Of Wizards and Duelists …
XO'MagickMoon'OX
A/N: Okeydokey, now I know in the beginning I said that this fic would probably have nothing to do with the OotP, but … I lied. As it turned out, I find myself using dialogue and scenes straight from the book – which is, for the hundredth time, not mine. It is J. K. Rowling's! As for this chapter, almost all of the dialogue in the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts class' scene is directly from the OotP, and some dialogue between Harry, Ron, and Hermione at lunch … and in the flashback (you'll see when you read it) … pretty much all of the dialogue is from The Sorcerer's Stone. Okay? Okay. And thanks to all of you who've reviewed so far! I love you guys! -
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Ryou and Yuugi sat with the Ravenclaws during lunch once they'd finished their meal. The Ravenclaws were wary of the Gryffindors at first, but immediately warmed up to Yuugi's friendly attitude and Ryou's sweet demeanor.
"So how was Care of Magickal Creatures?" Yuugi asked Malik as the blonde took a bite of his pie.
"Great. I think you'll definitely like it, Yuugi. We're working with these things called 'bowtruckles' … they're tree-guardians, if I remember correctly. Annoying as hell, though. One scratched me when I tried to steady it so my group could draw it." Malik held up his hand to display a large, red cut trailing across the tanned flesh of his palm. "Damned thing …"
"So, have you made any friends yet?" Yuugi asked with a smile.
"Well," Malik began, "there were these two girls who asked me to join their group in Care of Magickal Creatures. Marietta … I think was one of their names. She's sweet, and the other's name was … Cho … Cho Chang, that's it. They really are sweet, but they kept giggling and blushing the whole time. I couldn't determine who was more annoying: the bowtruckle or them. Ah well, we got through the assignment well enough."
Ryou looked over at Malik and said, "Well, you seem to be pretty popular with the girls, here."
Malik tugged absentmindedly on one of his gold earrings, sighing thoughtfully. "Can't see why, though."
Ryou blushed and looked away. 'Can't see why'? Are you blind, Malik? It's because you're … amazing.
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was saying, "That was really unfair," as she took a piece of shepherd's pie. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire."
She was referring to their recent Potions class, where Harry had made one mistake and Snape had, as usual, jumped down his throat about it, immediately disposing of the potion and giving Harry zero marks for the day.
Harry scowled. "Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?"
Silence followed, as the obvious answer didn't need to be pointed out.
"I did think he might be a bit better this year," Hermione said quietly, disappointment tinting her words. "I mean … you know …" Her tone dropped considerably so that only Harry and Ron could hear her as she looked left and right. "… Now that he's in the Order and everything."
Ron snorted. "Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots. Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?"
Hermione frowned. "I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron."
They continued to bicker, until Harry exploded in their faces, after which they promptly shut-up.
Then Ron, completely changing the subject for the sakes of his and Hermione's well-beings, said, "So, what do you think was up with Malik when he said that he'd done 'terrible things' this morning?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, but I think whatever he was remembering was very painful. I felt it best to change the subject at that point, after Harry had asked about 'yamis' … which Yuugi didn't seem very willing to elaborate on. They're a strange bunch, the lot of them. ... But, I like them."
Harry and Ron nodded their consent.
Meanwhile, Atemu and Bakura were busy entertaining themselves. It turned out that the ghosts in the Hall could see the spirits clearly, and the deceased Renaissance ladies and gents were quite interesting characters. But soon Atemu gravitated towards the Slytherin table, ending the conversation he'd been having with Nearly-Headless Nick. Bakura lifted an inquisitive eyebrow and followed the Pharaoh.
"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.
"Investigating," Atemu replied with an uncharacteristically roguish air.
Bakura narrowed his bright, brown eyes suspiciously. "Investigating … what?"
Atemu climbed onto the table and flattened himself over the food with his elbows propped up, chin in his hands – though it did nothing to disturb the meal – so that he was staring directly at a certain blonde Slytherin. He dissipated his particles so that he wouldn't feel any discomfort as people reached through his phantom form to grab at a roll or goblet every now and then that was somewhere beneath him. He watched Draco as he talked with his friends. Bakura crawled onto the table and sat Indian-style next to Atemu, watching the Pharaoh watch the Slytherin.
"So, what are we doing exactly?" he tried again.
"You remember that certain 'affectionate aura' emanating from one of the Slytherins?"
Bakura nodded.
"And you remember how we felt that same aura within Draco's group of friends after Potions class?" Atemu turned to Bakura, sitting up with his legs beneath him.
"You don't think …"
Atemu smirked. "Yes, I do. I think that Draco has a crush on someone in the Gryffindor House."
Bakura chuckled. "Too bad for him; the Gryffindor House is also known as the 'Death to Draco Malfoy' House. He hasn't got a chance with any Gryffindor." The thief frowned thoughtfully. "Another member for the 'Isis Haters' club."
"'Isis Haters'?" Atemu repeated.
Bakura scowled. "I hate Isis, because she hates me … and you, and obviously Draco, too."
Atemu shook his head and said quietly, "I don't blame her for anything … I don't hate her. I thank her … for blessing me."
"Oh cut the crap, Pharaoh," Bakura snapped. Atemu glared at him.
"What crap, thief?"
Bakura groaned. This was not what he wanted, to be back on original terms with the Pharaoh. "Look, Atemu," he amended his previous slip-up of calling him 'Pharaoh', "I just … it's hard. You may be fine with unrequited love, but I'm not."
Atemu turned back to Draco, as did Bakura, and a blanket of silence descended upon them as they listened to the chatter of the Slytherins.
"So what do you reckon we're doing in Grubbly-Plank's class?" a pug-nosed girl was asking.
"Whatever it is, it'll be better than whatever that oaf would've taught us," Draco said, smirking.
"Where do you think he is?" a rodent-like, black-haired boy wondered.
"If we're lucky, lying facedown in a ditch somewhere," Draco quipped, "… dead."
The remark elicited a bout of sniggers and giggles from the surrounding Slytherins.
"Reckon that would really break the Gryffindors' spirits," a large boy said with a grin. "'Specially Potter and his friends."
Draco laughed. "Yeah, reckon it would."
As the others went back to their lunches, Draco stared down at his plate. Both Atemu and Bakura could sense his sudden crestfallenness, however hard he tried to hide it. Obviously he didn't find Harry and his friends' being brokenhearted as funny as he'd just let on. Hiding it from his dense group of friends was no problem, but the spirits were not fooled.
Draco's eyes flickered up quickly, almost guiltily – as if stealing a glance in a certain direction were a heinous crime – and it seemed that he was looking right at Atemu's chest. But when Atemu and Bakura turned to follow the blonde's gaze, they found a certain raven-haired Gryffindor directly in their lines of vision.
Atemu grinned. "I see."
---
Divination class passed quietly enough. Though, it didn't take long for Ryou, Yuugi, and Malik to deem Professor Trelawney a certified loon. Anyone with eyes could tell she was an old fraud, albeit a decent Divination teacher. At least she knew something of what she was talking about, even if she didn't actually have 'the Sight', and even if she wasn't really right in the head.
Yet, when Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, things got interesting. It was quite obvious that there wasn't a single person that was fond of Professor Umbridge … particularly Harry and his friends.
Ryou and Yuugi didn't know much of what to expect, as this was their first ever Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but obviously the rest of the students, all of whom had taken the class in the past, were very unsatisfied with the way Umbridge was teaching.
As everyone began reading the assigned chapter, Hermione raised her hand. It seemed Professor Umbridge was purposely ignoring her, but after minutes passed and Hermione didn't put her hand down nor change the look of silent determination on her face, Umbridge couldn't help but call on her.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"
Hermione shook her head, finally putting her hand down. "Not about the chapter, no."
Umbridge gave a small, unmistakably irritated smile. "Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."
"I've got a query about your course aims," Hermione persisted.
As Umbridge raised her eyebrows, she asked, "And your name is …?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."
"Well, I don't." Hermione's voice never softened from its matter-of-fact tone. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."
There was a short silence as the students looked up to the board where Umbridge had magickally written the course aims, which were: "1. Understanding the principles of underlying defensive magick; 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magick can legally be used; and 3. Placing the use of defensive magick in a context for practical use." There seemed an air of agreement about the class.
"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge gave a small laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
Then, Ron burst, "We're not going to use magick?" quite loudly.
"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class Mr. …?"
"Weasley," Ron said as his hand shot up.
The toad-like professor's smile widened eerily, and she turned away from Ron, only to find Harry and Hermione with their hands raised as well. Irritation flickered across her face, but she never stopped smiling.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" she said. "You wanted to ask something else?"
Hermione promptly answered, "Yes. Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Professor Umbridge asked, her voice dripping with a venomous sweetness.
"No, but –"
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way –"
"What use is that?" Harry inputted loudly, causing a few students to jump. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a –"
"Hand, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge trilled.
Harry put his hand in the air, but the professor just ignored him, much to Harry's annoyance. Yet, much to Professor Umbridge's annoyance, several other students had their hands raised, as well.
Atemu and Bakura were in the back as usual, watching the whole intriguing episode. Atemu certainly found nothing to be desired in Professor Umbridge, and seemed ready to jettison her into the Shadow Realm at any second, granted Bakura didn't beat him to it. And, seeing that the thief had much less self-control than Atemu, the latter seemed more likely to happen.
Umbridge was saying, "And your name is?"
"Dean Thomas."
"Well, Mr. Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" Dean asked. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free –"
"I repeat," Umbridge interrupted, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"
"No, but –"
"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," the professor talked over him, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention," she laughed wickedly, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."
The atmosphere tensed with indignation, and Yuugi and Ryou traded nervous glances. This discussion just seemed to have taken a turn for the worse.
"If you mean Professor Lupin," Dean said angrily, "he was the best teacher we ever –"
"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying – you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day –"
Hermione burst, "No we haven't, we just –"
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"
Umbridge turned away as Hermione's hand was thrust into the air.
"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only preformed illegal curses in front of you, he actually preformed them on you –"
"Well he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" Dean Thomas said heatedly. "Mind you, we still learned loads –"
"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" Professor Umbridge nearly screeched. "Now it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" She turned to Parvati, who had just raised her hand.
The girl answered, "Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"
"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," Umbridge answered dismissively.
"Without ever practicing them before?" Parvati persisted. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough –"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" Harry's hand was raised high in the air, his anger peaking.
Professor Umbridge turned to him, a dangerous air about her. "This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world."
"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."
"Oh yeah?" Harry was livid, his temper released from the confines of his self-control.
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" Professor Umbridge asked with a false sweetness that made some students shiver.
"Hmm, let's think … maybe Lord Voldemort?" Harry quipped.
A simultaneous shudder ran through the class, some students gasping or squeaking. Strangely enough, the professor didn't cringe. She was watching Harry like a hunter watches its prey walk into a trap.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."
There was silence in the room, though one could've sworn they could hear a sizzling sound from the heated glares either pointed at Harry or Umbridge from the students.
"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."
"What are 'points'?" Ryou whispered to Hermione. She silenced him with one of those 'I'll tell you later' looks, then went back to watching the professor warily.
Umbridge was standing up and leaning over her desk towards the class, her arms braced on her desktop. "You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead –"
"He wasn't dead," Harry cut her off, his voice icy with anger, "but yeah, he's returned!"
"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," Professor Umbridge hissed in one breath, not looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
"It is NOT a lie!" Harry shouted. "I saw him, I fought him!"
Umbridge grinned victoriously as she announced, "Detention, Mr. Potter! Tomorrow evening. Five o' clock. My office." She turned to the rest of the class. "I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magick guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."
The squat, gray-faced woman sat down behind her desk, satisfied. Harry, however, rose from his seat, trembling with rage. All eyes were on him.
Hermione tugged on his sleeve, hissing, "Harry, no!" He ignored her, his gaze never leaving Umbridge's toad-like face.
In a wavering voice, he asked, "So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"
Ryou and Yuugi traded bemused glances. Who was Cedric Diggory? Atemu and Bakura were watching the class with part interest and part wariness, though they, too, had no idea what anyone was talking about. The rest of the class, however, seemed to know exactly where the conversation was going, as at the mention of Cedric, they all seemed to silently gasp. Frighteningly, Umbridge's face was void of its usual fake smile.
Her voice was ice as she said tersely, "Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."
"It was murder," Harry retorted, trembling from head to toe. It was hard for him to say; hell, he had barely mentioned the terrible events of last year to his own best friends, and was not exactly willing to talk about it in front of thirty classmates. Nevertheless, he continued, "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."
The professor was quiet, silent as the rest of the class. Her pudgy face a blank mask, Umbridge said softly, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."
Harry pushed away from his desk, the legs of his chair grating across the floor, and stepped up to the teacher's desk. The room seemed to be holding its breath in silent anticipation, everyone on the edges of their seats. Harry was fuming, too angry to care about what happened next.
A moment or two passed as Umbridge scribbled something down on a blank slip of pink parchment, the suspenseful silence enveloping the class. Naught but the quill scratching across the parchment could be heard. Then Umbridge stopped, tapped the parchment with her wand, and the slip sealed itself so that Harry couldn't open it. He hadn't been able to read it as she wrote for she had hunched over the paper, hiding her message.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear." Professor Umbridge held the note out to Harry.
He snatched it wordlessly, turned on his heel and stomped out of the room without passing anyone so much as a glance.
Ryou and Yuugi again turned to each other. They hadn't a clue as to the vast significance of what had just transpired, but somehow simply now knew for sure that Professor Umbridge was by far their least favorite teacher.
---
A pale, eleven-year old boy stood on a footstool in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions as a young witch fitted his school robes around his thin frame. He brushed his platinum-blonde bangs from his bright, silver eyes, craning his neck to see where she was pinning something around his waist. That was when the door opened, the bell above the door jingling as it was knocked against. The boy on the footstool then turned to peer up at the front of the shop as another boy walked in.
No sooner had he laid eyes on the dark-haired, bespectacled youth than an electric shock coursed through his veins. It was an instant attraction; what sort of attraction was yet to be seen, but an attraction nonetheless. Unexplainable … indefinable … indescribable was the sensation, but the blonde-haired child didn't care. All that mattered was meeting the other boy.
The stranger began to speak, but Madam Malkin cut him off. "Hogwarts, dear?" she questioned. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."
The mauve-clad, squat witch led the raven-haired boy to a stool beside the pale youth, and he stepped up onto it. He was a good inch or so taller than the blonde. Madam Malkin pulled a robe over the newcomer's head and began fitting it.
The silver-eyed boy was itching with excitement and curiosity, and at that moment striking up a conversation seemed to most logical thing to do. So, he said, "Hello. Hogwarts, too?"
The dark-haired child nodded. "Yes."
"My father's next door buying me books and my mother's up the street looking at wands. Then, I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own." The pale youth couldn't help but add, with a smirk, "I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
A frown flickered across the other boy's face, a sort of vague recognition.
The blonde continued, "Have you got your own broom?"
"No."
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No."
The pale boy felt a certain hopelessness, as if the conversation were going no where. Nevertheless, he went on, determined not to let the conversation die, "I do – Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"
"No."
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Mmm," the other boy sounded in vague consent.
The blonde sighed inwardly. This conversation really was going nowhere, wasn't it? Maybe the attraction he'd felt to the boy was just his imagination. I mean, what was there about the dark-haired boy that attracted the pale youth to him?
Unexplainable … indefinable … indescribable …
He didn't know, but he was sure it was something. There was something about the stranger that just intrigued him, made him want to get to know the boy, everything about him … He would not let the conversation die.
He turned to the front window. "I say, look at that man!"
"That's Hagrid," said the other boy, an amused, strangely satisfied grin gracing his face. The blonde decided he like the boy's smile. "He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh," said the other. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper." There was something displeased about the boy's expression that the blonde had a feeling was his doing. Had he said something to make him dislike him?
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magick, and ends up setting fire to his bed." True, he had heard that, and he believed his father to be a very reliable source.
"I think he's brilliant."
The pale boy couldn't help but find this somewhat amusing, and a sneer instinctively played across his lips. "Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead," said the other curtly.
"Oh, sorry." And the blonde was sort of sorry … well … no, he wasn't. He couldn't help it; sympathy wasn't something that came easily to him. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"
The dark-haired boy frowned, his expression something short of a scowl. The pale youth stifled a surprise squeak. What? It was a normal question, wasn't it? Why would the other take it into offense? The boy said, "They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
The blonde nodded. "I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"
The boy opened his mouth to reply, but Madam Malkin again cut him off. "That's you done, my dear."
The dark-haired youth jumped off his stool somewhat hastily. So soon? Did he really have to leave? The pale boy felt a sort of longing ache in his gut, that was, again, unexplainable, and he managed to call, "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," as the other boy left the shop.
Brilliant, the blonde chastised himself. That was a bloody brilliant conversation, just wonderful. Really, what is the matter with you, Draco? Can't you manage to make at least one friend?
… And it wasn't until they were on the Hogwarts Express that he saw the boy again …
"Oh Draco, you'll never believe it!" Pansy Parkinson squealed, wrinkling her pug-nose in malignant delight.
"What now?" the blonde drawled.
"They say Harry Potter's here, starting school this very year! I believe someone told me he's in the compartment with that Weasley boy."
Draco bristled. Harry Potter? Really? The famed Boy-Who-Lived? He smirked. "Crabbe, Goyle," he said to his two friends, "let's go greet Mr. Potter, shall we?"
His cronies grunted in consent, sniggering as the trio left their compartment.
They found the compartment Pansy had said Harry was sharing with the Weasley boy. Before Draco's fingers even reached the door handle, he felt a familiar electric surge shoot up his arm, causing him to hesitate. He shook away the sensation and slid the door open to reveal a freckled redhead, an unruly raven-haired boy, and mess of sweet wrappers.
Silver locked with emerald as Draco met the dark-haired boy's gaze, undetectable surprise flickering across his face. It was the boy from Madam Malkin's! Was he really the Harry Potter?
Stifling his surprise, Draco said, "Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
The raven-haired boy bristled. "Yes." His emerald gaze flickered between Crabbe and Goyle as he eyed them warily.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle." Draco gestured from one to the other as he introduced them, catching Harry's gaze. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Ron coughed, though it was an unmistakable hidden snigger.
Draco glared at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." The blonde turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with he wrong sort. I can help you there."
Finally, Draco held out his hand, a clear offering of friendship. He had so hoped he would become friends with Harry, as the attraction he felt to the raven-haired boy had only grown since that day in Diagon Alley. He now felt he could name the sensation: he wanted Harry as a friend.
But Harry didn't take his hand.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said, an air of ice in his voice.
Draco drew a sharp breath, though gave no sign of any of the pain or disappointment now stabbing at his heart. He was not one to blush, angrily or otherwise, but he was sure a faint pink was now tinting his cheeks.
He swallowed. His throat felt dry. He said slowly, "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."
Harry and Ron were now both on their feet, and Draco felt Crabbe and Goyle stiffen at his sides, like guard dogs suddenly on alert.
"Say that again," Ron growled, his face tomato-red.
"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Draco jeered.
"Unless you get out now," Harry said boldly.
This was so not the direction Draco wanted his relationship with Harry to go in. But, like the Hogwarts Express itself, their relationship had left the station and there was no stopping it's path down the track labeled "Enemies". Damn. Draco said, "But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."
Goyle reached for a Chocolate Frog beside Ron, and the redhead leapt forward, but before he could stop the large boy, Goyle yelped in pain. There was a rat hanging by its teeth off of Goyle's finger, and Goyle was swinging it around frantically, until he finally sent the rodent flying towards the window. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle promptly departed without so much as a goodbye.
As Draco stormed down the train back to his compartment, his mind was swirling with thoughts and emotions. He remembered the uncanny attraction he had felt towards the raven-haired boy that day in Diagon Alley, how he had so desperately wanted to be friends with him. All chances of that were shot now, and Draco whole-heartedly blamed their identities. The boy just had to be Harry-freaking-Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. He was a Malfoy, a pureblood wizard of high social standing and a member of a family of Slytherins. He and Harry were as different as ice and fire. Surely that was the initial attraction he had felt, for everyone knows that opposites attract. But, the magnetism doesn't hold if the attraction is one-sided.
So any sort of friendship with Harry was shot to hell; they were just too different. This left Draco with a dull aching, a gnawing sense of longing. He knew that any sort of positive future with Harry was hopeless, so he decided to fall into the role Fate had seemed to assign him, the role of 'enemy', and didn't try to fight it. It was hopeless
Poor Draco. If only he'd known that there can never be a one-sided attraction between opposite polarities.
---
:- Slytherin Dorm -:
Draco lay on his bed, gazing unseeingly up at the ceiling.
I blame hormones, he thought bitterly as a face flashed through his mind. Sparkling, green eyes; dark, unruly hair; lips curved into a trademark, warm smile; smooth, suntanned skin; and the world-renowned lightening bolt scar.
Draco groaned, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow, as if it could erase the image. God, it was only their first day back at school and already Draco couldn't stop thinking about Harry. Sure, he'd had the raven-haired boy on his mind all summer, too, but seeing his face for the first time in months had stirred his love anew, causing it to grow and throb like the very organ that represented it, pulsing with life and energy.
Damn hormones.
Hormones … if only. Draco knew that the roots of his predicament were not so superficial as simply hormones. No, the roots of his problem ran deeper than that. The roots of his problem ran all the way back to that day four years ago on the Hogwarts Express, when he and Harry had become enemies.
When Draco had first laid eyes on Harry in Madam Malkin's shop, the seeds of affection had been planted. Immediate attraction, an ardent desire for friendship … that had only been the beginning. By the second year, it had all grown into a full-blown crush, and by fifth year, the crush had now blossomed into complete and utter love. Hormones, if anything, were only to blame for the dreams, the urges, the desires; but really, when it all came down to it, there was no reason to blame anything because …
… love was not a fault.
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Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ryou, and Yuugi sat at the table by the hearth in the cozy Gryffindor common room. The boys were trying to do their homework, and Hermione was … well, Hermione was knitting hats for house elves.
Harry had a dull aching in his head that only seemed to grow worse as he thought about the extra essay Snape had assigned him on moonstones. He doubted he'd get anywhere with it tonight. His bed was calling him. He packed up and sat there for a moment. Despite his need to sleep, there was something nagging at the back of his mind, some question he wanted to ask Yuugi and Ryou. It was on the tip of his tongue …
"What was Malik talking about earlier when he said that he'd done 'terrible things'?"
That was it. But it wasn't Harry that'd asked it; Hermione had beat him to it.
Ryou and Yuugi looked up, at first startled by the abrupt inquiry, but then even more startled by what Hermione was asking. They traded nervous glances. Yuugi shook his head.
"It's not our place to say," the small boy said. "But, whatever you may be thinking, it shouldn't be cause for you to think any less of Malik. If we say anything about it, we'll say that he was very … emotionally unstable … and wasn't thinking straight … and he had a certain darkness inside of him that was taking over his mind. But, it's all in the past." Yuugi gave a reassuring smile.
Hermione sighed. "I see." She went back to knitting.
Well, Harry thought, that was thoroughly unsatisfying. But, whatever. I just need sleep right now. The hell with stupid explanations; I'm going to bed. "Goodnight," he said as he rose from his seat.
"Wait Harry," Yuugi said. "I have a question for you guys."
Hermione, Ron, and Harry looked expectantly at the tri-color-haired boy.
Yuugi continued, "Who's Cedric Diggory?"
Hermione dropped her knitting as she stared at Yuugi. Ron paled, which made his freckles stand out considerably. Harry just began to tremble, his fists clenched.
Harry began, in a weak voice, to grudgingly explain. "He … He was a student, here. Last year, a competition was held at Hogwarts. Two foreign wizarding schools came to stay at the castle. They each had a student competing, as well as one student from Hogwarts, hence it was called 'The Tri-Wizard Tournament'." He paused and cleared his throat, staring blankly into the crackling fire, the flames reflecting off his glasses. "The student from Hogwarts was … Cedric Diggory. But, when the students for the tournament were being picked, my name somehow came up, as well as his, although I was underage and only one student was supposed to compete from each school. Nevertheless, I participated as well. … During the last leg of the tournament – a maze filled with obstacles, at the heart of which sat the Tri-Wizard Cup – Cedric and I were about to win … together … but … the Cup we were supposed to get, which would signify our victory, turned out to be a portkey laid by a servant to Voldemort, who was undercover as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was a Death Eater disguised as an auror by the name of Mad-Eye Moody, and no one realized his true identity before it was too late. It was also he who had somehow got me into the tournament, and then helped me along so that I would win, thereby touching the disguised portkey and being sent straight to Lord Voldemort. It was only supposed to be me; the Death Eater had never planned on both Cedric and I joining to win together, and Cedric was sent to Voldemort along with me, and was killed upon arrival by Voldemort himself." Harry was now trembling almost violently, blinking back tears as the suppressed memories surfaced. He continued, "In the end, I dueled Voldemort and managed to ruin his plans to return to power … temporarily … and then carried Cedric's body back to Hogwarts, where everyone was waiting for us. No one knew what had happened; all they saw was me return from the maze carrying the Tri-Wizard Cup and … C-Cedric's corpse." Harry stared down at the table top, noticing his shaking fists. He steadied himself, taking a deep breath.
A deadening silence enveloped the common room and the five students in it. Ryou and Yuugi looked at each other and then at Harry.
"Oh," was all Ryou could say, his tone one of sincere apology and sympathy.
Harry shook his head, his eyes stinging with tears, and said brusquely, "Goodnight," before heading up to his dorm without so much as a glance at his friends.
"Wow," Yuugi murmured once they heard Harry's footsteps disappear up the spiral staircase. "I … I can't imagine what that would be like. I mean, if I had been in that position …" His voice trailed off as he turned to the fire that Harry had been staring into not too long ago.
"It was awful," Ron consented. "It's been real hard on him ever since. It's not enough that he feels guilty about it, but the Ministry is totally trying to ignore the fact that Voldemort's returned. You heard Umbridge, they're trying to pass it all off as lies from an 'attention-seeking' boy and 'senile' old man … that'd be Dumbledore, by the way. You should see the things printed about Harry and Dumbledore in The Daily Prophet. They're trying to discredit the both of them."
Atemu and Bakura, who had been sitting on a couch in the shadows of the common room, listening the whole while, turned to each other, and just by the look in their eyes they could tell they both had the same troubles on their minds.
If there really was a dangerous, homicidal Dark wizard abroad, both spirits feared for the safety of their hosts. And here, in Hogwarts, was surely the only place they'd ever learn to defend themselves. But, with Umbridge teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, all likelihood of any of the students getting decent defensive lessons were pretty much shot to hell. Now they realized why the students had been so upset with Umbridge's course aims; at present, it was of utmost importance for everyone who was able to learn how to defend themselves from the Dark forces rising against them.
And, when it came to Dark magick, both the Pharaoh and the thief knew just how dangerous things could get.
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All right, now ... you likey? PLEASE REVIEW! This is TBC ... as usual ... and, again, if anyone has any ideas for plot points ... please let me know! I know basically how I want the story to unfold, but I'll still take suggestions! And criticisms ... and ... -sigh- flames, too, if there's anyone that really thinks this fic is horrible. Oh, and for some of you readers out there who may not like or feel comfortable with yaoi (a.k.a shounen-ai or slash) ... I did put it in my summary that there will be slash! But hey, give it a shot. After reading my story you may come to like yaoi! Well, anyway, hope you liked the chapter!
poxmaker: I was going to put the whole Draco/Yami confrontation in this chapter, but I thought it better to end it where I did, and then put your suggestion in the next chapter. Thanks so much for all of your help so far! -
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