Snape and Draco awoke to the same thought: Please, please, tell me that was a dream. The pounding headaches of both provided an instant negative. Snape crawled out of bed and swallowed several gallons of hangover potion, after which he threw up several times and arose bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and as close to cheerful as Snape ever gets. Draco, stranded without magical hangover aid, took a shower, dressed, and crawled down to Snape’s office to beg for resuscitation.
“Please,” Draco pleaded with me. “I have classes today. I don’t want to fall asleep in them.”
“As your professor I don’t think I’m supposed to award students who spend their nights drinking,” I said, trying not to smirk at the boy in front of me. “Hangover potions are reserved for those who can make them.”
“But as your new Dark Lord I can order you to,” Draco said without conviction. Pathetic, really. “Violet wouldn’t be happy with you.”
“Speaking of Violet and her meddlesome ways, what have you decided to do with your hair?” I pointed at the dark mess on his head. He must be feeling awful if he didn’t take time to primp.
“I’ll keep it this way,” he said wearily, but with pride. “It’s still sexy even if I feel like I’ve been hit by stampeding dragons.”
“Here, pathetic child,” I pulled out a small vial from my desk drawer and plunked it in front of him.
“Drink this and don’t drink any water or eat anything other than dry toast. Got that?” He nodded and reached for the green potion. I grabbed the vial again.
“Nothing but dry toast or a hangover will be the least of your problems.” He nodded again, took the vial from me, uncorked it and downed the whole thing. He started to perk up.
“Coffee?” he asked me hopefully. I shook my finger at him.
“Only dry toast until lunch,” I retorted. “Now get to class and stop pestering me.”
“It’s not class time yet.” He said, yawning a little and running his fingers through his hair. I still couldn’t get used to it being black. His eyes, well, they looked like they were smarter than they really were. They were also piercing; it made me uncomfortable when he stared at me for a moment.
“Then go and look at yourself in the mirror somewhere,” I added. “You look like you slept in a cardboard box.”
“I feel like I slept in a box,” he muttered, but to my infinite relief he wandered out of the room.
For me, the day was uneventful despite the fact I had drunk more hangover potion than I have since New Year’s. I mostly occupied myself by worrying that Dumbledore knew, that Dumbledore would find out, or that Draco would open his mouth. He wouldn’t have to say much; just enough to make them nervous and go looking for answers in places we wanted them to stay out of.
By the time Draco had my class, he was complete wake and cheerful. The stupid grin on his face widened when he saw me. Oh joy. I walked over to his desk.
“Mr. Malfoy, is there a particular reason you’re grinning like a complete imbecile?” That dampened it a little but Draco was still flying in the skies. He wouldn’t be so happy when he realized that he had this World Domination bit to do while still at Hogwarts. That smile would most certainly not be there when he had to rally his new Death Eaters (or whatever) and talk dirty business. Draco didn’t have it in him to perform the Cruciatus Curse just willy-nilly.
And I wasn’t about to do it for him.
Fortunately, Draco gave me reason to give him a detention after his classes. Ridiculous boy, acting up in class; talking loudly, and being altogether annoying. I wasn’t sure if I could give him a detention on the basis of being annoying, but that wasn’t going to stop me. This way I could deal with his inflated ego and remind him that the easy part of this mess was over.
But first I needed to do a little research. And there was that nasty business of my Unbreakable Vow.
I remembered it clearly, I was to watch over Draco, keep him from harm and finish the job if he wasn’t able to. But Lord Voldemort wasn’t a factor anymore. If Draco was the Dark Lord now… what did this mean? I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The only thing I could get from it was that I wasn’t going to be taking that holiday in the Bahamas or anywhere for that matter. I had to baby-sit Draco and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. I debated whether it was worth my time to look up a loophole to get out of this mess. On second thought, I doubted Unbreakable Vows contained loopholes. That would defeat the point. That left me with this Dark Lord wanna-be, looking over his shoulder and being in harm’s way.
I would have thought my job would get easier when ole Voldie bit it, but it was getting worse. Maybe I should have taken Violet’s offer and just usurped the Death Eaters myself.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked. I looked up from my books.
“It was extotaxideo,” I said. “You didn’t say the prefix correctly.”
“So?” Draco asked, pulling a desk close to mine to sit on.
“So basically you called Voldemort a door-badger,” I explained. “Personally, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible.”
“I did it,” he said smugly. I raised an eyebrow.
“You, Mr. Malfoy, are too lucky for your own good,” I said.
“How so?” he asked, looking pleased with himself.
“You waltz into Violet’s shop, get a new look, cash loans and a job,” I said. “You end up with the position of Dark Lord, loyal minions and the best advisor money can buy.”
“I don’t remember buying an advisor,” Draco said.
“Well, I don’t particularly care about your memory but I do expect a pay check,” I replied.
“I don’t think Lord Voldemort paid anyone,” Draco protested.
“And that got him turned into a doorknob,” I said. “Do you want to be a doorknob?” I brandished my wand.
“No.”
“Good.” I put my wand away. “Now we have one more problem to deal with.”
“What?” he groaned. “Why do I have to deal with it?”
“If you keep calling them Death Eaters you’ll be living in Lord Voldemort’s shadow,” I said.
“Would you stop calling him that?” Draco said, annoyed. “Honestly, he’s not the Dark Lord anymore; as you said, he’s a doorknob.”
“Fine. What are going to call the Death Eaters then?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his temples. “I keep thinking about it, but nothing comes to me. Death Eaters was a great name.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Voldie did a good job with that.”
“So what does that leave us with?” Draco asked.
“With a whole lot of nothing,” I said. I looked down at my books. “That is unless you like Latin.”
“Depends.” Draco grabbed one of the books off my desk.
“Gramen,” he read. “Means grass. I’m thinking that’s a bust.”
“You don’t have to read every word would come across,” I said, grabbing a book myself.
“But it sounded cool,” he shot back. “Think of it; The Gramen.”
“I’d never be able to take us seriously if we were called The Grass.” Though even I would admit; The Gramen sounded better that most of the things we’d come up with.
“How many wizards are fluent in Latin?” he demanded. “No one has to know.”
“Dumbledore is,” I said. “And he’d tell everyone else.”
“Oh,” Draco wilted a bit. “Maybe Latin is a bad idea.”
“Just find something menacing.” I told him. “We’ll find something…eventually.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Cruori,” I said, flipping through my Latin book.
“Sceli,” Draco added.
“Sounds like a pasta,” I commented.
“What about Veneni?” he asked. I thought about it.
“Rhymes with Zabini; I think that’s a no go.”
“Zabini Veneni!” Draco laughed weakly. “It means poison.”
“Fits him perfectly then,” I turned back to the front of the book.
“I still think The Gramen was the best one we’ve come up with,” Draco complained.
“And I still refuse….” I trailed off. A word stuck out to me on the page. “Atrox.”
“What?” Draco scrambled up to look at it.
“The Atrox.” I repeated. “Fierce, savage, bloody, cruel…. It works. It has possibilities.”
“The Atrox,” Draco tasted the word, smiling. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“I just realized something,” I said to Hermione and Ron. Ron looked up from his homework he was trying to work on.
“What?” he asked. “Did you find out how to counter-act lovage? I can’t find it in our books.”
“No,” I replied. “Bigger. I’m going to have to be a hero.” Hermione rolled her eyes at me.
“Brilliant, Harry,” she said. “When did you have this revelation?”
“Seriously, I had never really thought about it before. If I decided right now that I’m going to leap from the window and I die; there’s not a plan B. I’m it. Don’t you see what that means?”
“What?” Ron asked. “That we have to keep you away from open windows?”
“Hey!” I said, irritated.
“All right, all right, sorry.”
“I’m going to save the world. There’s no other w….” With a little chime and a puff of smoke, a little mauve card appeared in my hand.
Customizing clothes for Heroes throughout the centuries
London
“Always fashionable.”
“What it the world is this?” I asked, turning the small card over. There was a set of numbers counting down from 10.
“Put it down!” Hermione demanded. “It could be dangerous!” I looked at the little card with disbelief.
“It’s a business card,” Ron said. “How is that dangerous?”
“It looks like a…” she began; but I was caught up in a whirlwind and could barely catch the last word “Portkey.” A little too late for that.