A/N: Hi guys! I'm back again! Sorry I took so long to update- but I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it! This is the longest yet! WOOOO
As always, I'd like to thank the reviewers for their support. This chapter is dedicated to WhatSrName.
Oh yeah, thanks to Batsutousai, who pointed out a funny little blooper I made in the last chapter. Apparently, I wrote "Born to those who have thrice defied him, bored as the seventh month dies…" Haha, how embarrassing…
A huge thanks to MysticSilverAngel for beta-ing this!
Disclaimer from the prologue applies.
Chapter 5:
Harry sat silently at the breakfast table, lazily spooning cold porridge into his mouth. It was lumpy and gray, so Harry had no interest in eating it. For the last week, life had been dull. Surprisingly, the fighting in the castle had been kept down to a minimum; even Sirius didn't seem to be plotting anything against the Death Eaters.
The underage students in the castle had been in classes for a week. They only had one class a day (Even though there was war on the horizon, it was summer!). Luckily, after their first Dark Arts lesson, the remaining four classes of the week had been the classes that were normally included in the Hogwarts Curriculum: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions (Snape was still a bastard), Charms, and Transfiguration. Harry had yet to experience any classes with the Dark Lord, but his Riddle-free time was coming to an end, as all good things did.
But Harry wasn't dreading today's class as much as he should have been. Upon learning that Voldemort and his merry band of criminals would be living in the castle with him, Harry had expected his life to become a living hell. In all actuality, though, he barely even noticed that they were there. No one had given him any trouble yet; something that could probably be attributed to the Dark Lord's warning to them that first day.
Even the Dark Lord himself hadn't given Harry any trouble. Well, not really. Though he was terrifying when angry and slightly frightening when not, the man was usually silent and mild-tempered, as far as Harry knew. The only thing that scared Harry a bit was the man's tendency to stare at him. On any given day, Harry would find himself eating quietly in the great hall. Then, out of the blue it seemed, he'd glance up from his plate and his eyes would immediately connect with endless chocolate orbs. The Dark Lord never broke his stare and looked away, as people who were caught staring were wont to do. Instead, his stare seemed to deepen and occasionally a triumphant spark would light his eyes, as if he had been waiting for Harry to acknowledge his stare.
Most days, it creeped Harry out.
Other days, the attention flattered and confused Harry. On these days, he could feel the back of his neck heating up and a warm ball of arousal lighting up his stomach something fierce. On these days, he was sure that out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione stop spooning her porridge into her mouth and watch with rapt attention the heavy flush that spread across Harry's face.
On these days, Harry swore he could peripherally see Hermione turn to the side and locate Draco across the hall, seemingly telegraphing him an important message using her eyes.
On these days, Harry noticed (or maybe imagined- who was he to say?) that Draco seemed to stay closer to him than usual, especially when the Dark Lord was around.
Today just happened to be one of Those Days.
Tom's eyes connected with Harry's from across the room. The green eyed boy could see Hermione and Draco mid-telegraph (so he hadn't imagined it!), when all of a sudden, his staring contest was broken by a shriek of outrage.
Harry turned to the source of the disturbance- Macnair. He privately found it hilarious that the intimidating executioner that he'd met in his third year could produce a shriek worthy of Ron if he were locked in a spider-infested room. It took Harry only a glance to figure out what the problem was- the man's robes (which were the traditional Death Eater robes) had turned the vilest shade of pink that Harry had ever seen. As soon as Macnair's robes had changed color, the other Death Eaters' robes had also made the transformation. The wave of pinkness spread from person to person like a deadly virus; for a moment, Harry almost felt sorry for them. The Death Eaters all stood up abruptly, raising mass-hysteria amongst themselves.
Another scream of outrage was let loose into the hall, this time coming from the area around Lucius Malfoy.
"Check your marks! Check your marks!" The same panic-filled voice urged. As one, the crowd of pink-clad Death Eaters raised their left arms and slipped their sleeves back, baring their forearms for the world to see. Harry's spoon, which had been halfway to his mouth when the whole thing had started, cluttered to the table as he cupped his hand over his lips, shaking in silent mirth.
Instead of snarling skulls and slithering serpents on their forearms, something far more hideous decorated the Death Eaters' skin.
Flowers.
Flashy flower-power flowers.
The flowers shimmered in psychedelic 70's colors, flashing brightly in the sunlight. They almost seemed to be mocking the Death Eaters.
Harry heard someone next to him gasping for air, and when he turned, it was to see Sirius, whose laughter was barely restrained. His right fist was shoved into his mouth and his big blue eyes were wet with tears of mirth. He stomped his feet on the ground rapidly, looking like a child who desperately needed to loo, instead of a 40-something year old man who was trying to quell his laughter.
Once Sirius was able to remove his fist from his mouth, and was simply sitting on his bench gasping for air, Harry leaned in conspiratorially. "Siri… you don't happen to have anything to do with this, do you?"
Sirius' eyes darted left, then right, as if searching for eavesdroppers. When he had evidently deemed it safe enough to speak, he opened his mouth. "Why, I certainly did. I wasn't a Marauder for nothing!"
"And how did you do this, exactly?" Harry seemed genuinely curious.
"Weeeeeelllll… I spiked their porridge. Rather simple, really. Just added a small bottle of this (here, he pulled out an empty glass vial), and added it to the pot of porridge that the house elves were making this morning." He seemed proud of his work.
"And what, exactly, is that?" Now, Harry was worried. Though the prank was funny, he didn't trust Sirius not to add something terrible to it just to sweeten the deal- something that would, oh say, cause the Death Eaters to break out in boils. Or throw up slugs. Or have the shits for the rest of the day. Or-
His train of thought was cut off by Sirius. "Oh, nothing much! Their robes and tattoos haven't even really changed! It's just an illusion- everyone just sees hideous pink and flower-power. I may be a little dim, Harry, but I don't have a death wish! But I say- this'll teach those sneaky snakes!"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least the Death Eaters- who were now under control, merely grumbling unhappily into their breakfasts- wouldn't burn his poor godfather at the stake.
After a few moments, the sound in the great hall dimmed down to the usual drone of the early morning. The joke had worn off, and Harry had slipped back into boredom.
Harry glanced up from his bowl and met chocolate eyes once again.
HPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTR
Later that day, Harry and Hermione made their way out of the castle. The air outside was clean and fresh; it was a welcome change from the stale, stuffy air that circulated throughout Hogwarts. They walked out past the greenhouses and the gardens, into a little patch of field near the Quidditch pitch. It was a hot, sunny day, perfect for outdoor activity.
Today would be the students' first lesson with the Dark Lord. Though he was somewhat wary, Harry wasn't as downright terrified as he had been just before his first class with Malfoy.
The rest of the kids in the class were sprawled along on the ground, lazily waiting for the arrival of their professors. Harry and Hermione walked over to where Draco was sitting alone, lying on his back with an arm thrown over his eyes. Malfoy must have sensed the two approaching- he removed his arm and sat up.
"Morning Harry, Granger," Malfoy greeted. Though they were nowhere near friends, Hermione and Draco had made a truce for Harry's benefit. Harry had the distinct feeling, though, that they both knew something that he didn't. He shrugged the feeling off; his paranoia had probably just increased because of the oncoming war.
"Morning Draco!" Harry chirped back. Hermione just spared him a small smile as the two sat down, Harry in the middle. Harry noticed the Draco subtly shifted closer to him, leaning all his weight on the arm that was closest to Harry. "So… did you enjoy your pink robes this morning?" Though Harry's voice had a slightly gloating tone to it, the blonde knew he was kidding.
He pouted anyway. "No. All of us had to go change after breakfast! Ohhhh I wish I knew who'd done that- I'd pummel him for sure! It was probably those Weasley twins, though…" Harry rather thought that Draco sounded like a ranting teenaged girl. "I mean really! Pink and horrible shiny flowers! What kind of prank is that anywa-"
"Shhhhh! Here come the professors!" Hermione interrupted Draco's enraged monologue.
Harry squinted across the lawn for a moment, before he spotted two tall figures making their way across the grounds towards the class. Harry recognized the one on the right to be Charlie Weasley- his hair made it impossible to mistake him for anyone else (except, perhaps, another Weasley). The man was tall and muscular, with long, straight red hair. His bangs came down to the tops of his cheekbones, obscuring his eyes from view.
On the left was the Dark Lord. Though most would not be able to tell from this far away, Harry knew who it was without a shadow of a doubt. He'd recognize that self-confident gait anywhere. Riddle was also tall, just barely taller than Charlie, though the dark haired man was a little less muscular. Harry's eyes stayed fixed on the Dark Lord, drinking up the man's visage.
He didn't noticed Hermione and Draco shooting worried looks at each other behind Harry's back. Draco's eyebrows drew together as he frowned and scooted just a little closer to Harry.
Both of the teachers had finally made their way to the small group of students. Their pupils had quieted now, staring at the two men with rapt attention.
"Hello, class! Welcome to your first day of archery lessons!" Charlie's greeting was warm and friendly, diffusing the small bit of tension that had settled amongst the teens. "First, I'd like to tell you all that we won't be learning swordsmanship for a few weeks yet; as it is more physically demanding than archery is."
Harry felt a small part of him sink in disappointment; he had been looking forward to learning to be a swordsman.
He watched as Riddle waved his wand, and fifteen bows and quivers of arrows appeared- two for the teachers and thirteen for the students. The man waved his wand again, and fifteen bulls-eye targets appeared fairly close to the students.
"Now, first things first. You need to know how to properly set up your shot, before you actually begin taking them. Mr. Weasley, if you would?" Voldemort's voice gave Harry a little shock; it was so strange to hear the man speaking like any other teacher would have.
Charlie bent and picked up a large bow and a quiver of arrows. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and held the bow in his hands. It was large and wooden, the dark brown curved in a graceful arch. Charlie grabbed an arrow from the quiver and got into position to aim his shot.
Riddle nodded approvingly. "This is the proper shooting form. Hold the bow firmly- you don't want the force of your arrow to throw your shot off course." The older teacher began circling Charlie, pointing out all the elements of a perfect stance. "Make sure your back is straight, not slouched over. Also, hold the arrow pointing a little above your target- it'll drop a bit when you release it, so it should strike dead-on." When the Dark Lord was done, he gave the ok for Charlie to shoot the arrow. He released the bow and it shot the arrow perfectly. The pointed weapon soared through the air for a moment, before landing directly in the bulls-eye with an audible thump.
"Any questions?" The Dark Lord implored.
A tentative voice came from beside Harry. "Sir, why do we have to learn archery? Not to be disrespectful, but wouldn't spells be much more useful?" Hermione questioned.
"Good question, Ms. Granger," Harry was shocked to see the Dark Lord addressing Hermione in such a respectful way. "Normally, yes, spell-work would come in handy more. But you know as well as I do that it's incredibly hard to aim a curse at someone from a distance. That's where archery comes in. We hope to set up a strong defense. That way, if we were to be attacked, we might be able to take out some of the opposition quickly and at a distance, and perhaps gain an advantage that way." His explanation made a lot of sense to Harry, who never could have thought of such an effective strategy himself. "Any more questions?" The class collectively shook their heads.
Charlie got out of his stance and turned to the teens, a smile plastered on his always-friendly face. "Well, guys, there you go! Pick a bow and start shooting! We set the targets pretty close for today, seeing as how most of you haven't ever shot before. Have at it!"
Everyone got slowly to their feet and picked bows that they liked. Harry's was thin and lightweight, made out of a light, almost white, wood. He picked out a quiver of arrows at random- they all seemed the same to him- and slung it over his shoulder.
Harry made his way over to Draco and Hermione, who were bent over their bows and whispering quietly and conspiratorially. When the two saw Harry approaching, they quickly broke apart and plastered innocent grins on their faces. Harry, bewildered as he was, chose to ignore the strange way in which they were acting, opting instead to turn to the nearest target. His friends followed his example, aiming at targets on their side of Harry's.
After about twenty minutes, Harry realized that archery was much harder than he'd thought it would be. His damned arrows kept landing in the ground, somewhere about ¾ of the way to the actual target. If he was lucky, occasionally his arrows would fly the full distance to the bulls-eye, only to veer off to the left or the right. Not one had even struck the most outer ring of the target, a fact that frustrated Harry to no end.
Looking to the right, Harry was relieved to see that Hermione wasn't doing too much better than he was. Most of her arrows had fallen short too, but he saw two jutting out from the widest ring of the bulls-eye. Harry looked to his left, immediately blushing in embarrassment when he saw how well Draco was doing. None of the blonde's arrows had fallen short- something that could probably be attributed to the considerable amount of upper body strength the boy possessed. Most of his arrows had at least hit the outer ring. A few had even struck closer than that!
Filled with determination to best Draco (They were friends, but Harry still had a massive competitive streak!), the brunette plucked another arrow from his quiver, lining up his shot and releasing. The arrow soared through the air at a high velocity, and Harry held his breath for a moment- only to let it all go with a 'whoosh' when his arrow missed the target by only a few centimeters. He'd never get the hang of this!
Suddenly, Harry felt a presence behind him. Unnoticed by the brunette, the Dark Lord had been wandering around the class, quietly offering assistance to those who needed it.
Riddle slowly sauntered up to Harry, smiling warmly as he approached. "Well, Potter… let me see your shot." His quiet command, though not harsh, left no room for argument. Not that Harry would have argued in the first place.
"O-Okay." The younger of the two agreed hesitantly. For some reason, he was nervous about his performance. Would the Dark Lord think he was hopeless because he wasn't a good archer? And how must he look, standing there next to Draco, whose shot was a great deal better than Harry's?
The nervous boy spared a glance to Draco, who was sure to be gloating next to him. He could already see the friendly, yet challenging smirk that was sure to be plastered onto the blonde's smug face. He was surprised, however, when the blonde showed no sign of arrogance whatsoever. Instead, he stood stock still with his eyes stuck warily on the Dark Lord. The blonde jumped into action when he realized that Harry was looking at him- he drew an arrow from his quiver and quickly aligned it perfectly with his bow, letting it go. The arrow struck the bulls-eye about two centimeters away from the center of the target. Draco turned back to the Dark Lord haughtily and gave him a short stare; it was almost as if the boy was trying to assert his alpha male position over his teacher.
Either Riddle didn't see Draco, or he didn't care. He just stood calmly a few feet behind Harry, waiting for the smaller boy to make a move.
Harry shakily collected an arrow and aimed it straight for the target. Pulling the bow back, he let the arrow whiz through the air, and was thoroughly disappointed when it landed -yet again- a few feet in front of the target. Would he ever get this right!
The Dark Lord critically studied Harry's form and came to a decision.
"Potter… were you listening to what I was saying while Weasley was demonstrating?" Harry's face colored in a pretty blush. Sure, he'd listened while Riddle had been talking. But he hadn't been listening to what the man was actually saying- no, instead he'd chosen to let the deep baritone wash over him, basking in the simple pleasure of hearing the man's voice.
"Yes, of course I was, professor." It wasn't a lie- just an omission.
The Dark Lord shook his head with a playful smile written across his face. He seemed to know exactly what had been racing through the younger man's mind. "Sure you were, Potter." His voice was friendly, not accusing, and Harry was surprised at the lack of anger. "Would you mind showing me your stance again, please? Just aim the arrow for now. Don't shoot it."
Harry quickly produced another arrow and tried to mimic the form that he had seen Charlie use. "Ah, I see what it is! You need to aim your arrow above the target, not straight at it. That way, the arrow will hit dead-on, instead of not even making it to the target. Remember that little thing called gravity, Potter?" Harry's blush, which had finally retreated, returned. The most feared man in Britain had just made a joke- to him!
Harry angled his arrow above the bulls-eye and let it go. To Harry's horror and intense embarrassment, it completely missed the target, shooting straight over it and into the grass beyond. The Dark Lord chuckled and took a few steps closer to Harry, now standing directly behind him. He plucked an arrow from Harry's quiver and handed it to the boy. "Here, try again."
Harry again positioned the arrow and held his pose. The Dark Lord was close to Harry now and the boy was having trouble suppressing his trembling. "Let me help you." Harry let out a startled squeak when two strong arms wrapped around his own. Large, thick hands grasped Harry's own tightly around the bow and Harry's flesh seemed to burn at the contact. The man's scent engulfed him totally and completely; it was warm and protective and dangerous and provocative all at once. It swirled around Harry's head, making him weak and pliable in the other man's hands. He was sure that if Tom asked him to be the target, he would have without a second thought. He gulped when Tom pulled the arrow back, his strong muscles bunching up under the sleeves of his shirt. "See, you have to hold the bow firmly, or else your arrow will waver."
Harry thought his knees would give out. That lulling baritone that he'd been admiring all day was now right behind him; Harry could feel the warmth of the other's breath on the side of his face. "Aim just a little above the target, but not as high as you did before. You'll have to do that later, but for now we're pretty close." More of that breath against his face and Harry could have happily died on the spot.
The taller brunette bent down to Harry's level and pressed the side of his face against Harry's own, lining up his own eyes with the end of the arrow. Though Harry realized that Tom was being purely professional- it wasn't as if the man wanted him or anything- it was hard not to gasp at the feeling. The stubble-dotted cheek brushed against his own smooth one deliciously and Harry thought he could feel the other man's jaw muscle twitch. Tom had pressed himself against Harry's back now- in order to aim the arrow correctly- and he felt the man's heat searing down the length of his back. Harry gulped audibly and tried to slow the beating of his frantic heart. A shiver raced its way up his spine while Harry's stomach muscles twitched and trembled in arousal. A bead of sweat trickled down the crevice between Harry's jaw and his neck; Harry couldn't tell if it was Tom's or his own.
The arrow suddenly snapped out of Harry's hold as Tom let it go. It soared through the air and struck the bulls-eye dead on and Harry smiled, despite his uncomfortable arousal. He'd finally done it! Tom took a step away from Harry- he tried to quell his disappointment- and offered a congratulatory nod. "See, Potter? Nothing to it."
Harry nodded in joy and turned to Draco, completely intent on sharing his happiness with his friend. But the blonde wasn't looking at him. No, the blonde's eyes were stormy and filled with a (jealous?) teenage rage. His eyebrows were drawn together and his strong jaw jutted out angrily, his face perfectly shaped into a beautiful sneer. For a moment, Harry was taken aback- was his new friend angry that Harry had finally succeeded? Then, he noticed that the blonde wasn't looking at him, as he had previously thought they were. Draco's eyes were fixed on a spot about a foot above Harry's head. Draco's eyes were locked right onto Tom Riddle's.
HPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTR
Hermione raced through the halls of Hogwarts alone. Her backpack bounced on her hip as she careened about the hallways like a mad woman- she was late! Seemingly out of nowhere, a hand reached out from an abandoned classroom and latched onto her arm, dragging her into the room. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, catching her breath. "Sorry I'm late! I couldn't get away from Harry."
"It's fine." Draco Malfoy, the owner of the hand, lifted himself atop of one of the desks in the room. He moodily stared down at the floor for the moment, before looking up into Hermione's eyes. "I don't know what to do! Did you see what happened today!"
Harry only thought that Hermione and Draco had come to a cease-fire, acting at least civil in front of him. But Harry, as usual, was wrong. Hermione and Draco had actually come to a sort of agreement with each other. Hermione, unknown to Harry and (at the time) Draco, had seen what they had dubbed "the kiss." She'd seen the way that Draco had lovingly cradled Harry's body in his arms and they way that he'd seemed disappointed after the kiss was broken. She'd seen the boys' promise to remain friends and then she'd seen how Draco had cursed himself and looked heartbreakingly sad after Harry had left. That was when she'd decided to step in. Though Hermione Granger wasn't the most wise person when it came to love, she wanted the best for her best friend. She wasn't a fool- no, she'd seen the way that the Dark Lord and Harry watched each other. But she also knew what Harry had told her about the prophecy in June- the two were supposed to kill each other, for Christ's sake! Therefore, Hermione had decided to help Draco win over Harry; she'd do anything to keep him away from the Dark Lord. So, Hermione had approached Draco and offered to help him. Oh, the blonde had refused and argued at first, but after about a half an hour of Hermione's incessant arguing, he'd agreed. He knew he'd need all the help he could get to win over the smaller boy. Hermione had promised to try to help Draco in any way he requested and to just be there when he needed to talk about it, which was the reason that he had grabbed her and all but forced her into the abandoned classroom.
"Yeah, I saw. I mean, really! Hitting on Harry in class?" The bookworm in Hermione was appalled that her Professor had taken away time from the lesson in order to put the moves on her best friend.
"I know!" Draco's voice was frustrated and upset. "And it's not like Harry didn't enjoy it! What should I do? I'm going to lose him to the Dark Lord, and that's not something I can live with!"
"I know, Draco. Listen, I think that you should just tell Harry what's going on. I know he at least likes you as a friend; he's always talking about you!" Hermione tried to encourage Draco.
"Granger, I can't! He'll reject me and then what'll I do!" It seemed that Malfoy's Slytherin side was finally showing through; his instincts for self-preservation were kicking in.
"Well, how else are you supposed to ever get anywhere with him?"
"I don't know! I think- I think I should just be his friend for a while, get him to like me a little. He's not just going to want to jump right into something." Draco's voice went from frantic to calm and resolute.
"Malfoy, can I ask you something?" Hermione questioned.
"Sure. Shoot."
"Do you love my best friend?"
Draco paused. Did he love Harry? Draco had never been in love; the word was foreign and frightening to him. He thought back to how Harry's kisses had felt against his lips and the warm feeling that he got inside his chest whenever he thought about the tiny brunette, coupled with the heart-stopping fear that he would lose Harry to the Dark Lord. "I think so. Honestly, I've never been in love before. But I think that I'm coming pretty damn close."
Hermione seemed satisfied with Draco's answer, for she nodded and swept from the room with one last smile at the blonde.