Hi everybody and anybody! This is my first fanfic, whoop whoop, and I have minuscule experience writing. I honestly have no idea how I will switch between humor and horror, but it'll be a fun experience for all of us (hopefully.) The first bit will be very light and then things will start to get screwy. Harry is a little *cough* OOC and there will be some Ginnybashing. Constructive criticism much appreciated. Enjoy!
Warning: All the wonderful things in the Harry Potter universe belong to J. K. Rowling!
Beep. Beep. Beep. Bop. Boop. Blop. Blurp. Sizzle.
Harry's hair caught on fire, again, as he stumbled out of bed in a daze. He combed his fingers trough the burning mess, only to have his fingers scorched. He'd forgotten that his hair was on fire. It was almost like a regular occurrence, now, really.
Ever since Snape had given him that Demonic Alarm Clock of Doom to combat Harry's tendencies to be tardy, Harry was having fewer and fewer problems waking up late. However, he had more and more problems with the academy's nurse, Mrs. Pomfrey, who simply had "no idea how, in Merlin's dragonscale undergarments (insert shrill shriek of frustration)" he had managed to obtain second-degree burns on his upper body every day for the last two months. To which he would always say, with a little huff of indignation, "I'm getting better in dealing with the problem, Mrs. Pomfrey, and promptly visit Snape with ill intentions.
But he really was getting better in dealing with these issues." The first couple of times, he hadn't even woken up until the his whole body was flaming. It was actually kinda cool, minus all the pain and stuff.
Ron and Hermione, his two best buds, complained about how he should be taking better care of his body and how he might get irreversible brain damage from the fire and smoke is a carcinogen and how Snape was an evil git and should die alone, in the Himalayas. He really loved them.
They would be here soon, to pick him up, for today was a special day. He quickly doused (what was left) of his hair, briefly wondered if chronic burning of his scalp could lead to early baldness, grew his hair back, fixed up his face, and downed a pepper up potion. He was going to need it. Finishing up with the rest of his daily hygienic ritual, he put on some decent clothes, grabbed his suitcase and left for the waiting car.
He lugged his luggage into the backseat with him. Knowing Hermione and Ron's family, the car's trunk was filled to the brim with books and other things the Weaseley family deemed "necessities." Cough. Everything. Coughcough.
Hermione gave him a quick eye-over and gave him a passing grade before inquiring about his health and wellbeing and if he had packed everything. He shot her a quizzical look before answering. Hermione had been acting strangely since last Friday. When had Hermione become so...motherly? Maybe it was Riddle bringing out her estrogen. Apparently Riddle seemed to do that to everybody.
They settled into the long airborne ride to the land of the rising dragon. Land of the setting sun and the delectable Peking roast duck. He was rather excited to visit China; Hermione wasted no time launching into a long-winded and elaborate discourse on the culture, history, and language of the ancient lands. After an couple hours or so, they had exhausted all possible outlets of conversation, minus Riddle and this trip, of which neither Ron or himself wanted to converse about anymore, so Hermione tried to do the best job of conversing with herself without sounding awkward.
Ron was still looking pretty glum about Hermione's newfound fanaticism with Riddle, and Harry had given up trying to distract Ron with random quidditch facts and this new Really Expensive Exclusive Science Group who had books that proved all magickind came from aliens. Sciencetology or something? It practically screamed really-bored-elite-people-who-have-no-more-purpose -for-their-money-but-want-to-try-to-get-a-kick-out -of-it-anyways. This is why we needed a class for morals and anti-decadence that everyone with a salary of over a million was required to take...and Hermione really needed to shut up soon. Ron looked like he was going to blow over.
"-and Mr. Riddle said that in China, sticking your chopsticks into your food was bad manners, and considered 'feeding the dead,' isn't that amazing? He said it could probably be traced to the incense sticks they used at funerals or mayb-"
"Hermione, shut up!" Ron took his eyes off the road to glare vehemently at Hermione right before they very nearly swerved into a tree, and Harry gently slammed Ron's face into the windshield, just to remind Ron that he was driving. "Just because he knows a whole bunch of useless info doesn't mean he's smart! Not everybody thinks he's as awesome as you do!" Ron vented. Hours of stressed driving was really getting to this guy. And he'd just indirectly insulted Hermione. Maybe stressed driving inhibited common sense as well as anger and the urge for bladder release did? He would have to test that out sometime, but he'd better observe the effects for now.
Hermione was a couple shades redder than Ron's hair, which was saying something. She looked pretty shocked at Ron's outburst, so she probably was oblivious to all the noise she was making.
"Ron," she huffed, "just because you don't understand the value of knowledge doesn't mean you can go around saying it's stupid! And Mr. Riddle is smart! He's absolutely brilliant! He owes his own successful tech company and he's beaten down several huge corporations! He graduated early in blah blah blah blah blah"
Harry had given up listening to her tirade; it was as familiar as the back of his hand. Immediately after Hermione had met Riddle, she had gone and googled and searched and memorized every little detail about him. He kinda wanted to point out that going such lengths to learn about somebody would only scare the person, but he didn't want to meddle between the affairs of a jealous man and an enamoured woman. It was too dangerous, even for him, the Boy-Who-Lived (as he was known amongst his auror peers, but that was a story for later).
Riddle had started his company, Magitech, only four years ago. It blended magic and muggle science and engineering to form incredible things from very powerful new types of equipment, such as magic artillery, permanent transfiguration, and magic spacecraft, to casual everyday things like visualization libraries, long-distance spectro-communication, and never ending lined paper (thank Merlin for replacing parchment.)
He was quickly gaining fame and power in the sociopolitical sphere and held several chairs in the Wizengamut. He was dirty rich and the heir of Slytherin. Most people believe that he would be the next Minister, and many believed him more competent than Fudge, although that wasn't a really high standard. Even Harry himself could do the things Fudge did with ease even though he hated the world of politics for confounding him and itself.
Harry had been surprised that he had even gotten a chance to meet the guy, with Riddle's busy schedule and the high-and-mighty attitude of his entourage.
Riddle had met up with his commander, Rufus Scrimgeour, and requested three aurors for his upcoming research trip to China. Their commander hated Riddle with a passion (which he didn't mind) so Harry presumed he decided to pick three of the most expendable ones (which, given the choices, Harry did hate). Merlin, why did everybody think he was unnecessary? Ok, maybe he did spend most of his time comforting the demetor's captives instead of patrolling, but that didn't mean he was inept! He could shoot a very nice patronus charm and had good reflexes. He knew how to fight with firearms, swords, and fists. He was usually stronger than most, mentally. He supposed the only thing he was missing was being book smart and having connections. Taking advantage of those was the easiest way to getting better treatment.
Hermione he knew had been picked because she lacked battle experience and connections. Ron had been picked because...well he supposed to complete the trio of friends. That kinda sucked.
Honestly, the only good thing out of this trip was the fact that it was going to be free. He really hoped that nothing too bad would happen, since they were only aurors-in-training. Even if they had been accepted into the Ministry's special training program for their "elite" skills, they still sucked compared to those like Mad-eye. Those legends were insane.
The ceasefire between Ron and Hermione snapped him out of his stupor. Hermione was splotchy and looked like she was going to either cry or kill. Ron looked the same. He noted that stressed driving did provoke the same level of insensitivity as anger and need to urinate from his red-haired friend, or...perhaps it was just Ron. He needed to double check that. And he needed to figure out how to soften Hermione's anger and set up a time for Ron to apologize. Merlin, the things he did for his loved ones.
"Harry, we're here, at the Heavenly Lotus Hotel. Do you know what rooms we have, Harry?" Hermione deliberately turned to him as she said this. Of course Harry didn't know, Ron had the instructions, but Hermione was too stubborn to talk to Ron.
Ron, thinking that Hermione was taking Harry to the dark side, quickly followed up with "Harry, I'll meet you later to tell you the rooms. Let's get checked in without Hermione."
Harry wanted to sigh because his friends were too old to be fighting amongst each other for his (unbiased) favor. Ron had no intention to tell Hermione the room numbers, didn't he. What a pair of stubborn idiots. Quickly thinking up a solution, he dragged his luggage and Ron out of the car and walked a few feet away. In whispers, he gave the usual speech and reprimanded Ron a bit and then Ron broke down and asked him what he should do, and of course Harry had planned this and told him to go back and say a couple things, namely, "I hope you weren't offended, dearest Hermione, but I only said that to send Harry away, so I could talk more with you, gracious lady." After that everything would be settled.
Harry waited until he was sure that Ron was following through with the plan, and then he trudged up the marble steps, fuming a little, to the Gothic cathedral/haunted citadel-styled five-star hotel (in China, really?) and left the two to reconcile. His room was 502 and he was sharing (Again, really? They obviously had enough money for single rooms) with some esteemed economist named Wrako? Mako? Mako Dowfoy? Something like that. Apparently he came from a old, rich, and noble family. He hoped he wouldn't have the stereotypical stuck-up attitude that was supposed to accompany his heritage. Even worse, what if he had the silly white-blonde hair like those aristocrats from Game of Thrones? That would be too much.
He opened the door and was surprised to see that no one was there. Maybe Dowtoy was trying to be fashionably late. Okay. he needed to stop bashing his would-be roommate. They were sharing this room for the whole of summer. He really hoped that his new roommate wasn't as nosy as Hermione because that would be so bothersome, and, not to mention, creepy.
He set his stuff around his bed and flopped into it. Stretching languidly, he starting wondering about what Riddle would be like and what their research would be like. Hermione had met Riddle while Riddle was walking to his car, and from the descriptions she was giving, he was supposed to be an amiable, kind, handsome, brilliant, sexy, beast. Maybe Riddle would look like him? He laughed. You wish, Harry, he reprimanded himself.
Feeling curious, he grabbed his visual library (aka magic computer) and googled Tom Riddle. He remembered that Hermione had slipped something quite disconcerting about Riddle...
"Am I to suppose that you are my roommate?" Someone said scathingly.
Harry turned around and was met with platinum-blonde hair, a haughty look, a very expensive suit emblazoned with a family crest, and what looked to be two burly...servants carrying five suitcases? What was this? Maybe someone splotched up the pepper up potion he drank earlier. This guy...this guy...
"Can you only stand there and gape? You are not fit to be my roommate. I bet you're a mudblood or a blood traitor, like that filthy female down in 501. Pathetic." He sneered and waved a hand of dismissal to his serv-ah who am I kidding, slaves.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Hermione was in 501. He really wanted to punch this guy, the splitting image of the Lako Dutry in his mind, but his brain was still trying to comprehend the fact that this guy was the epitome of spoiled aristocratic children. Seriously, world, are you trying to **** with me? I don't appreciate the effort.
"If you are the haughty aristocrat you seem, shouldn't you have manners? I suppose I should be the man and take that step first then, since you don't comprehend simple social etiquette. I'm Eimstufid Animdum. Nice to meet you." Harry held out his hand. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little something told him that he was going to regret this.
"Well then, Eimstufid. I'm the Draco Malfoy, heir of the high and noble Malfoy family. I suppose that you should know quite a bit about social etiquette, since you're so well versed in it, hmm? It's pity that starting a simple introduction is all you think you need to be a man." Harry scoffed to cover up his laughter. Mentally, he was rolling on the floor and clutching his stomach with the effort of laughing. (He said it! He said "I'm stupid!") Harry noted that he was so childish sometimes.
With effort, he forced his face to mirror Plato's cool look of disdain. "Of course I'm not well versed in it, there's no need to go beyond the basics in something as outdated and superfluous as pureblood social etiquette. And pity," Harry smiled. "I thought that you were going to agree with me on how manners make the man, seeing as that's the only reason you would ever be considered one." Internal Harry was still gasping for breath.
Taco's genial smile that he had been valiantly maintaining twitched under this barrage of insult. He dropped his voice and ominously intoned, "Don't make an enemy of a Malfoy, Eimstufid. And since I'm feeling especially kind today, let me inform you that your value is almost solely based upon the condition of your blood, boy."
The prejudice loaded in that statement would have riled him up pretty well if Paco didn't look like such a prissy girl. He felt bad for boy aristocrats since their bad attitudes might have developed to combat their overall sissiness. Maybe he should give Sako a break? He grinned. Nah.
"Riddle told us to meet him down in the auditorium at 8. We'd better hurry, Mr. Fako Wowboy."