luverofall - Er, I generally end the chapters where I fall asleep; you
have to remember, I'm writing these things at three in the f'in
morning-- and on the weekends, writing is the only way for me to fall
asleep x.x
Phoenix Flight don't worry about not reviewing the last chapter. I know
what it's like to have computer problems :P
Yet again, Harry Potter is JK Rowling's property, not Itch's.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Illness
The Itch
---
Slytherin's, on a whole, were generally guided by a single emotion.
It's why so many went bad-- that one emotion, considering how they were
raised, was generally a negative one. Sometimes, Slytherin's had a
positive emotion guiding them, but they were few and far between, and
generally learned to be insufferable gits to survive in their own
House.
Severus Snape was guided by guilt. Long ago, it had been a seething
hatred that had come about due to some bad experiences as a child, but
it had changed not all that long after he'd graduated from Hogwarts.
He'd been a Deatheater for three years by that point, and had long
since learned how to hide his true emotions behind a mask of snide
bastardism.
Nothing could keep the fear from his face as he stood over Draco
Malfoy's unconscious form. Thankfully, the rest of the students were
all asleep, and would be unable to see him in such a state, but that
did nothing to contain the fact that he was, indeed, terrified. There
was no reason for the young Heir of the Malfoy family to be out cold on
the dungeon floor, grey eyes staring wide and unseeing at the far wall.
If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, Snape would have
thought his was dead.
Dimly, the professor realized that he should probably call upon Madam
Pomfrey, but he was unable to move. He was just so... so... confused.
Frightened of this unnatural, impossible illness, but confused none the
less. How in the world had Draco come to be in this state, in the first
place?
He heard one of the secret passages into the Slytherin common room
open, and finally snapped out of his daze. He whirled, turning to face
which ever Slytherin had been out after curfew, and using his swirling
robes to hide Draco's insensate body. It wouldn't do for someone to
find Malfoy in a moment or weakness. Even if he'd been watching that
'moment' for ten minutes.
However, when the two teenagers glided into the commons, Snape got the
shock of his life. Weasley and Potter, dressed in muggle clothing,
ignored his presence, moving around him to find Draco.
"Potter! Weasley!" Snape barked, "What do you think--" but he was cut
off by Ginny tilting her head to one side.
"Is something wrong with him?"
For a moment, Severus thought she was talking to him, and opened his
mouth to snap at them, but Harry responded first.
"Symptoms of using too much, Virginia," the professor's eyes widened,
even as confusion seeped in. Since when was Potter calling the youngest
Weasley by her full name? And using too much of what? Shions...? But
no, why would Draco be taking shions?
Then Harry scooped Draco up into his arms, and turned sharply on his
heel. Snape scowled.
"What do you think you're doing, Mister Potter?"
"None of your business, My dear Dark Traitor," sneered the green eyed
boy. He swept past Severus in much the same way that the professor
glided down the halls of the school. It wasn't nearly as impressive,
considering that Harry was dressed in a pair of jeans and a muscle
shirt that showed off the sealing runes that he'd helped to cast, and
not a robe that could flare dramatically.
No, it wasn't as impressive, nor as dramatic, but it was most
assuredly, more... lethal, perhaps was the proper word for it. There
was an air of danger around the boy. He moved like a predator on the
prowl.
He was almost back to the passage that would lead out of the Commons
without having to go through the entrance Portrait, when he paused. He
turned to Virginia who had gathered up the items Draco had dropped when
he'd gone comatose, and was only halfway to the exit, "Do something
about Snape, Virginia. I don't want him remembering."
She smirked.
The only thing Severus would remember of that night, was a nightmare of
frighteningly cold silver-steel eyes, shrouded by darkness, and milky,
near-white irises dancing in a wave of small, but intense ruby flames.
---
Cradling Draco in his arms like a newborn, and thankful that Ginny had
remained behind to take care of Snape, Weapon let Harry have control
again. The emerald eyed boy frowned down at his cargo.
He knew damned well that it wasn't symptoms of channeling to much Power
through one's body. Doing that generally resulted in losing all
pigmentation, and Draco still had flecks of blue in his eyes, and pink
in his cheeks. Not to mention, Weapon wouldn't have been capable of
feeling the hum of the Power within the other. His other half had
confirmed that the Power was still strong within his pupil, so it
couldn't possibly be channeling far to much.
He'd just told that to Ginny, so she wouldn't worry.
He didn't have any idea what was wrong with Draco, and that was
worrying him. And it wasn't like he could just go to Pomfrey. If it had
been a normal Wizarding sickness, Snape would have already taken Draco
to the medi-witch. He was dealing with an unknown.
And there is still Riddle, Weapon murmured the reminder to his other
half. We can't forget him.
Harry muttered something obscene, "Weapon, this ain't the time. We'll
deal with Tom after we get the wards off like we planned. No sooner, no
later."
But for now, you wish to know what is wrong with the Dragon.
"Yeah, exactly," he ignored the fact that he was talking out loud to no
one. Someone else might think him crazy, but Weapon was a part of him,
and talking out loud to the other half was just... normal.
Still cradling Draco, he made for the room that he, Ginny, Draco and
Hermione had been talking in just that afternoon. The pale haired boy
was settled onto the couch, and Harry conjured a comforter with what
part of the Power he still had access to. It left him feeling drained,
but that was normal for trying to use the Power when he wasn't playing
around in the Forbidden Forest.
Sighing, he looked down at his friend. What the hell could be wrong
with him? Not for the first time he cursed Dumbledore's
short-sightedness. Leaving him without access to his full powers
prevented him from being able to do a proper scan of Draco's body, and
Ginny wasn't anywhere near the level of training needed in order to
preform the scan herself.
Shaking his head, the Living Weapon scowled at the couch his friend was
on. He was going to have to develop a brand spanking new way to die,
just for the Headmaster. He was positive that if he had full access
he'd have figured out and fixed the problem by now.
As it was, he was going to be late to his meeting with Wolfos, and his
trainer was not a pleasant man when he was happy with you. When he was
pissed off, it was a hell of a lot worse. A bit of acidic grumbling
later, and Harry had Draco all settled in and comfortable. He'd be fine
for an hour or so, while Potter spoke with his mentor.
---
Harry raked his fingers through his hair as he sat in the center of
Wolfos' desk, "Something wrong, Old Man?"
"How much do you know about the first generation Weapons?"
Potter blinked. Wolfos hadn't asked him that question for some time
now. He scratched the back of his skull, "Hmmm, only that they devised
the techniques to become Weapons some seven hundred years ago. Their
masters thought them immortal, and passed their services down through
their families, like a samurai pledging his allegiance to his daimyo,
and his daimyo's family. The first generation Weapons started dying
about four hundred years after their creation, because they'd burned
themselves out with the Power. Uh... that until about seventy years
ago, no one thought of altering the techniques of training, until one
of the Lordless Weapons thought up a new training regimen."
"And...?"
"And... uh..." the sixteen year old crossed his eyes trying to remember
everything Wolfos had told him before Harry was trained in how to be a
Weapon, "Oh! Right! The Weapon didn't want to try it on himself, so he
took a student. That student became the first of the second generation
Weapons, and was soul-bound to her trainer, because she was a mind-less
toy. Other first generation Weapons took their own 'apprentices', and
had their own little soul-bonded minions. Most first gens were dark
wizards, or muggles that were generally considered 'evil', and they
used their soul-bonded like slaves. Soooooo, what does this have to do
with anything, ya Old Fool?"
Wolfos gave him a horrid looking grin, "The Weapon that created the
process for second generation Weapons is still alive, but his
soul-bonded second generation Weapon has recently died. Been
thinking... you up for putting Weasley or Malfoy in the girl's place?
They're still in training after all."
And Potter's eyes narrowed sharply, flashing to Weapon's emotionless
silver, "They are _my_ students to teach. I won't have you auctioning
them off."
Wolfos frowned, "I thought you'd like to have them off your shoulders.
Have some free time again."
"Don't bothering trying to ask me again, Daemen. I will still refuse,"
Weapon's voice was stone. He stood stiffly, stalking out of the old
professor's office.
Daemen frowned, "Damn. I guess that spell on Malfoy wasn't strong
enough."
---
End Chapter
Yeah, Wolfos is a bastard. Get used to it ^____^
have to remember, I'm writing these things at three in the f'in
morning-- and on the weekends, writing is the only way for me to fall
asleep x.x
Phoenix Flight don't worry about not reviewing the last chapter. I know
what it's like to have computer problems :P
Yet again, Harry Potter is JK Rowling's property, not Itch's.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Illness
The Itch
---
Slytherin's, on a whole, were generally guided by a single emotion.
It's why so many went bad-- that one emotion, considering how they were
raised, was generally a negative one. Sometimes, Slytherin's had a
positive emotion guiding them, but they were few and far between, and
generally learned to be insufferable gits to survive in their own
House.
Severus Snape was guided by guilt. Long ago, it had been a seething
hatred that had come about due to some bad experiences as a child, but
it had changed not all that long after he'd graduated from Hogwarts.
He'd been a Deatheater for three years by that point, and had long
since learned how to hide his true emotions behind a mask of snide
bastardism.
Nothing could keep the fear from his face as he stood over Draco
Malfoy's unconscious form. Thankfully, the rest of the students were
all asleep, and would be unable to see him in such a state, but that
did nothing to contain the fact that he was, indeed, terrified. There
was no reason for the young Heir of the Malfoy family to be out cold on
the dungeon floor, grey eyes staring wide and unseeing at the far wall.
If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest, Snape would have
thought his was dead.
Dimly, the professor realized that he should probably call upon Madam
Pomfrey, but he was unable to move. He was just so... so... confused.
Frightened of this unnatural, impossible illness, but confused none the
less. How in the world had Draco come to be in this state, in the first
place?
He heard one of the secret passages into the Slytherin common room
open, and finally snapped out of his daze. He whirled, turning to face
which ever Slytherin had been out after curfew, and using his swirling
robes to hide Draco's insensate body. It wouldn't do for someone to
find Malfoy in a moment or weakness. Even if he'd been watching that
'moment' for ten minutes.
However, when the two teenagers glided into the commons, Snape got the
shock of his life. Weasley and Potter, dressed in muggle clothing,
ignored his presence, moving around him to find Draco.
"Potter! Weasley!" Snape barked, "What do you think--" but he was cut
off by Ginny tilting her head to one side.
"Is something wrong with him?"
For a moment, Severus thought she was talking to him, and opened his
mouth to snap at them, but Harry responded first.
"Symptoms of using too much, Virginia," the professor's eyes widened,
even as confusion seeped in. Since when was Potter calling the youngest
Weasley by her full name? And using too much of what? Shions...? But
no, why would Draco be taking shions?
Then Harry scooped Draco up into his arms, and turned sharply on his
heel. Snape scowled.
"What do you think you're doing, Mister Potter?"
"None of your business, My dear Dark Traitor," sneered the green eyed
boy. He swept past Severus in much the same way that the professor
glided down the halls of the school. It wasn't nearly as impressive,
considering that Harry was dressed in a pair of jeans and a muscle
shirt that showed off the sealing runes that he'd helped to cast, and
not a robe that could flare dramatically.
No, it wasn't as impressive, nor as dramatic, but it was most
assuredly, more... lethal, perhaps was the proper word for it. There
was an air of danger around the boy. He moved like a predator on the
prowl.
He was almost back to the passage that would lead out of the Commons
without having to go through the entrance Portrait, when he paused. He
turned to Virginia who had gathered up the items Draco had dropped when
he'd gone comatose, and was only halfway to the exit, "Do something
about Snape, Virginia. I don't want him remembering."
She smirked.
The only thing Severus would remember of that night, was a nightmare of
frighteningly cold silver-steel eyes, shrouded by darkness, and milky,
near-white irises dancing in a wave of small, but intense ruby flames.
---
Cradling Draco in his arms like a newborn, and thankful that Ginny had
remained behind to take care of Snape, Weapon let Harry have control
again. The emerald eyed boy frowned down at his cargo.
He knew damned well that it wasn't symptoms of channeling to much Power
through one's body. Doing that generally resulted in losing all
pigmentation, and Draco still had flecks of blue in his eyes, and pink
in his cheeks. Not to mention, Weapon wouldn't have been capable of
feeling the hum of the Power within the other. His other half had
confirmed that the Power was still strong within his pupil, so it
couldn't possibly be channeling far to much.
He'd just told that to Ginny, so she wouldn't worry.
He didn't have any idea what was wrong with Draco, and that was
worrying him. And it wasn't like he could just go to Pomfrey. If it had
been a normal Wizarding sickness, Snape would have already taken Draco
to the medi-witch. He was dealing with an unknown.
And there is still Riddle, Weapon murmured the reminder to his other
half. We can't forget him.
Harry muttered something obscene, "Weapon, this ain't the time. We'll
deal with Tom after we get the wards off like we planned. No sooner, no
later."
But for now, you wish to know what is wrong with the Dragon.
"Yeah, exactly," he ignored the fact that he was talking out loud to no
one. Someone else might think him crazy, but Weapon was a part of him,
and talking out loud to the other half was just... normal.
Still cradling Draco, he made for the room that he, Ginny, Draco and
Hermione had been talking in just that afternoon. The pale haired boy
was settled onto the couch, and Harry conjured a comforter with what
part of the Power he still had access to. It left him feeling drained,
but that was normal for trying to use the Power when he wasn't playing
around in the Forbidden Forest.
Sighing, he looked down at his friend. What the hell could be wrong
with him? Not for the first time he cursed Dumbledore's
short-sightedness. Leaving him without access to his full powers
prevented him from being able to do a proper scan of Draco's body, and
Ginny wasn't anywhere near the level of training needed in order to
preform the scan herself.
Shaking his head, the Living Weapon scowled at the couch his friend was
on. He was going to have to develop a brand spanking new way to die,
just for the Headmaster. He was positive that if he had full access
he'd have figured out and fixed the problem by now.
As it was, he was going to be late to his meeting with Wolfos, and his
trainer was not a pleasant man when he was happy with you. When he was
pissed off, it was a hell of a lot worse. A bit of acidic grumbling
later, and Harry had Draco all settled in and comfortable. He'd be fine
for an hour or so, while Potter spoke with his mentor.
---
Harry raked his fingers through his hair as he sat in the center of
Wolfos' desk, "Something wrong, Old Man?"
"How much do you know about the first generation Weapons?"
Potter blinked. Wolfos hadn't asked him that question for some time
now. He scratched the back of his skull, "Hmmm, only that they devised
the techniques to become Weapons some seven hundred years ago. Their
masters thought them immortal, and passed their services down through
their families, like a samurai pledging his allegiance to his daimyo,
and his daimyo's family. The first generation Weapons started dying
about four hundred years after their creation, because they'd burned
themselves out with the Power. Uh... that until about seventy years
ago, no one thought of altering the techniques of training, until one
of the Lordless Weapons thought up a new training regimen."
"And...?"
"And... uh..." the sixteen year old crossed his eyes trying to remember
everything Wolfos had told him before Harry was trained in how to be a
Weapon, "Oh! Right! The Weapon didn't want to try it on himself, so he
took a student. That student became the first of the second generation
Weapons, and was soul-bound to her trainer, because she was a mind-less
toy. Other first generation Weapons took their own 'apprentices', and
had their own little soul-bonded minions. Most first gens were dark
wizards, or muggles that were generally considered 'evil', and they
used their soul-bonded like slaves. Soooooo, what does this have to do
with anything, ya Old Fool?"
Wolfos gave him a horrid looking grin, "The Weapon that created the
process for second generation Weapons is still alive, but his
soul-bonded second generation Weapon has recently died. Been
thinking... you up for putting Weasley or Malfoy in the girl's place?
They're still in training after all."
And Potter's eyes narrowed sharply, flashing to Weapon's emotionless
silver, "They are _my_ students to teach. I won't have you auctioning
them off."
Wolfos frowned, "I thought you'd like to have them off your shoulders.
Have some free time again."
"Don't bothering trying to ask me again, Daemen. I will still refuse,"
Weapon's voice was stone. He stood stiffly, stalking out of the old
professor's office.
Daemen frowned, "Damn. I guess that spell on Malfoy wasn't strong
enough."
---
End Chapter
Yeah, Wolfos is a bastard. Get used to it ^____^