A/N: Another chapter for Black Orchids. Honestly, this story is somewhat indulgent. It's not a self-insert for me as a person, but, whenever I write this, it is always with an amused smile.

I realize there are a ton of self-insert/OC-inserts (it's more the latter, but I don't know if this is a known term) out there.

Anyway, things take a turn for the surreal as more characters show up, and bad plans are concocted. What possibly could go wrong?

Enjoy!

o.O.o

Chapter Two, Blood Magic

As the next days progressed and when the weekend arrived, I'd gained a rudimentary understanding of magic and how it ran through my body. How to recognise and how to use it.

Although, it still was a work in progress, I finally was aware of it.

And now that I was aware of it, of the low burning through my body, it was easier to use it. I still was very far behind and although I could do some magic, I wasn't anywhere near the level I saw other students Draco's age display. However, I did get my personal victory of levitating a book through the third year boys room.

Things were looking up after that. Classes went better (I suppose 'good' was too much to ask for) and newer magic became doable. As long as I tried hard enough, pictured what I wanted to happen, and did the wand movement right, I managed.

If only I could say the same about the spells that weren't shown during classes. Progress with spells from first and second year went slow. And I couldn't exactly ask one of Draco's friends for help—

Slytherins didn't do anything for leisure, apparently.

It was one of the unspoken rules. A firm line drawn in the sand. It was a pity though that these children weren't aware that in reality, lines in sand were easily washed away by the waves of the sea.

I wondered absentmindedly if these spoiled, babied, porcelain dolls had ever even been at the seaside at all. And that idea made me snort. Made me smile. Probably not.

But anyway, it was a rule. And at least it was a rule I could oblige to. The library was quiet that afternoon.

The Slytherin third years were having a free hour and I spent it in the library, working on school stuff, sitting next to Theodore Nott. The sun shone brightly, pouring in through the high windows and the scratching of quills on parchment a distant hum. That was until Nott let out a long irritated sigh.

"Oi Draco," Nott asked, tapping his fingers on my History of Magic notes. "Care to trade?"

"Hm?" My eyes flitted to his Transfigurations notes and I smiled. "Sure, I'll trade you for Transfigurations."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Nott grinned and I happily accepted his notes.

"You're very welcome."

I stayed awake during History of Magic. I did, even if it was barely, and at the end of every lesson I had the notes to show for it. And these notes were wanted. Honestly, I considered starting a trade business in History summaries.

The irony of Draco Malfoy trading summaries for money or anything valuable at all was not lost on me, and therein lay the problem. I had money at my disposal. More money than I'd ever dreamed of having, but I wasn't exactly sure how to access it.

Was I supposed to write to Lucius? Was I supposed to write a cheque of some kind? I couldn't exactly ask anyone.

I supposed I could have made up some cock-and-bull story of how my parents had turned off the money tap for one reason or the other but—

I was already telling too many lies to keep track of.

I didn't want to tell more. It could only confuse me in the end. Stretching my legs out in front of me, I pinked through Theodore Nott's notes, fingers stilling when I noticed several dating from last year.

"You keep all of them together? Different years I mean?"

"Of course," he agreed and I gripped the notebook tighter between my hands. "Eventually, we'll need them with the O.W.L.'s and the N.E.W.T.'s."

"Right, good thinking."

"I marvel that you can stay awake during Binn's lectures, but I'm certainly glad."

"Well, it makes for excellent trade material." I drolly replied. "We should be going."

"Ugh, Defense— he's nice and all, but does he have to dress so stuffy."

I shrugged, "I don't think he has enough money to buy more quality robes."

I knew Lupin didn't. As a registered werewolf, finding employment was hard. Or more like impossible. The only reason Lupin had found it at Hogwarts was because of Dumbledore had a thing with employing charity cases.

That didn't necessarily mean Lupin was a bad teacher. He was quite good, actually. Patient and seemed to threat everyone equally without openly disliking anyone.

However, he was still a werewolf.

When I initially read the books that hadn't registered as something bad to me. To me it was just a disease. As long as you took your medication you were not a danger to anyone, but— It wasn't really like a disease you could catch just like that. Lupin only had to forget his Wolfsbane potion once, and he could create havoc through the castle. That didn't mean he should find no employment, of course—

But, I just wasn't entirely sure if it should be in a school castle without extra security measures. Perhaps he did take them, of course. As far as I knew werewolves couldn't do magic when transformed, so perhaps Lupin always warded his rooms just in case. Perhaps I was being just as bad as those biased little racists that made up that law for Werewolves in tn he first place.

Whichever it was, I was at least unconcerned and mostly unafraid of Lupin during classes. And as we made our way out of the library, dust motes flickering transparently in the bright sunlight, I felt no dread or fear.

I couldn't say I remembered the third year curriculum exactly, but when we filed in the DADA classroom, my eyes fell on Lupin's excited face, declaring we were having a practical lesson away from the classroom.

A murmur of faux-agitated complaints travelled through the Slytherin students, who'd decided probably from the start of term, that being difficult with Professor Lupin was the way to go.

I'd even go as far as say it was their own way of accommodating Severus Snape, but I followed quietly.

Anthony Goldstein was walking beside me, loudly considering what we would be facing — 'a boggart, now shut up, Goldstein,' I'd wanted to say — and I offered him a non-committal shrug.

I'd kept my interactions with Non-Slytherins to a minimal, unsure how Draco Malfoy normally handled them (probably derisively), yet, somehow, to the Ravenclaws that had come over as an invitation to speak to me.

To seek me out, to nod at me in the hallways.

A part of me— the part of me that had been conducting a research for his thesis, wondered if this was just how human behaviour worked. When something was unavailable, somehow people wanted it. Wasn't that what scientists considered was the lure of cocaine and XTC? That it was forbidden and therefore popular? However, I'd been unsure this would also work on humans with other humans.

When I'd been myself, not inhabiting a child's body— well another child's body— no one had ever come seeking me out, whenever I'd tried to be unavailable.

Goldstein was talking again, not to me this time, although I felt I was somewhat being included and we'd reached the staffroom on the ground floor.

An old-fashioned wardrobe stood at the end of the room, giving a sudden wobble when we neared it, banging noisily off the wall.

"Don't worry guys, it's only a boggart in there."

Yeah, I remembered the boggart episode. VIVIDLY.

And, it wasn't like I was that embarrassed of my fear for cockroaches. I'd always been afraid for those little critters and after all the bullshit I'd gone through, I certainly wasn't that worried about a shapeshifter. But, well, doing magic in front of the entire class? To do both magic and pretend to be Malfoy?

Just great.

Sure, not even Neville Longbottom had a problem dealing with it. And back in third year, he was not particularly good at many of his subjects. At this point still extremely nervous for— well, fucking everything and blew up cauldrons and whatnot as if it was his life mission, so, why should I?

(What possibly could go wrong)

The sun poured in through the windows and I breathed in deep, squinting. I could do this. I just— I could watch how someone else would do it and then I only had to picture it.

"—Malfoy?"

I frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"A boggart, can you tell me what it is?"

My frown deepened. Was he singling me out? "A shapeshifter," I answered, crossing my arms over my chest, "It can turn into your greatest fear."

"Yes, very good," Lupin decided. "Care to tell me what it looks like?"

"No one knows," I answered.

Lupin nodded. "Indeed, ten points to Slytherin. Now, the boggart sitting in the dark in there has not yet assumed a shape, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears."

A giant cockroach— I could already imagine the screams. And what was I supposed to do with one to make it amusing?

"The spell to fight a boggart is relatively simple. Riddikulus." Lupin continued and waved the students to come closer. "You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing."

Perhaps smashing it beneath a giant fly swatter.

I allowed myself to smile.

I certainly thought that was amusing and copied the wand movement Lupin demonstrated.

He had all but forced a quivering Ravenclaw student with blonde pigtails at the front of the queue, to start. She was supposed to turn her fear of spiders into something funny. Lupin opted for roller-skates, which, if I remembered correctly, is what Ron had gone for, and the other students formed a line behind her.

I was already imagining the polka dot design my insanely huge fly swatter would have when Lupin opened the wardrobe and with a crackle like lighting a large, thick spider appeared. The girl — could she be Mandy Brocklehurst — let out a shriek, and, instead of turning the Boggart into anything amusing, turned around and pushed her friend forward. The image changed, and instead a thin, shallow man with long hair stood.

I had no idea who, or perhaps what, it was, but this Ravenclaw, who had mousy brown hair, pointed her trembling wand at him and screamed Riddikulus. The man morphed, gasped and looked for a second as if he was melting, like a candle dripping wax on the floor. I wasn't sure if it was funny or just sad, but as the entire class laughed, I allowed a small smile to quirk my lips upwards.

A Slytherin stepped forward. Tracey Davis was smiling, rolling on the balls of her feet, and I guessed she was looking forward to her turn. I was too— sort of.

It had taken me all week to even manage the simplest spells, but I could do the newer ones. The ones that relied on the theory recently discussed. The ones that weren't follow-ups from the last two years, which was probably why I barely managed in Transfigurations class last Monday, and had almost murdered Crabbe, or Goyle — I still couldn't tell those two apart — and, why I had actually failed at first to do the Cheering charm in Charms last Tuesday.

I thought the failed attempts, even if I had managed at the end of the lesson, was why I had to meet the small professor for remedial work. I acted affronted, as was expected, but I was so fucking glad. I spent three nights in a row reading instead of sleeping, found the kitchen by pure luck and begged the house elves for coffee (which apparently they didn't usually serve in the Wizarding World) and spent the day hours almost too heavily caffeinated to function, but, when I met up with Flitwick, I knew at least the magical theory (loosely).

And—

It was my turn.

I'd been Draco Malfoy for nine days now and as I stepped forward, and I rolled Draco's wand between my fingers, cocking my head to the side.

The boggart, which had assumed the shape of a large snake whose tail was in knots, turned its yellow eyes on me.

A ripple went through it and a moment later he stretched, bubbled. It was quite gruesome and fascinating at the same time, watching it sprout large hairy skittering legs and seeing it grow a gleaming hard plate. It was probably the ugliest cockroach I'd ever seen and several students shrieked.

I can't stress it enough how absolutely wonderful it felt when my spell worked and the large fly swatter — adorned with polka dots — smashed into the boggart with a loud and wet smack.

Honestly, it was marvellous.

Even if several students, mostly girls, looked creeped out by the goo that seeped free from the faux cockroach.

I thought it was fantastic. If I'd had magic in my original body, this would have been the way all of those little arseholes had gone. Instead, I had to rely on a spray can, poisoning the suckers. And it wasn't as if they couldn't survive the filthy gas.

Anyway, Defense had been successful that day and when we finished, I found myself trudging after the other Slytherins, piling outside with a smug smile on my face.

Crabbe and Goyle were walking on either side of me, their faces morphed into similar blank expressions I couldn't read. Or perhaps there was nothing to read. After all, they weren't exactly bright. And I inhaled deeply. It was a nice after-summer day and from the slight sting the wind carried, I assumed it would be one of the last ones.

"Looking forward to flying again, Draco?"

"Flying?"

"Yeah," the one to my right said. He had sandy hair and his eyes looked waterily. "Quidditch is going to start again, isn't it?"

"Ah, of course, yeah, looking forward. Can't though— you know my arm…" I muttered.

"Oh, right."

I smiled. I hadn't forgotten about Quidditch. At least not exactly. I'd known the Quidditch season was approaching. I just hadn't considered I was supposed to be joining the game as well.

Another thing to add to the never ending list of things I probably was going to suck at. Running a hand through my hair I let out a long suffering sigh.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in what I thought was understanding or sympathy (although they sympathised with me for entire different reasons) and I swallowed thickly.

Day light made the lake shimmer in the distance and I watched the Slytherin Quidditch players curl and dip through the air above the Quidditch pitch. We settled beneath a large tree, the sun-dappled light splaying over my back and the breeze ruffling my hair. How was I supposed to discretely go flying?

Even if I could pretend the Hippogriff debacle had damaged my left hand to the point I had to relearn everything with my right hand again, didn't you need your dormant hand with flying in the first place?

Wonderfull— truly!

Just when I thought I was starting to get a grip on my situation, fate had to come and dump another bombshell in my lap. Seriously, were was I supposed to practice flying unnoticeably?

I found my answer a mere week later. October had started with a wane of rain and I found the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor.

By now, I was able to navigate through the school without getting lost that often and my eyes widened in surprise. I hadn't meant to look for it — I wan't sure why not — but when I saw it, my body stilled. The room of requirement, the room of hidden things.

Well, it was a bare wall now, but I knew what it could do. Appearing for those in need. The room could give you whatever you wanted (well, I was sure it had limits, but none came to mind).

It could be the place to hide and practice.

It could be any place I wanted. It could be a place where I had a moment to myself. I bit my lip and glanced uncertainly at the wall across the tapestry.

What did I want the room to provide me with right now?

Honestly, I would kill for a comfortable study with a plush couch and a large bookcase full of books I could use to practice my magic. Yes, a couch with a plaid, a bookcase full of books and perhaps a nice fireplace for the colder days. That's what I wanted.

I started to pace in front of the wall. I felt only slightly ridiculous in doing so, but it was all worth it when the door appeared. It was a win. A very big one.

And after I got the hang of it, making the door appear and the room take on the exact picture I had in my head, I went there every night.

There was no curfew kicking me out at nine, no suspicious questions (although I got them plenty during breakfast or during breaks), and best of all, the room was warm and pleasant, whereas the dungeons were damp and cold. Many times, there just didn't seem a need to go to the dorms, when one could just wish for a nice bed and sleep there.

The room would turn into an exact replica of my old bedroom and somehow I was always awakened an hour before breakfast would start. If the other Slytherins noticed I didn't sleep in the dorms, they didn't comment on it, although Draco's group of friends — namely Pansy and Theodore — did.

They must have noticed, but Theodore was quiet and didn't like to pry, and Pansy told me I should notify her when I decided to act normally again, so there was no great worry.

Besides, when the second week of October started, I'd made some serious progress on both magic and flying, so who cared?

Although, magic remained a mystery to me on many fronts, flying was not. It was exactly as the books had described, and Draco's Nimbus 2000 reacted well to my thoughts and emotions. I understood it. I had a feeling for it.

But I was not great at it. Not a natural.

Which was a problem. I was pretty sure Draco had been more than decent at flying, and while I managed to sweep over the ground without hitting objects — or walls, honestly, it was a miracle I hadn't snapped the broom in two by now — all the time anymore, I was a far cry away of competing during an actual Quidditch game.

People expected more than just flying from one side of the field to the other side, and even with the actual nerve damage in my left arm — I would probably always be bereft from the feeling in three of my fingers — I was supposed to do better.

I wasn't expected to be as good as Harry Potter was, but I certainly was expected to be able to fly better. To perform stunts that made my stomach swoop.

Malfoy could fly well, couldn't he? If I had to guess, I would say I was Hermione-Granger-well at flying.

Perhaps even worse.

Granger, as far as I knew, hadn't hit a wall. So, yeah, the part where I could fly now was a HUGE win. The expectation of flying from one side to the other of the field, while being able to preform stunts, dips, and, evading dangerous murder balls, that was probably a no. A hard no.

Till now, I'd been able to get Flint to back off. And hadn't I been terrified of another appearance of Lucius Fucking Malfoy, I would have considered just quitting the team altogether, but how long before the team Captain would corner me and frogmarch me up onto the Quidditch pitch?

From the absolute murderous scowl on Flint's face whenever he saw me, I didn't think it would take long.

And then there was Remedial Transfigurations. I supposed word must have gotten around in the teachers' lounge about Remedial Charms, for after a week of having private lessons with Flitwick (yeah, I was that bad, I was the only one who actually needed guidance of the teacher himself), McGonagall cornered me after class. Her eyes had lit up like an ill-tempered tabby's, and, dread had made a home in my stomach.

At first, I'd thought she'd come to accuse me of faking my arm injury.

(Which was kinda true, of course, I was milking it for all it was worth)

However, that wasn't the case. She'd noticed the decline in my marks, and, like a worried cluttering mother hen, crowded me back inside her office.

As a result, I had to take remedial Transfigurations every Thursday afternoon. By then, a mosaic of leaves was covering the extensive grounds outside, and, as I slumped down at the dining table, reached for the pot of tea without a word. Getting better at magic, still wasn't good enough.

Honestly, it was just my luck getting stuck into the body of what actually appeared to be a straight-A student. I mean, I could have become Neville Longbottom, and no one would have been the wiser, even if I'd butchered a spell or gotten lost in the castle. Anyone who'd seen me had just shrugged, and decided, 'no, nothing strange there, just Neville having a nervous break-down.' But no, of course, Draco Malfoy's body. Great fit.

The only classes where I received full marks, or close to full-marks, in were History of Magic (my best subject by far, after all, it needed no magic), Potions (which was why Snape hadn't deigned to lecture me about the importance of grades, I assumed), Herbology (gardening), and Care for Magical Creatures (wasn't that fucking ironic). I did well in my written tests, and didn't butcher my DADA classes, but Fuck, did I hate Transfigurations and Charms-

"—wonder what they'll do with the ceiling with Halloween—"

"—life bats, I'm sure—"

I supposed I was still in a bit of a mood, and, with a scowl I listened half-heartedly as several students discussed Halloween Dinner. It would take place in a bit more than a week and I sneered, probably being truly reminisced to the real Draco Malfoy for the first time since I'd found myself occupying his body.

"You okay?" Nott asked and I dipped my spoon into the chicken soup I'd served myself. A tiny ripple rushed across the surface and I wetted my lips.

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Well, you're out a lot."

"I know."

"What do you do every evening?" Nott asked incredulously, probably having expected a denial.

"I read."

Nott let out a snort and turned away when his owl landed in front of him, narrowly missing his chicken breast filled plate. It was holding an evening addition of the Daily Prophet — a thing I hadn't bothered with before — and Nott reached out to stroke its feathers.

Its yellow eyes landed on me, or my plate more precisely and I sighed, pushing my plate with porridge and mashed potatoes forward.

"There, you little vulture, happy now?" I muttered as the bird hopped forward and started to wolf down my porridge. Honestly, whenever that bird was around, my breakfast, lunch or dinner wouldn't remain.

"You shouldn't let him have that." Nott muttered, already unfolding the paper.

"You should feed it instead then," I snapped back.

"Strangely enough, it doesn't want its treats or food anymore." Nott drolly replied and I glowered.

My eyes were drawn to the front page and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple. Sirius Black stared back at me from the front of the newspaper. I'd forgotten all about him.

Or perhaps I hadn't wanted to think about Sirius Black until now, and my mouth became sandpaper dry. I had't considered the opportunity Sirius Black presented.

A stark, gradual, portentously awful plan began to dawn.

I knew enough of the books to know what was going to happen.

Rowling might not have described every hour of every class — the books probably would't have been so popular if she had, although they would have been more helpful — but I did know when Sirius Black would make an appearance.

He would manage to get inside — although managing to get inside this school certainly wasn't as hard as it should have been — and he would get into the castle and have a catfight with the Fat Lady a bit over a week from now.

I was pretty sure, it was on Halloween evening and a small smile graced my lips.

I could lay in wait for him.I could ambush him. I could learn to stupefy him. He certainly wouldn't expect it. And when I managed that, I would strike a deal with him. Because Sirius Black had been smart.

He might have been a terrible student, but he'd been good at magic. He could help me. And in return, I could help him. My smile was almost painful and Nott levelled me with a sidelong glance that was both terrified as it was curious.

"Okay, what are you up to now?"

"Oh, you know the usual."

"And the last few weeks went so well." Nott muttered. "I knew it was too good to be true."

"You don't have to worry, Theodore," I grinned. "I have it all planned out."

"That's what I am worried about," the other boy muttered.

I could only smile in response. Things were looking up.

(To be continued...)

A/N: I doubt anything is looking up, but hey, you can pretend^^

Let me know what you all think!