S.Raven... you're a Yu-Gi-Oh fan, aren't you? Artemis sounds fun ^___^
and I'm glad you love my fic.
LadyPegasus - *pats your shoulder* there there, I have Harry/Draco
goodness in a fic that I've only just started sketching out (it's not
very good...) that'll get posted after I finish work on Blackened
Sunrise. Or, if I'm feeling completely and totally psychotic, it'll be
up next week. One or the other.
*hefts an uzi into the air, eye twitching* NO MORE CHRISTMAS CAROLS!!!
Too many, make them stop... *whimpers* I spent the last week listening
to those bloody songs over the intercom at school because some twit
thought they were "nice". No, not nice! Parody carols, nice. Opera
carols, BAD!!
Harry Potter is so far from being property of Itch, that Rowling would
laugh hysterically if someone even thought of it.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty Eight: Contemplation
The Itch
---
When Hermione entered the small room that she'd been shown the day
prior, she came across a most unusual scene.
Draco was on the couch, a comforter wrapped around him, looking very
much like he was dead. Ginny was curled up in one of the armchairs,
fast asleep, eyes moving behind her eyelids, deep in REM sleep. Harry
happened to be leaning against the couch Draco was one, eyes fluttering
open, then falling closed every few minutes.
She wondered if he'd even gotten any sleep the night before.
Despite having seen him in the Great Hall for breakfast-- where,
shortly thereafter, she'd performed the first of two months worth of
twice-daily spells that would release him from his bindings-- Harry had
not shown up for any of his classes. It was now nearly an hour after
dinner, and time for the second casting.
She wondered if she could do it.
Could she honestly unleash this "Balance" Harry seemed to be so
obsessed with, upon the wizarding-- and muggle!-- world? But with him
sitting there, messy, tangled ebon hair tumbling into his face,
brushing his glasses, and falling to his chin, he didn't look like
anyone special. The angle of the entrance to him also hid his eyebrow
ring, and his hair hid his nose and lip rings. He was curled up in his
robes, and looked more like a child dressing in his elder brother's
clothes, then the mastermind behind the destruction of the known world,
and recreation into the Balance.
He was once her best friend.
Staring at the way he seemed to be guarding Draco, she wondered if that
was still true. It didn't seem all that likely, not anymore...
Her thoughts were interrupted by Harry leaping to his feet, eyes open,
but emerald eyes unseeing. His lips pulled back into a feral snarl, and
he snapped something out in parseltongue. Whatever he'd said, she had
no idea, but the tone behind it made it sound like an insult, and the
generally evil feeling of the language sent chills down her spine. She
would never tell Harry, but she absolutely despised parseltongue.
After a moment, he calmed, still muttering in the tongue of snakes,
before blinking and awakening out of his trace, "Eh...? Oh, hey
'Mione!"
"Hi Harry," she was rather proud the uncertain note of her thoughts was
completely absent from her words, "ready for spell number two?"
A cheerful grin crossed his features, that just seemed a mite to
sadistic for her and he whipped off his robes, revealing the black
metal gauntlet, the grey muscle shirt, and the black jeans he wore
beneath it. The leather of the rune-warded bands around his arms was
dull, but the runes themselves sparkled in the merry firelight of the
room's illumination.
Stepping forwards, she brandished the ceremonial knife with which she
was to preform the de-runing spell. Counter-runes were etched into the
air over each rune inscribed on the leather, the softly glowing ruby
light that formed the counter-runes the only sign of Hermione's one
magical energies at work.
Each and every rune had to be taken care of, on both arms. It was a
tiring, draining task, and Hermione felt ready to pass out, coupling
this drain on her power, and the one from twelve hours earlier, on top
of what power she'd expended during her lessons for the day.
Once the small ritual was complete, she sunk into the room's other
chair, while Harry gathered his robes, and re-donned them. He tugged
the sleeves over his gauntlets, careful to keep the simple cotton from
snagging on the hilts of the knives that poked up out of the gauntlets.
Hermione hadn't noticed that Harry was a walking wall of weapons until
the day he'd told her about the Balance. She had been stunned that she
could miss such a thing. How could it even be possible? They had been
best friends.
Key words: Had been.
Another glance at Draco made the pit in her stomach turn into a rock.
Harry had gone and made one of his former enemies into his best friend,
within the two months he'd been back at the school-- back in the
wizarding world. What about when he had been "missing"? Did he have any
friends from that point in time? Others who would help him in his
Balance?
No one knew where he had been during that time aside from Professor
Wolfos-- and that was only because the Professor had been the one to
train him. She could bet that even Ginny and Draco had no idea what had
happened, what he'd done, where he'd been during that mysterious year.
It was a bit disturbing.
Harry had caught her glance at Draco, "Don't know what's wrong with
him," the green-eyed sociopath frowned, crossing his arms, "I've never
seen anything like it."
"He thought it was channeling to much power," Ginny's voice startled
her, and she looked up to see the fuzzy-headed Weasley staring into her
own eyes, calmly, "But after Harry did a closer inspection, he hadn't
found any sign of that. We have no idea what's wrong with him."
Hermione frowned, "It could be just a flu-virus," she suggested, a bit
lamely. She knew that there was no "flu-virus" that would result in a
comatose state of non-being. She set her mind on the problem of what
was wrong with the young heir of the Malfoy family. It would at least
keep her thinking from all the problems that could come about from
releasing Harry's wards.
"Can't be," muttered that self-same boy, "The Power makes us immune to
human viruses."
"Human...?" Hermione looked confused, before her mind alighted on
something, "You never told me what Draco meant when he mentioned
transformations yesterday!"
He frowned, "I suppose now is as good a time as any. Virginia? Would
you care to remove your ward?"
The youngest Weasley shrugged, "No problem," and removed the leather
band from around her wrist. Before Granger's stunned eyes, Virginia had
suddenly sprouted feathers and talons from beneath her robes. The
red-feathered fifteen year old rolled her shoulders, and yawned,
loudly, "I'm still a bit tired, Harry..."
"Sleep then, Virginia," the sixteen year old stated it like a command,
"Rest, then we will do some practice."
"Night-night," she cooed like a young child, drifting off once more.
Hermione stared at the bird-girl for a few more minutes.
"Wha... what was that? That's not an animagus form!"
"You're right, it's not," she jumped at the monotonous chill in Harry's
voice, and she turned back to him, to stare into eyes the color of
steel, "That is her true form, the form the Power felt fit her best. No
one escapes the Power unchanged... some more so than others."
"H-Harry??"
"Weapon," he corrected absently, "Harry calls me Weapon. I am his
change. Come... can you think of any reason for the Dragon to be in
this... state?"
"The Dra... you mean Draco?" this man, this 'Weapon', was creeping her
out. When the ebon haired youth nodded, she bit her lip. What could it
possibly be? No human virus, so what... wait, "Can your... er... 'true
forms' get ill?"
"It is no dragon-flu," he turned back to the other boy, "Harry and I
have already checked. I do not understand what could have..." he
trailed off, staring blankly, apparently ashamed that he had no idea as
to why Draco would no wake up.
"Well, we've ruled out human-flus, dragon-flus, a spell, channeling to
much--"
"Wait."
"Hmmm?"
Weapon frowned at her, "You said something... about a spell?"
She looked a bit surprised that he hadn't even thought about it, "Of
course! There is basically a spell for everything. Didn't you think to
see if there was a spell on Malfoy?"
Weapon, surprisingly, managed to look ashamed, even if it only was a
shift of his gaze onto the floor, "I... did not think of such. I
have... not used magic very often, and did not come to that
conclusion."
"What about Harry, then?" Hermione titled her head to one side,
pondering the question. Surely her former best bud would have
remembered that there could have been a spell involved... Right?
The silver-eyed man shook his head slowly, from side to side, "Harry's
knowledge of spells pertains to what he has learned in school, and from
experiences. He had no knowledge that there was a spell to induce a
comatose-like trance."
She blinked a couple times. That had been... different. It really was
strange to listen to Weapon speak. He spoke so differently from her off
the wall friend.
"Right," she finally nodded, "I guess that's what we do next then?"
"Search for a spell to tell us what spell, exactly, has been cast on
the Dragon?"
As his eyes brightened back into their normal emerald, she nodded, and
smiled slightly. It was almost like things were back to normal between
them, "To the Library?"
"To the library!"
---
End Chapter
Lame ending, I know. Next chapter, they find out what exactly is wrong
with Draco. Or not. I may go on some strange tangent. Who knows?
and I'm glad you love my fic.
LadyPegasus - *pats your shoulder* there there, I have Harry/Draco
goodness in a fic that I've only just started sketching out (it's not
very good...) that'll get posted after I finish work on Blackened
Sunrise. Or, if I'm feeling completely and totally psychotic, it'll be
up next week. One or the other.
*hefts an uzi into the air, eye twitching* NO MORE CHRISTMAS CAROLS!!!
Too many, make them stop... *whimpers* I spent the last week listening
to those bloody songs over the intercom at school because some twit
thought they were "nice". No, not nice! Parody carols, nice. Opera
carols, BAD!!
Harry Potter is so far from being property of Itch, that Rowling would
laugh hysterically if someone even thought of it.
---
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Twenty Eight: Contemplation
The Itch
---
When Hermione entered the small room that she'd been shown the day
prior, she came across a most unusual scene.
Draco was on the couch, a comforter wrapped around him, looking very
much like he was dead. Ginny was curled up in one of the armchairs,
fast asleep, eyes moving behind her eyelids, deep in REM sleep. Harry
happened to be leaning against the couch Draco was one, eyes fluttering
open, then falling closed every few minutes.
She wondered if he'd even gotten any sleep the night before.
Despite having seen him in the Great Hall for breakfast-- where,
shortly thereafter, she'd performed the first of two months worth of
twice-daily spells that would release him from his bindings-- Harry had
not shown up for any of his classes. It was now nearly an hour after
dinner, and time for the second casting.
She wondered if she could do it.
Could she honestly unleash this "Balance" Harry seemed to be so
obsessed with, upon the wizarding-- and muggle!-- world? But with him
sitting there, messy, tangled ebon hair tumbling into his face,
brushing his glasses, and falling to his chin, he didn't look like
anyone special. The angle of the entrance to him also hid his eyebrow
ring, and his hair hid his nose and lip rings. He was curled up in his
robes, and looked more like a child dressing in his elder brother's
clothes, then the mastermind behind the destruction of the known world,
and recreation into the Balance.
He was once her best friend.
Staring at the way he seemed to be guarding Draco, she wondered if that
was still true. It didn't seem all that likely, not anymore...
Her thoughts were interrupted by Harry leaping to his feet, eyes open,
but emerald eyes unseeing. His lips pulled back into a feral snarl, and
he snapped something out in parseltongue. Whatever he'd said, she had
no idea, but the tone behind it made it sound like an insult, and the
generally evil feeling of the language sent chills down her spine. She
would never tell Harry, but she absolutely despised parseltongue.
After a moment, he calmed, still muttering in the tongue of snakes,
before blinking and awakening out of his trace, "Eh...? Oh, hey
'Mione!"
"Hi Harry," she was rather proud the uncertain note of her thoughts was
completely absent from her words, "ready for spell number two?"
A cheerful grin crossed his features, that just seemed a mite to
sadistic for her and he whipped off his robes, revealing the black
metal gauntlet, the grey muscle shirt, and the black jeans he wore
beneath it. The leather of the rune-warded bands around his arms was
dull, but the runes themselves sparkled in the merry firelight of the
room's illumination.
Stepping forwards, she brandished the ceremonial knife with which she
was to preform the de-runing spell. Counter-runes were etched into the
air over each rune inscribed on the leather, the softly glowing ruby
light that formed the counter-runes the only sign of Hermione's one
magical energies at work.
Each and every rune had to be taken care of, on both arms. It was a
tiring, draining task, and Hermione felt ready to pass out, coupling
this drain on her power, and the one from twelve hours earlier, on top
of what power she'd expended during her lessons for the day.
Once the small ritual was complete, she sunk into the room's other
chair, while Harry gathered his robes, and re-donned them. He tugged
the sleeves over his gauntlets, careful to keep the simple cotton from
snagging on the hilts of the knives that poked up out of the gauntlets.
Hermione hadn't noticed that Harry was a walking wall of weapons until
the day he'd told her about the Balance. She had been stunned that she
could miss such a thing. How could it even be possible? They had been
best friends.
Key words: Had been.
Another glance at Draco made the pit in her stomach turn into a rock.
Harry had gone and made one of his former enemies into his best friend,
within the two months he'd been back at the school-- back in the
wizarding world. What about when he had been "missing"? Did he have any
friends from that point in time? Others who would help him in his
Balance?
No one knew where he had been during that time aside from Professor
Wolfos-- and that was only because the Professor had been the one to
train him. She could bet that even Ginny and Draco had no idea what had
happened, what he'd done, where he'd been during that mysterious year.
It was a bit disturbing.
Harry had caught her glance at Draco, "Don't know what's wrong with
him," the green-eyed sociopath frowned, crossing his arms, "I've never
seen anything like it."
"He thought it was channeling to much power," Ginny's voice startled
her, and she looked up to see the fuzzy-headed Weasley staring into her
own eyes, calmly, "But after Harry did a closer inspection, he hadn't
found any sign of that. We have no idea what's wrong with him."
Hermione frowned, "It could be just a flu-virus," she suggested, a bit
lamely. She knew that there was no "flu-virus" that would result in a
comatose state of non-being. She set her mind on the problem of what
was wrong with the young heir of the Malfoy family. It would at least
keep her thinking from all the problems that could come about from
releasing Harry's wards.
"Can't be," muttered that self-same boy, "The Power makes us immune to
human viruses."
"Human...?" Hermione looked confused, before her mind alighted on
something, "You never told me what Draco meant when he mentioned
transformations yesterday!"
He frowned, "I suppose now is as good a time as any. Virginia? Would
you care to remove your ward?"
The youngest Weasley shrugged, "No problem," and removed the leather
band from around her wrist. Before Granger's stunned eyes, Virginia had
suddenly sprouted feathers and talons from beneath her robes. The
red-feathered fifteen year old rolled her shoulders, and yawned,
loudly, "I'm still a bit tired, Harry..."
"Sleep then, Virginia," the sixteen year old stated it like a command,
"Rest, then we will do some practice."
"Night-night," she cooed like a young child, drifting off once more.
Hermione stared at the bird-girl for a few more minutes.
"Wha... what was that? That's not an animagus form!"
"You're right, it's not," she jumped at the monotonous chill in Harry's
voice, and she turned back to him, to stare into eyes the color of
steel, "That is her true form, the form the Power felt fit her best. No
one escapes the Power unchanged... some more so than others."
"H-Harry??"
"Weapon," he corrected absently, "Harry calls me Weapon. I am his
change. Come... can you think of any reason for the Dragon to be in
this... state?"
"The Dra... you mean Draco?" this man, this 'Weapon', was creeping her
out. When the ebon haired youth nodded, she bit her lip. What could it
possibly be? No human virus, so what... wait, "Can your... er... 'true
forms' get ill?"
"It is no dragon-flu," he turned back to the other boy, "Harry and I
have already checked. I do not understand what could have..." he
trailed off, staring blankly, apparently ashamed that he had no idea as
to why Draco would no wake up.
"Well, we've ruled out human-flus, dragon-flus, a spell, channeling to
much--"
"Wait."
"Hmmm?"
Weapon frowned at her, "You said something... about a spell?"
She looked a bit surprised that he hadn't even thought about it, "Of
course! There is basically a spell for everything. Didn't you think to
see if there was a spell on Malfoy?"
Weapon, surprisingly, managed to look ashamed, even if it only was a
shift of his gaze onto the floor, "I... did not think of such. I
have... not used magic very often, and did not come to that
conclusion."
"What about Harry, then?" Hermione titled her head to one side,
pondering the question. Surely her former best bud would have
remembered that there could have been a spell involved... Right?
The silver-eyed man shook his head slowly, from side to side, "Harry's
knowledge of spells pertains to what he has learned in school, and from
experiences. He had no knowledge that there was a spell to induce a
comatose-like trance."
She blinked a couple times. That had been... different. It really was
strange to listen to Weapon speak. He spoke so differently from her off
the wall friend.
"Right," she finally nodded, "I guess that's what we do next then?"
"Search for a spell to tell us what spell, exactly, has been cast on
the Dragon?"
As his eyes brightened back into their normal emerald, she nodded, and
smiled slightly. It was almost like things were back to normal between
them, "To the Library?"
"To the library!"
---
End Chapter
Lame ending, I know. Next chapter, they find out what exactly is wrong
with Draco. Or not. I may go on some strange tangent. Who knows?