I've been sewing again. A nice black floor-length vest with a red
cross-sword in the back. It's not finished (I'll be adding the collar,
and the red sleeve "guards" Sunday afternoon), but it's damned close to
being finished. Hell, if I'd started it sooner than three o'clock on
Saturday, it woulda been done. It's a nice vest. I loves it.
Fawkes - Jealousy is an evil thing. *waves a finger* No bringing up
having tattoos while the Itch lacks hers!
Katrina... that was a bad bad pun on my name. *laughs*
Eva Phoenix Potter - Marriage? To me? Ouuuu, that's a new one. ^____^
Potter and Crew belong to Rowling, who is definitely not the Itch.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty: Rumors
The Itch
---
It was the day of Halloween, and Harry still hadn't calmed Ron down,
_or_ come up with a way to get revenge on Draco and Ginny. True to
form, the pair had begun, discretely, spreading outlandish rumors about
Harry kidnaping the youngest Weasley and taking her out to the
Forbidden Forest in order to either (a) rape her or (b) hand her over
to Ye Olde Escaped Convict Sirius Black, as a way to get out of having
himself killed. Obviously, Draco came up with the first, and Virginia
the second.
Over the course of two and a half days other people had jumped on the
band wagon, and now Potter was, once again, being ostracized by the
rest of the school. Not that that was a _bad_ thing, mind you. No, it
gave him more slack with which he could plan out torturous training
sessions with help from DADA Professor Daemen Wolfos, and to research
Merlin's Damned Squigglies-- as he had come to think of the runes-- in
peace.
At the moment, the only person who would go anywhere near him was
Hermione, who really didn't care about the rumors. They were just
rumors, after all. Besides, she'd seen Ginny's Rune "bracelet", and
just figured that Harry and Ginny had been out there to test the powers
of the runes based on what had already been translated.
On that note, she was almost through the translation of the second half
of the book. Unlike the first, which had only taken a few weeks, the
second was a lot more complex, written in an even older dialect of
Norse; in fact, it looked to be the dialect that Old Norse was based
upon. First she had to translated the glyphs into Old Norse, since they
were similar, although not quite the same, then into English. It would
be impossible to change them over right away-- nothing would make
sense.
She had about eight copies of the text, translated into Old Norse, then
into English, all with slight variations on the wordings. Hermione
figured that the one that made the most sense would be the one that was
most correct.
That is to say, she _hoped_ that would be the correct one. She had her
fingers crossed on it.
In any case, Harry's research on the Runes had hit a dead-end without
the translated text, so now he was wandering all by his lonesome
through the halls of Hogwarts on that bright, sunny Halloween Saturday.
He was, to put it mildly, exceedingly bored.
His robes hung open, draping his form like a cotton duster, and flaring
out behind him as he moved. His normal black jeans were accompanied by
the same black vest, although he had an almost neon green turtleneck
underneath it. For someone who habitually wore dark shades and tones,
the vibrancy of the green was a little mind bending. Not to mention the
fact that he was wearing a _green_ shirt when he was a _Gryffindor._
Not like Harry cared. He cared about surprisingly little, actually.
Surprising, because there was actually something he cared about.
And one of those somethings-- specifically someone-- had just swept
around the corner. He came to a halt, blinking owlishly at Harry,
"'Ello Potter."
"I _do_ have a name, you know," Harry returned dryly, looping an arm
over Draco's shoulders, "There are some things I want to talk to you
about," he grinned wickedly, and the Slytherin rolled his eyes. Not to
long after they'd left, Neville Longbottom stumbled out of a shadow,
eyes wide.
"Oh. My. Good. Sweet. Merlin!"
---
"You want me to _what_?"
Harry shot him his best pleading look, which wasn't all that great,
because Harry had never used one before. He hadn't had a reason with
his Aunt and Uncle-- like they'd give him anything-- and everyone in
the Wizarding World (except Draco, Ginny, Tom, and various Death
eaters) would give him whatever he asked for. Wolfos would just tell
him to get it himself, and he didn't give a damn how he got it.
Coincidently, that's how Harry Potter managed to become wanted for
theft in the muggle world.
"C'mon, Dragon-boy, it's not like I'm asking you to commit suicide!"
He snorted, rubbing the ankle that had his ward wrapped around it
against the back of his shin, "And how exactly is showing up in my
natural form at the party tonight supposed to help?"
"We'll scare the shit out of Ron, and he'll forget he's mad at me!"
Harry nodded rapidly with a vague grin, "Yeah, and then I won't have to
worry about him trying to kill me at every instant!"
"Right. And what did you plan to do about the rumors."
He grinned maliciously, "Get the ones who started them to clean up
their messes."
The boy became as pale as his hair, "Now, now, Harry, I don't think
that would be very good. What would the Junior Muggle-Killer-Squad
think, Draco Lucius Malfoy correcting rumors about Harry Potter,
Hogwarts' Golden Boy?"
"Then you'll play along with my prank, won't you, Draco?" he smirked,
"You do that, and I'll let you off the hook about cleaning up the
rumors. That can be Ginny's task."
"You're pretty hard on the Femme-Weasel; you ever notice that?"
He hiked a dark eyebrow, "And you care because why? I know you can't
feel sexual emotions towards her, so what's the deal?"
"Thought you'd be overly concerned since she's the only female Weapon
we've got..." he trailed off at the demented look in his instructor's
face, "Uh... did I say something wrong?"
"Female Weapons need to be trained harder," he nodded, eyes slightly
glazed, "Must make up for the fact that they've got a couple of
weaknesses us guys don't' have. Yes, yes indeedie."
Malfoy began backing away, and was almost at the door when green eyes
focused on him, "Where are you going, Draco?"
"To er... to lunch! I'm getting kinda hungry, aren't you?"
He blinked, then smiled vapidly, "Food!"
---
When Draco entered the Great Hall, he was met by silence. He by-passed
the silence, plopping himself down at the Slytherin House Table, and
began to eat. Noise level slowly began to rise, up until Harry glided
in, psychotic smile firmly in place as he lolled his eyes about and
searched through the crowd.
Shivers went down the backs of those that dared to meet those out of
focused, glazed irises. Whispers began to fly fast and furious, but he
ignored it all, settling down into his normal seat at Gryffindor
Table-- the one at the end with the most shadows. He'd been sitting
there since the Sorting Feast, when he'd been chained to the table in
that very spot. Humming a cheerful tune, he ignored reality, until a
muggle-born fourth year suddenly sat in front of him.
"Is it true that you're gay?"
Dead silence filled the Great Hall, and Harry slowly lifted his head,
gleefully crafting a look of pure malicious evil. He'd picked up a love
for terrorizing people from Wolfos during his training, "Gay...?"
"As in," the girl stuttered, flushing red and scrambling to her feet in
order to be able to take flight if things started to look nasty, "...
as in liking boys over girls."
"No, I'm not 'gay'," he quoted, slightly annoyed. Where in the world
had _this_ idea come from. He shattered the relieved silence of the
Great Hall by following his previous statement with this one, "But I
don't like girls, either."
"Uh..."
He tilted his head back, the psychotic grin back in full force as his
eyes glowed with restrained power, "I've no preference, but I like
neither. And I don't like animals, for you sick fucks out listening in.
I just don't have a sex drive."
She licked her lips, "I'm going to uh... to go over there and--"
"Who told you I was gay?" he wondered, catching her arm and refusing to
let her go, "Tell me."
"Sea... Seamus Finnigan," she was all but cowering away from him, as
his glowing eyes focused on the boy in his year, "Bu-bu-but he-he heard
it from-from Neville Longbottom."
"Longbottom?" he asked incredulously.
And in a clear voice that everyone in the hall heard, she responded,
"He said... he said he saw you with your arms around Draco Malfoy."
---
End Chapter
Nice Place to end it, no?
cross-sword in the back. It's not finished (I'll be adding the collar,
and the red sleeve "guards" Sunday afternoon), but it's damned close to
being finished. Hell, if I'd started it sooner than three o'clock on
Saturday, it woulda been done. It's a nice vest. I loves it.
Fawkes - Jealousy is an evil thing. *waves a finger* No bringing up
having tattoos while the Itch lacks hers!
Katrina... that was a bad bad pun on my name. *laughs*
Eva Phoenix Potter - Marriage? To me? Ouuuu, that's a new one. ^____^
Potter and Crew belong to Rowling, who is definitely not the Itch.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty: Rumors
The Itch
---
It was the day of Halloween, and Harry still hadn't calmed Ron down,
_or_ come up with a way to get revenge on Draco and Ginny. True to
form, the pair had begun, discretely, spreading outlandish rumors about
Harry kidnaping the youngest Weasley and taking her out to the
Forbidden Forest in order to either (a) rape her or (b) hand her over
to Ye Olde Escaped Convict Sirius Black, as a way to get out of having
himself killed. Obviously, Draco came up with the first, and Virginia
the second.
Over the course of two and a half days other people had jumped on the
band wagon, and now Potter was, once again, being ostracized by the
rest of the school. Not that that was a _bad_ thing, mind you. No, it
gave him more slack with which he could plan out torturous training
sessions with help from DADA Professor Daemen Wolfos, and to research
Merlin's Damned Squigglies-- as he had come to think of the runes-- in
peace.
At the moment, the only person who would go anywhere near him was
Hermione, who really didn't care about the rumors. They were just
rumors, after all. Besides, she'd seen Ginny's Rune "bracelet", and
just figured that Harry and Ginny had been out there to test the powers
of the runes based on what had already been translated.
On that note, she was almost through the translation of the second half
of the book. Unlike the first, which had only taken a few weeks, the
second was a lot more complex, written in an even older dialect of
Norse; in fact, it looked to be the dialect that Old Norse was based
upon. First she had to translated the glyphs into Old Norse, since they
were similar, although not quite the same, then into English. It would
be impossible to change them over right away-- nothing would make
sense.
She had about eight copies of the text, translated into Old Norse, then
into English, all with slight variations on the wordings. Hermione
figured that the one that made the most sense would be the one that was
most correct.
That is to say, she _hoped_ that would be the correct one. She had her
fingers crossed on it.
In any case, Harry's research on the Runes had hit a dead-end without
the translated text, so now he was wandering all by his lonesome
through the halls of Hogwarts on that bright, sunny Halloween Saturday.
He was, to put it mildly, exceedingly bored.
His robes hung open, draping his form like a cotton duster, and flaring
out behind him as he moved. His normal black jeans were accompanied by
the same black vest, although he had an almost neon green turtleneck
underneath it. For someone who habitually wore dark shades and tones,
the vibrancy of the green was a little mind bending. Not to mention the
fact that he was wearing a _green_ shirt when he was a _Gryffindor._
Not like Harry cared. He cared about surprisingly little, actually.
Surprising, because there was actually something he cared about.
And one of those somethings-- specifically someone-- had just swept
around the corner. He came to a halt, blinking owlishly at Harry,
"'Ello Potter."
"I _do_ have a name, you know," Harry returned dryly, looping an arm
over Draco's shoulders, "There are some things I want to talk to you
about," he grinned wickedly, and the Slytherin rolled his eyes. Not to
long after they'd left, Neville Longbottom stumbled out of a shadow,
eyes wide.
"Oh. My. Good. Sweet. Merlin!"
---
"You want me to _what_?"
Harry shot him his best pleading look, which wasn't all that great,
because Harry had never used one before. He hadn't had a reason with
his Aunt and Uncle-- like they'd give him anything-- and everyone in
the Wizarding World (except Draco, Ginny, Tom, and various Death
eaters) would give him whatever he asked for. Wolfos would just tell
him to get it himself, and he didn't give a damn how he got it.
Coincidently, that's how Harry Potter managed to become wanted for
theft in the muggle world.
"C'mon, Dragon-boy, it's not like I'm asking you to commit suicide!"
He snorted, rubbing the ankle that had his ward wrapped around it
against the back of his shin, "And how exactly is showing up in my
natural form at the party tonight supposed to help?"
"We'll scare the shit out of Ron, and he'll forget he's mad at me!"
Harry nodded rapidly with a vague grin, "Yeah, and then I won't have to
worry about him trying to kill me at every instant!"
"Right. And what did you plan to do about the rumors."
He grinned maliciously, "Get the ones who started them to clean up
their messes."
The boy became as pale as his hair, "Now, now, Harry, I don't think
that would be very good. What would the Junior Muggle-Killer-Squad
think, Draco Lucius Malfoy correcting rumors about Harry Potter,
Hogwarts' Golden Boy?"
"Then you'll play along with my prank, won't you, Draco?" he smirked,
"You do that, and I'll let you off the hook about cleaning up the
rumors. That can be Ginny's task."
"You're pretty hard on the Femme-Weasel; you ever notice that?"
He hiked a dark eyebrow, "And you care because why? I know you can't
feel sexual emotions towards her, so what's the deal?"
"Thought you'd be overly concerned since she's the only female Weapon
we've got..." he trailed off at the demented look in his instructor's
face, "Uh... did I say something wrong?"
"Female Weapons need to be trained harder," he nodded, eyes slightly
glazed, "Must make up for the fact that they've got a couple of
weaknesses us guys don't' have. Yes, yes indeedie."
Malfoy began backing away, and was almost at the door when green eyes
focused on him, "Where are you going, Draco?"
"To er... to lunch! I'm getting kinda hungry, aren't you?"
He blinked, then smiled vapidly, "Food!"
---
When Draco entered the Great Hall, he was met by silence. He by-passed
the silence, plopping himself down at the Slytherin House Table, and
began to eat. Noise level slowly began to rise, up until Harry glided
in, psychotic smile firmly in place as he lolled his eyes about and
searched through the crowd.
Shivers went down the backs of those that dared to meet those out of
focused, glazed irises. Whispers began to fly fast and furious, but he
ignored it all, settling down into his normal seat at Gryffindor
Table-- the one at the end with the most shadows. He'd been sitting
there since the Sorting Feast, when he'd been chained to the table in
that very spot. Humming a cheerful tune, he ignored reality, until a
muggle-born fourth year suddenly sat in front of him.
"Is it true that you're gay?"
Dead silence filled the Great Hall, and Harry slowly lifted his head,
gleefully crafting a look of pure malicious evil. He'd picked up a love
for terrorizing people from Wolfos during his training, "Gay...?"
"As in," the girl stuttered, flushing red and scrambling to her feet in
order to be able to take flight if things started to look nasty, "...
as in liking boys over girls."
"No, I'm not 'gay'," he quoted, slightly annoyed. Where in the world
had _this_ idea come from. He shattered the relieved silence of the
Great Hall by following his previous statement with this one, "But I
don't like girls, either."
"Uh..."
He tilted his head back, the psychotic grin back in full force as his
eyes glowed with restrained power, "I've no preference, but I like
neither. And I don't like animals, for you sick fucks out listening in.
I just don't have a sex drive."
She licked her lips, "I'm going to uh... to go over there and--"
"Who told you I was gay?" he wondered, catching her arm and refusing to
let her go, "Tell me."
"Sea... Seamus Finnigan," she was all but cowering away from him, as
his glowing eyes focused on the boy in his year, "Bu-bu-but he-he heard
it from-from Neville Longbottom."
"Longbottom?" he asked incredulously.
And in a clear voice that everyone in the hall heard, she responded,
"He said... he said he saw you with your arms around Draco Malfoy."
---
End Chapter
Nice Place to end it, no?