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

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

~*~*~*~*Chapter Six*~*~*~*~

He awoke in a hospital. At least, it looked like a hospital.
Bottles and vials of brightly colored liquid stood glowing on
a shelved wall. Medical books were quietly resting in a
miniature bookcase in a corner. Empty beds made with crisp
white sheets lay side by side in a long row, partitions folded
back as prepared shields. His head was only slightly fuzzy,
but otherwise his supposedly broken ribs, sprained wrist, and
particularly dangerous concussion were numb to him. Once he
had a moment to feel, he even went as far as to suspect his
numerous injuries had been miraculously cured.

The presence beside his soft bed drew his attention. The
braided apparition smiled softly as a hand drew a path across
his forehead.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” teased the ghost, “feeling better?”

Quatre Winner blinked up at the shadow, feeling his throat
tighten at the sight before him. “Oh, Duo...”

“Are you tearing up, Q-Bean?” said the phantom teasingly.
“Nothing to cry about. I’m here.”

Quatre swallowed his tears and gave the boy a watery smile.
“They told us... the others thought... I couldn’t feel...”

The hand tracing patterns on his forehead paused. “Who told
you I was dead? Bastards,” he claimed calmly before resuming
his calming touch. “I’m sorry. Things have been so hectic
lately. I didn’t even think to get in touch with you guys.”

“A ‘hey, I’m alive and kicking’ postcard would have been
nice,” Quatre murmured softly, “but I’m relieved you’re all
right, all the same.”

Duo Maxwell grinned. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazingly well for someone with broken ribs, a sprained
wrist, and a concussion.”

Duo chuckled. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what Nurse Poppy
diagnosed. She fixed you right up, though, so you haven’t got
any problem other than dizziness. From exhaustion,
apparently.” The braided boy cocked an eyebrow. “Have you been
overworking yourself again? Q, we seriously need to have chat
about your tendency to break your back while bending over
backwards.”

Quatre’s smile died a merciless death on his lips. “I haven’t
g-gotten much sleep...”

“Quatre?” Duo sounded alarm. Quatre felt his heart weigh with
regret and he swallowed his sadness. Duo had to know.

“It’s... Duo, they’re calling for the Gundam pilots’
persecution. The colonies, the people of Earth, everyone
except Lady Une and her followers are demanding our heads on
p-pikes. Lady Une tried to protect us to the best of her
abilities, but we’ve... I was separated from the others, I
don’t know....”

Duo had lost whatever color he had in his face at Quatre’s
news. “But why? We... Damn it, we saved them! We helped them,
we...! How could they do this to us?!”

“They’re frightened,” Quatre explained in a whisper. “They
don’t know what to do with us. They think children with such
dangerous abilities... shouldn’t be allowed to grow into
something potentially more dangerous.”

“Those ungrateful Muggle trash! I can’t believe I defended
them in the first place, and the colonies against us!
Should’ve let them all become enslaved! It would have saved us
the hell!”

“Duo, please calm down! They’re frightened, and they don’t
think we–“ Quatre stopped and clasped his lips together
helplessly.

“They don’t think we’re human. Go ahead, Quat. Lay it down
like it sounds.” The braided boy was out of his seat, and
Quatre watched him with wide eyes as the other bent over him
in an unknowing but intimidating manner. Anyone who didn’t
know Duo Maxwell as well as Quatre did would have cowered
before him.

“We’re a subspecies because we’re all products of outer space,
is that right?” the violet-eyed demon hissed angrily. “And the
colonies don’t want anything to do with a bunch of mass-murdering, remorseless, cold-blooded killers who would dare
attack OZ in the name of them! Let’s do the ultimate witch

hunt! Let’s stalk them down and take justice into our own
hands! Is that it?”

“Duo, please...”

“They think we feel nothing for what we’ve done! They’re
wrong! They’re wrong!”

The windows of the infirmary exploded into shards of colored
glass. Quatre would have dived off the bed and tilted it over
for protection under an impending attack... if he hadn’t felt
the power come from Duo.

“There isn’t a night that goes by that I don’t hear the
screams of dying men echo in my mind,” the braided boy
whispered furiously. “I hear screaming children begging for
their mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers. I hear old parents
mourning the death of their child! The crumbling of demolished
buildings, the explosives I detonated myself with the simple
push of a button! I hear these things and I mourn for them and
I want to die because of it! And every night Sister Helen asks
me in her dying breath why I deserted them in their final
moments. Father Maxwell’s ghost comes to me and whispers
prayers for my condemned soul, and Shinigami stands silently
behind me, beckoning for all who come too close to me to come
with Him.” The voice, having raised in fury, died in a broken
whisper. “And Solo demands why I hadn’t died a martyr like he
had done; we were together forever, Solo and Kid, and I would
have died slowly and painfully to spare him his agony.”

Quatre, tears streaming down his face, wordlessly opened his
arms to the broken teenager; Duo accepted his invitation
without hesitation, burying his face into Quatre’s soft, thin
shoulder, shaking in contained sorrow.

“I see the disappointment for my violent choice to end OZ’s
tyranny in my father’s face as he dies,” the blond boy
whispered, heart-broken. “And I can hear the dying screams of
the innocence I have stolen away from the colonies I’ve
destroyed in saddened fury. My mother sings me lullabies until
my weariness is gone, until her singing stops. And still it
holds no candle to the misery you -all of you- radiate for
days on end.

“But Duo, Duo, you hold your innocence so well–“

“I have no innocence,” the boy rasped.

“You do,” Quatre said with a sad smile, tangling his fingers
through the other’s braid. “You do, Duo. That’s what makes you
special. No matter what world-weary events that have occurred
in your life, you will always hold that small speck of
something that makes your soul less blackened than you think.
We all do. And we’ll always have that. No one can take it away
from us without our explicit permission.”

Both were silent for a moment. Then Duo smiled into Quatre’s
shoulder and lifted his head minutely to eye the blonde from
the corner of his own eye.

“If I’m an innocent,” Duo said heavily, “you’re a bloody
saint.”

They both chuckled.

“Not one of us is higher than the other,” Quatre said after
their laughter died down. “Always remember that. You and I are
equals, as we are equals to even Heero, Trowa, and Wufei.”

“If you keep telling me this,” Duo said softly, “I think I’ll
start considering it.”

“Well, consider yourself constantly reminded.”

----------

Neither boy inside the infirmary noticed the two opposites
listening from the outside. One’s hand covered the other’s
mouth to prevent interruption, but there was no need; the
other was just as curiously stunned as the one.

Slowly one removed his hand and waved the other in the
opposite direction. Draco expected a fight from Potter, so it
was surprising that the Boy Who Lived followed without
question.

“What was that?” the Boy Who Simply Couldn’t Die asked himself
ponderously, staring into the distant moon as if looking for
answers.

“An emotional breakdown due to betrayal brought about by
ignorant Muggles of the panicky variety, I would say,” Draco
drawled in reply, drawing an irritate glare from Potter.

“But didn’t you hear them? Duo said he–“

“Something about being a blood-thirsty killer without
feelings, yes?” Draco replied dully, rolling his eyes at
Potter’s shocked countenance. “Yes, well, that was the general
populace’s belief, if you recall. Clearly, he does regret what
he’s done in his life. A little too much, I should say.
Doesn’t he know bitter guilt such as that lead to kamikaze
postal workers and the like?”

Potter stared at him incredulously. “This is serious, Malfoy!”

“I’m well aware of that,” Draco snorted. “However, don’t you
think Maxwell would have been kept from this school if
Dumbledore even suspected that Maxwell could be a threat to
us? I may not think much of the old codger, but I’ll say this
much: that man is a crafty old fart.”

“Indeed, Mr. Malfoy. Though I’d much prefer the term ‘artful
but respectable older gentleman.’ It has a certain ring of
respect, don’t you think?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up as he was suddenly facing the
headmaster over Potter’s shoulder.

Draco grimaced. Oh, wasn’t this just grand?

Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes studied the blond boy with an
oddly amused smile. “Indeed. I do believe it would be
imperative for the two of you to return to your respected
dorms. I believe I need not emphasis the importance of keeping
this entire situation from prying ears.”

Draco stared expressionlessly at the headmaster. Does he
really expect Potter to keep this secret from the dastardly
duo? Of course, I suspect Potter is thinking the same as me at
this moment. Otherwise, after a long, considerable pause,
Draco slowly nodded his consent. Potter’s head bobbed
absently, a strange suspicious look flying toward Draco from
the corner of those wide, green eyes. And give the smart
little Slytherin a treat.

Bloody Gryffindors.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore cheered, smiling an enigmatic smile
before shooing the two of them away. “Off you go then. Have
restful nights, the both of you.”

The two continued on the same direction without much of a word
to each other until they came to their separate paths. Potter
hesitated from the stairs up, turning to give Draco a warning
look. “Malfoy-“

“The same to you, Potter,” Draco sneered before beginning his
descent, not allowing the green-eyed boy a chance to reply.

Things just got a little more interesting.

----------

Quatre watched the odd golden ball’s fluttering wings in awe,
holding his hand toward the darting object with slow, delicate
ease. Amazingly enough, the Snitch deigned it worthy to hover
over the small blonde’s calloused hands. It came to rest
softly in his cupped palm.

“It’s so small,” remarked the boy softly, his eyes lifting to
meet the laughing violet gaze of his friend.

“It’s from a game called Quidditch,” Duo replied with a wide
grin. “Very popular sport here. Not generally a fan of sports,
but the broomsticks are just awesome. There’s a game in three
weeks, too! If Madam Pomfrey lets you out of the infirmary
before you’re twenty, maybe you can come.”

Quatre smiled at his friend dazedly, still reeling from the
fantastic tale Duo had woven for him; fantastic, however, very
much real. Duo had proven this much with a simple flick of his
stick -wand- to cause a delicate crystal glass filled with an
odd blue liquid to... levitate.

Once the container was safely on the solid shelf, a harried
woman in a nurse’s outfit had appeared behind Duo to pop him
non-too-gently on the back of his head.

“Mr. Maxwell, need I remind you that your wand is NOT a toy,
and the infirmary is the farthest thing from a PLAYGROUND!”

“Ow,” Duo had groaned softly, clutching his head. “Jeez,
Poppy! Doncha know that’s soft territory?”

“More like cemented, it is,” defended the nurse hotly before
moving into a blocked off section of the medical wing.

“She loves me,” Duo had commented with a pleased grin. Quatre
had humored him with a barely serious nod.

“We can send them owls,” Duo pondered to himself out loud,
startling Quatre from his own musings. “Owls can freaking well
find everyone, I think. Grab an owl, give it a letter, tell
the owl who it goes to... yeah, an owl can find ‘bout damn
near anyone.”

“Are you sure owls can find those three? Especially Trowa;
he’s too good at blending in,” Quatre fretted quietly.

“Hey, found me, didn’t it? Granted, Trowa’s into uber-espionage, but I’m confident the super-smart delivery owls can
find Trowa. Plus: animal magnet.” Duo’s grin dampened a
little. “It’s the other two I’m worried about. Heero will
sooner shoot an owl than let it near; Wufei would ignore it on
the general sense of it being an oddity.”

“Well, you can always send this friend of yours a howler,”
came a drawling familiar voice from the doorway. Duo blinked
and glanced over his shoulder at the cool icy blond Slytherin.
“Howlers are certainly hard to ignore.”

“Remind me what a howler is,” Duo jibbed, and Malfoy smirked
slightly.

“A form of letter used to reprimand the recipient through
public humiliation in the form of a red enveloped letter that
adopts the voice of the sender and reads itself aloud in the
tone of said sender’s express anger, resentment, disgust,
disappointment, and so on. It’s very useful when attempting to
put one of the many Weasleys in line. May I see that?” Malfoy
suddenly requested, pointing to the golden Snitch resting in
the palm of Quatre’s hand. Wordlessly Quatre held it out to
him.

“Wicked,” Duo commented in awe as the Snitch tried vainly to
dart away before Draco’s fingers could close in around it.
Draco’s hand snapped forward automatically and snatched it in
mid-flight. “You’ll have to help me with that sometime.”

“Is there something wrong with it?” Quatre asked curiously,
watching the stranger study the golden winged-ball intently
for a moment before opening his palm. The Snitch immediately
fluttered to Quatre and nestled into the many folds of his
hospital gown.

“There shouldn’t be,” Draco said offhandedly, staring at the
strange ball with an oddly closed look. “I’ve never seen a
snitch act as if it’s an actual animate being craving for
human attachment and comfort. I’ve certainly never seen it
actively seeking out any form of being like it has at this
moment.”

Quatre nodded, his brows drawn together in a furrow before
clearing as he looked toward the stranger. “I don’t believe
we’ve met. My name is Quatre Rebarba Winner. It’s a pleasure
to meet you.”

“Draco Malfoy,” he replied smugly, nodding his greeting toward
the bedridden blond boy. “Likewise.”

Duo glanced between the two guiltily. “That was the part I was
supposed to do, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sure you were occupied with more important ponders,”
Quatre said with a secret smile.

Draco snorted. “More like he was too busy plotting the
immediate harassment of the unfortunate howler recipient.”

“You’re too kind,” Duo said sarcastically.

“There’s something I never hear uttered when spoken of,” Draco
smirked. To Quatre, he explained haughtily, “I’m not very
well-liked. Some would go as far as to say I’m outright cruel
and unjustly prejudice against those who aren’t me.”

“Don’t forget vain and pompous,” Duo chirped.

“Yes, and who can forget that?”

Quatre smiled at both of them serenely. “Oh, I’m sure there’s
more to you than that, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I hope you aren’t willing to bet galleons on it, Mr. Winner.”

“And I hope you utter rejects don’t keep this ‘mister’ stuff
up, or Mr. Maxwell will be forced to take Mr. Magic Stick and
shove it up collective Mr. Piehole.” Duo rolled his eyes. “The
both of you are almost seventeen years old. Grow down,
people!”

“Shall I regress to the mentality of a common plebeian, or are
you simply requesting more familiarity with a peer to whom
I’ve just recently become acquainted?” Draco sneered, almost
polite in his ridicule.

Duo flexed his fingers. “Right. Will it be my magic stick or
your magic stick?”

“Your magic stick with preferably your so-called ‘piehole’.”

Duo stared incredulously. “I can’t believe you... You just
told me to go-“

“Duo!” came the startled admonishment from Quatre, who’d been
listening to the conversation with sick fascination one would
fix on a car wreck.

“-myself with my wand without losing that freaky aristocratic
I Am Better Than You Therefore I Shan’t Resort To Plebeian
Insults attitude!”

Draco’s glance said it all. “This means what in the language
of your people?”

Duo... swooned. “My Heero!”

Quatre took pity on Draco when he noted the feeling of
confusion coming from the taller blond. “Duo appreciates
anyone who can cooly tell him he’s something of an idiot
without outright saying it. Though sarcasm is the lowest form
of humor, it’s Duo’s favorite form.”

Expressionless eyes met Quatre’s for a moment. Quatre knew the
boy was slightly surprised and a tad suspicious, but the
Winner heir couldn’t fathom why.

“The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor must be
paradise,” Malfoy surmised with a slight smirk. “Slytherins
thrive on sarcasm.”

“And the use of it with Gryffindors short tempers. The
compound’s very explosive,” Duo chimed with a grin. “Which,
when you think of it on a totally insane level, is ironic
considering we have Potions together.”

“I’m positive Professor Snape is damning your theory as we
speak,” Draco added calmly.

----------

Severus Snape, feared Potions Master of Hogwarts and all
around most hated man that made this lonely corner of the
Earth his home, relaxed in a chair commonly seen on the white
sands of beaches, sipping a rather colorful beverage with a
small umbrella as he carelessly reached for a meticulously
written sixth-year summer essay. He merely glanced at the name
on the paper before balling it up and nonchalantly tossed it
into the direction of a garbage can.

It neatly bounced off of the orange and white hoop-and-net set
above the can. He “Hmmm...”ed before easily marking, “Zabini,
Blaise” a B.

Some would disagree with his method of grading... that is, if
he ever let onto his method of grading, which was unlikely in
the sense of Voldemort renouncing violence and joining Ms.
Queen of the World in her urge to spread complete pacifism.
While on the subject of Ms. Peacecraft, he couldn’t help but
note that only a teenager could attempt such an impossible and
foolish goal.

Absolute Peace. Yeeeaahh. Right.

He took another essay into his hand, glanced at it, snorted,
balled the parchment up, and tossed. Honestly, he wasn’t even
aiming for the damn can and the bloody thing *still* went
through the hoop with an audible whisk. “Granger, Hermione”,
yet another A.

Damn Fate. Or O’Toole; Severus thought it was only fair to
damn Murphy while he was at it.

Then he evilly marked a minus beside the A. He really couldn’t
allow a Gryffindor know-it-all to get a leg up, could he? It
wouldn’t mold with his “I Could Care Less About Your Puppy
Dying And Your Mother’s Bout Of Chronic Illness This Summer,
It Doesn’t Give You The Excuse To Fog Up Homework” persona.

Another paper. Another snort. Another shoot. This time the
essay slammed into the backboard and bounced away from the
trash can, useless. “Weasley, Ronald” earns an ugly C-.

He relaxed into his beach chair, margarita in hand, and
sighed.

Ahh. Life was far from wonderful, but... it was acceptable.

END CHAPTER SIX
- 5
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- 7
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Harry Potter and the Secret Link