to go and giving him whatever he wanted. Still slightly apprehensive, he withdrew, and whispered, "Are you all right?"
She whimpered and tried to pull him close to her again. It was the only answer he needed. Harry slipped a finger under her bra, caressing her semi-hardened nipples. She moaned again and tried to push his head down but he quieted her by placing his mouth over hers instead. After several minutes, he finally heeded her and bent his head to pay better attention to her full breasts, pushing her shirt up almost violently. Hermione held him there, as he tried to take as much of her sweet flesh in his mouth as possible.
"That feels so good, Harry. Don't stop, don't ever stop ... "
It took a great deal of willpower for Ron not to rip the portraits apart, piece by piece, as he walked away from Harry and Hermione. I can't believe them ...
The house elves had just finished setting up the table for breakfast. Ron was the only one down, though he barely noticed it. He sat down hard at his usual spot at the Gryffindor table and munched on a piece of unbuttered toast, too preoccupied to actually taste it. Not feeling hungry at all, he decided to go up to the Owlery. He didn't want to go back to the common room for fear of killing Harry and Hermione on the spot.
The anger he felt inside scared him, yet he felt some strange sort of satisfaction in it. He stomped up until he heard the familiar hooting of owls. He grabbed a piece of parchment from the stack the school provided and ripped it apart, then threw it out the window. Then he proceeded to start upon another, and another, and another ... he just stood there, mutilating bits and pieces of parchment.
"Mad, Weasley?" a silky voice sounded throughout the room.
Ron jumped. "Malfoy?"
Draco stepped out of the shadows. "Why, hello, Weasley, fancy seeing you here ... why are you alone, and at such an early hour, at that? And where's Potty and the Mudblood?"
Normally Ron would've torn Draco's throat out at him calling Harry and Hermione such names, but he found, to his surprise, that he didn't care, that he wished Draco would continue, because they deserved it. "No, they're still down in the common room."
Draco looked surprised that Ron didn't try to attack him, even disappointed. "Why aren't you with them?"
"Because they're ... er ... sleeping. It's early, like you said." He was mad, but he wasn't about to rat on them to Malfoy.
"Be discreet, Weasley. Any fool could tell you were lying. But that's all right, I don't care." He shrugged his delicate shoulders and crossed his arms.
Draco Malfoy had developed into a rather handsome boy, though the sneer that he usually wore distorted his face. His hair was white, with a few streaks of blond, and he had cold, icy, grey eyes (that tended to make first-years faint whenever he casted a piercing glance at them), prominent cheekbones, a classical nose, and pale, pale translucent skin. Draco's skin was even whiter than his hair, if that was possible. He was rather tall, around six feet, and moved with an odd sort of grace that made you notice him as soon as he walked into the room. Harry had the same quality, Ron thought, except Harry's was more vibrant and sudden, while Draco's was cool, calm, and quiet. Both were overpowering. When they were near each other, or in the same room, it was practically unbearable.
Draco was brilliant, though. The only other fifth-year smarter than him was Hermione, and Hermione was sort of a prodigy. Well, not exactly, but Ron doubted there were any other students in Hogwarts that were smarter and more determined than her.
"Why should I tell you? What are you doing here? How long have you been watching me?"
Draco laughed. "One at a time, Weasley. I'm here ... because I sent an owl to my father and I was just about to leave when you came storming in ... so I've been watching you since you came. It's rather amusing to watch a big-footed prat such as yourself go stomping around, ripping parchment apart ... such a waste, Weasley ... surely they don't let you do that back at home? I'm sure one piece of parchment is equivalent to your father's yearly wages."
Instead of flying into a rage, Ron felt strangely calm. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
Malfoy leaned closer. In a low, hissing voice, he whispered, "I know what you want, Weasley ... your deepest, darkest, and most desperate desire. I know she haunts your dreams ... and I know you came here because of them. But I can help you ... if you want."
"How - " Ron spluttered.
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I admit that we have been rather contrary towards each other in the past, but I'm willing to change. You are a pure-blood, after all. Let's put aside our differences and have a chat, shall we?" He smiled. Ron was completely unnerved by Draco's bizarre behavior.
"Get away from me," he said, shaking and backing away. "I may be upset, and perhaps you know the reason, but that doesn't mean I've gone so low as to associate with you. Don't ever talk to me again!" Nearly hysterical, Ron fled from the Owlery back to the Great Hall.
And still, Malfoy's words echoed in his head. I know what you want ... deepest, darkest, and most desperate desire ... I can help you, if you want ... if you want.
He ran to the Great Hall and paused for a moment before entering, struggling to calm himself and taking deep breaths. When he was certain that he was breathing normally again, he nonchalantly strode over to the Gryffindor table ... where he was confronted with the image of Harry and Hermione feeding each other pieces of buttered toast. Merlin, he's sucking more of her fingers than the toast.
Noticing him, they paused in their activities. "Oh, er, good morning, Ron," said Hermione, awkwardly. "We were wondering where you were. We were getting quite worried, actually." Ron snorted, mentally.
"Yes ... " Harry trailed off, as he and Hermione exchanged significant looks. "Sure you're feeling all right?"
"Yea, whatever," Ron said, sitting down next to Harry and taking a generous helping of scrambled eggs. "I'm fine." But Harry was no longer paying attention, and was now gazing at Hermione as she gazed back at him. Ron could still hear Malfoy's malevolent whispers.
If you want.
Ron sat there, a mixture of emotions tangled up inside him. Anger, jealousy, disgust - he couldn't tell. But he knew he had to get out of there.
"I'm not hungry," said Ron in a strange voice, "I ate already. I think I'll go back to the common room."
"Mm," gasped Harry.
Ugh, Ron thought. He couldn't take Hermione and Harry snogging much longer. He practically fell off his seat as he tried to get up and avoid touching the couple.
He didn't know where he was going or why. He just walked around heedlessly, alone with his murderous thoughts. If our friendship had even meant anything to them, they wouldn't have done this. They would've at least tried to talk to me, wouldn't they? And Harry ... he should've let me have her. He knew I fancied her. He should've let me. Hermione should've refused him. I guess I meant nothing to them, and they don't mean anything to me. He shook himself. No. What am I saying? I mean, if I was in Harry's position, I would've done the same thing, wouldn't I? Still ...
A flash of silver caught his attention. He had stopped by a room, and curiously looked inside. The Mirror of Erised? But I thought Dumbledore had hidden it again after our first year ...
He walked up to it and traced the letters, carefully avoiding his reflection. Wonder what my heart's desire is now, eh? He chuckled inwardly at his youthful aspirations of Head Boy and Quidditch captain. Wonder what it'll show now ...
Ron closed his eyes and braced himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked straight at his reflection in the mirror.
Ron's mouth fell open in shock. He stared at the mirror, unable to turn away, mesmerised by his reflection. His mouth became dry and he felt faint. No ... no, no, no ...
And then darkness came as the floor rushed up to meet him as he fell, deeper and deeper.
"I carry a smile when I'm broken in two
And I'm nobody without someone like you
I'm trembling inside and
Nobody knows it but me
I lie awake, it's a quarter past three
I'm screaming at night as if
I thought you'd hear me
Yeah, my heart is calling you
And nobody knows it but me."
-Tony Rich Project, "Nobody Knows"
A/N: Please R/R? Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what you think is going to happen. So where is Dumbledore? What's going on with Malfoy, and what is Ron going to do? We know he's upset, but surely he wouldn't go that far, would he? Who knows? And what exactly did he see in the Mirror? Harry and Hermione seem to be having fun together, though ... g Chapter three should be posted ... eventually. Review, please?