I think I have insomnia or something. Can insomnia be counted as a
disease? 'Cause it's like... chronic insomnia at that.

Hmm, well, maybe it's not exactly insomnia; I _do_ end up asleep,
eventually, every night, despite my habit of waking up at six thirty in
the morning. Bleh, it's late, I'm babbling, and I really should write
these notes AFTER I've written the chapter... Which I'm going to do.
Right now.

Said it almost a dozen times before. I don't own Harry Potter.

---

Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Eleven: Conversations
The Itch

---

Harry James Potter had a plan. It was a sadistic, evil, insidious plan.

And he couldn't help but grin widely at Virginia Weasley all day
because of it, either. The redheaded fifteen year old was starting to
get nervous; okay, well, she'd been nervous since they'd settled at the
table for breakfast and he was quietly chuckling in that patented 'evil
villain with a plan' laugh. She'd never noticed how _good_ he was at
that laugh before.

So she spent the day looking over her shoulder, trying to figure out
what the insane wizard was up to. So far, she hadn't figured it out.

The whole first half of the plan was to psyche her out. Harry had
decided that was a grand success. Now, for part two. Again, he chuckled
darkly, hiding in the shadows outside of his Potions classroom. It
would be just a few more minutes... aha! There was the pale haired
weapon-in-training right there. Just before Malfoy could go through the
door, Potter snagged his robe, and dragged him off in another
direction.

"What the... Potter!? Potter, what the hell are you doing?!"

The green eyed boy grinned widely at his captive, "We're going to have
some fun Draco! Now c'mon, someone needs to learn their lesson!"

"Lesson? What? Potter!"

---

Draco was scowling and muttering to himself as he and 'Instructor
Harry', returned from Hogsmeade several hours later. He was not a happy
person, having had his hair turned neon blue by a couple of overzealous
Weasleys in their not-so-little joke shop. Gods, how he _hated_
Weasleys!

Harry was just grinning stupidly, having forced Draco to carry all the
bags as 'training'. Ah, he could remember Daemen ordering him about
like a slave all the time during his own training. Those were the
days... well, Daemen _still_ ordered him about. It was kinda annoying
to have to "subtly" toss around late students with his powers, and
still hit hard enough to leave a mark.

With a bounce in his step, the ebon haired boy slipped out of one of
the secret passages, smiling benignly at his companion, "Stash those in
your room. We're going to need them after dinner."

"Dinner?!" Malfoy snapped, "That's a few hours away at the least! Why
did we have to get this _now_?!"

"Because I didn't want to go to Potions," Potter stated
mater-of-factly, still smiling. Then he seemed to melt away, and Draco
was left alone in the hall. He stood there for a few minutes, then
scowled.

"When I learn how to do that, I'm going to pull that damned trick on
him, too!"

---

"Hi 'Mione!"

Hermione shrieked at Harry's sudden appearance in front of her,
clasping a hand to her chest as she glared up at him, "Don't _do_
that!"

"Sorry," his grin said he wasn't, though, "Hey, have you seen Ron
anywhere about?"

"He's probably at the Quidditch Pitch, practicing. He _is_ Captain,
after all."

Harry blinked a couple times. They'd started Quidditch season already?
Skimming over his memories, he realised that The Royal Ass had indeed
announced try-outs a few weeks back, and The Demon Queen had questioned
about his no-show at the try-outs. He just generally didn't listen to
what any of them said.

Heeeeey, he thought suddenly, how long has it been since you're ridden
a broom? Two, three years?

"Hmmm," Harry scratched at his chin, an evil, evil idea coming to him.
But he wouldn't act it out, not right now. That would be bad. People
could connect it to him. He'd just have to keep it in mind. Maybe as a
punishment for Malfoy, if he got out of hand while training? Ouuuu, he
got chills just thinking about it!

Hermione was worried. Harry's eyes had just kinda... glazed over. It
was fairly freaky, to seem him do that. One moment, he looks sane-- or
at least as sane as he'd appeared to be since the beginning of the
year-- and the next he looks like he's been drinking shions all week,
"Harry?"

"Er, yeah, 'Mione?" pondered the Potter, having been knocked out of his
daydream by his friend's inquiring version of his name, "Somethin' up?"

"No, just wondering where you went," she smiled at him, "You looked a
thousand miles away."

He grinned back at her, "Just daydreaming... hey, 'Mione?"

"Yes Harry?"

He plopped down on the floor in front of her, cupping his chin in one
hand, "You wouldn't happen to know how to read Old Norse, would you?"

---

Harry sidled into Defense Against the Dark Arts, moments before the
door magically slammed shut. Wolfos had decided to enchant it so that
during class time, the door could only open from the inside, and only
by Daemen. The only other times was when it came time for class to
start, and the door would shut. Of course, this also meant that when
class ended, it would swing open.

Green eyes picked out his usual classmates-- Ron, Hermione, Draco, and
the rest of the sixth year Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses--before he
plopped himself down into a chair, grinning widely. He was apparently
the only one with a death wish, as everyone else made sure that they
didn't do anything that would require one of Daemon's... punishments.

The man was evil. He rarely gave detentions, but he always punished you
for doing something wrong. Daemen was from an era long gone, one that
punished physically, not one that handed out detentions for doing
something stupid.

Wolfos and Filch got along like the best of friends, which was just
plain scary to think about.

So most people didn't. They just got to class on time, settled down,
listened to his instruction, then left the class. Wolfos had also
decided to use a bit of illegal magic, unknown to everyone, except
maybe Dumbledore. Merlin knows why Albus let him use it, but there was
probably a very good reason.

That little bit of forbidden magic was a very special spell. It allowed
him to cram a full year's worth of knowledge into the skulls of his
pupils in only a week or two. They wouldn't really notice the
difference, which was why it was illegal. Your own thoughts and
opinions could influence someone else's, and they'd never know.

Daemen was one of three people especially skilled in casting the spell.
One of the other two was Dumbledore, himself. The third... well, Wolfos
hadn't seen that man in years, not since they had been schools chums,
really. He wondered what the other was doing, then rolled his eyes. He
knew exactly what his old friend was up to. It's not like he'd ever
actually done anything else after graduating.

Any ways, he had a class to teach, so pulling out of his memories, he
shot Harry his special glare meant specifically for Weapon. It was his
'You're staying after class, whether you like it or not' glare.

Everyone else thought it was just his, 'I despise you Harry Potter
glare'. It was the one Snape did fairly well.

Harry inclined his head ever-so-slightly, then smirked, tilting his
head towards Malfoy. Wolfos frowned, then looked across the room, and
into grey eyes, "Mister Malfoy, I'd like a word with you after class,
if you will?"

"Yessir," Draco muttered, wondering what exactly he'd done that he'd
have to stay after class for. It couldn't be all that bad, otherwise
he'd have been making friends with Mister Wall. Again. He paused,
rewinding that thought process and going over it again. He almost
groaned out loud.

Note to self, he thought with a scowl, beat Potter around the head.
You're starting to think like he talks.

And so, class went about, Crabbe and Goyle once again meeting their
apparently best friend, the stone walls, in their special places. These
places were really special, because the two lumbering idiots-- who some
thought were actually just one person, and they were imagining the
other body-- meet them repeatedly, and had put dents in them. Goyle's
even had some of his own vomit in it, and Crabbe's had the blood he'd
spat up because his ribs had made a squishy sound when he hit them a
few days earlier.

None of the other students needed to be "disciplined" over the course
of the class, which left Daemen upset. He'd wanted to see a little
bloodshed, dammit!

Everyone filed out, leaving Potter and Malfoy behind. Daemen turned
lavender eyes on the boys, and asked the first thing that came to
mind-- which wasn't what he had called Harry to remain behind for, by
the by-- "Harry, why exactly did you want Mister Malfoy here for
this... conversation?"

"I'm training him to be a Weapon," chirped Harry, standing proud.
Wolfos eyes the blonde for a moment, then turned back to the Weapon he
had fashioned.

"Oh, really. Are you quite sure about that, Harry?" the old man paused,
"Have you even bothered to tell him what he has to give up to be a
Weapon?"

"I have to give things up?" wondered Draco, before a panicked look
entered his eyes. Daemen was looking at him. At _him_! That was... that
was like a death sentence amongst the students!

Wolfos gave a laugh, "Oh, you do indeed, m'boy. Why do you think Weapon
here is completely off his rocker?"

Malfoy frowned, "I thought he was just doing shions."

Harry had a bit of a confused look-- for all his "worldliness" he'd
never heard the term 'shions' before-- but Wolfos didn't. He just
laughed a bit.

"Hardly. There are things one loses or give up to become a Weapon," he
gave a toothy grin, "The right to reproduce for one. Shagging to
relieve stress is allowed. You're not allowed to get married, either.
And by your look, Harry here didn't tell you."

Potter shrugged, "By the end of the training he wouldn't care either
way, why should I have to tell him?" he grinned wickedly, "Maybe we
should tell Virginia. She's too deep to back out of it now,
mwahahahahahahaha!!"

The other two watched Harry laugh manically for a few minutes, before
he suddenly regained control. Draco understood when he saw gleaming
silver irises, although only Daemen really understood why. Weapon spoke
in his coveted monotone, "Why is it that you wished for me to remain,
Wolfos?"

"Have you translated the book, yet?" wondered the elder, "I am sure it
would help greatly if you have."

"I'm having Hermione translate it," Weapon informed him, "She does not
know why, only that I do not read Old Norse."

Wolfos scowled darkly, "She'll tell Dumbledore!"

"Hardly," scoffed Malfoy, "Even _I_ know the Mudblood has kept things
from everyone but Potter and Weasley, before."

"Weasley...?" questioned Wolfos, "Then she might tell Mister Weasley."

"Unlikely," Weapon returned calmly, "I asked her to keep this a secret,
and she has yet to betray my trust."

"She will be curious as to why you want this information," cautioned
Wolfos, before dismissing the two boys. With a sigh, he settled down
behind his desk. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head with a rueful smile.

"Ah, look at what I've become, old friend. I've gone soft..."

---

End Chapter

Hopefully I'll get to the prank next chapter. As it is, I'm too tired
to continue this right now.