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Elemental	By : AngelaBlythe Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Ginny Views: 3286 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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ELEMENTAL

~by The Labris~

CHAPTER TWO:

The Setting of the Stage

Matchmaker, Matchmaker�

A man stood with his black cloak flying behind him.
The clouds in the distance were dark � dark and evil, as though they themselves
were plotting. A streak of tinted lightning flashed across the sky, the
light illuminating the cliffs, wind and water beating the weatherworn
precipice.

The man turned, his face shadowed by this black hood, and he
began walking straight ahead. His hands could be seen, spindly and weak,
but dangerous and refined. They were pale, nails long and neat, but all
in all, evil in appearance. In one there was a black wand, bright,
polished lovingly. Behind him the weather roared, and it seemed as though he
had caused it, and it made him happy.

�M � master,� a stuttering voice said. A squat, short
man whimpered and crawled to the dark man on his knees. �What now,
Master?�

�Have you found her?� The voice of the man was high,
not effeminate, just high. It held indifference and disdain, but at the
same time it carried an air of power and control. It was the voice of
villains that educated men grudgingly respected, but most men feared.

�Yes, master,� the short man said, reaching for the dark
man�s gown and kissing it reverently.

�Well?�

�She is an Elemental; Welsh has confirmed it.�

�Welsh...� the dark man said musingly, one cruel hand going
to his chin. �And Welsh � Duncan Welsh, is he loyal?�

�He has always been loyal,� simpered the smaller man.

�As loyal as you, Wormtail?�

�No one is more loyal than I, master!� It came in a
fearful squeal. Wormtail cowered and kissed the
booted feet of his master as a servant would.

�I know,� the man replied. �I know, Wormtail. And you would never lie to me.�

�Never!�

�Then tell me, can we retrieve her? I need her
soon.� The voice of the man sounded reasonable.

But the servant, Wormtail,
stopped. �She goes to Hogwarts, Master. The eye of Dumbledore
reaches as long as his arm.�

A pause. �She is a student there, or a teacher?�

�A � a student, Master,� cowered Wormtail.
�A fifth year. She is � is the s-same one that carried your soul three
years ago.�

The man seemed to smile. �Is that so? Well then
she truly is worthy to bear my heir. Wormtail,�
the man said, looking out at the approaching storm, �I want you to bring me a
picture of this girl and tell me everything you know about her. She is
too young yet, but in another year she will be the perfect age. She will
bear my child, my heir. Go now, Wormtail, and
don�t disappoint me.�

�I would never, master!� whined the servant.

�I know,� replied the man�s master. �And do you know
how I know, Wormtail?�

�N-n-no, my lord,� came the nervous reply of Wormtail.

�This, Wormtail, is how I know.�

Slowly, as though he were moving though water, the dark
master of Wormtail reached into his black robe and
fingered his wand with care.

�This, my dear Wormtail, is how I
know.

�CRUCIO!�

She That Dreams Again

Ginny woke with a start, sweat plastering her crimson hair to
her forehead and making her bed seem like a sauna. How did it get so hot
in here? She rolled out of bed, her thin shirt and short pajama shorts
clinging to her like a second skin in the moist air. It was summer; it
was to be expected. She wished she could take a quick dip in the
waterhole round the back of her house.

Sighing, she stood and cracked her back. She�d slept
oddly again, her dreams, as always, troubled. She couldn�t clearly
remember the dream this time, only that it was bad, really bad. It was
the same two people she was dreaming about. One was tall and dark,
radiating a black aura. The other was short and sort of graying around
the edges, as though his will to live was in the other, darker one. It
always ended with the graying one tortured.

Ginny shivered in spite of the heat, opening her door and
cursing the floorboards for creaking so loudly. She made her way down the
stairs. She looked out the window once she got to the kitchen, finding it
was still the dead of night. The moon had set, and the stars were bright
in the sky; it would be a clear morning, she could tell.

She was cooled a little by the glass of water she got for
herself, but she had to walk around a little to stop sweating so heavily.
She sighed again, finally settling on the couch and throwing a light blanket
over her feet. She stared into the fireplace, dark and sooty, though an
ember appeared when she looked at it again.

Soon she heard the creaking of the stairs, signaling her
mother, an early riser herself, was up. Ginny frowned. Her mother
didn�t rise at three thirty in the morning, though. To her surprise, it
was Charlie, her older brother. He was staying at the Burrow for the
weekend, taking a bit of time off work in the Hebrides Mountains.
He smiled at her, yawning and stretching out his Gryffindor Quidditch
shirt as he did so.

�Hi, Gin, what are you doing up?� he said in a groggy voice.

�I was having dreams again,� Ginny replied, patting a place
right next to her.

Charlie plopped down, started a fire in the fireplace, and
turned to her. �Dreams, eh? You should go to Mum; she always made
my bad dreams go away.�

�She usually makes mine go away as well. But, I don�t
like asking her anymore; I haven�t since after first year...�

Ginny trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. Charlie
understood though and changed the topic. �So, when are you going to come
to the Hebrides with me. I want
someone�s approval on Jillian before I tell Mum I�m going to marry her.�

�Oh, you got up the courage, then?� Ginny said, smiling and
setting down her water on the table.

Charlie cringed. �Oh, yeah. I�ll have to do
that, won�t I?�

Ginny gave him the �duh� look, and one eyebrow rose.
�I think that would be a good start, Charlie.�

�Are you looking forward to school, then?� he said, changing
the conversation again.

Ginny shrugged. �Not really. I mean, every year
is the same. This fourth year was like third year, and I suppose fifth
year will be like forth year.�

�At least you have fun O.W.L.s to
look forward to,� Charlie said comfortingly.

�Fun and O.W.L.s should never be
used in the same sentence, Charlie,� Ginny said seriously. �But if you
must know, I was thinking about joining the school newspaper this year. I
was going to do a dream interpretation section on account of my good marks in
Divination...or at least in that part of Divination.�

�Well, you like writing, and dream interpretation seems to
be your thing. Go for it,� Charlie said. �But right now, I�m
hungry, so fix me something.�

Ginny rolled her eyes, throwing the blanket at Charlie as
she got up and went to the kitchen.

Ginny sat next to her school trunk. It was full of her
clothes and books, quills and papers, and of course, her new diary. She
sighed. It was a secret from her parents; they wouldn�t like it if they
knew she had one. She hadn�t been allowed ever since her first
year. But as it turned out, she really did need to keep a diary, so in her
third year, she started writing in one again. It made her feel calm and
helped her deal with her feelings. Plus, it organized her day for her,
something she desperately needed.

Sighing again, she closed the trunk, putting her wand in the
back pocket of her jeans as she stood. Straightening her plain, black
shirt, she stood in front of her mirror, brushing back her crimson hair into a
ponytail, then putting it down again. She needed to cut it, at least a
little. It had grown rather long, reaching her bellybutton.
Performing a simple charm, she curled the ends. Then she pointed her wand
at her trunk, levitating it down stairs behind her.

�Gin! Hurry up!�

It was her brother, anxious to get to the train
station. He hadn�t been able to see Hermione, his girlfriend, or Harry,
his best friend, all summer, on account of being with Bill in Egypt most of
the time. Ginny was glad she didn�t have to go to Egypt; she hated it there.
They didn�t even let her see the haunted tombs.

So Ron, toast stuffed in his mouth, pushed her ahead of him
to the fireplace, leaving her to get his trunk from his room.

�You heard what Charlie said, Molly. You have to tell
her soon.�

It was her father.

�I know, Arthur. I�m just saying, if she needed help,
if she even assumed something, then it would be the time,� her mother replied
in an exasperated voice.

�Well, I�m just
saying it�s about the time for her to be told. You�re going to need to,
and soon. Otherwise, she�ll have a lot of problems in the next few
months.�

�I know what I�m doing, Arthur,� snapped her mother.

�And you do have a lot to explain...�

�I KNOW, Arthur!�

The voices were coming closer, and Ginny�s mother entered
the room with her father right behind her. Ginny�s mother didn�t look too
happy, her arms crossed and jaw clenched. But as soon as she saw Ginny,
her expression changed. Ginny�s father ran a hand through his hair before
flashing a smile Ginny�s way.

�Ginny,� her mother said in a false cheery voice. �Are
you ready to go?�

�Yes, Mum,� Ginny replied simply.

Her mother looked at her oddly for a moment then turned to
Ginny�s father. �I�ll see you when I get back home, Arthur. Now
where is that boy? Ron! We�re leaving!�

As Ron took the stairs three at a time (Ginny could tell
because of the huge clunking noise), she kissed her father goodbye. He
looked rather pale that day, worried perhaps. Ginny wished she knew what
her parents were talking about. She was almost sure it was about her.

But before she could ask, her brother came down the stairs,
and they were all Flooed to Diagon
Alley. Her mother walked briskly, talking only when she was asked
something. Ron kept jabbering about something or other; Ginny wasn�t
really listening.

�Okay,� her mother said, once they reached the
station. �I�ve got a few Sickles for your lunch; I didn�t have time to
make one this year. I want a letter when you get settled in. I love
you both; now get going, or you�ll be late.�

Ron hugged his mother quickly, planting a kiss in her cheek
before dashing off to a beaconing Hermione and Harry. Just as Ginny was
about to do the same, for she�d seen Colin, her mother grabbed her hand,
placing an odd, circular object in it. Ginny looked down at it. It
was a wooden circle, leathery strings creating a sort of spider�s web in the
middle. A bright, reddish jewel was in the center, apparently suspended
by a few strings.

�It�s called a dream catcher, Ginny,� her mother said
quietly. Ginny�s eyes went to her mother�s serious ones, and her mother
continued. �The Native American witches and wizards made them. They
capture the bad dreams, letting only the good ones through. But this
dream catcher is special; your Grandma Eva made this one. It captures all
dreams. When you put your wand on that center ruby, you can see any dream
it has captured.�

�How�d you know I�d been having dreams?� Ginny asked
quietly. The train whistled, signaling the end of boarding.

Her mother only smiled. �Run now or you�re going to
miss the Express. I love you, Ginny!�

Ginny kissed her mother, hanging onto the hug a moment
longer than needed, and rushed off to the train. She got on just as it
began to leave; she was the last before the Hufflepuff
prefect closed the door. She clutched a stitch in her side and opened an
empty compartment. Smiling, she took her diary out of her bag and
selected a quill from her collection.

�Ginny?�

It was Colin Creevey, her
boyfriend since fourth year. He poked his head in the compartment,
shooing his brother Dennis away, and flopped down next to her. Ginny
kissed him and took hold of his hand. Then he pulled away, scooting back
a few inches.

�Ginny,� he said, his brown eyes serious. �I wanted to
talk to you, before anyone else did.�

�Okay,� Ginny said, smiling and looking at him
doubtfully. �What about?�

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said very quickly, �Iwannabreakup.�

Ginny flinched and frowned. �Huh?�

�I want to break up,� he swallowed, �with you.�

Ginny crossed her arms. �Well, that�s an opener for
you.�

�Ginny, I don�t want to hurt your feelings, but ��

�No.� Ginny looked out the window. �I
understand.�

Colin fell silent. He looked contemplative,
almost. Then he turned to her. �Don�t you even want to know why?�

Still gazing out the window, �Not particularly,� she said in
an uninterested voice.

Colin was silent again. �You see! That�s �� He cut off, looking at her with
angry eyes and standing in the compartment. �That�s the exact reason I�m
breaking up with you! You don�t even care.�

Ginny looked at him harshly. �I do too! Sorry if
I�m not sleeping well, I�m a little tired, and listening to you whine like a
baby doesn�t inspire much hope in the relationship, anyway.�

Colin�s eyes became a bit more sympathetic, and he sat
opposite from her. He was one of the few people Ginny had actually told
about her dreams. Besides her mother and Charlie, Colin was the only one
who knew. He knew every grisly detail, all the way to the puking in the
morning and the days and days without sleep.

�How bad is it?� he asked sympathetically. �When was
the last time you slept?�

Ginny sighed. �Last week Monday. I woke up from
one of the dreams with the two men, and I haven�t been able to sleep since.�

�Gods, Gin,� Colin said quietly, looking slightly ashamed of
himself. �If I�d known that I�d�ve never...I wouldn�t�ve...I�m so sorry.�

Ginny smiled slightly. �You know what? Don�t
be. I don�t think it was working out. Besides, I think I�d rather
have you for a friend for now.�

Colin looked at her. �Really? Is that how you
feel, Gin?�

Ginny looked at him sadly. �Colin, you�re a great guy,
and you�re going to be a great boyfriend to some lucky girl and a husband to an
even luckier one. But I really don�t think it�s going to be me. I
have too many problems; my life is messed up. I don�t want to drag you
with me. Because you know what? You�re that type of great guy that
would go down with me, and I don�t want that for you. You don�t want that
for you, Colin.�

Colin was quiet for a little while. �Ginny, I feel bad
about this, you know. I feel like I�m deserting you.�

�No, Colin, no. You�re not deserting me. I still
want you to be my friend. I mean, who will pose for your pictures if not
me?� She gave him a killer smile, winking at him.

�You will still? I was going to ask...well, I was
going to ask Lavender or Parvati, but they don�t have
as good bodies as you,� Colin said, blushing.

Ginny understood. Colin had asked her at the end of
last year, as a favor, if he could take a few pictures of her, nude, for his
art. He was becoming a good artist, Dean Thomas helping him along.
They were pretty good friends, despite the age difference, and Dean helped
Colin a lot. But Dean had said that for him to progress correctly with
his paintings and photograph sketches, he needed to have a better idea how the
human body looked. That was why Colin had asked Ginny. On top of
being his girlfriend, she was also rather developed for her age, her puberty
ending at the end of fourth year. Ginny figured it was her family genes,
for she�d always matured quickly.

�I mean,� he continued nervously, �you wouldn�t feel
uncomfortable? I�m not your boyfriend anymore, just your friend.�

Ginny looked at him with a cocked head. �Colin, it�s
for art. And plus, what are friends for?�

�Thanks, Gin,� Colin said, leaning over and kissing her on
the cheek briefly. �I have to go and tell Dean. He didn�t really
want to use Lavender or Parvati either, and I�m
afraid he�s going to ask them, thoroughly humiliating himself.�

�All right, Colin,� Ginny said. He left the
compartment, saluting as he left.

Ginny smiled, turning to the window. It was nearly
lunch; the sun was high in the sky. Taking out her diary, still clean
from all words, she looked at the empty page apprehensively. It had been
a long time...

It had been since first year. All that time ago.
All those memories that resurfaced in her dreams. All those moments she
never could eradicate from her memory, all those days of torture.

Ginny sighed, looking at her blank paper. Then she put
the quill to the empty parchment and began to scrawl in her elegant hand.

September 1, 1997

Another school year. Another Quidditch season. Another year of Potions.
Another eternity of solidarity where I find myself writing my worries
away. Another year of prickling sensations that migrate down my back when
he looks too long. Another series of painful emotions and long nights
crying. Another year in which all I want is summer from the first day to
the last train ride home.

It�s all just another year.
So fifth year, like forth and third and all the years that came prior, should
all be the same.

Start of term can�t come soon
enough. I feel like I just got off the train, and my family greeted me
lovingly. I feel like I just spread my wings, waiting for the summer to
hang thickly over my head and sunburn my nose. I didn�t go out much...

It Never...It Hurts to Ask

Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.
The Sorting had just ended, and food was served. Colin sat next to her,
talking to Dean adamantly about their art class the next day, and it reminded
Ginny of a class of her own. She was already taking the writing class the
school provided as an extra-curricular activity; sometimes even Dumbledore came
and looked in on the work. She would have to talk to McGonagall about
joining the newspaper, promoting her idea of a dream interpretation column.

Ginny poked her peas around her plate slowly, not wanting to
eat; it was all too starchy or gross. She didn�t care; she wasn�t
hungry. Colin elbowed her accidentally, apologizing quickly before going
back to talking to Dean. Ginny sighed, deciding she should at least
return to writing in her diary. Standing, she left the Hall, unconscious
of the eyes that followed her.

Only about ten meters from the doors, a voice stopped her,
and stop her, it did.

�Ginny!�

It was Harry; she could tell already. She�d avoided
him, successfully, for the past few years. Her crush (unfortunate and
unfounded as it was) had eventually dissipated, returning to its natural state
as a respect for the boy who had defeated Voldemort
so many times. But sometimes, sometimes when she felt really lonely, she
remembered him and smiled, thinking how nice it was to have a crush on some
boy, however cute he was. Upon reflection, Harry was probably what drove
her to Colin. Her obsession with getting over her obsession had made her
throw herself at Colin. She was glad Colin was her friend now, not her
boyfriend. They made much better friends.

So Ginny stopped, turning around with question in her
eyes. �Hullo, Harry.�

�Hullo, Ginny,� Harry said, panting a bit as he came to a
halt in front of her. �Where are you going?�

Ginny smiled mildly. �Just back to the common
room. The noise was getting to me, and I didn�t feel much like eating.�

�Oh,� Harry said. �Well, I was wondering...� He
trailed off, running his fingers though his hair, looking slightly
nervous. �I was wondering if you wanted to come to Hogsmeade
with me...I mean, if you wanted. And I understand if you don�t, I mean, I
heard you and Colin broke up...and I�d been wanting to ask you out for a
while...�

Ginny froze temporarily, only semi-conscious that her mouth
was open. She closed it quickly and shook her head. �Oh,� she said
dumbly. �I, ah, Harry, I mean...are you sure?�

He smiled awkwardly. �Well, I wouldn�t have asked if I
wasn�t sure,� he said.

�That�s not what I mean,� Ginny said quickly. Damn,
but this was awkward! She didn�t like Harry, not really anyway. And
though he was nice, she didn�t really want to go out with him. He didn�t
inspire her like that anymore. �I mean, maybe in a little while.
Colin and I were serious, and I�m still a little hurt that he ended the
relationship.�

Harry�s face darkened. �Was he � was he inappropriate
with you, Ginny?�

Ginny�s eyes widened, and she shook her head
adamantly. �No! Not ever, Harry! I just meant, we were close,
and it�s going to take a while for me to deal with us being friends again.�

�Oh,� Harry said simply. Then, running his fingers
though his hair again, �I�ll see you around, okay, Ginny?�

Ginny nodded, smiling encouragingly, and turned around,
walking blindly around a corner and straight down a deserted hall. She
crossed her arms, walking, but not really caring where, letting her feet carry
her. Somewhere along the road, she began mumbling to herself.

�Why now? I mean, I haven�t done anything. Why
me? He never liked me, or even showed any interest. Maybe it is
because Cho is going out with Terry Boot. That has to be it. I
mean, she�s in seventh year, and she still doesn�t like Harry back.

�Oh, gods, why now?� She stuck her hands in her
pockets. Her fingers found something, and she pulled it out. It was
the dream catcher. �And what am I supposed to do with this thing?
Sleep with it? How does Mum know I�m dreaming again? Besides the
fact that she knows everything, I mean.

�She gave me this...she said Grandma Eva made it.
That�s her mum. I remember hearing about her. She was the one that
went to America
and had all the talks with the Indians that lived there.

�I suppose I just don�t understand it all. I could try
it out, I suppose. She said to put my wand on the ruby. I have to
dream first; that means sleep. I�ll ask for some potion from Pomfrey tomorrow.

�Ick, classes start
tomorrow. I don�t want to...� but she trailed off as she hit a dead
end.

Ginny frowned. The castle didn�t have dead ends.
The castle had so many secrets she doubted Dumbledore the All-knowing,
Omniscient Deity knew them all. But then again, maybe he did. Ginny
put her hand on the wall experimentally. It didn�t feel like it had any
special charms on it. But as soon as her hand left the stone, in shiny
reddish letters, the words �Inverted
Tower � appeared on the
wall.

�Inverted Tower?� Ginny questioned quietly.

The metallic red letters had a life of their own it seemed,
for as soon as she asked, a step by step process of getting in appeared.
Ginny laughed. Trust this castle to have something so stupid...

�Step one: Take out wand.� Ginny took out her wand.

�Step two: Touch wand to highlighted brick.� Ginny
touched her wand to the highlighted brick.

�Step three: Say the password clearly. Note: Password
is �solitary,� unless changed.� So Ginny said �solitary,� and the bricks
re-arranged themselves to permit her by.

�Thank you for visiting Inverted Tower,
please come back soon.�

Ginny started at the words written on the opposite wall,
frowning and looking back at the wall as it closed silently. She glanced
around. It was a rather plain room. There were four large windows,
one pointing to the North, one South, etc. At each window there was a
seat, padded and colored differently. The northern seat was red; the
southern green, the eastern blue, and the western yellow. It dawned on
Ginny that those were the house colors. She sat on the red one, Ginny not
being the one to break tradition and sit in the green seat, per se.

Ginny gazed out the window, seeing the lake in all its
moonlit glory. She frowned; the lake wasn�t to the north. Shaking
her head, Ginny stood, dusting off her robes, though the room was clean.
She would have to write about this place. If she could ever get back, she
would have to explore it more thoroughly.

Going back to the wall between the South and East Windows,
she tapped her wand on the wall, hoping it was how she could get out. To
her surprise, more red writing appeared on the wall.

�Do you wish to return to Inverted Tower
?

�YES or NO.

�Note: Touch tip of wand on the answer you wish to select.�

Ginny giggled a little, touching her wand to �YES.�

�Select correct house.

�GRYFFINDOR or HUFFLEPUFF or RAVENCLAW or SLYTHERIN.

�Note: If house is not selected properly, you will not be
able to enter tower from your private passageway.�

Ginny selected �GRYFFINDOR�
dutifully.

The questions proceeded to ask what year she was, what bed
in her room she slept in, what her favorite class was, what her least favorite
class was, who was favored to win the house cup that year, what her favorite
food and color were, who she would never like to see in the tower, who she
wouldn�t mind meeting, if she had a preference of seeing night or day when she
entered the tower, and several other almost frivolous questions such as temperature,
weather conditions, etc. for the next fifteen minutes until she just wanted to
get out. Then it asked her to rate the service of the tower, and she was
forced to give it an eight because of the length the questions had taken.
The tower thanked her, and the door opened to her dorm room, a fact which
surprised her at first, but then she remembered she had supplied her room and
bed.

Sighing, Ginny flung herself on
the bed, very happy she was the only person in her dorm. Her previous
dorm mate, Jessica Forrester, had been made a prefect because she was so smart
and her dorms were with the other prefects. Hermione had been made a
prefect in her fifth year because she was smart, too. Ginny took her
diary out and began to write.

A Diary of the Silent Kind

September 1, 1997

Another school year. Another Quidditch season. Another year of Potions.
Another eternity of solidarity where if find myself writing my worries
away. Another year prickling sensations that migrate down my back when he
looks too long. Another series of painful emotions and long nights
crying. Another year in which all I want is summer from the first day to
the last train ride home.

Start of term can�t come soon
enough. I feel like I just got off the train, and my family greeted me
lovingly. I feel like I just spread my wings, waiting for the summer to
hang thickly over my head and sunburn my nose. I didn�t go out
much. No family vacation, I didn�t feel like it. Usually my family
does something, but I wasn�t up to it this year; I faked sick. I felt
bad, but my parents left me for France
anyway, telling the babysitter to make sure I drank plenty of liquids and got a
lot of rest. My brother went to Egypt.

I suppose it�s nice to know they
worry. Of course, it could be the fact that Death Eater attacks are
growing rare, and the house is quadruple charmed and protected. Upon
reflection, it probably is that. Their little girl�s growing up.
Can�t imagine what my mum will do without me.

Though my cousins on my mother�s
side visited, some sort of family reunion thing. It wasn�t too
exciting. My perverted cousin hit on my brother�s friend. He�s so
sick. I really hate him. He�s the type of boy that would touch you
weird when you were a little kid and always try to kiss you. He goes to Eton...or went there until he was kicked out for
inappropriate student behavior. He�s a real arse.

Then I got my cheeks pinched by my
aunt, an uncomfortable reminder I�m still just fifteen. Get this, my aunt
comes up to me, tells me how much I�ve grown, and then proceeds to get me to
tell her who my boyfriend is.

Oh, and for my birthday, I got a
doll. A doll. Yes, a doll. Were I to look at it five minutes,
days, or years from now, it would still be a doll. Who gives a fifteen-year-old
a doll? Oh, well, my mother. Merlin, Mab,
and Circe! A doll.

Bah! Got to go; no sense in
staying up all night obsessing over how I�m still a child and will be so until
I�m on my deathbed.

September 3, 1997

First day I had Potions was
today. I swear Snape hates me more than any one
person on this planet, perhaps with the exception of Harry Potter, that
is. He gave me detention already. It�s not my fault if my ditzy
tablemate spills Sterilizing Solution all over the floor and then steps in it,
tracking it halfway across the classroom and then passing out from the noxious
fumes, taking half the class with her. To give me detention, okay.
But to accuse me of trying to sabotage my own classmates... Why would I
try to sabotage my own house? I think he may have a genetic disposition
to hate me. It�s as if he lives to torment me. I think a lot of
people believe that.

At least practices are starting
again. I watched the opening practice. I think our team has a good
chance to win this year, really I do. After Slytherin
won last year, I think we have a chance, especially because those beastly
seventh years are gone. Really, I think they were on the drug Muggles call steroids. They enhance strength,
agility, and speed. Why it�s done, I�ll never know, but it is.

I didn�t make the team this year; I
never do. I�ve tried out ever since I�ve been in fourth year. I
suppose it�s never happening. At least I have my class every Friday; I
don�t know what I�d do with out it. Now that Caitlin Macduff
is gone, I can finally relax. She really got on my nerves, always
complaining and whining, and I never want to read anything from her ever
again. I want to kill myself even more than usual when I do. The
headmaster still asks for my work. I always tell him it�s not finished,
or not ready, or really rotten. I don�t really think it�s rotten; I just
don�t want anyone to read it.

There�s something very intimate
about poetry, something very primal, romantic. Like did you know in
ancient Japanese society, men would write poetry to women they admired and had
feelings for? If the woman responded, it meant she liked him.
Throughout the relationship, they would send each other poetry. It became
a contest to see who could be the most original or creative. I think
that�s terribly romantic. I rather don�t think, however, that anyone
would send me a poem...not that I want their bloody poetry anyway...

Oh, for the love of Merlin, I
digress again.

I read this wonderful book the
other day. It was Muggle, but it touched me on
a level wizard books never have. It was called The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. There was just
something human about it. It reminded me about all the phonies and fakes
in the world. Really everyone is a fake and a phony if you think about
it. Everyone puts on a front; everyone masks themselves when they go out
in public, even me...especially me. It made me think; it really
did. Do people even know themselves? I mean, are they just the
mask, or is there something behind them? I can name about thirty people
off the top of my mind who are fake. Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbott, Parvati Patil, Pansy
Parkinson...the list can go on.

I think I�d like to meet a real
person. I mean a REAL person,
the type that doesn�t need to wear a mask. Or at least a person who won�t
wear one around me. Maybe I won�t need to wear one either.

September 6, 1997

Finally! The weekend.
Not like I�ll have a life, I�ve already got a ton of homework! I�ll never
get out of the common room. McGonagall threw a three scroll essay at us
about changing large animals into complex, inanimate objects. Three
bloody scrolls! I suppose I can�t complain. Transfiguration really
isn�t my class. I�m rather partial to...come to think of it I�m not
really good at any class. I pretty much just have my notebook.

Writing is my only true passion, I
think. I would rather spend my life in a small, unkempt cottage with dust
on the surfaces and bills a meter high and write than be rich and famous and
live in an outrageously expensive home, having people wait on me hand and foot.

Merlin! My life is so
pathetic! I would jump off this tower right now if I wasn�t too
chicken. Yeah, I�m scared of dying. But truthfully, who
isn�t? Who would want to die? It sounds rather painful and useless
to me to kill yourself. Slitting my wrists would cause me to look at
blood, something I�m not fond of, and jumping would, while I do like heights,
cause me to hit the ground at some time, causing me to become rather ugly.

I like the Astronomy Tower
because it is high. I like to stand on the edge and let the wind whip
around me. I can�t explain it; I�ve always loved heights. I
especially like the tower at night, when the stars are out, and the wind almost
smells different.

I really like the stars. At
home, I stay up really late and wait for the moon to set. After that
happens, the stars become clearer, and the Milky Way is bright and
beautiful. All my worries just fly away and drown in the dark of night,
and everything feels right. Then my mother comes, tells me I�m up too
late, I�ve got chores in the morning, and my moment of nostalgia is ruined for
the chance to perform slave labor for a woman without a creative bone in her
body, much less sympathy for it. I go in my room and write until the sun
comes up. A few hours later, my mother comes to wake me up, and I find
I�ve drooled embarrassingly on my journal and clean it up with a quick (but
illegal) spell and de-gnome the garden or something.

That�s another thing I like,
gardens. I don�t know why. I think it is because they have
something I never do � life � and a
will to grow and live. I mean, I�m alive and everything, but half the
time, I wonder if it�s not all some dream and I�ll wake up to the horrifying
reality that no one cares or wants to care and all we have to look forward to
in life is death and even that is disappointing. I wonder if I�ll just
stop one day, lay down my wand and rebel, running away to some deserted forest
lodge with a guy named Spike, a bottle of vodka in my left hand and some Ritz
crackers in my right.

I won�t though. I�m too
scared to do anything that radical. What would Mum and Dad think?
Who cares?

Draco � The Really Evil One

Draco put down the book. He hadn�t meant to read it;
it was just sort of there. But he figured when someone left a
plain-covered brown book with inconspicuous ink stains on the cover and �Diary�
written in the dead center, they deserved to have it read. He honestly
didn�t care that much, but he�d been drawn in. No, he�d been captivated,
and those were only the few first entries. There were only two more for
that year. He rushed to read them, a spell over his mind, making him read
the tome greedily.

It had all started when he�d gotten lost. Yes, Slytherin prefect lost. He figured if he had the
authority, he might as well use and abuse it; otherwise, it would go to
waste. So he pinned on his badge, sneered at a couple of passing second
year Hufflepuffs, and went exploring, though its
formal name was �monitoring.� Filch didn�t even bother him in the dead of
night, not even at two in the morning when every living and sane creature was
asleep and dreaming sweet dreams of whatever the common folk dreamed of.
He could wander freely, claiming to be hunting for rule breaking Gryffindors or sneaky Ravenclaws
sliding away to the library for a bit of extra study. He didn�t usually
catch the Ravenclaws, but the Gryffindors
made enough noise to wake the dead.

That had been when he�d found the tower.
Coincidentally, he�d been in the dungeons, just coming back from deducting
twenty points from a fifth year Gryffindor with thoughts about the kitchens
when he got...misplaced. He wasn�t lost. He had not become lost.
He was merely...taking the scenic route. The route which led him down
seventeen flights of stairs, up five, down two more, then around ten lefts and
a right, through a suspicious looking portrait, and over a bridge with water
running under it and fish jumping playfully in the current.

But he found the view from the tower was a stunning one,
especially through the South Window which showcased the Forbidden Forest
in all its ungodliness. The North Window showed him the lake, which was
odd because the lake should have been by the forest, and through the East
Window, he could see the school from about five kilometers away. Draco
had no doubt that this was a magic room. How anyone could find it more
than once to keep a diary in there was beyond him.

But once he thought about it, it was probably one of the
safest places to keep one. In a dormitory, it could be read my nosy roommates
(though he�d not have that problem), and in a locked book, it just had to be
charmed open. In a nearly-impossible-to-find tower underground was the
best option for it. Unless you wanted to keep it with the headmaster,
though that would be silly.

What Draco didn�t understand was the need for all the
privacy. The diary didn�t have any particularly juicy parts in it, yet at
least. It didn�t even have any names in it. It wasn�t signed, and
it wasn�t salutated. It just had a date at the
top of each page, scrolled in a different color than the text.

Even the handwriting wasn�t original. It appeared to
be off a dictating quill, like something a reporter would carry.
Completely utilitarian handwriting. All in black. All perfectly
spaced, spelled, and punctuated. All the same.

It was the actual context that jumped at him. Whoever
it was, and it was a girl, was brutally honest about life. She was harsh
and truthful with realistic commentary and insightful quotes. It spoke to
him, even if his life wasn�t like hers. She had a way with words, a way
with the meaning of them, and a way of looking at the world. He didn�t
know where she was going to go next, or what she was going to say.

Immediately after he read the first sentence he was hooked,
addicted. He wanted more, but after the next few entries, it was blank,
all of it. She must have her other diary somewhere else, hidden most
likely, somewhere no one would find it. He figured she was a very
secretive person, probably quiet.

Then it hit him. Who was she?

Her text left little clues, she wrote about no specific
events, and the way she described herself was pretty mainstream. She had
a family, was probably pureblood, or at least she used Muggle,
not �we,� when she spoke. He couldn�t tell her house, though it couldn�t
possibly be Slytherin because she said Snape hated her. She could be a Ravenclaw;
she claimed to not be an expert at school, but Ravenclaws
were probably good writers, and she was a fantastic one. It was possible
she was a Hufflepuff, but she had a bit too much
spark in her for that, and Hufflepuffs weren�t nearly
as brutally honest. A Gryffindor probably; she was outspoken but claimed
to be afraid of a lot of things, and she didn�t sound particularly brave or
rash. She was definitely introverted, but not on paper.

That left about a dozen or so fifth years to pick from, and
she was a fifth year, she said so.

But then it came to Draco, did he really want to know?

Hypothetically speaking, what would he do if he found out
who the author of the diary was? �Hi, I�m Draco Malfoy,
you know, the really evil one. Loved the diary; have a nice day!�

No, he couldn�t go around like that. But that didn�t
mean he would stop reading the diary, not ever. He felt truth in her
words, and truth was something he valued very much. Living in Slytherin had taught him there were three important parts
of life: living, truth, and success. And this woman, whoever she was,
spoke the unadulterated truth. Just in those few pages, he had realized
that.

So did he want to know her?

No.

Placing the book where he found
it, on the seat by the North window, he left.

The Rules for Making Friends, Part 1

Continuing the six year tradition, Draco Malfoy
glared across the Great Hall at Harry Potter and the Dream Team. They
were so blithely unaware of everything going on around them it was
disgusting. How could four people be so blissfully oblivious to
everything? But the view wasn�t bad. Truth be told, he was
fascinated. Emotion in general fascinated him. Just that fact that
they lived such a multifaceted lifestyle of happiness, sadness, joy,
depression, and honor captured his attention. It was hard not to see
their flamboyant tendencies.

Take Weasley for instance.
Wild red hair and quick to anger, he was the best friend one minute and a
raging volcano the next. And the brilliant Hermione Granger, the Mudblood that was quite possibly the most powerful witch in
a century. After winding down a bit, she had become practically
wild. Well, wild compared to what she was like. She was a prefect
and had become beautiful in her own merit. She had the tendency to act
like a younger and prettier McGonagall at times, but on occasion you could
catch her snogging her longtime boyfriend Weasley like a normal girl.

�Draco,� a voice said, calling him back to reality.
�Draco, doll? Is anyone in there?�

Sneering, he turned to the voice. Great...Pansy.

Pansy. Parkinson. His long-time girlfriend. Gods, how he loathed that
woman. The slut and he were the things Slytherin
families were made of. Pretty and ditzy mother, evil and influential
father, then of course bratty, awful Spawn of Satan children.

�Yes, Pansy?�

�Draco, doll, you look ill. Is there anything wrong?�
Pansy said in her
�would-you-like-to-come-up-in-my-room-later-this-evening-and-screw�
voice. He hated that voice, sticky sweet with promise of pleasure.
Sure, Pansy was pretty�pretty slutty. In Draco�s opinion, she was too
short, too curvy, too top-heavy, too blonde, and too stupid to be a decent lover.
Draco needed a bit more substance than that if he was really going to enjoy himself.
That was why he didn�t like his father�s whores. They were just
that...whores.

�There�s nothing wrong at all, Pansy,� Draco replied
dryly. �What would make you think that?�

�You look like you need to be distracted. You�re too
serious, Draco, dear,� she said in her honey voice.

Draco had to force himself not to roll his eyes in
disgust. �I�ve just remembered a prior commitment,� he said in a
transparent voice. Not even acknowledging them, Draco left, and Crabbe
and Goyle followed him out of the Great Hall.

Bloody shadows, he
thought to himself as he trudged down the halls, students fleeing before
him. Not only was he a Malfoy with a
superiority complex, he was a prefect, something he was very proud of.

Gathering his bag from his room (Thank Merlin and all that�s holy I don�t have to share with those
idiots and that bloody poof Zabini), Draco made
his way to transfiguration.� Unhappy, he
had to spend a whole class period with the Merlin-awful Gryffindors
and Professor McGonagall. She really hated him, not that she would ever
show it. Gryffindors were fair and honest, not
partial like Slytherin. Draco asserted his
dominance by walking purposefully down the hall, people dashing around him like
mad so as to not get in his way. He smirked at their fetal behavior; they
were just like mice, scampering out of his say, out of the way of the snake.

A flash of red and something bumped into him hard.
Whoever it was fell on the ground, and all their papers flew everywhere.
Looking up, he came face to face with a red-haired, pale-skinned, full-lipped Weasley. There was no doubt; the hair and eyes gave
it away.

�Watch where you�re going!� she said angrily, not even
looking up. Then she tilted her head to the side and looked at him
angrily, whipping out her wand as she glared. At first he thought she
might hex him, but with a flick of her wrist, all her papers were in her
arms. Stuffing them in her bags, she rolled her eyes at his smirk and
walked off.

Draco stood there, dumbfounded. No one talked to him
like that. He was a prefect. He could deduct points for that.
Straightening his robes, he looked around and saw the disbelieving looks on his
peers. Sneering, Draco headed off in the other direction. Respect, that�s what they are lacking,
he thought darkly.

He entered transfiguration just as McGonagall stood
up. She frowned at him of course then turned to beam at Hermione.
Draco frowned. It was bad enough he had to have classes with the filthy Mudblood, but to have to meet with her once a week, that
was real torture. She was a real wench in every meaning of the
word. Who cared if she�d quote unquote �grown into her body�? So
far Weasley was the only one reaping the
benefits. Draco would kill himself before even thinking about another
witch who wasn�t pureblooded. The only problem with that was there
weren�t many left.

Sure there were the Zabinis, Parkinsons, Dolohovs, Macnairs, the Lestranges had
been, the Changs, the Boots, Livingstons,
and, of course, lest he forget, the Weasleys.
They had been some of the originals, if the legends and family creeds read
correctly. They were older than even the Malfoys,
something which cheesed his father off no end. They had lived in Britain for centuries, practicing magic with
even the earliest Vikings and settling in Ireland
before migrating across to England.
And why, might you ask, did he know all this? His father made it Draco�s
business to know.

�Two rules, Draco,� his father had explained. �One,
keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.�

�And the second, Father?�

�Don�t make friends.�

Draco counted the amount of times those words had saved his
reputation, maybe even his life. Smirking, he flipped the page in his transfiguration
book as everyone else did, eager to get away from his classmates and back up to
the Inverted Tower. It wasn�t that he wasn�t a
good transfiguration student; he just chose not to apply himself to the
particular class, so he passed, but with average marks. Same with charms,
he just didn�t care enough. Now, potions � that was a class! And
astronomy and arithmacy, those were classes.

As McGonagall droned on, Draco�s mind turned to the diary
again. He wondered if it would still be there, if someone had written in
it again. Half of him just wanted to wait around until the person came,
but half of him wanted it to stay a secret, not even one he knew. He
wanted to guess who the person was, a sort of game.

That, in his opinion, was a Slytherin�s
greatest weakness. The tendency to make everything a game caused them to
not take things seriously enough, impairing them when they came up against a
foe who wasn�t �only kidding� or �playing along.� The ability to make things a
game was an asset, too. When you grew up, you learned what and what not
to say and who to say it to. You were articulate and well spoken, keeping
things to yourself until the victor of the game was named.

McGonagall looked sharply in his direction, and Draco
quickly turned his kettle into something resembling a mouse. It still
steamed at the mouth. No matter,
I�ll get a tutor over the break, he thought. Either that or Father can pay someone off.

Break was coming up soon...well, if three months was
soon. It was to him. A lot of things could happen in three
months. Staring blearily at the chalkboard, Draco did his best to keep up
his fa�ade. It was hard when the damn class was so bloody dull! He
just wanted to go to his room and go to bed.

Just as he was about to give up
and go to sleep, McGonagall dismissed them. Draco packed up and got out
as quickly as he could.

�Matchmaker, Matchmaker � song in Fiddler on the Roof; go see it if you haven�t.
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