Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dark Lord Rising	By : blade-of-the-shadows Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 16554 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from Harry Potter, all credit goes to Rowling and I do not make any profit from this fanfic

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Hogwarts Herself was something Harry found great interest in. He could feel the love and care She had for Her students, no matter how powerful or weak they were. Her teasing side was also very prominent, which was helpful for him as he could tell whenever She decided to change where a set of stairs went, or lock a door unless you did something that would make them open , or create doors that weren’t truly what they seemed, but something else.
It was also slightly challenging to remember any location of something, if you tried to memorize them by landmark. The portraits liked to move around and visit other ones, and the coats of armor seemed to enjoy taking midnight strolls from one side of Hogwarts to the other.
The ghost didn’t help any, especially the poltergeist, Peeves. He enjoyed throwing things at you, or swooping from the ceiling to give you a fright. But Harry figured out very quickly that, if you were a first year Slytherin, all that you needed to do was threaten Peeves with the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, and he would leave you alone. He was one of the very few who figured it out so far.
If there was a human who was possibly worse the Peeves, it was the cranky caretaker Argus Filch. It was obvious to everyone that he had something against Slytherins. He would follow them with his nasty beedy eyes, or send his ratty cat, Ms. Norris after them. Do anything out of line, and let her see you do it, and she was off for Filch, who would appear seconds later wheezing and gasping, and eager to give you a detention slip. Filch apparently knew all of the school secret passageways and put them to use in order to ‘capture’ you. Of course, Harry and his Slytherin peers would put a shame to their House if they ever got caught by the man or his cat.
Harry was both disappointed and pleased with his classes. Some immediately provided him with something to do, while others did nothing more than put him to sleep, and a few made him once again question why no one questioned the things Dumbledore did.
Astrology—or Divination, depending on who you asked—was a waste of time. Having to stay up past midnight every Wednesday to stare at the night sky was utter bollucks. Anyone well versed in Divination knew that the only ones who could truly read the stars and the movement of the planets were centaurs and especially gifted Seers. He dubbed the course his ‘nap time’ class.
Herbology was useful, but boring. Harry knew that it was helpful to learn about plants and fungi—not only for Potions, but for future uses such as poison and their antidotes—but what use was a class when the teacher, Professor Sprout, was more concerned about impressing her students with ‘dangerous’ plants? He figured he could learn this on his own.
History of Magic made him want to pound someone’s head in. He had actually been looking forward to this class, but was sorely disappointed. He could easily understand the use of a ghost, Professor Binns, to teach the subject, but not when the teacher’s only focus was on the Goblin Wars, and there was no passion in his teachings. Once again, Harry came to the conclusion that this was another he would have to learn on his own.
Charms showed promise, though they only began with theory. Harry knew how important theory was, and getting not only the pronunciation of words right, but the movement of your wrist and hand. You could utter an incantation and move your hand, expecting a bouquet of daises to appear in your hand, only to receive a two-ton bull on your head. The Professor, a small elfin wizard by the name of Flitwick, was also very clever; noticing on the first day the nervousness buzzing in his students and proceeding to ‘fall’ behind the stack of books he was standing on with a small squeak, though his posture and stance had been perfect. He succeeded in not only easing the tension in the class, but also setting up an easy relationship with his students by coming off as easy-going and excited.
Transfiguration gave him his first challenge. Not only was it the first class the Slytherins shared with the pigheaded Gryffindors, but Professor McGonagall was a formidable, strict teacher. She radiated an aura of no nonsense, and cut straight to the chase.
“Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous magicks you will learn in Hogwarts.” She said on the first day. “Anyone who messes around in my class will leave and never come back. You have been warned.”
Then she proceeded to change her desk into a pig and back. It easily caught everyone’s attention and excitement buzzed in the room. Only to be dispelled as she first had them take very complex and extensive noted, then handed out matches and told everyone that they were to turn it into a needle; their first grade in the class.
Harry at first thought it would be easy, as he had already read multiple books from cover to cover, twice, and understood what he was to do in theory. But when he pointed his wand and uttered the words, he was disappointed to find that nothing happened. He frowned and glanced around the class, finding everyone else in the same predicament. Beside him, Draco huffed and muttered a curse under his breath.
He turned back to his match, putting his wand down and concentrating on what he should do in order to make the transfiguration successful. In theory, he should have a needle instead of a match. But he didn’t. The question was, why?
Closing his eyes, Harry pulled up all he could remember from the books he read about transfiguration. Anything at all that would help him turn the match into a needle. Then his eyes flashed open and a grin made the corners of his mouth twitch. Of course! He wanted to slap himself on the forehead. Why didn’t he realize it earlier?
Picking up his wand again, Harry pointed at the match and uttered the required words. Then smirked as the match shimmered into a needle. It was so simple and easy that it wasn’t too hard to look over.
“Harry?” Draco touched his elbow. “How did you manage to change it?”
Harry smirked. “It is all about intent, Draco. If you want it, will it, give it purpose, then it shall happen.”
Draco’s eyes widened with realization, and the blonde quickly turned back to his match. A moment later, and another needle was on their table.
“Wonderful job, you two.” They turned to see Professor McGonagall standing behind them, a smile lighting her eyes. “Very rarely does a student manage it so quickly, let alone two. Ten points to Slytherin, each.”
By the end of class, both Harry and Draco successfully transfigured their matches into needles and back, even going as far as to change the shape of the needle and add designs to it. Visualization was a key to that one, Harry concluded.
The only other student who managed to turn her match into a needle was one Hermione Granger, who was coincidentally the mudblood Harry had so viciously snapped at on Hogwarts Express. Unlike he and Draco, who had been awarded another ten points each for such intricately designed needles, she had simply gotten a tight smile. Harry smirked, as it was all the mudblood deserved.
Defense Against the Dark Arts proved to be rather interesting. Their Professor was the man whom was not as he seemed to Harry, whose name was Professor Quirrell. In front of the other students, he was a stuttering, bumbling fool, but when his gaze met Harry’s for the second time, he smirked as his eyes once again flashed red. Harry abruptly felt the urge to…challenge the man, but held it in until towards the end of class, where he raised his hand.
“Professor, I have a question.”
“Y-yes-s, M-m-m-Mr. Malf-f-f-f-f-oy?” This time, the eyes did not flash red. Yet.
“Why is this class called Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
This being the second class Slytherin shared with Gryffindor, it was no surprise when the other side of the room burst into mocking laughter. Draco shot him a questioning look, along with the other Slytherins, but Harry kept his eyes locked on Quirrell.
And was rewarded when the man’s eyes flashed red.
“Could you elaborate on your question, Mr. Malfoy?”
Obviously no one else had noticed it, but Harry’s eyes widened as the Professors voice seemed to change. The stutter was gone, and the voice was deeper, smoother. Darker.
Harry raised his chin. “I do not understand why this class is called Defense Against the Dark Arts. I have read multiple books on the subject past the one required for this course, and I have found unsatisfactory results. As I am sure everyone in here should know, in order to defend against something, then you must first know what is you are defending against. A person well-versed in the Dark Arts would better know what spells to use to go against a Dark Spell, as opposed to someone who only knows it in theory.
And another thing, who determines what the Dark Arts are and what spells should be classified as Dark? If it is based off of how harmful a spell is, then pretty much any and every spell can be classified as Dark, right? We are soon to learn how to cast a Wingardium Leviosa in Charms, a simple levitation spell, yes? But should some cast a Wingardium Leviosa Maxima on, say, another person, and release it after the person is far enough in the air, then can they not do the same damage as these so called ‘Dark’ spells? And therefore technically this class is illegal, as learning Dark Arts is banned and to teach us to defend against it would require for us to be taught Dark Arts.”
By that point, no one was laughing. Draco was smirking smugly, and the rest of the Slytherins were nodding with curious expression on their faces as they glanced at Quirrell. The man himself was staring at Harry unblinkingly with a blank expression. Harry’s scar pulsed lightly and he raised a hand to rub his forehead. That seemed to snap Quirrell out of whatever trance he had been in, and he cleared his throat.
“Dark Arts and anything that falls under its jurisdiction is determined by the Ministry.” He said smoothly. “I am sorry, but I do not know why this class is called Defense Against the Dark Arts. You are correct when you say that in order to learn to defend against the Dark Arts, it is best to learn such first. However, the subject of Dark Arts is a very complex topic of discussion, and people avoid it very avidly.”
“Because the Dark Arts and those who use it are evil!” A redheaded Gryffindor snapped.
Harry’s narrowed. He’d had just about enough of Ronald Weasley’s stupidity throughout the day. “Weasley, I suggest you shut your mouth before I do it for you. And believe me,” Harry grinned, a sadistic twist at the corners. “You do not want me to do it.”
Weasley wisely kept his mouth shut. Harry relaxed into his chair and sighed.
“I believe I am very disappointed.”
“And why is that?” Harry looked up to find the Professors gaze on him.
“Well, by the pure….idiocy of the entire system. Fear of the unknown cause humans to lash out, which in turn causes separation and destruction. The Ministry is comprised of nothing but humans, and apparently they chose to follow their own natures instead of using their head and actually thinking about things. I cannot believe this. I was under the belief that the Dark Arts was something involving ones magical core, or even their personalities. To find out that it is only determined by a group of bigoted idiots who wouldn’t know a true Dark curse if it was being cast on them…” Harry shook his head and sighed. This was reminding him terribly of the Dursleys and their fear of anything different.
Quirrell stared at him for a moment. “Hmm, very interesting view on such things, Mr. Malfoy. Unfortunately, we must discuss them at another time, as class is now dismissed.”
A tolling bell rang, signaling the end of class, and everyone jumped. Harry maintained eye contact with the Professor for a moment longer, before packing his bags and following after Draco from the room.
He found Potions most enjoyable. Though it was the third class consecutively the Slytherins shared with Gryffindors, it was worth it to see Professor Snape put all of them in their place.
“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for talking in my class.” Professor Snape said smoothly. “Tsk, tsk. In the negatives already? Such a shame.”
Harry and Draco shared the desk next to the one Weasley and the mudblood Granger, and so therefore got a full view of Weasley’s bright red face twisted in an ugly expression. The twins shared a look before continuing with the own potion. They were doing a simple potion to cure boils—so easy a blind monkey could do it, according to their Potions Master.
A few moments of peace passed, until clouds of acid green smoke rose and a loud hissing noise filled the air. A few tables over, Neville had managed to melt his and the Finnagan boy’s cauldron; their potion seeping to the floor and burning holes in peoples shoes. Within seconds everyone was standing on their stools. Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when it exploded, moaned in pain as huge, angry red boils began to appear all over his skin.
“Idiot boy!” Snape snarled, banishing the potion with a wave of his wand. “You added the porcupine quills before taking the potion off of the fire, did you not?”
Neville only whimpered.
“Take him to the hospital wing.” Snape snapped to Finnagan, who was quick to do so. “And what are you all doing?! Continue with your potions!”
By the end of class, Harry and Draco had produced a perfect potion. They handed it over to Snape with identical smirks, noting that very few of their peers managed to procure a potion of the same quality. The professor merely arched a brow at them with a murmured ‘acceptable’, which in Snape language practically meant ‘this potion is great’.
The flying lesson they took were bust. Harry had been excited for the class, as he loved nothing more than to be on a broom, but he was once again disappointed. The brooms, for one, were all very old model Cleansweepers, with bent and broken twigs that could barely fly. Besides that, they were only allowed to float a couple of feet off the ground. Harry could sleep comfortably on a floating broom from any height. Though he figured the reasons behind it were very much needed after witnessing Neville lose control of his broom and fall of, breaking his arm in the process.
Care of Magical Creatures was a joke. It was taught by the half-giant, Hagrid, who was under the belief that any creature—no matter how benign or dangerous—was cute and cuddly. Something that he was apparently trying to instill into the students. Harry figured that if he ever found interest in the subject, he would consult a book.
It wasn’t until a full month had passed that something happened. Halloween was coming up, and the halls were abuzz. Apparently, there was going to be a Halloween ball for all students who wanted to go. Draco was ecstatic, but Harry could care less. He knew, however, that his twin was going to find some way to convince him to go.
A few days before the ball, Draco made his move.
“Harry.” The blonde pounced his darker-haired counterpart in their rooms. “You are coming to the ball, are you not?”
“No.” Harry denied immediately.
Draco pouted. “And why not?”
“Because, brother dearest, I hate dancing, and I hate being around so many people.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Whyyyy?” Draco whined.
Harry frowned. “I just told you why.”
“So you would go if you did not have to dance and you were not crowded around people?”
“Well…”
“Great!” Draco beamed at him. “I cannot go with you because I am going with Daphne, so you are going to go with Blaise, okay? Goodnight, brother.”
Draco bounced off, leaving a dumbfounded Harry behind.
~oOo~
“Severus.” A silky smooth voice called, red eyes glinting from the fire roaring a few feet away.
The raven, whose hair was lank and greasy from exposure of so many potion fumes, bowed his head in respect. “Yes, my lord?”
“Have you located it?”
“Yes my lord.” Severus confirmed. “There is a…beast protecting it, but it is easily defeated.”
“Good.” The man hissed. “Now, we need a…distraction.”
“I shall take care of it, my lord.”
“No.” His lips curled cruelly. “I will do it myself. This should be…amusing.”
~oOo~
The next day, Harry cornered Blaise in the library. Every day after lunch and before classes began, the darker skinned male could be found there, holed up in some obscure corner reading a book. Harry only knew this because he did the same, and once stumbled upon Blaise when trying to find somewhere isolated to do his reading.
“For the record, I had no say in anything.” Blaise began as soon as Harry appeared in front of him, not even looking up from his book as he flicked through the pages.
“You could have done something.” Harry hissed.
Blaise paused, finally looking up from his book with an arched brow. “If you could not do anything, what makes you think I had any chance?”
Harry gritted his teeth. “What do we do now?”
“The only thing we can do.” Blaise shrugged. “We go to the ball in two days.”
“But I do not want to go.” Harry bit his lip and scrunched his brow, too distressed at the moment to keep up his stoic mask.
“Do you really want to face Draco’s wrath? Especially when he is this excited?”
“I see your point.” Harry deflated, finally calming down and sitting beside Blaise.
“It will be fine.” Blaise smiled down at him charmingly. “I mean, you will be with me.”
Harry felt his heart suddenly thump against his ribs, but he ignored it to snort at Blaise. “I think you are just a bit too narcissistic.”
“Guilty as charged.”
After that, Harry found himself on much better terms with Blaise than before. He would not say that they were friends, but they were certainly past that awkward stage of when they tried to avoid each other without making it look like they were doing so. Which was a little more than hard, as Blaise was Draco’s friend, and if there was anything the blonde liked to do, it was to surround himself with his friends. Now that they were on more amicable terms, both Harry and Blaise noticed that there was certain lack of tension when they were near each other.
Neither of them, however, noticed Draco’s smirk.
In the two days left leading up to the ball, Harry was very tense and therefore in quite a bad mood. He kept up with his work and made no disruptions in class, so the teachers did not quite notice—with the exception of Quirrell, who sent him continuous curious glances—but inside the dorms, everyone took careful measures as to not piss him off. The last guy who did so was still in the hospital wing.
Even his familiars were restless. Angel got into a fight with one of the school’s barn owls, and a silencing charm had to be placed on Nox because the inky black snake was hissing in irritation all day long. Harry realized the anger stemmed from him, and took the time to meditate and calm down, much to the relief of his House.
And then it was the day of the ball. Classes were let out early so that everyone could get ready, and the Great Hall could be prepared. To Harry’s ire, Draco took full use of the extra time they had.
“Draco, there is no reason for me to use special shampoo. My hair is fine.”
“Yes, but this will make it extra shiny and soft.”
“But I will smell like a girl.”
“A girl with shiny, soft hair.”
Neither of them were ready to go until literally minutes before the ball was to begin. Harry’d been primped, pampered, scrubbed, scoured, threatened, and everything in between. He felt like a doll.
As promised, his hair was soft and shiny. He hadn’t cut it, so now it fell past his shoulders to end somewhere between his shoulder blades. Draco had used clips to pin certain strands back, leaving his bangs to fall into his eyes with the rest left to tumble down his back. He wore soft, form-fitting robes in dark forest green that brought out the green in his eyes, the black trimming and inner cloth making his skin seem paler than usual.
Beside him, Draco looked as pristine and proper as always. His own blonde hair was slicked back, save his bangs which swept across his forehead, and pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t as long as Harry’s, but was still a considerable length. He wore black robes that practically made his skin glow bright as the moon; the pale silver inner cloth and trimming making his eyes especially intense and piercing.
The Twins were dressed immaculately and caught the gazes everyone still in the common room. Including Blaise and Daphne. The dark skinned first year was dressed in indigo robes that complimented his skin and eyes well, and the pale girl wore silvery-white robes that…didn’t actually go to well with her already very complexion and light hair.
From his peripheral, Harry noticed Draco scrunch his nose delicately. Now that he thought about it, he never saw his paler counterpart in too many clothes that were pastel or in lighter shades. And whenever Draco did wear such colors, it was always in small increments. He figured it was because Draco didn’t like to wear too many light colors, but now looking at Daphne, whose hair and skin were not nearly as pale as Draco’s and still came off as too…bright, he realized it was because wearing too much was just…really unflattering.
But Draco wasn’t a Malfoy for nothing. He glided over with a small smile to kiss Daphne’s hand.
“You look wonderful, Daphne.”
Daphne blushed and giggled. “Oh, stop it, Draco.”
Harry walked at a much slower pace until he stopped in front of Blaise. The tall Italian arched a brow at him.
“Do you want me to kiss your hand, too—?”
“Touch me and I will hex your bollucks straight off.”
Blaise smirked. “Now, now Harry. You have to be a good boy and at least pretend to be happy.”
“Shove off.”
“Harry!” Draco snapped.
Harry scowled and grumbled, but acquiesced to a still smirking Blaise’s request as Draco’s icy glare. The brunette took Harry’s hand, sweeping down into an exaggerated bow as he kissed it. Harry glared and snatched his hand back.
“Idiotic, narcissistic git.”
“Cursing me in French is very unbecoming, Harry.” Blaise sing-songed.
It took all the control in Harry’s body to keep him from hexing Blaise straight to the hospital wing. Once he calmed down, however, he put his hand in the crook of Blaise’s bent arm at Draco’s urging, Daphne doing the same with the blonde.
The moment they stepped into the Great Hall, Harry regretted with every fiber in being that he did not deny Draco more vehemently.
There were people everywhere. The long tables designated to each House were gone, replaced with small, circular tables that were spread across the Hall. The center of the room was cleared, open for students and teachers alike to dance. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling, a thousand more swooping around the area, making girls scream in surprise and fear. Carved pumpkins floated around, candles guttering inside. Haunting chamber music thrummed in the air.
Harry wanted to leave already.
Draco, on the other hand, smiled and dragged Daphne off to dance. Harry looked up at Blaise, who in turn looked down at him with an arched brow.
“Shall we dance?”
“I do not dance, Blaise.”
Blaise started to drag him to the floor anyway. “There is a first for everything.”
Harry resisted. “No—Blaise, I really do not dance.”
“How bad can you be?” Blaise smiled at Harry over his shoulder. “I will guide you, okay?”
“It is your toes.” Harry shrugged.
The dark skinned male smirked, putting his hands on Harry’s waist. The raven sighed, but put his hands on Blaise’s shoulders. They began to move and almost immediately, Harry slipped and stepped on Blaise’s toes. He winced and looked up at Blaise, who held in his own wince and smiled reassuringly at Harry. For all his grace and poise, Harry was as clumsy as a blind cat.
At moment later, Harry did it again. And so it continued.
Many times, Draco and Daphne whirled past them, the two blondes looking effortless with their steps. Harry envied his brother. Though Draco tried many times to teach him how to dance, Harry could never get the steps right. He just had no rhythm to speak of.
Finally, the song ended and Harry dragged Blaise from the dance floor to collapse at a table in relief. He glanced at his partner of the night. Blaise did well to hide his pain every time Harry stepped on his toes, but the raven wasn’t so easily fooled. He noticed the small limp in Blaise’s usually smooth stride when they walked to the table, and the way he sat to ease the pressure on his feet.
“Are you…okay, Blaise?” Harry asked uncomfortably.
Blaise grinned at him. “Is the usually stoic and ‘I-could-care-less’ attitude having, Ice Prince Harry Malfoy worried about my well-being?”
Harry glared and looked away. “Not anymore I am not.”
“Aw, do not be like that, Harry.”
The raven chose not to respond, his gaze flicking across the room. Hmm, interesting…both Quirrell and Snape were missing. He vaguely wondered why, before his thoughts were suddenly scattered as a shudder went down his spine. He whirled around to glare at Blaise, who’d just blown in his ear.
“Do. Not. Do that. Again.”
Blaise shrugged with a devil-may-care grin. “I had to get your attention somehow.”
Harry growled and had just pulled out his wand to hex Blaise when Draco and Daphne collapsed into the chairs beside him, effectively capturing his attention.
“Oh, that was fun.” Draco gasped out, panting lightly.
“Mm hmm.” Daphne agreed breathlessly.
At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall banged open, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. A very flustered Quirrell ran inside, his eyes wide and terrified.
“Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know.” He panted out before fainting.
Before his body even hit the ground, pandemonium broke out. Girls screamed and boys shouted, everyone running around. Dumbledore stood and pointed his wand at his throat.
“SILENCE!” He yelled, voice amplified with magic. Everyone froze and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Now that I have your attention—prefects, please lead your Houses to the dorms. No one is to leave the dorms for any reason.”
The prefects took action immediately, calling out to their Houses to group together before leading them out of the Great Hall. Harry was the only one to notice the disappearance of Quirrell’s body. His eyes narrowed, and he tapped Draco.
“Where did Quirrell go?”
Draco looked over to where Quirrell had fainted, then shrugged. “One of the professors must have taken him to Madam Pomfrey.”
“But all of the professors were near Dumbledore.”
“Maybe he woke up.”
Or maybe he had not fainted in the first place. Harry kept the thought to himself.
“Either way does not matter, the ball is over.” Draco pouted lightly. “I bet you are happy, Harry.”
“Un.” Harry said absently, his thoughts on his two missing professors.
The next morning, they found out that the troll had destroyed the girls’ bathroom and the mudblood Hermione Granger had been injured. Apparently, she had been in there crying because of some comment made by the Weasley idiot when the troll went in. She managed to incapacitate it, but ended up hit by the troll’s swinging club when it got angry and started rampaging. The professors got there in time before the troll could kill her and managed to stop the beast.
There was another rumor that someone had been seen going into the forbidden corridor while this was happening. Very few believed it, but Harry grew suspicious when he saw Quirrell’s smug grin during class.
~oOo~
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Dark Lord Rising