Okiedokie, here's chappie Sixteen!
I'm seeing another possible minific, about Trelawney and some other side characters who are no big part of this story but who do play a part. Probably won't get written for another few chapters, but we'll see.
Also, I've worked out a timeline for a few chapters ahead, finally. Now I actually know in which direction the story is heading. We've got some confused!Harry-ness coming up.
Some notes about this chapter:
-Stupid WordPerfect isn't working, so I could only guess at where the italics
go. I've missed stuff, I'm sure. Sorry.
-I finished this chapter past midnight this morning. Please don't blame me if
it's bad. xX I know, this is another "filler" chapter - I'm sorry!
This one's important in setting up two entirely different plot elements for
the next three or so chapters. Just gotta have it.
-I guess I'm kind of messing with your minds with Crabbe, aren't I? When did
she stop being crazed Crabbe? O.o Anywho, she'll just be getting more and more
important as the story progresses.
Feel free to review. :D
The characters we know of are (body - person IN body):
Blaise Zabini - Harry Potter
Crabbe - Padma Patil
Goyle - Dumbledore
Neville - McGonagall
Ron Weasley - Blaise Zabini
Draco - Lavender
Padma - Ron
Harry - Draco
Pansy - Snape
McGonagall - Hermione
Snape - Neville
Trelawney - ?
Thank you to my wonderful reviewers!....
Katie Lupin Black - Thanks.
severus's-bane - :D Your review was inspiring, thanks!
Elmindrea-al'Thor - :)
ataraxis - Here's more.
Lee - Ack, probably not, you can just let your imagine go there. """
Ruth - Whee, someone has faith in my abilities, awesome.
Penny - :)
Chaows - I've been calling everyone by their body name - try and read
it that way, sorries!
Kaaera - Oh, Crabbe's going to mix up more than just that. That's the
beauty of it.
risi - That's no mistake, with him referring to Harry as Harry - Dumbledore
knows all. We've seen evidence in the books.
Cliffe - Thanks. :) They have yet to kiss knowing who they each are -
remember the kiss by the lake shortly before Harry figured it out.
Skullz - Hahaha, awesome. My loyal readers, muahaha.
Ronandchicken - Er... if you don't like slash, why are you reading a
slashfic? O.o I can promise you that it's only going to get slashier from this
point. But, hey, I'm flattered that you'll stomach something you don't like
for my story, lol.
Kristen - :D
Ah yes, this is slash, male/male romance... between both Blaise-in-Ron/Draco-in-Harry and Harry-in-Blaise/Snape-in-Pansy (whew confusing)... just to enlighten the unenlightened. Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I'm not JK Rowling. I'm just a girl who lives in the United States who happens to enjoy terrorizing JKR's creations.
..
Chapter Sixteen
A dazed Pansy Parkinson stood outside of the headmaster's office.
"Thanks a lot, Albus!" she half-whispered, giving the door a glare
that would melt weaker doors. "Thanks for proving once more that you can
make me do anything you want me to!"
She knew she had to be going insane when she thought she heard a faint, 'you're
welcome, Severus.' Even so, she wouldn't put it past the man.
Crabbe found himself glancing at the doorway every several seconds as she
taught the Death Eaters. Pansy would probably be pretty sour if she were to
find him teaching again. Thus, when she finally did appear, he quickly stepped
back into his peers, not wanting to be the odd one out.
"Crabbe?" He looked up at Pansy. "I want you to teach them
about aiming with reflective shields."
Heart pounding rather quickly, he gulped down a mouthful of air. "You
want me to teach them, sir?"
Pansy looked up from her ward research at her. "Need I repeat myself?"
"No, s–ma'am," Crabbe said quickly, and turned to the
class to begin instruction.
The class period ended smoothly enough, and Pansy called Crabbe back as she
tried to leave with the rest of the group.
"Yes sir?"
"You're going to teach them the rest of the basic curses, jinxes,
charms, countercurses–I made a list, it's somewhere in this mess.
There's just no time for me to try and teach them when they clearly do
better with you in charge. I will take over with the more complex spells, curses,
and countercurses, and show them how to improve their reaction time and the
more practical things like that. Ah, here's the list."
Crabbe took a long parchment from the other Slytherin, gave it a quick glance,
and looked back up at Pansy. "But these are all–really easy,"
he said, eyes falling back to the ground when she looked up at him.
"When you face the Dark Lord, you will be punished for flinching or
looking away. As I'm not in my usual body I cannot teach that with full
impact, but you will need to learn that. And they're easy things because
the students trapped in this could very well be younger–in any case, they'll
be in trouble if they don't know how to do these."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. Get going unless you want to walk back to Slytherin with your
greasy git of an ex-Potions Master." Crabbe put his books away quickly,
but surprisingly enough, stayed. Pansy walked quickly, trying not to give this
much thought.
"Sir, er, ma'am, whatever, I wanted to ask you." She looked
over at him mildly. "Is there any chance of–erm. Having the Unforgivables
cast on us?"
Pansy shrugged. "There always is."
"Is it likely to happen?"
"With the way things have been going under my instruction, definitely.
If you can finish teaching them and possibly manage them when they practice
the things I teach while I'm working on ward research, there is much less
of a chance."
Crabbe nodded, going straight up to the dorms upon their arrival to the common
room.
Harry lay on his bed, and Crabbe straightened his own blankets on the bed
to prepare to meditate.
"You know, I think I know what you see in him," Crabbe told him,
wrapping the curtains around the posts of the bed to keep them open.
"You do?" Harry looked up from Care of Magical Creatures homework.
"What's that?"
His dorm mate crossed his legs and put his fists in front of his knees, bowing
his head and closing his eyes. "Don't you know yourself? Deep down
there somewhere is a gentle sort of Snape. Amazingly intelligent and sharp,
but sentimental and sweet."
"Ah," Harry said, nodding dazedly. "Interesting way to put
it. I might quote you when I try to explain it to Ron and Hermione again."
Crabbe smiled.
"But, you know, it's kind of like he's a bit lost in there
too. There's a whole lot of snow and ice in there, it's kind of
hard to find anything warm. I don't think he trusts anyone. I want him
to be able to trust me." Harry stretched. "You know, that looks
relaxing."
"It is."
Harry said goodnight and happy Halloween and turned off his lamp, lying under
the covers, deep in thought.
Across the castle and floors above, Draco rolled over in a red and gold four-poster,
whimpering.
"What is taking so long?" a voice like nails on chalkboard demanded
in a hiss. "I told you to get Zabini a month ago. His father's already
dead, why isn't he?"
The other figures in the room seemed to shrink from the looming presence before
them.
"We've lost all contact with Hogwarts, my lord, ever since you called
Snape traitor. Perhaps he is not the spy, perhaps one of the slimy little–"
"Severus Snape has been spying for Dumbledore for years, Macnair. The
fool Fudge has revealed to Lucius that it is so. We have other evidence as well.
Do not defy your master." Voldemort turned to another figure. "Goyle,
where is your son? Is he not a dedicated Death Eater?"
"I don't know where he is, my lord."
Pacing in the direction of the unlit fireplace, the Dark Lord growled.
"There isn't time." He picked up a vase, holding the dusty
remains of fifty-year-old flowers. "There isn't time to organize
a way to make Potter stray from that loving old fool Dumbledore before he finishes
sixth year and can begin preliminary auror training, unless the Death Eaters
stationed at Hogwarts respond. Then he will be a threat." The vase shattered
as Voldemort threw it down, and that is when Draco fell off his bed, landing
in a tangle of sweaty limbs.
A lamp flickered to life, half-blinding him. "Malfoy? You up?"
"Zabini?" Draco looked up at the four-poster next to his, seeing
Ron's face peeking through the curtains. "Another stupid Potter
nightmare," he told him, sighing.
"Oh." Ron shifted and opened the curtains wider, and Draco invited
himself onto his bed, stretching. Ron nervously gave him some more room, and
Draco rolled over so he was facing him.
Ron was the first to say something. "Are you just playing with me, or
is this going to keep going when we're switched back?"
Draco was silent, closing his eyes. "Well, at first I was just playing
to amuse myself. I guess my family just isn't used to affection or something.
I'll continue it if you will," he said with a shrug. "It's
up to you, Zabini, I don't know much about... long-term relationships.
I'll probably have to keep pleasing Parkinson to please my father though.
Would you really want to tangle with a Death Eater?"
"You haven't gone back to the Dark Lord so far. I won't tangle
with a Death Eater, but I'll tangle with a spy."
Draco smirked. "Sure, Zabini."
"Oh, and I want to be able to use first names, alright... Draco?"
Zabini said, smirking back.
"Alright. Blaise."
By November fourth, a Monday, news of the winter ball being approved had spread;
Pansy reluctantly acknowledged its existence. The idea of students passing lovesick
glances between one another was almost too much for her to bear; there was no
chance she'd let Albus rope her into this.
It was bad enough, too, that the bodies of the now-blonde Harry and Ron, who
she now knew housed Draco Malfoy and the actual Blaise Zabini, seemed to be
in a pair wherever they went; when they started collectively smirking whenever
they saw her and Harry in the same room, it was much worse.
But she was actually surprised. Harry had yet to ask her to it, had yet to even
mention that he was going. The idea of him not going or, worse, going without
her surprisingly made her feel lonely. She wasn't accustomed to feeling
lonely. She didn't get lonely. She'd always been reserved. And by
now she was cursing her own indecisiveness; she didn't want to go yet
she didn't want to be forgotten.
"Well, you have to do something, mate." Padma bounced a ball off
of the wall of the presently empty Ravenclaw dormitory she slept in. Harry,
seated on a rather itchy, shapeless bean bag chair, followed it with his eyes.
"Right?" She stopped to look down at him.
"She doesn't want to have my company though. I mean, think
of all the feasts and parties and what have you of the past, when has Snape
ever looked at home at one of them?" Harry scratched his side, deep in
thought. "I don't want to ask her and feel stupid when she says
no."
"So you'd rather not ask her at all and babble to me, asking for
advice?"
Harry laughed rather nervously.
"Come on. She said yes about the date that I suggested–"
"–And then realized I was me–"
"That doesn't matter. She still said yes. She's still been
a bit comfortable around you, hasn't she, though?"
Harry was silent. Pansy had looked like she was about to kiss him back.
He could've sworn that he saw her eyes fall shut before his own had. If
Crabbe hadn't walked in at precisely the wrong time, would she still have–?
"I guess so." He remembered, through sleepy confusion, a slight
pressure of a hand on his wrist, steadying him up the stairs in the dark common
room, slipping off at the last moment. "Yeah. I'll ask her."
Padma grinned. "When?"
"Err." Harry scratched his head this time. "Tomorrow?"
"You're putting it off," she told him, obviously finding amusement
in the situation. Harry realized she'd moved so she was hanging off of
the bed, looking at him upside-down. The ball had rolled away a few minutes
ago. "Tomorrow you'll put it off until the next tomorrow... and
tomorrow... always tomorrow. Try today."
"Sure," Harry muttered in resignation. "Today. Fine."
However, by the time Harry had reached the Gryffindor commons at a quarter until eight, a certain batch of stomach-dwelling butterflies were telling him that tomorrow was a better day to ask. Harry did his Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration homework both and by nine o'clock she had nothing else to use to procrastinate. Glancing up at Pansy, she saw that the girl was engrossed in what he assumed was more research. The butterflies were telling him to leave her alone. So he did.
Lunch on Tuesday was a loud affair, as Harry, Padma, and McGonagall had given up eating outside with the growing chill and darker afternoons; they spent their lunches at one of the smaller tables that seemed to have appeared that morning, when the winter ball was officially announced. The chatter around them was deafening–of dancing and candy and Christmas and the winter ball. Harry dreaded the first sentence to come out of Padma's mouth as they sat down.
"What'd she say?"
McGonagall looked up from a stack of essays she was marking as Harry tried to
come up with some perfectly reasonable excuse for her having no response.
"Er... I... forgot?" he asked, the end of his sentence drifting
into nothingness.
"Ha ha. Mate, I told you to ask her to the ball yesterday! What if, like,
Malfoy asks her out first or something?"
Harry made a face. "Not going to happen, Ron. Besides, he's busy
with your body."
The colour drained from Padma's face as McGonagall spoke up. "You
really should ask her soon, you know, she might expect you to."
A nervous laugh. "This is Snape we're talking about, Hermione–"
"Exactly. How much do you know about Snape?"
Padma had just begun to sputter as Harry finally answered. "Not all that
much, actually...."
"Who's in my body?"
"Well you better ask her soon, in any case, Harry. You never know. He
did get stuck in the body of one of the–well. Rather sought after females
in sixth year."
"Hey Blaise, can I eat with you all?"
Padma clamped her mouth shut the second that Harry glanced back to see Crabbe
over his shoulder. "Sure, have a seat."
Silence.
"Err... have you been introduced? Crabbe is Padma, Padma is Ron, Mc–"
"I prefer my identity to be undisclosed," McGonagall said shortly.
"Sure, Granger. Er, what's wrong with him–er, me? Her?"
"Ron? Ah, I think he's still panicking because Blaise is in his
body and you know, Malfoy–"
Crabbe laughed, and the four of them attempted rather clipped conversation.
Pansy glanced up from her wards work, sighing. It was Saturday, the ninth.
She was feeling slightly preoccupied; it was rather difficult to focus on ward
work when a student was teaching what you were supposed to teach, and doing
a better job than you ever could. The Death Eaters in training listened, they
tried and they usually got at least five new hexes, charms, or defensive
spells done in one class.
The now-wrinkled list sat on the corner of the desk, with various notes, incantations,
and wand movements in the margins. Things were crossed out, circled, and question
marked; it really did look like the boy knew what he was doing.
She turned down her lamp, sitting back in her chair and watching the students
practice. Crabbe had been having them pile the desks at the edges of the room
and replace them at the end, with good reason, apparently; the desks were heavy,
and manual labor would certainly make the Slytherins stronger.
Looking down at her own notes for lessons, she frowned. She'd probably
have to start alternating classes with Crabbe by next class; the things she
had yet to teach were certainly important. Rehearsed answers. Facial and body
expressions. Eye contact. How to act. Simple defensive Occlumency. With a wince,
she remembered the end of her short bout of teaching Occlumency to Potter. He
must have seen her must vulnerable moments. She'd thought it gave him
fuel to hate her even more. Maybe it actually gave him some sort of tenderness
towards....
Nonsense. She scoffed to herself, earning a few curious glances from
Slytherins that she ignored. The only reason he's even interested in
me at all is because I'm in the sluttiest female Slytherin's body,
she tried to reason with herself, feeling herself failing miserably. Such
denial, Severus, echoed a soft, Dumbledore-like voice. She squeezed her
eyes shut, and the voice returned. Just let a youth fall in love. You need
it yourself.
She slammed her hand on the desk at the exact moment that a booming roll of
thunder crashed somewhere a few miles away. All of the students stopped training
to stare at her.
Feeling rather stupid, she dismissed them half an hour early, sinking her head
into her arms on top of her research.
"What's wrong?"
She looked up quickly. So they hadn't all left. Crabbe was shuffling some
papers around.
"I'm not talking about it." She stood abrubtly, slamming the
thick, nine-hundred page volume shut. Stupid. Who writes books that long
anyway?
"Oh. Him."
Now she gave the boy a glare, picking up her wards things. "I said I don't
want to talk about him. Frustrating brat."
"What, did he already ask you?" Crabbe asked curiously, tilting
her head. "And you said no? Or yes. Wait, what?"
"Ask me what?" Pansy asked him, feeling an odd flutter in her stomach,
which she hid behind her book.
"To the ball?" he clarified, scratching his head. "Guess
not. Ah well, don't worry, he will soon."
"Why would you think that?" she asked as he turned to head for the
door.
Crabbe turned back slowly, giving her a long stare. "You are in serious
denial, man." Funny, Albus just told me that. I must be going mad.
"Wake up, Snape, Harry Potter has something a bit more serious than a
crush on you. What're you going to do about it? Brush him off continually
and hope he goes away? He sees something in you. Something that I don't
think anyone else has seen. Are you just going to let this opportunity go to
waste?"
She set her books back on her desk, calmly enough, then buried her hands in
her own hair, feeling her head shake from the jitter in her hands. She looked
beyond Crabbe, to the still-piled desks.
"I don't know," Pansy whispered.
"Well, figure yourself out soon. I think he'll still feel the same
when we're changed back, y'know. It's not like he ever talks
about what you look like now. It's about what you say and do, mostly."
Feeling distant, she nodded. Her eyes landed on her notes. "We're
going to need to start switching teaching between one another. I need to get
these things taught, quickly."
Crabbe came closer and looked down at the neat little margin note. "You
know, for Occlumency at least, if you taught me privately, I could likely teach
them quicker in my time. I only have about ten more spells to teach, then I
just have to review and practice practically."
Pansy shook her head in slight disbelief. "Do Hogwarts a favour and
teach here after you graduate." She again picked up her research. "I'll
start teaching you tomorrow after training. Potter might also be able to teach
you something."
"Harry knows Occlumency?"
"Several lessons worth, if he bothered remembering it."
"You taught him?" Pansy nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Oh. You
know, there was a rumour for a while last year that you were teaching him Remedial
Potions."
"Mr. Malfoy is gullible," she answered, shrugging, and starting
for the door.
Harry sat on one of the Slytherin commons' sofas, waiting for Pansy
to get back. He was feeling slightly more confident, but knew it was only because
she wasn't here; but he was determined today. He'd finally ask her.
Slytherins started coming in. This was usual; they always came back before Pansy.
Looking around to find Crabbe and get encouragement, however, he noticed that
the boy wasn't back yet.
Weird. He shrugged, thinking nothing of it.
Fifteen minutes later, both Pansy and Crabbe entered together, talking in hushed
tones to one another, starting automatically upstairs.
Neither noticed him, even as they walked in separate ways to their rooms.
Harry narrowed his eyes at the snap of the last door. Come to think of it,
Pansy and Crabbe had been coming back together every day recently. He didn't
understand. Pansy seemed to not even notice Harry to be annoyed these
days. And hadn't Crabbe said, just days ago, that he understood what Harry
saw in her...?
The only reasonable explanation clicked into his mind, and he deflated, sinking
into the couch. They were... they clicked where she and Harry didn't,
perhaps? Maybe Severus Snape wasn't gay after all. He scrubbed at his
eyes, not wishing to go up to bed and share a room with a traitor.
Seated at last on her bed, Pansy tucked the research away in her cupboard.
Kicking her legs absently, she hit the edge of a trunk under the bed. Curiousity
overwhelming her, she pulled it out and opened it.
Yuck.
There were several year's worth of rather... extremely-casual wear in
the suitcase. She saw the disgusting dress robes Pansy had worn only once, at
the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament; there were also stockings, minuscule
tops, and ultra-miniskirts. There were some small containers of what looked
like thick, coloured potion tucked in one pocket, which she recognized to be
Muggle nail polish, and a number of bras.
Snapping the trunk closed, she slipped it back under the bed.
Which brought an entirely new matter to mind. What the hell am I supposed
to wear to the winter ball if he does ask me?
Shoulders slumped, Harry finally surrendered to his dormitory, falling into sleep immediately. Of the three, Crabbe was the only one to have a normal, relaxed sleep.
