Summary: For the third time in three nights, Malfoy has awoken from disturbing nightmares. In order to rid himself of these plaguing dreams, he summons what he believes to be an ancestor. Unfortunately for him, it's not.
Categories: Humor Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Slash
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 5
Completed: Yes
Word count: 14234
Read: 13532
Published: 04/10/05
Updated: 06/11/05
1. Unusual Nightime Visits by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
2. Satans, snitches and schizophrenia by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
3. Hitting the Books by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
4. A Conflict of Colors by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
5. The Troubles of Dreams by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
Unusual Nightime Visits by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
Draco Malfoy stood nervously in front of the large oak doors. They were shut at the moment, with the golden handles gleaming in the candlelight. He shivered even though there was a very cozy fire burning at the other end of the room. Stupid house elf, he thought, he knew I would wait here a while, he should have built it up. He dismissed the silly thought that he might be shivering out of fear, since when was he, a Malfoy, ever scared?
Swoosh
The door swung open softly on its polished hinges, Draco drew in a sharp breath, and then quickly released it. It was only the house elf. The wizened creature was precariously balancing a delicate silver tea tray between his two gnarled hands. He wore a broken pair of spectacles and a filthy pillowcase with the letter M embroidered on the edge.
“The Master will be with you shortly,” the house elf wheezed. Draco sniffed at him in annoyance; he was still new to his training. Ever since his father had lost their last house elf (under circumstances he had never been willing to discuss) he had been scouring the country, searching for another one. The result was the demented creature did an awkward bow, before beginning to hobble off with its burden.
“Dippy!” he growled at it, “Do not forget that I am your Master as well.”
“Yes Master,” poor Dippy replied, giving Draco another half bow, it was rather difficult to do with the tea tray.
WHACK!
Draco had delivered a harsh kick into Dippy’s backside, causing the elf to sprawl onto the carpet, spilling the tea tray and it’s contents.
“Remember to give me a full bow,” Draco hissed at him, “and clean up that mess, you clumsy fool.”
“Yes Master,” Dippy muttered mutinously, and began to clean up the rug.
Draco would have continued to antagonize the unfortunate house elf, but the soft sound of footsteps thudding against the plush carpet stopped him. He straightened unconsciously and turned to face the new entrant.
When he entered, Draco drew in his breath without even realizing he was doing it. Before him stood one of the most successful Death Eaters, the one who was going to help them defeat that troublesome half-blood, Harry Potter. His rival. His passion. His enemy. His love. His future. The one and only; Ronald Weasley.
“Have you talked to him yet?” Ron asked him, his clear blue eyes focusing on Draco’s face.
“No, not yet,” Draco answered, stepping on Dippy in effort to get closer to Ron. (“Blast you,” cursed Dippy, but Draco didn’t pay any notice to him, not with Ron there.)
“Well, good luck, I do hope your father approves of our engagement,” Ron stepped closer until he was standing over Draco. Draco felt unconsciously aware of how tall Ron was, how his breath ruffled his own hair.
“Yes, I feel kind of nervous, waiting here for him,” Draco admitted. He would have admitted this to no one but Ron, “but I doubt he would disapprove to the union of our family with so powerful a wizard as yourself.”
“Yes, well, I do have my dazzling qualities, don’t I?” Ron asked, sweeping his hair back in a graceful gesture that took Draco’s breath away again, “But listen, don’t be nervous, everything will be alright.”
And then Ron was leaning closer to Draco, poised to kiss…
“NO!!!” Draco Malfoy howled, sitting straight up in bed. He jumped out of bed and immediately dunked his head into a large bucket of ice-cold water on the windowsill.
“Uh, I think that’s for drinking,” Goyle said uncertainly, sitting up, awakened by Draco’s scream. “It’s a little bit small for a bath.”
“Of course it’s too small for a bath,” Draco snarled. He snatched the sheets off the sleeping Crabbe’s bed and began to dry his face with them. (“Grrnn…” mumbled Crabbe, curling up on his bed, but Draco was too busy to pay attention to him.)
“I just needed to…er…clean my head. Yeah, that’s what it’s for, it’s a head bath tub,” He added, so as not to look like an idiot, he didn’t want to have to explain his nightmare to anyone.
“Oh really?” Goyle asked confused.
“Yes,” Draco said, confidant now, “don’t tell me you’ve been drinking a load of wash water all these past years!” He forced out a laugh.
“Uh…”Goyle said in a monotone voice, trying to understand what was going on, then seeing that Draco was laughing, he began to laugh too, “uh-ha ha HAH!”
“Shut up you idiot! I need my sleep, not a slumber party!” Draco growled, he threw the soggy sheets back onto Crabbe’s bed and went back to his own. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he closed his eyes and was about to drift off to non-Ron thoughts when someone knocked on the door.
BANG! BANG!
“Goyle, go tell those idiots to go to sleep!” Draco ordered, eyes still closed. Goyle hopped out of bed and landed with a loud thump onto the floor. He lumbered over to the door and pulled it open.
“LISTEN UP YOU IDIOTS”” He began to bellow, but stopped as soon as he saw who was standing in front of him. Actually, Goyle had noticed him the minute he had opened the door, but his brain hadn’t properly processed the information until after the damage had been done.
“Yes Goyle?” came Professor Snape’s dangerously smooth voice, “I’m listening.”
“Uh…um…” was all Goyle could say, obviously lost for words. However, Draco wasn’t. As soon as he had heard Professor Snape’s voice he had jumped out of bed and dashed to the door.
“Professor! How good to see you,” Draco began a bit nervously. Normally he would have been confused as to why Snape was there, but after having two other such night time visits, he knew exactly what to expect, and therefore wished to delay the inevitable as long as possible.
“Mister Malfoy,” Snape began, thoroughly irritated, he was wearing a black bathrobe secured tightly around the middle and was carrying his wand a lit. This was, after all, the third time in three nights he had had to come up and investigate, “approximately 15 minutes ago I heard a piercing scream. Being head of this house, I came up to investigate. Now will you please tell me what is the matter?”
Snape really didn’t look as though he wanted to hear the answer, however, so Draco decided to give him the short hand version. Alibis chased each other around his mind; before he could chose one of them however, Goyle spoke up.
“Er, Professor?” he asked tentatively, both Snape and Draco turned to look at him in surprise, “It was me, I just found out that I’ve been drinking wash water these past years.”
Snape forced a very unpleasant smile through his lips. “Very good, hopefully you can resolve your dilemma without waking up your fellow students?”
“Yes, Professor,” Goyle muttered, looking down at his feet.
“Good,” Snape straightened himself a little bit, “and be sure to get your sleep you have the Quidditch match tomorrow.”
With that, he turned and descended the staircase, leaving Draco to gape at Goyle as the door closed.
“Since when do you think that you can make up the excuses?” He growled at him, the fact that the excuse had worked was not processed. Only the thought that he, Draco Malfoy, had not been the one to come to the rescue was mulled over.
“Uh…um…well you were looking kind of like Crabbe usually does, and I just thought…uh…”Goyle trailed off, afraid.
“Drinking wash water?” Draco asked, still incredulous, “Where the bloody hell did that come from?”
“Well you said…and the head bath…and I’ve been…there’s cups right next to it…”Goyle mumbled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco fumed, turning over to his bed, “what matters is the fact that I can’t get these bloody nightmares out of my head.” He fumbled around in his trunk for a few moments, frowning in the darkness.
“Grrnnff!” Crabbe snorted in his sleep. Angry that he could not find what he was looking for, Draco lobbed a book at his bed.
“GRNAFF!” Crabbe howled in pain. He sat upright holding the book in one hand and a few teeth in the other; the book had hit him in the face, knocking a few of his teeth out.
BANG! BANG! Pop!
The door flew open. In its threshold stood a very discontented Professor Snape.
“Mister Malfoy,” he spat through clenched teeth, “how long will it take to occur to you that there are other people here who need their sleep?” he was seething with anger, “What was the excuse this time? More wash water?”
“No Professor,” Draco started, his excuse clearly formed in his head now, but Crabbe, who came waddling forward, cut him off.
“I woke up wiff a book in my mouff, Pwofessor,” Crabbe explained. He held out his hand with his two teeth in it.
The situation had become awkward for Severus Snape, a few minutes ago it had been a simple matter of getting some sleep, now it had morphed into two students with unusual snacking habits and some missing teeth. He could turn and walk away, but then he would be questioned the next morning as to why he had ignored student injuries. Resigned, he drew a deep breath.
“Come with me, Mr. Crabbe,” he sighed, “you can spend the night in the hospital wing.”
Crabbe and Snape left, but just before they had turned the corner, Professor Snape turned around and hissed at the two remaining occupants, “Let this be the last I hear of it!”
Goyle shut the door for a second time as Draco proceeded to pick apart one of Crabbe’s pillows in frustration.
“Take that you filthy little (fill-in-the-blank), stealing my excuses!” Draco snarled, pulling out feathers and fluff. Finally, when the pillow had been completely demolished, he focused back to the real reason he had awoken. That dream…nightmare…night horror in which he…and Weasley…?
No. It was impossible; his brain was too well developed to think such thoughts. Still Draco shuddered all the same. He began to pace on the stone cold floor, thinking of what to do.
“Concoct a dreamless sleep potion…build a giant dream block…”
“Uh…Draco…” Goyle drawled, uncertain.
“…spray my bed with a big can of anti bed-bug spray…” Draco continued, pacing the stone floor, brainstorming for ideas, and coming short.
“Um…Draco…”
“…Wear my I-Hate-Ron pajamas…only then it could make it worse…after all I’d be sleeping with his image…. bleah…why did I ever make those as a first year?”
“…Draco…” Goyle tried one last time.
WHOOSH!
“Will you please stop that Goyle!” Draco cried, frustrated, he had lost his train of thought. Then he saw that Goyle was pointing towards the small fireplace in the room. It had burst into flame spontaneously and a small piece of parchment had emerged.
“Oh,” Draco said. He was losing his cool, for a moment he panicked, what if his minion lost faith in him? Then an appropriate excuse arrived and he directed it straight at Goyle. “Why didn’t you pick it up?” he demanded angrily, trying to appear in control, as always.
“But…uh…”Goyle stuttered, thoroughly confused again. He decided it would be best to do as he was told, so he quickly crossed to the fireplace and picked up the scrap of paper. He then scuttled back to Draco with the piece of paper. Draco snatched it from his hand and unrolled it.
“What does it say?” Goyle asked quietly.
“Shh!” Draco shushed him. He bent over the tiny sliver of paper. It was his father’s handwriting.
Draco,
Why is it that an owl in the middle of the night has awoken me? Well, I’ll give you the answer, it’s because my son has a nightmare. A nightmare! Three nightmares in fact! Get a hold of yourself please! You don’t see other people running around complaining about their dreams.
“Potter does,” Draco grumbled here, then stopped. If he was turning into Potter…that was possibly even more disturbing than his Weasley dreams. No, wait maybe it wasn’t because then he would actually be kissing the slimy weasel. Hoping to find some advice, he eagerly scanned the rest of the letter.
If you really need some help, I would advise you to ask your noble, esteemed ancestor; Lucius Malfoy the first, sometime in the morning. Good night.
That was it. The end of the letter. Draco sighed, disappointed, it hadn’t really been of much help. Lucius Malfoy the first? Who the heck was he? Some dead guy? That was the best advice his own father could give him, to summon a dead ancestor? What on earth could a dead guy do? Still…this was the third nightmare he had had…maybe it was worth a shot. He couldn’t wait until the morning; he would need to start the séance now!
“Goyle!” Draco said abruptly, “We need to go get some supplies.”
One hour later
Draco and Goyle were sitting opposite each other on the cold stone floor of their Slytherin dormitory. In between them was a small circle of five crystals. Draco and Goyle were busy chanting.
“Viens esprit, viens esprit…” Draco was half singing, his eyes closed.
“Vivent esprit, vivent esprit…” Goyle chanted, unaware that he wasn’t chanting the right incantation. Draco’s eyes popped open, he had noticed.
“Goyle! It’s ‘viens esprit’! Not ‘vivent esprit’!” Draco raged. He stood up, ready to give Goyle a hard shake, when wisps of smoke began to enter the circle. Thinking better of it, Draco stepped back to watch the smoky tendrils weave and grow, stronger and stronger. Now very worried, Draco quickly consulted the book he had used, he didn’t see anything about using the wrong words.
“Uh…Draco…”Goyle began, the smoke was taking a more defined shape.
“What now?” Draco asked, upset. He shut Les Malafices D’Esprit in his frustration and turned his gaze to the whirling smoke. It had now taken the shape, inside the circle of crystals stood a small wizard; he was wearing a rather demonic expression as he gazed up at Malfoy and Goyle.
“Who summoned me?” he asked in a bit of a cackle.
“Uh…are you…Lucius Malfoy the first?” Draco asked tentatively
“No,” The ghost gave an evil grin.
Draco silently cursed himself, “Then who are you?” he asked, as he searched for the piece of parchment he had scribbled the vanishing of spirits spell on. He would need it to get rid of this meddlesome ghost. Stupid Goyle, chanting “vivent esprits” he thought.
“I’m Satan,” the ghost stated, giving a malicious smile and staring at Draco as he thumbed through the book. How bloody fantastic, Draco thought, we’ve summoned a real coot! That idiot Goyle… The little ghost looked around the room curiously, but he wouldn’t step out of the circle of crystals.
“Found it!” Draco said, waving the piece of parchment in the air, “Vas t’en, esprit! Departer de cette place, esprit!” he read. The ghost stepped away, seemingly surprised that he could leave the circle of crystals, realizing that he could, he tore out of the room to unknown whereabouts.
“That was a complete waste,” Draco cursed, slamming his book shut and kicking around the crystal, “at least I got rid of it. I’ll work on the nightmares tomorrow.” And with that, he lay down on his bed and promptly fell asleep. Goyle did the same.
Outside, however, someone was eagerly rejoicing in his newfound flesh and blood…
A/N: Translations are necessary, I feel, because they are major foreshadowing. ‘Vivent esprits’ means ‘live spirits’. Also, Draco’s “vanishing” spell went like this: ‘Leave spirit! Leave this place!’ Oh, and for those who are curious, the title means: ‘The evil doings of spirits’. And yes, it’s all French because I’m too lazy to learn Latin.
Satans, snitches and schizophrenia by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely recognizable. For example, once I had an iPod but then I dropped it in a puddle of mud and now most people give me funny looks when I listen to it because it looks like I’m listening to a blob of mud.
Disclaimer: Keep in mind that by naming one of my characters “Satan” I am not trying to insult any one or their religions. It’s just of a humor challenge I undertook.
Disclaimer: I added the "schizophrenia" because reading chapter has had a hallucinatory effect on some unfortunate readers. That blue monster behind isn't real, but he WILL go away if you review!
Even though it was a Saturday, Draco Malfoy woke up bright and early. Of course, it was anything but bright in the dingy dungeons where the Slytherins lived. But Draco hopped out of bed feeling considerably awake. The goings on of last night was simply a bad feeling nagging at him from the recesses of his brain. He stretched and pulled out his Quidditch robes. Today was the first game of the season, against the Slytherins mortal enemy; Gryffindor. Goyle, however, was still asleep and seeing as he was one of the team’s beaters, it was necessary that he wake up.
“Goyle! You huge lump of mashed potatoes, get up!” Draco hollered over in Goyle’s direction as he quickly dressed himself in green and silver, the color of his house.
“ ‘S morning already?” Goyle asked stupidly, sitting up in bed. He blinked dully around him, he saw Malfoy dressing in his Quidditch robes and decided he would do the same. Quidditch was one of the very few things that could get hi s brain working at nearly normal level.
They were joined by Crabbe (who was sporting his teeth again) in the Great Hall for a quick breakfast. And then it was out to the Quidditch field for a pre-game pep talk. Though this usually turned into Gryffindor bashing.
“Look, Draco,” Slytherin’s Quidditch captain was explaining to him, “just try to spot the snitch before Potter, that’s our best bet. Unless,” he gave Draco a hopeful look, “you’ve thought of anything to distract them again? That song last year was brilliant.”
“I can’t work continuously,” Draco said waving him off airily, “it even takes geniuses a while to come up with genius plans.”
“Right-o then,” the captain said, patting Draco on the shoulder before turning to Crabbe and Goyle, “Now you fellows, you need to remember that you only want to hit the little black balls when you’re flying around. Hitting anything you can doesn’t always work to our advantage.”
“It’s almost ready,” the wizard mumbled the wizard to himself, twiddling his fingers together as he pored over an ancient map. He was sitting in a grove of dead trees. All of them were blackened as though they had recently been burned. “Now to summon someone…”
His eyes lit upon a large field upon his map, where dots were beginning to move around rapidly. “Perfect,” he breathed. He pulled out a small pouch and dipped his thumb and forefinger into it. The hand came up with a small pinch of white powder.
Muttering to himself, the mysterious wizard began to sprinkle the powder onto the vellum upon which the map had been written. The powder lay there for a bit then melted into the map. The wizard sat back, satisfied.
“Now to wait for the suckers to come on in,” he said, smacking his lips together and leaning against a dead tree to relax.
“And Slytherin has the Quaffle, but Weasley, Ginny, my girlfriend the most gorgeous girl on the team if I do say so myself, is flying pretty close on their heels. She’s an excellent flyer, my girlfriend…um…have I mentioned she’s my girlfriend?” Dean Thomas asked. He was doing announcements for the Quidditch game and had just started dating Ginny Weasley, who happened to be a chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
“Dean Thomas, if I am going to have to put up with everything that Lee Jordan put me through I myself will give you detention!”
“Right, professor, the game, and only the game. Hey, you know…my girlfriend’s in the”“
“Game, Thomas!”
“Yes, that’s what I was saying…Oh! You mean to focus on the Quidditch game, right-o Professor.” Dean said, giving her a small salute and turning back to the Quidditch game. “Well, it’s still Slytherin with the Quaffle, Ginny’s glaring at me because I’m embarrassing her and”“
WHAM!
A bludger had just shot past Ginny’s face and hit the Slytherin chaser with the Quaffle head on. He dropped the ball and started swerving around lazily. Ginny raced downwards to grabbed the Quaffle.
“So, that was Goyle with a very hard bludger shot aimed directly at…his own team. You may have to get glasses Goyle!” Dean yelled. The Gryffindors erupted into laughter while the Slytherins scowled.
Flying around up above, Draco rolled his eyes in embarrassment. It was bad enough that Goyle was completely clueless on land. But in the air he was more than helpless. As for himself, he was busy keeping an eye on Potter. He knew it was no use to look for the snitch himself, that would require too much effort. Instead, if he could just tag along with Potter, he would know when he had seen it. Potter had a terrible poker face and couldn’t help revealing almost every single one of his emotions.
But Potter was acting kind of funny. His face became very determined. He stopped, and turned and shot like a rocket right by Malfoy.
“And Potter’s seen something! Yes, he’s heading towards the end of the field, he’s going, going…. going…going…gone! Potter’s left the field! Now there’s someone who really needs to answer the call of nature,” Dean continued commenting on the game.
The rest of the Gryffindor team was looking kind of confused; after all, their Seeker had just torn off in the complete opposite direction of the Quidditch field and was no longer visible among the dense foliage of the Forbidden Forest.
“Draco! What are you waiting for?” howled the Slytherin team captain, waving his arms at Draco, “Follow him!”
So Draco turned his broom in the direction Potter had gone and flew after him.
“Alright, so two Seekers down!” Dean was announcing, “And the score is 60-0. It looks like Weasley’s charm is staying; so far not one goal has gotten past him. Have I mentioned that I’m dating his sister?”
The twigs tore at Draco as he flew deeper and deeper into the forest. He had the sinking feeling that this was a fool’s chase. But he kept on going anyways, determined to find Potter. The smell of burnt wood began to reach his nose. He followed it almost instinctively until pretty soon he realized that he couldn’t stop. His broom had a mind of it’s own and it was determined to carry him deeper into the forest.
At last the broom stopped in the middle of a small clearing. Around the edges were burnt trees. Standing amongst them, looking about surprised was Potter.
“So, Potter,” Draco snarled, dismounting from his broom, “What’s the plan this time? Lure me out here, knock me out and then fly back to get the snitch?”
Potter was looking kind of confused, “No, I’m not exactly sure why I came here.”
An evil cackle exploded from the tree nearby. Both Draco and Potter jumped. From behind the tree stepped a small wizard. Draco received a small shock when he realized it was the exact same wizard he had summoned the night before.
“I thought I told you to disappear,” he began, confused.
“You did,” the wizened wizard said, hi s face breaking into a large grin, “And I left! Disappeared! Whatever you want to call it! And now I’ve decided to bring you here,” he spread out his arms to encompass the entire empty, burnt clearing.
“Welcome, to my first evil lair, well, for this century at least,” he said giving a small bow to Potter and Draco. They both stared at him, apparently confused.
Crash!
A figure in scarlet came tumbling through the burnt foliage. He landed with a plop on the ground before stumbling to his feet and straightening his robes. Draco drew in a small breath, it was another one of his worst enemies; Ronald Weasley.
Ron stared around the dark clearing. His eyes traveled from Harry to Draco to the small wizard grinning wickedly.
“Who are you?” he asked the little man, confused.
The little man grinned at him delightedly, “I’m Satan!” said Satan.
“Bloody hell,” said Ron.
“Ron!” Harry Potter yelled at his friend, “What about the Quidditch game?”
“Well, it ended, Crabbe aimed a bludger in some obscure direction and it ended up flattening the snitch. So Gryffindor won,” Ron explained. He then turned back to the deranged wizard, “What do you mean, you’re Satan?”
“Exactly what I said,” the little man explained proudly, “I am Satan. Ultimate evil being, and in less than a week I plan to take over the whole world and make it a living hell that I alone rule!”
At this statement he began to cackle evilly, spreading his arms out. For a small moment the sky turned dark and a streak of lighting hit the ground at his feet. Then it all disappeared and the little old man was left gazing ecstatically at the sky.
“Right, you go do that,” Ron said kindly to the tiny man. He was obviously insane and it is usually best to treat such people with kindness and gentleness otherwise they tend to over react. However this only served to infuriate the little man even more.
“Oh, I will!” he cried out, puffing out his chest, “And sacrificing you will be my first step in that direction!”
“Come what?” Ron asked, confused. He looked to Harry and Draco for an explanation. Both of them shrugged.
“Usually I need Hermione to provide me with answers,” Harry said.
Draco snorted, “That’s obvious, an idiot like you needing to rely on a mudblood for brains, might as well be going to Longbottom.”
“Don’t call her a mudblood,” Harry said, pulling out his wand, angry now.
“Expelliarmus!”
Harry’s wand flew from his hand, but it wasn’t Draco who had spoken the spell. It was ‘Satan’. As the three young wizards stared at him in amazement, he pocketed his own wand.
“Now, I can’t have you destroying each other, I need to do that later,” he chuckled evilly at them. Then he turned to Draco, “because the little red head came, I’m letting you off the hook. You just need to help me prepare their bodies.”
“What? Why does he get off the hook?” Ron demanded, angry now.
“Because he summoned me,” Satan said, as though this were obvious.
“What?” Harry demanded angry again, he glared at Malfoy, “This is a trap! You summoned him to summon me to summon Ron to destroy us because of our rivalry!”
“No! No, honestly, it’s not,” Draco protested, “It was an accident.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Ron admitted, “can you imagine him coming up with that elaborate a scheme?”
Harry paused, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess your right, he doesn’t have a Hermione to give him answers.” Draco was about to shoot back a reply when Satan interrupted.
“Look now, boys,” he said spreading out his hands, “I haven’t got all day.,“ with that he pulled out his wand and tied all three boys to trees, “Now be good.”
With that, he left with an elegant whoosh of his cloak.
“Alright, alright, I’ve got one,” Ron said an hour later. “I spy with my little eye…something black.”
“A dead tree,” Harry said, very bored.
“Yeah, you’re right again,” Ron said despondently, “I guess there’s not much else to see when you’re in the middle of a dead forest.”
“Well then stop trying to see more,” Draco said testily. They’d been trying to amuse themselves for about an hour and ‘Satan’ still hadn’t returned.
Crunch crunch.
It sounded as though someone had stepped on a twig. The three boys held their breaths, it sounded as though their captor was returning. More crunching could be heard and slowly a figure began to appear. But it wasn’t the little deranged wizard, it was…
Hermione Granger.
“Ron! Harry!” she shouted, a twig was stuck in her hair and she looked thoroughly annoyed, “What have you been doing this time?”
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Harry answered, “exploring the forest…appreciating nature… and getting captured by an insane wizard who my arch-rival summoned and wants to turn the world in to a living hell!”
Hermione turned to Ron for confirmation. He nodded, “It’s true, Malfoy has managed to screw the world over.”
“And as if you’ve never done that!” Draco protested. Hermione turned and noticed him for the first time.
“Wait a minute, you summoned this crazy psycho bent on global domination?” she asked for clarification. Draco scowled at her.
“I don’t answer questions from a mudblood,” he sneered.
“Fine then,” Hermione tossed her head, the twig in her hair fell out, “you can stay here,” she bent to untie Ron and Harry.
“No! Wait!” Draco shouted, panicking as both Harry and Ron started standing up, “Untie me please! I can tell you how to get rid of Satan!”
“And how would you do that?” Hermione asked, one eyebrow arched.
“Well, I summoned him, didn’t I?” Draco answered, as though it were obvious. He was, of course bluffing, but good people are easy to manipulate and so Harry and Ron walked over to untie him. Once he was back on his feet, he swayed, feeling a little bit unsteady and then fell, right into Ron.
“Whoa, easy there mate,” Ron said pushing Draco away. He stumbled back.
“No mate. You do not call me mate,” Draco snarled, the recent memories of his nightmares still present in his mind.
“Uh…sure, no mate-ing for you,” Ron looked a bit taken aback. Draco looked pretty [angry], his cheeks flushing pink, apparently from anger. Little did Ron know that it was actually from embarrassment. He turned and they all left the forest to return to Hogwarts and ponder their current problem.
Hogwarts Library
“Okay,” Hermione said, putting a few books on a table in a secluded corner of the library. Gathered around the table were Harry, Ron, Draco and Goyle. Draco had brought Goyle along for moral support. He was unlikely to be any other help because he still stumbled over words longer than five letters. He would have liked to bring along Crabbe, but his other friend had been in the middle of a mob of Slytherins angry with him for messing up their game so Draco had decided to leave it.
“What do you remember about getting rid of that…thing,” she asked Draco.
“Huh?” Draco asked, tearing his gaze from Ron’s hand. He was trying hard not to stare at Ron, but that was rather difficult to do when his eyes kept sliding back to Ron. So he had compromised and decided to stare only at his hand. “Oh, um…actually…I was bluffing so you would untie me from that tree.”
Hermione closed her eyes and banged her head on top of one of the books very slowly, “I. Can’t. Believe. This,” she said each time she hit her head on the book.
“But you must have some useful information,” Harry persisted.
“Look Potter, my father told me to summon this guy and I did, end of story,” Draco said glaring at Harry.
“Wait, your father told you to summon him?” Hermione asked, lifting her head from the book.
“Um, yes,” Draco said, “well, he said ’ask your noble, esteemed ancestor, Lucius Malfoy the first, sometime in the morning.’”
Hermione stared at him, “When did you get this note?”
“Last night,” Draco answered, not comprehending where this questioning was heading, “you see he had been awoken by an owl about my…never mind, why do you care anyways Granger?”
“Are there any other Lucius Malfoys in your family?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.
“Well, no, not that I know of…but he probably came from a long time ago.” Draco explained.
“Splendid, I always knew your family was evil,” Ron put in, “now it turns out that one of your ancestors was actually Satan himself!”
“Ron, don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione chastised him. She turned to Draco, “Your father was simply asking you to bother him with your questions in the morning,” she explained, “He wasn’t telling you to conduct a séance!”
“Oh,” said Draco, then it hit him, “I-I knew that. I just…um…”
Hermione interrupted him, rubbing her temple with her fingers as though she were beginning to get a headache, “That would mean that you summoned some random, insane wizard who believes himself to be Satan.”
“Lovely,” Harry said, “now how do we get rid of him?”
“Well,” Hermione said, frowning, “we’ll need to find out who he really was back in his day and then try to figure out how he died the first time.”
“Excellent,” Ron said unhappily, “we’ll need to pull out all the books on insane wizards and read through them. Again.”
“Again?” Draco asked puzzled, “You mean you’ve already read all those books?”
“No, “Harry explained, “but in our first year we cleaned out the library looking for Nicholas Flamel.”
Draco decided not pursue the subject. The last thing he wanted to know was their quirky hobbies. Instead he asked, “Is there an easier way?”
“Actually, there is,” Hermione said, sitting up, “I’ll just ask Professor Binns, he probably knows all about insane wizards and their ghosts.”
“Yeah,” Ron drawled. “Let’s face it, the guy spends his afterlife teaching.”
“It’s probably great for the school budget,” Harry reasoned, “You don’t need to pay ghosts.”
A/N: The end of another chapter! Ideas about who the wizard is and how to defeat him are helpful! Oh, and if you haven’t already, read my other stories. Since you’re in the humor section, I’m guessing you’ll enjoy “Founding of Hogwarts” and perhaps my one-shot “The Best Fanfic Ever!” (it really is).
Hitting the Books by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
Chapter 3: Htting the Books
The dragon’s breath was scalding hot as he fought it, plunging his sword in and out of the smoke. If his armor hadn’t been heat-proofed, he would have perished for sure. Instead, Draco kept on fighting the dragon to save the princess it was going to eat.
“ROAWR!” the dragon roared, shaking the ground. Draco managed to stay standing. He had too, he was battling the dragon in the edge of a mountain.
“Be careful!” shouted the princess. He couldn’t see her, but her voice sounded beautiful.
“I’ll be alright!” he called back. And then, his sword found a soft spot, without hesitating he plunged the blade deep into the dragon’s stomach.
“ROAWR!” cried the dragon, but it was too late, it toppled over the mountain, sword still sheathed in it’s belly.
“Oh, Draco,” cried the princess, rushing forward to embrace him. He couldn’t see her face, a veil covered it, but he knew in his heart that she was the loveliest thing ever invented. She hugged him tightly and he lifted her veil to kiss her, but underneath the veil was…
Ron Weasley’s face!
Draco sat upright in bed, sweating heavily. He shook his head to clear it. Well, at least I didn’t scream, he thought. Though, if he was truly honest with himself, the dreams were very pleasurable”
“Draco! Wake up! It’s time for school,” Draco’s eyes snapped open, Goyle was shaking him.
“I’m up! I’m up,” he snarled, Goyle left him alone. Once again they were the only ones in the dormitory, Crabbe had to go back to the hospital wing after he had been beaten up by the mob of angry Slytherins. Draco stalked into the bathroom and locked the door.
Once inside, he pinched himself twice, just to make sure this was real. This is getting insane, he thought, I’m having dreams about enjoying my Ron dreams. He quickly washed his face in cold water to clear his thoughts. The situation had become pathetic, now, not only was he dreaming about Ron, but he was dreaming about dreaming about Ron. It was all so complicated.
Well, maybe after the mudblood got rid of the mad ghost, he could find a way to worm an answer out of her. Even though the very idea of asking a mudblood for help made his skin crawl, he knew he needed to do something, and fast. Before his dreams got worse.
“Ron, you look absolutely exhausted,” Harry said, sitting down at the breakfast table in between his two best friends.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Ron grumbled defensively, spearing some of his bacon in a particularly violent gesture. “I had another one of those funny dreams.”
“You mean like mine?” asked Harry, curious.
“No, not like yours,” Ron said, shaking his head decisively, “at least, I hope you don’t have dreams like these.”
Harry was about to press further when Hermione cut in, with a copy of the Sunday Prophet in hand.
“Read this,” she said urgently, shoving the paper under their noses. They both read the headline and then exchanged glances of worry.
“We need to go tell Malfoy,” Harry stated for the first, and most likely last time.
“Uh, Draco, are you sure you’re alright?” Goyle asked dully.
“Yes, of course I am,” Draco snapped impatiently, “am I acting abnormally to you?”
“Uh…no…” Goyle drawled before returning to his pancake. Actually, Draco was acting rather oddly. In a frenzy to find a way to rid himself of his nightmares, he had borrowed a stack of books on dreams from the library. Now, instead of eating, he was busy trying to figure out what his Ron dreams meant. If he could decipher the meaning, perhaps he would be one step closer to discovering how to rid himself of them.
Though his dreams seemed pretty self-explanatory. For goodness sake, he was kissing the…
There, he had found the page. He quickly scanned it.
Miss Danslalune’s Dream Interpretations
Enemy Kissing
-If you see your rival kissing your sweetheart, you are in danger of losing your sweetheart’s affection and should thus burn her at the stake.
-If you dream of kissing an enemy, problems you were unaware of will soon be mended.
-If you dream your enemy is kissing a pig, victory is eminent.
-If you dream of saving your enemy from a dragon only your enemy is dressed as a princess whose face you cannot see until you kiss, then you are madly in love with your enemy.
Draco shut the book angrily. Madly in love with my enemy? No, that’s not true, he thought angrily to himself, and burn her at the stake? When was this book written, anyways? he quickly turned to the inside of the front cover. It read circa 1251. Well, it’s outdated then, Draco sighed in relief.
“Psst, Malfoy!” whispered a voice behind him. Both he and Goyle swiveled around at the sound. It was Hermione, she was holding up a copy of the Sunday Prophet while hidden in the doorway of a side entrance into the Great Hall. He could see Ron and Harry there as well, both beckoning him to come forward. Draco quickly surveyed the rest of the Slytherins, they were all eating their breakfast and grumbling about the Quidditch match from yesterday. None of them were paying attention to Draco and Goyle. They both quickly dashed over to the threshold where the trio was hiding.
“What is it?” Draco hissed at them, but Ron opened the door and they all ducked inside.
“This!” Hermione answered shoving the copy of the newspaper into his hands. Draco held it gingerly between his two fingers, afraid to get mudblood germs on himself.
Hogsmeade Makes Terrifying Change!!
It seems to have occurred almost overnight. After noticing an unusual line of forest fire nearing their borders, the once-good townsfolk of Hogsmeade went to stop it and save the trees. However, for reasons no one can yet explain, once they got to the scene of the disaster and inhaled the fumes, they underwent a sudden change. The first sign that something was wrong became identified due to the fact that the fire was not stopping. It tore through the entire town, burning or charring everything.
Now the town has become a dirty, burnt pit of scum. Zonko’s sells more than your harmless pranks and the post office has been sending out hate mail all day. Pubs overflow with drunken brigands who have been looting homes and engaging in battles. Any inhabitant who was unaffected has fled to town and demanded that the Minister do something to fix it.
But what has brought on this sudden change? Many speculations have arisen, including that of a rampant spell getting loose from Hogwarts, the nearby wizarding school and that the Hog’s Head’s dirty cups finally poisoned someone.
However these speculations will remain speculations as both the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the barkeeper of Hog’s Head refuse to comment. Some of the innocent townsfolk are beginning to speculate as to whether or not both are collaborating on this scheme together. The names of their institutes are rather similar; perhaps senility has affected both these men.
Nevertheless, the town calls for action! The Minister however, remains unsure as to how to cope.
“We are working hard to find the source of this problem,” explained a disheveled Cornelius Fudge, “but we will be putting the town under a temporary quarantine to keep it’s criminals from spreading.”
For more information about the plans for Hogsmeade and the connections between Hogwarts and Hog’s Head, see inside pages.
Below was a picture of buildings burning and soot-faced wizards glaring. In the background, you could see the bright lights of a wizarding duel. Draco folded up the paper and tossed it back to Hermione.
“So?” he demanded, “what are you going to do about it?”
“You mean what are we going to do about it,” Ron added testily, “don’t think you’re getting off the hook so fast, Malfoy.”
He said the last word as though it were the most vulgar name to call someone. Draco’s lip curled in disgust.
“I didn’t think so, Weasley,” he returned. Both Draco and Ron glared at each other for a few moments, each with apparent expressions of hatred. Harry finally broke in.
“Listen you guys,” he interrupted, “I think we should deal with this first.” He indicated to the article in the paper.
Ron tore his gaze from Draco’s eyes and nodded curtly. “Right,” he agreed, “Hermione, you’re going to ask Binns who this nut is, correct?”
“Yes,” said Hermione, she then turned to Draco and Goyle, “I think we should reconvene then to discuss our next move.”
“Where?” Draco asked, trying hard not to think of Ron’s eyes. They had been so clear, so blue--
“The library seems best,” Hermione shrugged. Then she, Ron and Harry and turned and left. Draco turned to Goyle and shrugged after the last of the trio’s footsteps faded away.
“Looks like we’re going to need to avoid the library this afternoon,” he sneered. Goyle chuckled appreciatively for no real reason whatsoever.
“Now’s your chance Hermione,” Harry whispered to her as the class began to leave, “Ron and I will wait outside, right Ron?”
“Huh?” Ron stuttered, snapping himself out of his daydream. He focused on what Harry was saying, “Oh, yeah.”
Harry pulled Ron out of the classroom, leaving Hermione alone with Professor Binns. Once in the corridor, Harry slammed Ron against a wall. (Fortunately, the suit of armor had moved aside to provide the blank wall space, otherwise Ron might end up in the infirmary.)
“Ouch! What’re you trying to do to me?” Ron complained, rubbing his shoulder where it had made contact with the wall.
“What’s wrong with you?” Harry demanded, looking his best friend straight in the eye, “You’ve been acting all out of sorts lately. If you were a girl I might understand, but…” Harry trailed off here, uncertain.
“I don’t know,” Ron grumbled, holding his head, “it’s just that lately, I’ve been having these really weird dreams.”
“Can you describe them?” Harry asked, perplexed. He really wasn’t good with this kind of thing. He had been hoping the slam into the wall would be all the help Ron needed.
“No,” Ron began, and then he stopped. Maybe if he told his pal part of the story, he would be one step closer to figuring this mess out, “well, yes. I was a princess and I was caught by a dragon and there was this knight…”
But even before he had finished the sentence he saw it was futile, Harry was simply looking at him in disbelief.
“Look, if you don’t want to tell me anything, fine,” Harry retorted, looking kind of hurt, “but you don’t need to make fun of me.”
“I wasn’t!” Ron insisted. But at that moment Hermione emerged from the classroom, a large book clasped in her arms and a huge grin plastered to her face.
“I found him!” she told the two joyfully. It was clear that now she had a reference in a book, everything was going to be fine. For Hermione, at least. Harry and Ron stopped bickering and turned to her expectantly.
“Well?” Ron asked impatiently, “Are you going to stand there all day or tell us now?”
In response Hermione pulled the two of them into the broom closet next to Professor Binns’s classroom. It was rather cramped, but there were buckets enough for them to sit on and one left over for the book. Hermione lay the book on top and opened it onto the marked page. Harry and Ron both blinked in astonishment at the picture above. It consisted of the very wizard ghost they had seen the day before, only he was cursing a council of wizards. Then the picture moved to show him being hit by no less than twenty killing curses at the same time. As a result, he slowly began to melt into the floor, cursing all the way down.
“Why didn’t he just die when he was hit with all those curses?” wondered Ron aloud.
“Didn’t you read the passage?” demanded Hermione, astounded, “Or are you going to tell me you looked at the picture the whole time?”
Harry and Ron exchanged sheepish glances. Hermione threw her hands up and resigned to explaining the situation to them.
“He is know as Edgarwin the Evil,” she explained.
“Edgarwin the Evil?” Draco asked in disbelief at what Hermione had just told him. She and Harry and, the other one as Draco was going to refer to him from now on, had found him and Goyle attempting to escape the Great Hall after lunch. Obviously the escape was unsuccessful, but at least Draco had not taken his books with him. One such book had been titled “Marvy Marge’s Guide to Forgetting Guys You Hate”. Draco didn’t want to think about the Gryffindor’s reaction if they found him with that particular book in his possession.
Still the book had offered some helpful advice. Such as not thinking of the other one by his real name. It was supposed to help erase any memory of the other one. But all of those problems had flown out of Draco’s brain when he heard the ghost’s name.
“Yes, I know,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “it’s a terrible name. Originally it was just Edgar but he got involved in some cult and added the ‘win’ to insure victory”“
“Save me the lecture,” Draco growled, “how are we going to get rid of him?”
Here Harry sighed and took over for Hermione. “The book doesn’t really say,” he explained, “the last time he croaked it was because twenty wizards hit him with killing curses at the same time.”
“Don’t you only need one killing curse to die?” Goyle queried, confused.
“Yes, you normally do,” Ron interjected, he had been in a foul mood since Harry had made fun of his dream, “but I suppose only half of one would finish you off.”
“Edgarwin took extra precautions to guard himself from death,” Hermione clarified, “so he needed 20 to get rid of him.”
Goyle mulled this over for a bit. Draco spoke up again, “So, fantastic, we amass 20 wizards and do the same, has either of you realized that this guy is already dead?”
“There’s more than two of us,” Ron growled.
“Yes, but I’m ignoring you,” Draco explained. He turned back to Hermione, “Does it mention any weaknesses? Phobias? Quirks? Fetishes? Teddy bear Separation Anxiety?”
“Teddy bear Separation Anxiety?” Harry puzzled.
“Also know as TSA, it’s quite common amongst evil wizards, and it says a lot about their personalities,” Hermione clarified, she turned back to Draco, “And no, there’s none of that, you can look in the book yourself.”
“I’ll pass,” Draco smirked, “So, what have you thought of doing?”
Hermione bit her lip, all the guys turned to look at her. As if she were an machine that could suddenly start spouting out the answers. “Well,” she began.
A/N: MWAHAHAHA! Cliffhanger! I am so evil! I am Mariewinwin the Malicious! No one can stop me! Except, maybe with a few reviews…
A Conflict of Colors by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
“I don’t know,” Hermione confessed.
“What? You don’t know? Hermione, I’m disappointed in you,” chastised Ron. “Harry he is a goner if he doesn’t have you to rely on for answers.”
“Look, while you lot search for answers, I have a Potions class to be at,” Draco stated and beckoned Goyle to follow him. But they had not gone two steps before Draco realized the trio was following him.
“What is it now?” he demanded.
“We’re in your Potions class, half-wit,” Ron retorted.
Draco stopped, he had forgotten that. Double Potions with the Gryffindors, as always. Then a horrifying thought occurred to him. What if the Gryffindors tried to talk to him? The Slytherins would mock him for the rest of his life if it looked like he was in on one of Potter’s schemes. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Well don’t just stand there, start moving!” Hermione pushed Draco from behind, he stumbled a bit and then spun around.
“Listen, we are going to act like nothing is different to the rest of the school,” he ordered.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, confused.
“I mean, we all still hate each other, we are just going to pretend that we don’t talk outside of class,” Draco clarified.
“Why on earth-?” Hermione began confused.
“Because it would damage my reputation, that’s why!” Draco half yelled.
“You have a reputation?” Ron snorted at the idea.
“Yes, and it’s a good one, unlike your lots,” Draco fumed.
“Alright Drakie, don’t have a temper tantrum,” Hermione rolled her eyes. Goyle snorted, the four turned to look at him.
“What are you laughing at?” Harry demanded, puzzled as always.
“Only Draco’s mom calls him Drakie,” Goyle chortled. Draco smacked him round the head and stormed off, angry that Goyle had given away such a deep secret. He remembered how much he had impressed into Goyle the necessity to keep such a pet name quiet. Not even Crabbe knew. Goyle had only found out when he’d read Draco’s letters by accident, believing they were his. Draco had been shocked about the fact that Goyle could even read, but now he realized, he should have made his clandestine nickname more clear.
He got to the dungeons early and sat down by his cauldron, stewing over Goyle’s betrayal.
“Uh, Draco, um, look. I’m sorry,” Goyle sputtered when he got to Potions class. Professor Snape was busy giving instructions for a Tanning Potion. It was one of the lighter Potion classes, Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Draco ignored Goyle eloquent apology and threw his ingredients into his potion.
He noticed that the Gryffindors were in the back of the dungeon, as always, and were holding a hushed discussion as they distractedly threw in their ingredients.
~*~
“Who do you think should tell him?” Hermione hissed as she tossed some Blue Toad Claws over her shoulder.
“The one he dislikes the least, probably,” Harry stated, adding a random green powder to his cauldron.
“Which one would that be?” Ron grumbled, looking in disgust at some centaur tail hair before dropping it into his cauldron. “He can’t stand Muggle-borns because they’re not “pure”. He hates me because of my family and “low ideals”. And Harry…well Harry’s just Harry and Malfoy hates him because of that.”
“It definitely shouldn’t be me,” Hermione shook her head violently to emphasize her point. “He would never reasonably listen to what I say.”
“Yeah, and like Ron said, he hates everything I do so I would be no good,” Harry muttured. Hermione nodded again. Both Harry and Hermione turned their heads to Ron who was busy poking at his cauldron passively with his wand and watching it change colors. He slowly turned his head and realized his two best pals were expecting him to have an unpleasant chat with the enemy.
“Why me?” he grieved.
“Well look at it from our point of view, you’re a Pureblood, unlike us,” Harry offered.
“Yes, and Draco doesn’t mind you that much. I saw him staring at your hand a while back,” Hermione input.
”He was probably planning what sort of nasty thing he was going to turn it into,” Ron countered. “And he hates me and my whole family. Any words from my mouth are dirt to him!”
But his pleas had no effect on his friends. Angrily, he jabbed his potion rather fiercely.
KA-BOOM!
Ron’s potion exploded all over the entire classroom, drenching them in it. And it became painfully obvious how poorly concocted Ron’s potion had been. Instead of turning a nice tan, classmates who had been hit by the potion were turning different colors.
“Help!” a red Ron pleaded with a blue Hermione and a green Harry.
“You know, I think this color goes well with my eyes,” Harry informed them, staring fixedly at his violently green hand.
“Oh Harry stop that!” Hermione ordered, shoving him lightly, but she too appeared more amused than worried with the class’s present condition.
“Perhaps once you are done admiring your new skin tones you could explain what happened?” demanded a cruel voice behind them. In a whirl of colors they turned around to face a disgruntled Snape. The “Tanning” potion had hit him as well. But in this rare case, it had worked. Snape’s once pasty skin now bore an uncharacteristic golden tan.
“Uh, well, um,” a green Harry sputtered, trying to find an alibi. Snape’s brown lip curled unpleasantly.
“Clearly that potion removed some of your brain as well, what was left of it anyway. Follow me,” he growled.
Harry didn’t protest, instead he collected his bag, but when his green face was next to Ron’s red ear, he hissed, “Now’s your chance to talk to Malfoy.”
“Class dismissed!” Snape called as he carried Harry off, “You can go to the hospital wing to fix your skin if need be. Though I must say some of you look better this way.”
Grumbling and glaring at the red Ron, the class began to put away their cauldrons and pack their book bags. Then the myriad of colorful students began filing out of the dungeon, looking like a very entertaining rainbow.
“Nice going Weasley!” shouted a sneering purple Draco.
“Well, at least I’m not purple!” was all Ron could think of for a comeback.
“Tut tut,” Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue at the array of colorful sixth years before her. She held out a tray full of little paper Dixie cups brimming with a thick syrupy liquid. “Drink these, they’ll restore your normal pigments. Though I’m afraid it only works 24 hours after you’ve drunk it.”
“Great, now I get to be purple for a whole day,” Draco lamented, knocking back his shot of pigment potion.
”Congrats, Malfoy, you’ve successfully turned into the pansy I always knew you were,” Ron snarled as he too sipped his potion.
SMACK!
“Don’t. Call. Me. A. Pansy,” Draco hissed at Ron through his teeth after he slapped him.
“Why not?” Ron growled back.
“Because it’s hypocritical, Weasel, that’s why,” Draco retorted, walking off. “Everyone knows you’re the biggest butterfly out there.”
Now all the students had knocked back their shots and were looking at the brawl in interest. At Draco’s comment, the Slytherins all jeered at Ron. Crabbe even made a mock-butterfly with his hands and fluttered it in Ron’s direction.
With all these eyes on him, Ron felt his already red ears turn even redder. “Tell me Draco,” he called out, “when was the last time you dreamed about kissing a girl?”
The Gryffindors all cheered appreciatively as Draco’s lavender skin flushed. “I suppose your parents are happy,” he shot back, “now they get to have a surrogate daughter.”
“Well as long as your door swings both ways, we aren’t helping you!” Ron roared.
“Why should I need your help? It’s obvious you aren’t the straightest road on the map! And I mean that in more ways than one!”
Angrily, Ron pulled out his wand at the same time Draco pulled out his. They would have begun dueling if it had not been for Madame Pomfrey. She had just finished consoling a moping mauve Pansy and was attracted by the shouts and jeers from the crowd of sixth years.
“Stop! Stop this instant!” she yelled, breaking into the center of the crowd. Both Draco and Ron stopped looking at each other and pocketed their wands. “Shoo! SHOO! Don’t make excuses for me to treat you!”
The crowd dispersed, many of the students talking amongst themselves. Hermione finally fought her way through to Ron.
“What on earth were you thinking, Ron?” she demanded.
In response, Ron angrily kicked a nearby knight. This was another bad idea because the angered knight proceeded to chase him all the way down the corridor.
“Tell me Draco, when was the last time you dreamed about kissing a girl?”
Draco shook his head, trying to erase that phrase from his memory. But he couldn’t it nagged at him harshly. He had a lot of things to deal with right now. It didn’t help that he didn’t have the Gryffindor’s help with his ghost problem. But at least now he wouldn’t have to see Ron.
He hoped.
“So Ron and Malfoy had a big fight?” a green Harry asked curiously as the trio made their way down to dinner.
“Yes,” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Look, so I got a bit mad, alright?” Ron snapped, “It’s not as though Malfoy was our closest chum.”
“Calm down Ron,” Hermione begged him, “It’s just that, throughout the entire row, you two seemed to have something going on. Like there was something you both knew, yet no one else did.”
“We do NOT have anything going on!” Ron barked.
“Calm down, let’s just go to dinner alright?” Harry pleaded.
Resigned Ron marched along with his friends to the Great Hall. However, before they could enter, Hermione spoke softly, “Stop.”
“What is it?” asked Harry, he strained his ears, but all he could hear was an inconsistent buzzing sound.
CLAP! Hermione clapped her hands around something in midair.
“Uh, Hermione? I’m sorry to tell you this, but there’s nothing there,” Ron informed her. “Maybe there was something in that potion…”
“Look,” Hermione ordered. Harry and Ron gathered round her. She parted her blue hands a little bit to reveal a beetle.
“Starting a bug collection? Good, then I’ll get you Malfoy, biggest butter”“
”Will you stop it with Malfoy?” Harry demanded his friend impatiently, “This has nothing to do with him, it’s Rita.”
“What does she want?” asked Ron.
“Rita, reveal yourself,” Hermione ordered sternly. She held out her hand. The little beetle hopped off and began to de-transfigure in mid-air. When she hit the ground, it was decidedly Rita Skeeter. She was bit disheveled, but after adjusting her glasses and scowling at a blue Hermione, she indicated for them to follow her to a narrow side corridor.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione hissed at the reporter.
“Here to investigate, obviously,” Rita sniffed, “Believe me, it wasn’t my first choice. But since I couldn’t tell my boss the real reason I don’t like reporting here, I got the job.”
“What are you investigating?” Harry queried.
“Haven’t you been reading the Prophet? There’s madness in Hogsmeade and no one knows how it happened.”
“Oh, that,” Harry realized.
“I’m going to tell Dumbledore you’re here,” Hermione insisted.
“Wait, no, don’t Hermione,” Ron stopped her.
“Why ever not?” she questioned, mystified.
“Let’s just send her to Malfoy, and watch the worm squirm,” Ron rubbed his hands together mischievously. He was going to get back at that little slug.
What is Hogwarts hiding?
Many have speculated on Hogwarts School of Magic being the cause for the sudden mood change in Hogsmeade. So the Daily Prophet decided to send their attractive blond reporter, yours truly, to seduce Hogwarts into revealing it’s secrets. Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with a rainbow of students, each one sporting a different skin tone, varying from fushia to indigo. These multihued visages will certainly be counted as more evidence supporting the rumors that Hogwarts does not feel queasy about experimenting on it’s students.
In fact, I was astounded to learn that such magical accidents happen on a regular basis. One student even went so far as to say, “Sometimes are teacher’s don’t even watch what ingredients we throw into our cauldrons. Then we get blamed for the mistakes.”
The chance a rogue curse affecting Hogsmeade is very likely. But who would be responsible for such a horrendous crime? “There are a few Slytherin idiots who experiment daily trying to make themselves more attractive to their own gender,” explained the self-proclaimed “straightest road in Hogwarts”.
No doubt parents will now worry about the conditions under which their children are learning.
“Ron, I think you went a bit overboard,” Harry declared, folding up the Daily Prophet.
“Good,” Ron muttered darkly through a thick bite of cranberry scone.
“You know,” Hermione interrupted, “I’m getting a bit concerned for you Ron. Yours and Malfoy’s relationship is becoming a bit unhealthy.”
“Wunguhfa hunfa guhnph,” Ron articulated furiously.
“Don’t choke yourself mate,” Harry implored his friend. Ron glared, took a swig of water and swallowed.
“There is NO relationship,” he informed his two friends angrily. With that said, he stormed out of the Great Hall.
“Blimey, I wonder what’s eating him,” Harry speculated. He glanced over at Hermione, who was watching Ron’s retreating back thoughtfully. “You know, don’t you?”
“What?” Hermione interrogated mildly.
“You DO know!” Harry exclaimed.
“Actually, I’m not sure if I do. But if my hunch is right…”
“Trying to make themselves more attractive to their own gender,” Draco sneered to himself, as he set his copy of the Daily Prophet on fire. He spat into the crumbling ashes and rose from his table. “I’ll settle this with Weasley once and for all.”
The Troubles of Dreams by d3pr3ss3dNhappy
Ron Weasley stood in the middle of a rickety bridge. Below him was a river with fast current and vicious rapids. He had no idea how he had got here. Earlier, he had been happily skipping through a meadow with red pansies being pollinated by purple butterflies. Somehow that happy dream had turned into a fierce struggle.
At either opening of the bridge stood a figure. Each pleaded with him to come to their side, but Ron couldn’t understand why. On the right side of the bridge stood Hermione Granger, still blue from his potion mishap. On the left, was the ugly Draco Malfoy, purple as a pansy.
Though in my other dream the pansies were red, Ron mused, kind of like my skin…Ron shook his head violently, he did not want to travel down that path of thought. Still, Ron knew he had a choice to make, which side of the bridge to exit upon? For it was clear that if he stayed on the bridge much longer it would collapse and hurl him into the torrent.
“Ron!” cried Hermione to his right, “Get off the bridge! It’s not safe!”
That was sensible Hermione, fretting over his life. Ron had a small inkling that bigger things were at play here, though. And if he did get off the bridge, on which side? Neither section looked safe to cross. He turned to face Hermione and took a small step in her direction.
“Weasley! It’s come over to my side or die!” hollered Malfoy from his side.
Ron paused. Why did Draco want him so bad? Maybe he just wanted him to die. To be so confused that he never got off the bridge in time. And what did Malfoy mean by his side? The side of the Death Eaters, or something else? He took another step, this time towards the left.
SNAP!
Ron spun around to see in horror that one of the supporting ropes for the bridge had snapped. The entire bridge tipped until it was perpendicular to its previous position. Ron clung to the side, hoping he wouldn’t fall. The violent flow below him looked deadly. He couldn’t debate any longer; he would have to make a choice. But the choice was so hard to make…
“Ron, I don’t care which side you choose to go on, just get off the bridge!” Hermione shrieked, a note of panic in her voice.
Ron waited for Malfoy to reply. To offer more words of comfort and reasons that Ron should cross to his side. But the reply never came. Ron felt rather desolate, as though he had been abandoned. But he knew that was wrong, he never depended on Malfoy for anything. He should go over to Hermione if he possessed any sense.
SNAP! SNAP!
But it was too late, the last ropes snapped and Ron found himself tumbling down to fatal river. He heard Hermione screaming his name. He braced himself for the fall, eyes squeezed shut…
But it never came. Instead of going down, Ron felt himself being transported upwards on a heavenly air draft. He opened his eyes and realized that he was flying on the back of a giant purple butterfly. He sat still in wonder for a few moments, marveling and the creatures beauty and grace. The delicate insect turned it’s head around to face him. And Ron realized with a shock that it was Draco Malfoy’s head.
“Don’t worry Ronald,” Butterfly-Draco cooed, “I’ll always be there for you, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Now we can fly through the cotton candy clouds for eternity.”
“I rather like cotton candy,” Ron admitted dubiously. Perhaps this was the life for him. Flying on a beautiful butterfly’s back, stuffing his face full of cotton candy, it sounded like pure bliss. And there was a lovely sunrise that butterfly-Draco was flying towards.
Ron woke up in a heavy sweat. He shook his head three times trying the clear the horrible dream from his head. He had to stop having these nightmares. They were driving him insane. But he didn’t know how to stop them. Ron got up from his bed and began to pace.
He could ask Hermione for help, she always knew what to do. But that would mean telling her about the dreams, and Ron didn’t feel comfortable doing that. He also felt a bit resentful towards her for not making more of an effort to save him from Malfoy in the dream.
Well, at least there’s one good thing about this dream, Ron thought bitterly, Malfoy doesn’t know about it.
With that he climbed back into his four poster bed and fervently hoped that he would not have any more of those dreams tonight. He didn’t think he could handle the revulsion of it all.
Draco Malfoy felt wonderful, powerful, and most of all, beautiful. He was soaring through some delightful cotton candy clouds. For no real reason he felt absolutely at ease with everything in the world. The sunrise was so lovely, many reds and golds and pinks and purples.
As he drifted through the warm air he realized that he had wings. He flapped them lazily. The world around him seemed so beautiful. He batted his wings again and realized with a small shock that he was a butterfly. The change was odd, from his previous horrible dreams. But Draco didn’t want to think of unpleasant things right now, all he wanted to do was drift happily in the cotton candy clouds.
There was a small figure on his back. Draco didn’t know the true identity, but he did know that having him on his back gave him intense pleasure. The person was scratching his insect back at the moment. It was a very relaxing massage. Draco turned to smile at his new masseuse. He found himself face to face with…
Ronald Weasley.
This can’t be happening to me, Draco panicked, not again! But Ron was there, on his back, there was nothing he could change about that. As he debated the various ways to rid himself of the rodent, he heard Ron speak, his voice so close to his butterfly ear.
“Oh Drakie, are we going to live happily ever after?”
“Ehgats!” Draco spat, sitting upright in his bed. He had dreamt yet another Ron-dream. And this time as a butterfly! He was going insane, there was no other explanation. His only comfort was knowing that Weasley had no knowledge of these horrendous dreams. It had been over a week since the colored potion incident and Draco had been avoiding him like a plague. But to no avail because every night he continued to have dreams about the weasel.
Draco pulled the covers back over himself aggressively. He needed rest to think properly, but he didn’t want any more weasel nightmares.
“Whoa Ron, you look like you didn’t get much sleep, rough night?” inquired a well-rested Harry.
“I’m fine,” Ron insisted. However the dark circles around his eyes told the truth. He had been so worried about having another Malfoy dream that he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night. He picked moodily at his porridge and waited for someone to change the subject.
“You know,” Hermione input suddenly, “I think I’m going to go to the library.”
“Really?” Ron perked up. “I’ll go with you then, shall I?”
“Erm, sure Ron,” Hermione put hesitantly. Normally he never wanted to go to the library. In fact, he had openly stated that it was his least favorite place in Hogwarts aside from Moaning Myrtle’s toilet. However, he looked so sleep deprived that Hermione reasoned he could use the quiet of the library to get a much-deserved nap.
“Harry, do you want to come as well?” she asked.
Harry was lazily leafing through the Daily Prophet whose cover was depicting more screaming wizards and witches running from the terror that Malfoy had unleashed a few weeks ago. He looked up at Hermione.
“Sure, I’m sick of reading about this problem and not doing anything about it.”
~*~
“You know, I don’t think Malfoy is going to do anything about Edgarwin the Evil,” Hermione stated as the three friends made their way to the library.
“Of course not, he probably reads the newspaper everyday and laughs happily at all the damage he caused,” Ron muttered bitterly.
“Well, at least no one has discovered who started it,” Harry concluded.
“Would that be so bad?” Hermione wondered aloud. “Once people located the source, wouldn’t it be easier for them to find the solution?”
“Hermione, we’ve been working on it for days and we haven’t even come close to figuring out a solution,” Harry reasoned.
“But the Ministry would have more resources,” Hermione protested.
“And we’ll get in trouble for not telling them right away,” Ron reasoned.
Draco Malfoy cast a furtive glance up and down the aisle of books where he was. There was no one in sight. That was good. His hand snaked out of his robes and snatched a book from the shelf. Casually, as though nothing were wrong, Draco concealed the book inside of his robe. He had five other books there already.
However, he didn’t want anyone else to find out that he had them. Yes, Draco Malfoy was once again perusing the Dream section of the library. And he was terrified that someone would find him with such books in his possession. It was bad enough that he continued to wake the Slytherins with his nightmares, but to be caught with books about how to remove men from his life…he didn’t want to think about his humiliation.
He lazily paced up and down the row. His glance idly taking in the book titles. It looked on the outside as though Draco Malfoy was merely bored. Inside, however, his brain was in turmoil.
What Dreams Mean…How to See into Other’s Dreams, yuck why would I want to do that? Dreamy Cream Cake, what is that book doing in this section? Draco thought as he read the spines of the many books. When Warm Fuzzies Turn to Cold Pricklies: A study about why nightmares happen, no I’ve already read that one. Love Dremes, I most certainly am going to avoid THAT one…
And on and on the inner tirade went. Draco continued to pilfer any and every book he thought could help him. At last when he had a dozen books, he decided it was time to make a getaway. Glancing around himself one last time, he broke into a brisk walk to the end of the row. The coast appeared to be clear.
That is, until Ron Weasley walked around the corner and smack into Draco Malfoy. Draco was so startled that he let go of the books he had been concealing under his cloak and let them spill to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going Weasel!” Draco snarled and hastily tried to collect his stash before Ron got a good glimpse at them. But it was too late.
“Are those, dream books?” Ron sniggered, watching Draco hurriedly shove them up his cloak.
“Shove off, Weasley,” Draco spat.
“What’s this one?” Ron picked up one of the many books Draco was trying to hide and read the cover, “Confusing Love Dreames Revealed: Do you really love them?”
Draco’s cheeks flushed slightly as Ron smirked and flipped through the book. He then began to saunter off with it down the aisle. Draco felt a small feeling of alarm rise up inside of him. That book might contain the answers he was seeking. He couldn’t let Weasley take it.
“Hey, weasel, give me my effing book back!” Malfoy hollered angrily.
Ron paused and turned to face Malfoy. He didn’t want to give the book up at all. It might contain the answers he was seeking. “You have other books just like this, go read those!” he replied.
Malfoy was about to shout back when he caught sight of Madam Pince. Lowering his voice, he growled at Ron, “You’ll be sorry, Weasley. I need that book for reasons you wouldn’t understand, not some little game of yours. Now give it to me now!”
“Hah!” laughed Ron, “Like I would ever give anything up to scheming snake such as yourself.”
“You asked for this,” Draco pulled out his wand, “Accio Book!”
The book flew out of Ron’s grasp. Just as quickly as Malfoy, Ron grabbed his wand and replied with another; “Accio Book!”
The book hovered in midair above both boys. Ron was painfully reminded of his dream with himself on the bridge. He inwardly prayed that Draco could not transfigure himself into a butterfly and snatch the book from the air. Both boys were putting all their efforts into drawing the book towards them. However, the exertion proved to be too much for one small book.
And it spontaneously combusted.
Draco and Ron stared at each other in disbelief as they were covered with random scraps of paper and binding from the book.
“Nice going, Weasley,” Draco sneered and stalked off, leaving Ron fuming behind him.
Stupid Weasley, always sticking his nose where it’s not wanted, Draco grumbled inwardly, And then he went and destroyed a perfectly useful book, which I am consequently covered in!
He had managed to brush all the scraps into a pile in the middle of the corridor. He was about to walk away when he heard an unpleasant crunching noise. Draco looked down and realized that a scrap of paper had become wedge in the waist of his pants.
Gross. He pulled the paper out, it appeared to be half of a page. It was written in very elegant, flowing script. Maybe this has the answers I was looking for, Draco thought. He smoothed the paper out and began to read:
Dear Dream Witch,
I have been having many dreams lately about being in love with my worst enemy. What makes these dreams even more unfavorable is the fact that she is a she, like myself. To complicate matters, the evil Edgarwin has begun to invade our town….
And the note ended, well, the paper it was written upon did at least. Draco groaned aloud. He began to search frantically upon his person for the rest of the note, but he could not find it. It must have landed on Ron…
It seemed that everywhere he turned he was further implicated into working with the Gryffindorks. The rest of the note (and hopefully it’s answer) would be somewhere on Ron’s person. (Draco hurriedly attempted to avoid thinking about where the fateful scrap could possibly be lodged. He failed.)
So the answer lay with Ron. Normally, Draco would have abandoned all hope of fixing the problem and continued ignoring the Gryffindors. However these dreams were too painfully embarrassing for him to ignore. He turned his feet back in the direction of the library.
“Ron, mate, what happened to you?” Harry asked perplexedly as his best friend stumbled towards their table full of strays papers and pieces of binding.
“You killed a book!” Hermione cried out in a scandalized tone.
“Don’t worry, Hermione, I didn’t do it,” Ron growled. He explained his unfortunate encounter with Draco in the Dream section of the library, “And then the book just exploded! Like that! And now I’m covered with paper.”
“Here, let me help you brush it off,” Hermione said, catching that Ron was upset over the destruction of all that knowledge. She proceeded to help Ron shed his papery coat. She glanced at the occasional scraps and noticed that they were all about dreams. But she didn’t question him about it. Then she saw the year the book had been written.
“Circa 1634!” she exclaimed, “This book was really old! There’s no way the library can replace it!”
“Calm down Hermione,” Ron grumbled pulling out a piece of parchment that had become lodged in the collar of his shirt, “It’s just a book. And a bad one at that, look at this letter. Some witch complaining about the trials of love dreams during the reign of some evil warlock named Edgar…OUCH!”
Hermione had snatched the paper from his grasp and was eagerly poring over it.
“What’s the big idea?” Ron demanded.
“Gee, I don’t know,” Harry intoned sarcastically, “Some evil guy named Edgar is on a rampage now. And the same thing happened back then. Wonder why she’s so excited?”
“Oh, that,” Ron muttered. To him, his own personal trials were so much more important. “Does it offer any help?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed, looking up from the paper, “It includes a lot of if’s. But if there were two enemies having romantic dreams about each other they could defeat him.”
Ron’s stomach did an uncomfortable lurch. “How?” he squeaked.
“Well, it says here they have to profess their love to one another.” Hermione looked back down at the fateful scrap of parchment for reference. “Then their love would be so true that it would rend Edgarwin mortal and he would die within the next thirteen hours.”
“Harrumph,” Harry expelled, “That’s not going to happen. That would be like making Ron and Malfoy fall in love with each other.”
“Yeah,” Hermione lamented, “and they wouldn’t even admit it to each other.”
“Can I just say that I don’t love Malfoy?” Ron input. But his insides were quivering like the one time he had eaten a gallon of jello in one sitting. He knew how to stop Edgarwin the Evil, but would he?
A/N: Aren’t you proud of me? I updated! I hope you found this chapter satisfactory, though it had a bit more substance as opposed to humor in it. May I just say that when I had originally planned this fic, it was only a one-shot? And then it progressed to three chapters and now it’s gone rather out of control!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.