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Harry Potter and the Secret Link	By : LeAnnRingo Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > General - Misc Views: 3407 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 3
- 4
Author's Notes:

I’m well aware that students don’t get their schedules until
the morning of their first class. My reasoning for Ron and
Harry getting theirs before that is: Ron is a prefect, and as
such, he managed to nick the schedules from Hermione before
the girl realized. Ron strikes me as the kind of prefect that
would do that.

Ron being in Potions: Well, as I had written this BEFORE OotP,
I hadn’t known that, by sixth year, the professors would have
weeded out any students that were not compatible with their
classes by way of OWLS. For the sake of my story, that’s not
the way things happen. Sorry -I try to be as canon as humanly
possible while still getting my way, but OotP basically makes
a lot of things in this fic obsolete. :pouts:

AS OF 07-22-05: Yeah, so... Apparently OotP and HBP are
grossly obsolete at this point. So just... disregard them both
completely. Thanks.

~*~*~*~*Harry Potter and the Secret Link*~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~*Capricious Purple Clarity*~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~*Chapter Three*~*~*~*~

“Potions on Mondays?!” bemoaned Ron once he’d gotten a good
look at his schedule. Harry and Ron were unpacking when
Hermione stalked in with a stack of schedules in her arms. By
the look of the set of her shoulders, Hermione looked none too
pleased with Ron’s method of relinquishing the schedules from
her without her knowledge or consent.

Ron, typically, ignored her ire. “First thing in the morning,
too! Gah,” the redheaded freckled boy flopped out on his bed
on his back, covering his face with both hands. “I hate
Mondays... I hate Potions...” With a sniff, Ron sat up and
pouted. “Hex me now.”

“Nah, don’t think I will.” The almost cheerfully said comment
came from an outside source, and the nosiest students of
Hogwarts found their attention riveted on the particular boy
standing at the door. A duffle was tossed over his shoulder,
and he was peaking into the room. “Say... You guys wouldn’t
mind rooming with someone like me, would ya? My old roomie
said I was obnoxious, loud, and annoying, but I bet we could
work our way around that!” Duo Maxwell was grinning widely,
his eyes twinkling in mischief and mayhem. Ron shrugged. Harry
waved to one of the unspoken-for beds.

“Knock yourself out.”

Duo grinned and tossed his bag on the bed. “In the wise words
of my roomie: Don’t encourage me.” His violet eyes peaked over
at Ron, and he raised an eyebrow in a way that was shockingly
familiar to Harry. “Why’d you want me to hex you, anyway?”

“We have Potions first thing on Monday,” Hermione replied for
Ron. She stuck out her hand in a no-nonsense manner, and Duo
immediately grabbed it and shook. “Hermione Granger.”

“Duo Maxwell. Isn’t Potions Prof’s class? Bummer...” The
braided boy wrinkled his nose only slightly. “Sharp guy, funny
if you can ignore the undercurrent and overcurrent insults...
but Jesus, he’s crabby.”

Harry thought this description was superbly fitting. “You’ve
met him already?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you before...”

“Holy cow! You’re that wizard that was never called, aren’t
you?” Ron suddenly demanded, pointing. Duo snorted and walked
over to his bed, dumping his possessions on the sheets.

“If that’s how you define it, then yeah,” Duo replied. “I
spent all summer with Sevy and a lot of the other teachers.
That’s just enough time for me to summerize his personality:
He’s a decrepit old has-been that gets his jollies off of
terrorizing and demoralizing students due to the nature of his
mother withholding too many hugs from him as a child.” He
paused. “But he’s an awesome decrepit old has-been etcetera,
etcetera.” Then the braided-boy glanced at the two grinning
boys and one desperately-trying-to-cover-a-smirk girl.
“Sometimes it helps to remember that.”

Ron was out and out laughing at this young man. “Oh, Harry!
Can we keep him?” Harry snickered, shaking his head. He didn’t
even mind that Duo thought Snape was awesome, for some
unfathomable reason.

“Feed me, cloth me, take care of me,” Duo replied somberly,
“and we might have a deal.”

“I dunno, Ron,” Harry replied doubtfully. “He’s kind of high
maintenance for you, isn’t he?”

“Oh, pfft.” Hermione intervened with crossed arms and a sly
grin. “With your memory and my persistence, I’m sure we can
keep the dear boy alive... until the end of the school year,
that is.” Hermione was once a stiff, slightly-obsessed and
not-at-all modest young witch, but five years with Ron and
Harry had changed her attitude somewhat. Sometimes she still
reverted back to her know-it-all self, but that was simply
because she almost DID know it all.

“Don’t you mean your nagging?” Ron criticized, and he received
a pillow in the face for his effort.

“Was it ever explained how your name wasn’t put down?” Harry
asked the braided boy, who had taken to sitting cross-legged
on his bed, conveniently placed across from his own.

“Something about disorganization,” Duo dismissed absently, his
eyes on the window Harry often sat in at night or when he had
nothing to do. “I was a little put off at first -didn’t
believe in magic and all this other mystical stuff, and my
mom, who was apparently a witch, died soon after I was born.”
Drily, he added, “But even the most logical mind can’t dismiss
a little flicker of wood and a pow.”

“So your dad was a Muggle?” came Ron’s question. Harry didn’t
know how he could tell, but somehow that question was the line
for Duo. His expression did not change to show his discomfort,
nor did his amethyst eyes flicker. His posture, relaxed and
lazy, did not tense, his constantly moving fingers did not
stop in their play. When Duo’s mouth opened, his words were
not stifled, his tone not unwelcome or saddened or displeased.
Harry was surprised to note that Duo replied with the same
pleasantness in his voice as he did when he informed them that
his mother died in childbirth.

“I’ve never met my father.”

As Ron, Hermione, and Duo continued to talk about various
other subjects (“Herm and Dad’s told me about these tiny
energy things smaller than a plug called bat adories or
something-“ ”Batteries?” “Yeah, that. What can you tell me
about them?” “Batteries are out of date, for one...”), Harry
couldn’t help but see a deeper meaning in the carefully
phrased answer.

Seamus, Neville, and Dean soon wandered into their dorm and
were introduced to Duo. The lights were turned by the
prefects, Hermione left the boys dorm to turn in for the
night, but a hyper Duo, an eager Ron, a giddy Seamus, a
thoughtfully quiet Dean, a nervous Neville, and a subdued
Harry continued on well into the night, until the full moon
passed their window and provided no more light. Ron wiggled
under the covers and pulled his red curtains closed. Harry sat
in the window ledge, his eyes focused outward and passed the
Forbidden Forest, the lights of Hogsmeade dimming as he
watched. Dean, Neville, and Seamus disappeared behind their
curtains, Seamus’s goodnight echoed by Dean’s reply. He heard
Duo shift in bed, murmuring a cheerful goodnight. Ron replied
the same, and Harry echoed with his own.

Harry did not hear the curtains of Duo’s four-poster pull
close. When he did crawl into bed, he saw that Duo hadn’t done
so. Somehow, the Boy Who Lived saw more significance in that
than anyone else.

----------

“I swear! It’s all true!”

“No way,” pointed out a voice, and there were several agreeing
murmurs around that point, “You had to have made that up.”

“Hey, hey, are you forgetting who I am?” A jovial cheer raised
from the mass. “I’m Duo Maxwell. I run, I hide, and I never
tell a lie!”

“Wouldn’t that have caused grievous injury? I don’t see how
anyone could have walked away from something like that!”

“Simple, Hermione-dear. The idiot gets me to cart him around
easy-as-you-please, and as soon as I have him where he
wants... the jackass sets his own broken leg! In front of me!
With his bare hands! It was the single most disturbing anti-socialite behavior I’ve ever cared to see, and trust me, I’ve
seen a lot!”

Ugh. Too early in the morning, the lithe blond remarked to
himself mentally, striding passed the raucous table with tired
annoyance, to tempt the Iffindorks into committing murder. Not
before the first cup of coffee, anyway. Oh, the humanity...

“And THEN,” he heard in dramatic embellishment, pausing before
adding solemnly, “he invented the fork.”

There was barely a falter in Draco Malfoy’s step as he glanced
over his shoulder in feigned bland disinterest to catch sight
of the Gryffindor bunch laughing uproaringly before
disciplining the speaker with playful swats and disbelieving
snorts. His interest lasted as long as the glance did -that
is, not very long at all- as the strong smell of pitch black
coffee drew his attention back to his Slytherins.

His Slytherins. He favored them all with a bored look, but in
observing Pansy Parkinson speaking teasingly at the side of
her mouth to Iva Moon and Blaise Zabini, who with the tell-tale twitches of his eyebrow and her lips signaled that they
were attempting to hide smiles; in seeing Millicent Bulstrode,
her back to the rest of the world, proudly smirking as Gregory
Goyle and Vincent Crabbe answered a school-related question
with only a little uncertainty; in watching Malcolm Baddock
gather his fellow years in strong, coded debate, his main
adversary his best friend Graham Pritchard; he didn’t have to
stopper the pride and satisfaction of watching his Slytherins
interact without the rest of the world to judge.

That was what the rest of the wizarding world did. A person
was defined by his or her House, Slytherins would always be up
to no good, and the sun will always set in the west and rise
in the east. It didn’t matter that others possessed such
domineering traits that were all uniquely them, as well.

“Malfoy,” Blaise said blandly from Draco’s side, drawing his
eyes away from the steaming cup in his hands to fix the other
boy with a tolerant stare. Despite the coldness, Blaise met
his stare with one of his own, his eyebrows yet jumping again
as the two so-called ‘in-House rivals’ tried to stare the
other down. Yet in this stare-down, the close friends were
greeting each other as eagerly as any two Hufflepuff friends.

“Zabini,” Draco drawled lethargically. “To what do I owe this
pleasant if unexpected address?” Millie and Pansy exchanged
looks that showed they could hardly contain their amusement.
Any gossip mongers in the three other houses that would happen
to look that way would see staunch up-sizing of two weary
predators.

“Why, casual conversation, of course,” Blaise murmured
innocently. “Why else?”

“Indeed.”

“So what do you think of our new little Gryffindor?” Blaise
asked casually, flickering a gaze toward the mentioned table
before staring back at Draco. Draco almost smirked; Blaise was
a pretty boy and wasn’t afraid to admit he prided himself on
this. Very few succeeded this level of beauty; Cedric Diggory,
Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy himself, and -much to Draco’s
reluctance to admit- Harry Potter were the select few. With
Diggory gone, Blaise only had to compete with Potter and Draco
for better looks. Now it looked as if there was new
competition in school in the form of their newest Self-Righteous Bastard Gryffindor (TM). Blaise was surely not
pleased.

“This one has a sense of humor,” the Malfoy heir couldn’t help
but admit in a low tone only meant to be heard by those of his
own House. He succeeded in keeping his tone low enough when
his entire year, listening on, gasped in mocking surprise as
any eavesdropper looking on seemed disappointed.

“Surely you’re having a lark, Draco,” Pansy said with hidden
mirth. “A Gryffindor? With a sense of... humor?”

It was laughable. Gryffindors laugh and tease each other and
other people, but they could rarely take what they dish, as
concluded by a Gryffindor’s quick temper and bloodthirsty need
for revenge. Of course, this only applied to the only
Gryffindors Draco paid attention to- mainly those of his year.

“Most like a Slytherin with a sense of honor,” Blaise murmured
from the corner of his mouth, drawing a reluctant smile from
Draco. The Malfoy heir managed to make it look as forced as
possible.

“I have a feeling,” Millie whispered to Pansy, “that Mr.
Maxwell is more than he seems.”

“Very true,” Draco agreed in normal, disdainful tones. “Why
waste our time speaking of a filthy little Mudblood
Gryffindor? You should go to the dorms and retrieve your
books.” He sneered at his two supposed ‘thugs’, who were worth
more than any loyal Hufflepuff. The suggestion was laced with
ugly scorn, but the suggestion was a real one, nonetheless.
“I’ll be in the Potions classroom.”

Draco made his journey to the class alone, but content in is
aloofness. Few students were mingling in the halls, reluctant
to return to class or chatting with friends not seen since the
ending of school. Three first year Hufflepuffs with a
Gryffindor in tow were slowly wandering passed, oohing and
aahing at the sheer majestic of Hogwarts.

Even the evil bastard in him had to admit grudgingly that
Hogwarts truly was a stunning sight.

He was startled out of his slight amusement (disguised, of
course, as baleful disdain) by a semi-familiar voice calling
for him. Loudly. The sound of feet tapping down the corridor
of the potions classrooms (few were reluctant to loiter these
halls, and watching the other house students look queasy at
the prospect gave him a laugh) caused Draco to hesitated for a
moment.

“Blondie! Boy, for a moment there I didn’t think you were
going to wait up,” remarked his caller casually. Draco cocked
an eyebrow when he turned around; such a brisk pace from the
Great Hall would bring most students to their knees,
desperately drawing for the next breath; the young man in
front of him wasn’t even breathing hard.

He had suspected the identity of his caller correctly, though
Draco had only heard his voice once. Duo Maxwell, new
Gryffindor sixth year, stood boldly before him, brilliantly
sizing Draco up with a quick glance that, for a moment, was
unreadable. Finally an easy grin found its way to his lips as
his entire face lit up. Draco thought it was a little odd the
boy easily brightened in Slytherin company; maybe house
standings had yet to be explained.

“When I saw you in the hall at first glance, I thought you
only had a passing resemblance to him,” the braided boy
chuckled and assumed an air of pleasant nonchalance, “but you,
dude, are a spitting image of Quatre Winner! It’s cool...”
Pause. “If not for the creep factor of Quat having a potential
double running amuck.”

Draco hadn’t any idea what a ‘dude’ was, nor did he have any
knowledge of any Quatre Winner. For a moment he was completely
at a loss; he hid it well behind a wall of pleasant-but-not-particularly-caring demeanor.

“Well, it’s better that I can tell the difference in your eyes
and posture,” Maxwell rambled on. “He’s got these eyes...
anyway, he’s a bit more childlike, I guess; his face has a
rounded quality that you’ve lost. Other than that, you both
have this air about you that screams ‘I am FILTHY RICH, so
NYAH!’, only yours is a bit conceited and Quat... Well, Q-Bean
would think the deserts of Earth went dry because of him. I’m
Duo, by the by. Duo Maxwell.”

That was a complete lot of NOTHING in a good waste of fifteen
seconds, Draco thought nastily.

Funny how he seems like a very amiable, bold, and completely
un-Gryffindorish guy stuck in that house of hypocrites, he
continued to muse, this time thoughtfully, though the annoying
cheerfulness fits the bill... if not the fact he’s faking it.
And Draco was positive the boy in front of him very well was
faking his boisterous, bright attitude.

After a moment of reluctance, Draco surmised he should
introduce himself as well. Manners demanded it. “Draco
Malfoy.”

Maxwell genuinely grinned this time. “THAT... is a really cool
name.”

That was a switch. Usually the Malfoy heir received funny
looks, evil glares, The Look of the Scared Witless, or blatant
indifference to the stupid name.

Not sure I’m liking this new look, Draco thought queasily.

“So does every house hate each other, or are Gryffindor and
Slytherin special cases?”

Draco couldn’t stop the snort that sneaked passed his
defenses. “Gryffindors certainly are special.” Draco couldn’t
decide if that was resentment, disdain, sarcasm, or
indifference in his voice. He surmised he shouldn’t have shot
for all four; he probably sounded constipated.

“Aren’t they, though?” breezed Maxwell with a teasing grin.
“They’re okay, I guess. I kind of figured Slytherin would fit
me better, though.”

“The Sorting Hat usually chooses for the best,” Draco pointed
out pleasantly, but completely agreeing with Maxwell’s
assessment. Duo Maxwell, from where Draco stood, had
absolutely too many hidden layers and well-honed hidden
defenses –a Slytherin trait if the blonde boy had ever seen
one.

“Pfft, sheeyeah, like A.D. let me try that damn thing after
the incident with Fawkes,” came the pouty reply. “It was more
along the lines of drawing straws. After the debacle with the
Drought of the Living Dead that lasted an entire not-so-fun
week of the Sevy’s Special Punishment and Total Persecution...
and then the, err, scorching accident in Fillie’s class....
and you know that Sprout lady, the one with the seven
greenhouses outside?”

Draco was afraid to know. “Yes?...”

“Well, she only has five now,” the braided boy shrugged. “It
all boils down to: the other three heads refused to take me,
and as I have yet to screw up with Minnie... well, she got the
short stick.”

“You’re kidding.” His voice, tone, and stance gave nothing
away as he stared at the boy with the impossibly long braid.
Inside, all three of him were rolling in absolute hysteria.

“Unfortunately, nay. Hee-chan wasn’t kidding when he said
trouble was my conjoined twin,” Maxwell said in a manner that
suggested he didn’t really mind. The boy paused for a
thoughtful moment. “Well... can I confide in you?”

Draco was tempted to repeat “you’re kidding” in deadpan, but
the line was already overused. Anyone in their right mind and
in possession of only their left testicle knew that Slytherins
weren’t above using ‘confidence’ in a Slytherin’s best
interest. He found himself nodding.

“Well, you know Minnie’s tabby? I kind of turned it green,”
the braided boy admitted, fretting with his braid in a nervous
manner. “Do you think she’ll notice? More importantly, do you
think she’ll think it was me? She’s been giving me these
looks, and they don’t exactly inspire the warm and fuzzies, if
you catch my meaning...”

Draco Malfoy was renowned for his frigid disdain that could
transform into amused contempt at the drop of a hat. In
Slytherin house, he was known for his cool composure, his
quick wit, and his foot-mouth insertion problem when in the
company of others. It was safe to say that Draco Malfoy almost
had control that could rival Albus Dumbledore himself.

All that control went to crap when Draco Malfoy, ice
incarnate, doubled over and let out a loud, careless cackle.

End Chapter Three

My reasoning for my version of the inner workings of Slytherin
House: Saying “all Slytherins are bad” is like saying “all
Gryffindors are good” -it’s utter bullshit. Peter Pettigrew,
anyone? Yeah, okay -sometimes it seems like all Slytherins are
nasty little brats, especially in the HP books. HOWEVER, you
never hear anything about the Slytherins that AREN’T nasty -
Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode (she’s only mentioned as a
girl with a troll-like disposition, but nothing about how she
is attitude-wise), Moon -and I’m only mentioning Moon because
someone with the last name of Moon is mentioned to be a Death
Eater, and there is someone named Moon who is in Harry’s year,
but what house he or she is in is never mentioned. That’s
almost HALF of the Slytherins in Harry’s year that aren’t
overtly cruel in some form or another.

All Slytherins aren’t evil, all Gryffindors aren’t good, all
Ravenclaws aren’t permanently glued to a book (Luna Lovegood,
anyone?), and all Hufflepuffs aren’t useless.

I stuck Moon in Slytherin mainly because there aren’t a lot of
girls mentioned that are in Draco’s year besides Millicent and
Pansy. I’m not even sure if Moon is a girl to begin with.
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Harry Potter and the Secret Link