Author's Notes: I'm very sad because Catherine and Amber have left me =(; Amber in more ways than just betaing this fic, and I wish her all the best, but I'm still very sad. Anyways, I'm sorry this took so long to come out, but I had problems with my betas as you can tell. To make it a little easier for you, you can now join a Notify List to get email notification of new chapters: dented-sky.notifylist.com/paperflowers.html. Thank you to my Betas Marley and Katie, and this chapter is dedicated to Catherine aka BooksOfMagic, who is a beautiful and wonderful person, and who has been sick lately, and I wish her well.
Warnings: past-Harry Sirius, Harry/Draco, Harry/MOC, Pansy/female!Blaise, Seamus/Justin, Harry/Hermione/Ron implied, Terry/Ginny, Moon/Nott implied, (eventual) Harry/Justin, OotP spoilers, fantasy, action, adventure, cross-generation, underage sex, violence, language, romance, angst
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Lyrics and quotes belong to their respective owners. Lyrics within are by Enigma.
Part 1 - Blood Magic
Chapter Three – Happy Hour
In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby
I lie inside myself for hours
- Imaginary (Evanescence)
I am here and somewhere else
I have nothing more
I am becoming crazy
I am letting myself go
- Mea Culpa (Enigma)
Every time I feel the need I envision you caressing me
And go back in time to relive the splendor of you
Touched you subtly as we were kissing goodbye
How I’m missing you
- The Roof (Mariah Carey)
“Homosexual Lunchbox. What will you eat today?”
- dented-sky and BooksOfMagic
“Yeah, the DA’s good,” said Ginny. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army, because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear.”
- Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K.Rowling
It turned out there was an underground area that had several rooms which the new residents of the abandoned Muggle school had turned into their Sleeping Chambers. Like Hogwarts, everyone slept in the room designated to their House, except now boys and girls slept in the same room. (Harry was disturbed to find Neville Longbottom was not the only snorer; Dennis Creevey made his fair share of noise.) Single metal beds and cotton bedding had been duplicated to allow sufficient pillows, sheets, mattresses, bed frames and blankets for everyone.
In the morning Hermione explained a little about Power Stones as they walked to the old Canteen for breakfast. The magical stones were illegal, because they held vast amounts of magical energy and were usually used as replacements for batteries used in Muggle electronics. They could also be used to amplify spells, such as the heating spell D.A. used to keep the underground chambers warm at night; even in summer, the nights were cold.
Eating habits, unlike the usual sleeping routine, were different from Hogwarts. The large dining room consisted of one large and long wooden table with chairs, and a long bench separated the dining room from the kitchen. On it lay their breakfast, as well as glasses of juice and pots of tea and coffee. As Harry entered, he noticed he was one of the last to arrive, and he was surprised to see that people from other Houses were mixing, even the Slytherins. People were chatting amicably.
“Argh, coffee,” grumbled Seamus Finnigan as he shuffled in with Malfoy and Millicent Bulstrode. “Need… sweet, beautiful, delightful coffee…”
“I do not know how you can stand the horrid substance,” drawled Malfoy as the three of them grabbed their breakfast.
“Yes, honestly,” agreed Bulstrode, and the three of them headed to the table together. “I, of course, enjoy a good cup of English tea. It’s a real lady’s drink.”
“Hence the reason why Malfoy likes it,” laughed the Irish blonde. Malfoy glared half-heartedly and rolled his eyes. Harry was horrified to see the three sit down together and chat animatedly, and he stood frozen on the spot, gaping. Hermione poked him in the ribs.
“Are you going to eat, Harry?” she asked as she picked up a plate and a glass of pumpkin juice. She looked him up and down. “I think you should, especially since those relatives of yours feed you so little.”
“They’re not so bad anymore,” Harry said absently. He turned to her. “How come our breakfast is set out like this? Do we have House Elves?”
Hermione scowled. “No,” she growled, “worse.” Harry blinked as Hermione walked away. Anything Hermione considered worse than misused House Elves must be pretty bad. He wondered whether this plan to seclude and protect the new self-taught Army was such a good idea if it involved too many sacrifices. But then he remembered what he would be doing if he was not here - at the Dursleys’ - and he thought that being here was worth almost any sacrifice, especially for a war that could mean the end of all things good and right in the world. A shadow had been hanging over the Earth for decades, and now it had fallen; safety, love and all things made to live for, were submerged in thick, almost impenetrable darkness like the milk of Satan’s lover; until all that was left was a small, white butterfly of hope flittering and guiding the blind to an almost-freedom.
Harry sat at the table and ate his breakfast, all thoughts on war, while the conversation around him was of anything but; a sign that meals were a time-out from ‘work’ in every sense: mind, body… heart. Harry had a sudden thought that he would like to talk to Sirius. He dropped his fork at his loss of appetite, and reminded himself that he should write a paper flower when he got the chance.
Malfoy laughed loudly at something and Harry snapped his head up, suddenly locking eyes with Quan Chang, who smiled shyly. Harry briefly forgot about Sirius and smiled back, before they both flushed and looked away.
After breakfast, Harry had got changed in to his Muggle clothes, (“The uniforms are only for battle!” Pavarti had said), before happily accepting Terry Boot’s invitation of a tour of the school.
“This building we’re going to,” Terry Boot explained as they headed down the cement corridor, “is where we hold the Muggles.” Terry had short light brown hair, light blue eyes, and when he smiled two dimples appeared on his cheeks. He was taller than Harry, (most people were), and he had the strange habit of always having his hands in his pockets. “The Ward Squad,” he continued, “found the Ancient Blood Charm, real name Haemato Transferin, and cast it on this particular building, so that all residents connected to the Charm had a relative Written to them, and that relative is protected.”
He paused and looked at Harry, serious expression slotted on his face. “That is why we kidnapped your cousin, as he is your Blood Charm relative that we Wrote to you. We could have taken your aunt but we know she is Written to you in your old home, and it’s better that you keep that place as a safe haven, just in case of emergency.” Boot looked away. “Of course, it took a bit of work, Writing one blood relative to four Weasley’s, but we managed.”
“I see,” said Harry slowly. “Who’s the Ward Squad?”
They entered the building. “It’s okay,” Boot assured Harry quickly. “We can talk freely here; sound charms and such have been put up.” They were heading down a corridor that had many doors to old classrooms, and when Harry looked through the small windows, he could see Muggles sitting around reading, sleeping or playing card games, though they looked rather unhappy. “The Ward Squad,” Boot answered, “is just one of those names we’ve made for groups within Dumbledore’s Army and the Dragon League. The Ward Squad researches and casts all the Wards and Protection Charms for Pegasus Lair.” Boot grinned, allowing his dimples to show happily from his handsome face. “The Ward Squad is made up of all Ravenclaws, of course.”
“What’s the Dragon League?”
Boot frowned and they both stopped walking. He stared at Harry for a moment, scrutinizing him as if waiting for Harry to take back the question. “The eight Slytherins…” Boot said slowly. “The Death Eaters -“
“What!” Boot was taken aback be Harry’s loud outburst, but Harry did not care; he carried on regardless. “What do you mean by ‘Death Eaters’? Wait…“ Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to push down the angry ghost of a lion threatening to push up, burn his chest with flame and rip at the back of his eyes with angry claws. “You mean to tell me, that you let a group of Death Eaters into our only safe haven?”
Harry was shouting and Boot looked frightened. “They’re not really Death Eaters -“
“Not really Death Eaters? What d’you mean, ‘not really Death Eaters’?”
“I bet it is!”
“And it’s kind of important!”
“It better bloody be!”
“Look,” Boot shouted. He was red faced and he looked both scared and angry. “They’re spies!”
“For Voldemort!” Harry ignored Boot’s flinch.
“No, of course not! Malfoy said -“
“Malfoy says a lot of things,” Harry shouted, giving Boot a hard shove. He stumbled, but Harry was past caring. “It doesn’t mean they’re true!”
“Malfoy said he needed to talk -“
“A Death Eater killed Sirius!”
“- To you alone!”
“SHE KILLED HIM!” Harry burst out, ignoring Boot, politeness and the strange constricting of his chest. “SHE KILLED SIRIUS AND NOW HE’S DEAD!” Boot fell silent and Harry glared, and he was surprised to realize there were many tears on his own face. “She killed him,” he shouted, “So… so fuck Bellatrix Lestrange, fuck Malfoy, fuck this Army and fuck you!”
They were both breathing fast and hard, and a few minutes went by before anyone spoke.
Boot peered down at Harry with sad blue eyes. “I think,” he said softly, “you should take this up with Malfoy and get angry at him instead of me.” He waited a minute, and when Harry did not apologize and just continued to glare, he sighed. “Come on Potter, there’s someone you need to see.”
Anger slightly abated, Harry followed Boot down the corridor once more.
“Does everyone know?” Harry asked quietly after a while.
“That the members of the Dragon League are Death Eaters?”
“Yeah,” Boot smiled. “The Weasley brothers had fifty kinds of fits when they found out. But,” Boot took on a serious look. “I meant what I said before. They may have the Dark Mark, but they’re not Death Eaters; not really.”
Harry did not respond. He knew that he would confront Malfoy later and get to the bottom of this.
They stopped at the last door, and Harry peered through the small window. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s Dudley.” The room was quite big and full of gym equipment. Dudley was punching a punching bag, while three others, just as large as Dudley, if not larger, were doing weights.
“We’ve separated the Muggles by size, weight and age,” Terry Boot explained casually as if he was talking about farming cattle. “We haven’t bothered sorting sex though… not enough rooms.” He shrugged. “For these four we’re doing small experiments -“
“You do realize,” Harry interrupted loudly; Harry was starting to get annoyed at Boot again, and this strange situation the D.A. and D.L. had made for themselves, “that these are people we are shutting in small rooms and performing strange magics on?”
“I know that,” said Boot slightly defensively, “But we have to make sacrifices, being the War and all.”
“And a part of this War is giving Muggles protection!” Harry added angrily.
“I know that,” Boot said again. “I know what you’re feeling; after all, I’m Muggle-born. But we could use their assistance.”
“Yeah, the assistance they didn’t volunteer for!” Harry peered at Boot curiously and shook his head in disbelief. He could not quite fathom what he was hearing. “Kidnapping innocent Muggles, casting magic and performing experiments on them, then shutting them away like animals…” Harry shook his head again. “We’re no better than Death Eaters!”
Boot narrowed his eyes. “We are nothing like them,” Boot growled. “Nothing!”
“I beg to differ.”
They glared at each other for a long moment, before Boot said quietly, “I thought you’d be happy. We did this all for you.”
“No you didn’t,” Harry said softly, but deadly. “You did it for the War.”
“And for you,” Boot said, still quiet. “Everyone has so much faith in you.”
Harry did not say anything. In truth, he did not know how to respond. He wanted to say ‘Well they shouldn’t,’ but he could not find it in himself. The horrible, suffocated feeling he got whenever he remembered that he was a Marked man; more Marked than a Death Eater, and with more responsibility on his head than the Minister of Magic. The emotion climbed his chest and squeezed his throat like a spiteful parasite.
Suddenly Harry understood what Boot meant: the D.A. said they were making sacrifices for the War and for Harry, but really, the two were the same thing.
This War was Harry’s.
No matter what happened, the War would eventually turn itself into Harry’s inevitable face-off with Voldemort, and there was no avoiding much needed sacrifice.
Harry gave a small nod and Boot took that as the cue to continue with his factual explanations. “The larger group of Muggles we have gathered act as cooks.” So that explained why Hermione was upset about the arrangement. “The Dragon League mass-brewed a Purity Potion, which is a form of Veritaserum, except that you can control what you say and do, you just can’t lie or do any wrong.” He paused and looked at Harry cautiously. “We, er… give it to the Muggles, so when they cook our food, they can’t poison us or anything.”
Boot paused again, and Harry nodded for him to continue once more, not trusting himself to speak.
“The members of the Dragon League take it themselves at the Mass Meetings, so they have control over how much they want to disclose with us, but they can’t lie.”
Harry was sceptical. “But the D.L. made it themselves. What if the potion was faked and they’ve been lying all this time?”
But Boot was shaking his head. “Nah, the Ward Squad checked and triple checked it, and we look after it, too.” He gave Harry a reassuring look. “The D.L. can be trusted, Harry.”
Harry was still unconvinced, but nodded again, feeling slightly stupid nodding all the time and not having much to say.
“Anyway, these four in this room,” Boot went on, pointing to the room with his head, “are being trained in case we want to use them for battle.” He smiled. “Quan suggested it. They can’t do magic, but they are still good at combat. We’re at least going to use them in our own combat training.” Boot suddenly grinned and Harry blinked out of his blank stare. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Quan. He definitely likes you, or so they say.”
Harry blinked again stupidly. “What?”
Boot laughed. “Don’t be thick! His is rather fit, though I wouldn’t really know; I don’t swing that way or anything.” He shrugged. “So do you like him or not?”
Harry blushed. “Er- I dunno.”
“Ah well, at least you have the option. Not that you don’t have others… maybe Justin or Malfoy?”
“Malfoy?” Harry spluttered. What the hell..? “I don’t like Malfoy!” Harry said hastily. “He’s… well he’s… he’s Malfoy!”
Boot was laughing. “Yeah, that’s his name! It’s just that Padma thinks he’s really fit, and she told me there was a rumour going around school last year that he fancied you… until you got his father in Azkaban, that is.”
Harry was staring at Boot wide-eyed. “Erk,” was the only response he could gurgle out.
“Yeah,” Boot continued wistfully, as if Harry had just said something insightful. “I suppose he is rather pretty, in a very girly way. Anyway,” he sighed, “I think Quan may be your best bet, even though you did his sister only last year; but as long as she doesn’t mind -“
“Look,” said Harry, finding his voice. “Is that all you wanted to show me? Because I’m supposed to meet Dean and Hermione before lunch.”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” They began walking back and Boot told Harry the various groups formed with the D.L. and D.A. Pavarti, Padma, Lavender, Blaise Zabini and Parkinson made up the Uniform United, who used Textile Charms to design and make the uniforms. The Nexus Sect consisted of all the Muggle-borns who managed the sending and receiving of mail. Quan and Cho Chang, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott called themselves the Crossfire Consortium, and they taught proper Wizard Duelling and Combat, as well as went on raids for weapons every now and again. Fred and George called themselves the Dynamic Duo, and they organized the ‘fun’; they said they had to make sure everyone was happy in their confinement. The only other ‘groups’ were the Ward Squad and Potter’s Court, which Harry already knew the functions of. Everyone had to clean out rooms, occasionally go on raids, teach each other skills and take turns going on Muggle checks and supervising meal preparations.
Harry met Hermione and Dean in the courtyard. “Welcome, Harry, to the Mail Tour!” Hermione said as if she were a flight attendant. Dean rolled his eyes. All three started walking across the overgrown field of grass near the school, which Harry guessed used to be the school’s oval. “The mail is done by Muggle-borns,” Hermione explained, “because we have to travel a little ways off to collect it, and the Ministry is still a bit racist.” She scowled. “They tend to search for kidnapped Purebloods first.”
“I’m sure Dumbledore is searching for us,” said Dean quietly, “not that we’ve really been kidnapped.”
“That’s beside the point,” Hermione snapped. “The Ministry would have found us all now if they had gotten their act together, but all they care about is getting their paychecks in order before they take any real action.”
Dean sighed sadly and looked at Harry. “I’m afraid it’s true. But, it just means we have a little more time and we can move around a bit more than we could if the Ministry hadn’t collapsed.” They stopped walking. “Well, this is it: the Starting Point.” They had arrived at a clump of trees, in which one tree had an old sneaker shoe tied to a branch by its shoelaces. “It’s a Portkey. Before most of us learnt to Apparate, we had to use it.”
Harry looked at Dean in surprise. “Most of you have learnt to Apparate?”
Dean grinned. “We had three weeks without you, so we had lots to learn, but plenty of time.”
“Anyway,” Hermione interrupted, “the Portkey takes us to a special site where we have performed a Ritual. It involves burning a strand of hair from the person whose mail you wish to receive and the owls smell the magical scent of that person on the smoke. We also have a small owl house there for owls waiting for replies, need food or a place to stay the night. So,” she concluded, “I’m going to need some of your hair.”
Harry let her perform a spell which made the tip of her wand as sharp as a razor, and she carefully cut a small strand of black hair from his temple. Changing her wand back to normal and clutching Harry’s detached hair with delicate fingers, she smiled warmly at Harry before she and Dean Disapparated together with one loud crack. Harry was left alone in the clearing.
He walked back silently and unhappily. He hated being alone, because being alone meant that his mind would wander back to Sirius, and it only made him depressed. He constantly wished Sirius was around to hold him, kiss him, whisper reassurances to him in the dark, and kiss his ear sweetly.
And to move and hold each other tightly under the sheets, as if trying to squeeze the darkness and hated world away.
Harry entered the first building he came to after he crossed the oval, and went to the bathroom. He entered the last stall and leaned against the door. Sirius would not have let this happen, Sirius would not have let Harry get sad, or let people take over his life like this. Sirius also would not have let people set Harry up with other boys, or suggest he like someone other than Sirius, and Harry did not want anyone but Sirius anyway.
Harry hugged himself as his mind sifted through memory after memory. Sirius in the kitchen wearing Mrs. Weasley’s apron, and Harry laughing; Sirius boosting Harry up and putting him on Buckbeak’s back and laughing when the hippogriff squawked playfully; Sirius pushing away and running out of the room when Harry kissed him for the first time; Sirius dragging Harry into the dark pantry, and pulling away from each others kisses just as Ron opened the doors; Sirius’s tongue on Harry’s neck… then Sirius shirtless, laying asleep on Harry’s bed, his long black hair draped on the pillow and on his shoulders…
…then that naked chest under Harry’s fingers, Harry’s cheek, Harry’s mouth…
Harry whimpered, and sniffled, then kicked the toilet bowl in frustration. Fuck you, he shouted at himself mentally. Fuck you for getting… Harry felt heat in his lower regions and a familiar stirring.
Harry being gathered up in Sirius’s larger muscled arms; Harry crawling into Sirius’s bed and kissing him softly in the night; Harry kissing and licking Sirius’s neck and hearing the low rumbling of moans; Harry teasing the sensitive flesh of Sirius’s chest and licking at the sweet skin of a nipple; Harry hearing his own cries when Sirius older hands massaged and brushed over areas of Harry’s skin that Harry did not know could feel so good.
Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had a hand down his trousers and he was bucking into his fist, and panting against the old wood of the stall wall.
Harry had loved the pressure of Sirius’ weight on top of him, and had liked the way the heels of his feet would press in to the older man’s smooth lower back. He loved it when they rubbed together, but Sirius had never entered him. Not until that night when Harry had asked him to…
He had loved having a mouth on his flesh, and the earthly taste of Sirius, large and moving in his own mouth, and those blueberry eyes glazed over with lust, staring down at him.
Now he felt the heat build up tightly before he came in his hand, and he gasped loudly to the ceiling. He recovered from his orgasm a few second later, then cleaned himself up with toilet paper and flushed it down the toilet, just as the bathroom door swung open and someone came in.
Harry froze, and then quickly checked himself to see if he was all right to be seen without embarrassment.
He opened the stall door and walked out; passing his visitor who was leaning against the wall, smirking, and Harry washed his hands in the basin.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror; dark green eyes slightly obscured by wavy strands of hair, small dark freckles were sprinkled across his cheeks. He was flushed at the knowledge of what he had been doing. The boys caught each others’ eyes in the mirror. “What d’you want, Malfoy?”
Malfoy looked away and examined his nails as Harry dried his hands on his shirt. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he drawled.
“I’m really flattered.”
Malfoy ignored his sarcasm. “You should be. We’re missing lunch as we speak.”
“So why don’t you go then?” Harry snapped, turning to the other boy. “I don’t know why you’re here in the first place.”
The Slytherin looked Harry in the eye and his smirk widened. “Oh, yes you do. With everyone at lunch, there’ll be no distractions.” Malfoy glanced away nonchalantly and looked at their surroundings. The bathroom was old, the walls were dirty and the wood on the stalls was chipped. Malfoy sneered, and Harry had a sudden thought that Malfoy had a nice mouth and should not waste it on sneering.
Harry crossed his arms and glared at the silver haired boy. It was now or never. “So, why are you a Death Eater?”
Malfoy glanced back at Harry and blinked at him as if only noticing him for the first time. “Because I want to be.”
Alright, so he’s going to be difficult. “Then why are you here? Are you a spy for Dumbledore or something?”
The other boy let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t be stupid, I would do nothing, and I mean nothing,” he looked at Harry meaningfully, and Harry noticed that Malfoy’s eyes were always healthy and would sparkle with silver, “for that wanker Dumbledore.”
Harry tensed. “Don’t you dare talk that way about-“ but then he stopped. He realized then that he really did not care for Dumbledore all that much. The Headmaster who Harry had loved as a grandfather these past few years just did not hold Harry’s respect like he used to. Harry was here, with his friends, preparing for war, and Dumbledore was nowhere, and that fact Harry took to heart.
Malfoy had an eyebrow raised and he looked very amused. “This is war,” he stated simply, “and in war, one must have allies.”
Harry scrutinized the other boy, narrowing his eyes. “So what are you saying? You’re on both sides?”
“For now,” Malfoy grinned evilly, his teeth straight and pearly white.
Harry was shocked. “But that makes no sense!”
Malfoy pushed himself from the wall and started to pace the room in a bored fashion. “I think,” he drawled, “It makes perfect sense.”
“Slytherins love power above all else,” Malfoy said softly.
Suddenly Harry understood. He stood up straighter and stared at Malfoy who was sauntering around the room in a disinterested way as if he was bored with the world and their current topic of conversation. Harry could not help but notice the grace in Malfoy’s slender frame as he moved smoothly around the small room. “You mean to tell me,” Harry said slowly, “that you are…” He trailed off, but both boys were thinking the same thing: Your own power…
“Yes,” said Malfoy, softer still.
So that was how it was. Malfoy was a Death Eater, yet he was a spy, but not for the D.A. or for anyone else, but for himself. He was climbing a ladder built on trust of other powers, and exploiting those powers to gain an upper hand later on in the War. It was all part of a plan, as that is what Malfoy would do, but it just seemed so Slytherin… Harry found himself in awe. “That is so…”
Malfoy suddenly spun around and grinned at Harry. “It’s great, isn’t it?” he said happily. “Not even Father could think of this, and Father thought joining the Dark Lord was such a great feat, but I’m going further, and bigger than anyone ever expects from me.” He bit his lip, his grin grew wider, and Harry thought he looked a bit manic. “He’ll be beyond proud,” he said breathlessly, “and one day, I’ll have him on his knees, kissing my robes, and doing my bidding.” He stopped, and sank back into bored indifference. “Of course,” he drawled, “that won’t be for a while, and I’ll have to wait for you to destroy each other first. If only one is gone,” he shrugged elegantly, “I’ll have to kill the other, but I’ll know their weaknesses by then.”
Harry knew he was talking about Voldemort and himself, and Harry felt a cruel smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Malfoy did not know the prophecy, which stated that only Harry and Voldemort could only kill each other, therefore Malfoy would not have the chance to be a complete ruler of anything.
Harry had always known that Malfoy would forever be one step behind.
“I can’t believe we’re letting you stay with us,” Harry said finally.
Malfoy shrugged again and flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes. “You need us,” he said, talking of the Dragon League. “We have information and we are constantly gaining more.”
Harry sighed tiredly and looked away, instead focusing on Malfoy’s left hand, which was playing with the pocket of his grey trousers. Harry noticed Malfoy’s fingers were very long, almost abnormally long, but not awkwardly so; it just added to his sexiness. “You need us too.”
Malfoy did not comment or say anything more on the subject, instead he whined, “I’m hungry.”
Harry found the most disturbing thing about his first day at Pegasus Lair was walking to the Canteen in companionable silence with Draco Malfoy. They never said anything to each other, never even looked at each other, but it was walking side by side down the long corridors that scared Harry somewhat.
Lunch was a late meal due to everyone sleeping in that day after Harry’s early morning arrival. Before lunch was usually lessons, so after lunch was discussion, research and practice time, where people used empty classrooms to practice magic; people practicing combat used the building with no rooms on the side of the oval, and everyone who was researching used the large building Harry had first come to when he arrived that morning. Harry and his Court sat at one of the tables; its surface littered with parchment.
“Tomorrow, Harry,” said Hermione as Ernie flicked through a report on Guard Spells, “you’ll need to start your Occlumency practice again.“
Ron pressed a finger on the sentence he was reading in one of the large ancient looking books. “He can’t, Hermione, he has to learn to Apparate first.”
“Ron,” she began, annoyed. “This is important.”
Ernie looked up from the parchment he had been reading. “Actually, he may not have time. The Crossfire Consortium wants to finish Stage Three so they can move on. They say we haven’t got enough time to dawdle around.”
“Stuff the Crossfire Consortium,” said Ron. “Harry needs to catch up on his magic.”
“And,” said Hermione loudly, squaring her shoulders, “occlumency is most important. Anyway, we’re not sure how long the Dragon League is going to be here.”
“There is also the Guard Spells,” said Ernie, waving the parchment he was reading in their faces, “we said we’d perfect them all by tomorrow.”
Harry spoke up. “Listen, why don’t we just work really hard tomorrow and we’ll try to get it all done?”
All three of his advisors looked at him for a moment, before Hermione said, “We could, but we need an order, in case the last thing on our list cannot be done by tomorrow.”
“Yeah, and Apparation can’t wait,” Ron said hotly.
Hermione let out a loud frustrated growl just as Cho stepped up to their table to give Ernie that day’s research report, then Harry and his Court went on to discuss Radar Jinxes.
Dinner was a happy affair, and Harry loved being with all his joyous friends after seeing the strain of stress littering their expressions only an hour ago.
Afterwards was the Mass Meeting, where Dumbledore’s Army would sit at tables and the Dragon League would stand in front of them to give their report. Tonight, however, only Malfoy stood. Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner were in charge of administering the Purity Potion, and Malfoy took it obediently. The two Ravenclaws sat down, and Malfoy began.
“As you know,” Malfoy drawled, his hands clasped behind his back, “my father summoned me last night.” He paused, turned to the Weasley twins and smirked.
“This can’t be good,” Ron whispered in Harry’s ear. “He looks too pleased with himself.”
“We mostly discussed things that are no concern of yours,” Malfoy continued, “but I did, however, find out about a new addition to the Dark Lord’s high ranks.” There was a murmur amongst the D.A.; the D.L. looked unsurprised. Malfoy’s smug smirk widened and he shot another look at the Weasley twins. “Would you like to know who it was?”
“Get on with it, Malfoy,” snapped Ernie.
“Alright,” he paused for dramatic effect, and then said, “Some nit-wit called Percival Weasley.”
The reaction was instant. There were loud gasps from around the room; Ginny gave a loud cry and clutched Dean tightly; Ron, Fred and George shot up in their seats and started cursing randomly.
“What the fuck-?”
“That bastard -“
“I knew it!”
Then Ron gave a large yell and kicked the table, just as Fred punched the wall.
“Settle down,” said Ernie. The Weasleys calmed slightly, sitting back down, but they were still red faced and very angry. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. Harry had always been suspicious of Percy’s ambition, and he had never liked the guy, anyway.
Meanwhile, Malfoy’s smirk had disappeared, and he and Theodore Nott were looking at each other as if having a silent conversation. Ernie clasped his hands together. “Continue,” he commanded.
Malfoy looked back at the D.A., all humour gone from his face. He took a deep breath. “There is just one other thing we will probably get more information on tomorrow night.”
Ernie raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Yes?”
“The Dark Lord,” said Malfoy, squaring his shoulders, “is suspicious of your supposed kidnappings, and he wishes to find you.” Malfoy shrugged. “He found out Potter was missing shortly after the Ministry did.”
Harry blinked. “They know I’m gone?”
Malfoy turned to Harry, looking slightly amused. “Of course they do, Potter, the Ministry were keeping a constant eye on you.”
Oh, thought Harry. Of course they were.
The meeting was adjourned, and Harry went to his dormitory and wrote another paper flower to Sirius.
Are you angry I didn’t tell Lupin? Harry wrote. I know you loved him. But I think it’s important we keep the Army’s secrets to ourselves. I know you would think it great, like it’s something my father would do.
Harry walked out into the courtyard, and watched the stars with Ron and Hermione for a long time. After, they went back and sat at their usual table with Ernie, and Harry researched some more hexes and wrote them down, until he was yawning and Hermione was pulling on his sleeve.
When he glanced back at her, she was grinning. “What is it?” he asked, puzzled.
“The best time of the day, Harry,” she giggled as she showed him her watch. It was five minutes to ten. When he looked around, he was startled to find that they were the only two people in the large room.
“What’s going on?” he grumbled as she pulled at his shirt and dragged him up the stairs.
“Happy Hour!” she laughed. “But we have to get you changed.”
They got to their dormitory and Hermione rummaged through his trunk and pulled out a white shirt and a pair of jeans. She pouted. “Haven’t you got any tight jeans?”
Harry gaped at her. Boys his age did not wear tight jeans like some girl. “No, of course not!”
After they got changed, she pulled her hands through his hair to give it that annoying messy look. She said, “You look absolutely smashing, Harry.”
“Good for me,” Harry retorted sarcastically. They walked to another building, holding hands, and Hermione was half-skipping the way there.
They arrived at double doors guarded by the Weasley twins. “’Bout time you two got here,” said George through a grin.
“Yeah,” agreed his twin. Beyond the doors, Harry could hear the loud base of music thumping. He thought Fred and George looked like a couple of bouncers at the front of a Night Club. “Here, Harry, have some chocolate.”
Harry eyed the offered chocolate wearily before he broke off a piece and put it in his mouth. He frowned. “Dark chocolate?”
“Yeah,” Hermione answered, breaking off her own piece. “Gives Wizards that extra kick; but don’t eat too much of it.” The four of them entered the dark room and Harry was instantly thrown into the crowd of moving bodies and loud music.
People were sweating, dancing and moving enthusiastically to the music that Harry recognized as that new-age techno, and Harry stood frozen, not quite knowing what to do. He looked up to see fireflies dancing close to the ceiling, and it was the only light penetrating the dark. The people moved like waves of strong ocean around him, and the base of the music was a pulse of its own, as if the room was alive.
Je ne dors plus, the music sang. The time has come.
Je te desire… Someone grabbed Harry’s arm. The time has come. He found himself pressed up to a sweaty, moving, shirtless, body. Harry yelped, but his cry was taken away with the loud music.
“Hey Harry!” Seamus shouted in his ear, “dance!” Prends moi. Seamus pushed himself forward. Je suis a toi. Then he grabbed Harry’s hips and tried to move him to the music. Mea culpa. Harry yelped again at the close contact.
Harry felt someone else press himself to his back, and Justin’s voice was in his ear, “Having fun, Harry?” Je veux aller au bout de me fantasmes. He felt Justin touch his waist with both hands, then move them up to his chest. Je sais que c'est interdit… Je suis folle. Je m'abandonne.
Harry found himself sandwiched between Justin and Seamus, and they were both moving in a sensual dance. Then to his own horror, he found himself moving with them. Mea Culpa.
Dancing between two sweaty boys, moving hips together, was arousing, and Harry felt himself getting right into it. He felt Justin pull his own shirt off, and now two shirtless torsos were pressed against Harry. Seamus kissed his neck, and Harry fell into the sensation of tongue and lips on the sensitive area. He grabbed Seamus’ hair.
When Seamus pulled away, it was to lean over and kiss Justin over Harry’s shoulder. Harry would have been surprised, was he in the mood to feel surprised. Je suis la et ailleurs.
Harry decided to pull away from them, Je n'ai plus rien, and found himself in a group of dancing Ravenclaws. He danced next to Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot. Je deviens folle…Je m'abandonne. He laughed when Ginny came up wearing a T-shirt that said the words ‘HOMOSEXUAL LUNCHBOX’ on the front, and grabbed Terry into a passionate kiss. Mea Culpa. The group laughed, and Harry found himself dancing with Luna.
For a while, Harry felt himself go crazy. Maybe it was the chocolate, or maybe he was high on natural happiness, but he just felt the only thing he needed to do was dance with the others.
Then he bumped into someone else, turned around, and came face to face with Quan Chang. There was a short interlude in the song. Je ne dors plus.
Neither boy was dancing. They stared at each other, and Quan had a sparkling lustfulness in his eyes, Je te desire, as he leant his face down to Harry’s.
Harry’s eyes widened when he realized what Quan was about to do, Prends moi, and Harry, hesitating slightly, raised a hand to press on Quan’s chest, Je suis a toi, not to push him away, but just to touch the other boy, because he thought that they needed to be touching for this.
He leaned his head up and closed his eyes just as the interlude stopped and the fast pacing of the song started again. After a second, when Quan had not kissed him, Harry opened his eyes.
Quan was no longer facing Harry but glaring at Malfoy who was glaring back. They were almost nose-to-nose and shouting things at each other that Harry could not hear over the music. Je suis la et ailleurs... They looked as if they were going to punch each other; Harry gaped, Je veux tout, and Malfoy shoved Quan hard in the chest. Quand tu veux.
Someone grabbed Harry from behind and dragged him away from the scene, Comme tu veux, just as Crabbe came between the two fighting boys and Goyle pulled Malfoy away to a different part of the dance floor. Mea Culpa.
The song was ending and Harry turned to see Hermione and Ron grinning at him.
He suddenly forgot all about Quan and Malfoy, and Harry grinned and started dancing with his two best friends in a tight circle, arms around each other’s shoulders and waists.
It was one of the best nights of his life.
Return to Archive | next | previous