I used to love Pee-wee’s Playhouse. I watched it every Saturday morning.

I watched an episode recently; I can’t believe my parents LET me watch it. It explains Everything about my mental state. Not just everything. Everything.

So kudos to Pee-wee. You warped my mind. *toasts* Cheers.

Following along this stream of consciousness thing, Merry Melodies, aka Loony Toons. Went over to a friend’s house, and they were watching really old Daffy Duck cartoons on a DVD they bought at a dollar store. I couldn’t stop the silly grin from taking over my face when I sat down and watched it with them, immediately recalling that I used to watch Merry Melodies every morning on regular television around 4:30 or 5:00 AM. I used to wake up when my mom would wake up because I’d hear her getting ready for work, and I wanted to be with her. I mostly wanted to be with her because she would have to leave me with Grandma, since all of my brothers were in school and couldn’t take care of me. At first, my youngest oldest brother used to go to Grandma’s with me, but he started kindergarten when I was four, and anything before that is just a tad bit hazy.

Anyway, I was lost in the past before I finally realized that there was something tweaking me about the Daffy Duck cartoons we were watching. Finally, it dawned on me when a random skit came on, showing a dog sniffing out stocked food next to an empty cupboard.

“Food hoarder!” the dog bellowed, pointing accusingly at the old woman. “Food hoarder!”

“War propaganda?” I blurted incredulously.

“Aha!” Duckie exclaimed triumphantly. “She got it!” Then he went on to explain, even going as far as to showing me an episode featuring an episode of Daffy making an idiot out of Adolf Hitler.

Suddenly that episode of South Park where Cartman on bin Laden makes so much more SENSE. It was funny before, don’t get me wrong; and I may be looking too deeply into things, but there’s something like cosmic justice to it. *grins*

Eheh. So. Anyway.

Got a job now. Yeah, yeah, hold back the dramatic gasps. I like my job. Pay could be better, I don’t get to spend a lot of time with my family, and I hardly have any time for “leisure” activities anymore, but I couldn’t ask for better coworkers. Sure, sometimes they annoy the hell out of me, but that’s just par for the course for anyone stuck in a small room in close proximity for eight hours a day. (I wouldn’t be surprised if I annoy them at times, either. I have that effect on people.) And they’re funny. What more can I ask for?

Now I have enough money saved up for a new computer, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m trading this hunk of junk for my brother’s big-ass TV (because, let’s face it, his computer is old and is in worse shape than mine). Then I can get a DVD player, rearrange my furniture a bit... Finally get rid of this stupid bulky, room-stealing broken bedframe...

I also have to think about what ELSE to do with my money. I saved a lot to get a new computer and still have enough to feel “safe” with. Next month, I’m going to have to pick up the car payment, which is going to cripple me a bit. I pay for my cell phone and my insurance already, but that’s only something like $45-50 a month. The car is a freakin’ Miata -that’s an additional $265. I’d get rid of it and buy something used and useful (The Miata -a “party barge” it is not), but that’s just such a hassle, and the Miata gets fan-fucking-tastic gas mileage. Twenty bucks gets me sixty miles every day for five days. Include the student loans I’m going to start paying off in January... That’s most of one paycheck, not including gas (at least $40 for two weeks), food ($100-150 for two weeks) and cigarettes (the math would make me cry on this one).

And yet, I still think it’s amusing that I’d give up food before I give up cigarettes. I really am a pathetic addict. *shrugs* Oh, well. *lights up*

I think overexposure to McDonald’s has warped my brain. Hear me out on this. When you start seriously craving French fries -and not just ANY French fries, but MCDONALD’S French fries -at three in the morning, you would start to agree with me. But it’s the only way I can collect those Monopoly game pieces. I know it’s impossible to win these things (well, unlikely, in any case), but damn it, it’s a nice dream.

Coincidentally, I decided to skip out on Mickey D’s today. Munched on some Chinese food today. Mmmm... I miss semi-normal food. *sighs*

(... I still want French fries... )

Ooh! Ooh! Random “Cappie” rant now! *grins excitedly* I decided it would be funny if I posted a chapter on Friday the 13th -superstitious, I know, but hear me out. I wanted to see if breaking the 600 review barrier on Friday the 13th would be “unlucky.” And I did it! Mwahahah!

And look. No bad luck in sight. *grins* I’m ridiculously pleased about this successful goal. It was a stupid goal, but a fun goal.

Also reached another goal recently. I’ve successfully gotten my brother addicted to Bleach. Not only that, he’s gotten his non-anime friend to like it, as well. That show kicks so much ASS. *grins* Now I just gotta find some time to sit down and start recording the episodes I have on the DVR to a DVD. Not like I wouldn’t want to watch through them again, or anything, but I hardly have the time to do much of anything accept work, watch the shows I missed while at work, write, eat, and sleep. That last part is optional.

Speaking of food, time for “dinner.”

Yay, bananas.

Ciao!

Kel of “My symptoms never sleep.” Mayhem

........

*deep inhale*

Shit.

Fuck.

God damn mother fucking cunt-sniffing cock-sucking son of a BITCH. Fucking pussy-licking god damn sack of Siberian snake shit. I HOPE SATAN CONTRACTS SYPHILIS FROM STD-RIDDEN KOREAN PROSTITUTE. God damn it all to hell and beyond, I’m tired of all this fucking shit going on with me, fucking WASTREL that I am, too god damn STUPID to know anything that could be fucking useful for once—

Dom: *waltzes along in the middle of her tirade armed with a shovel, which is immediately utilized when he slams it over her head, knocking her out cold*

.....

Dom: *prods roughly with the dented shovel* Finally. *to reader* Sorry you had to endure that. She’s pissed about a computer virus and scared that all of her stories have gone to waste. Stupid cow. *drags her limp body away by a handful of hair*

THIS IS PART B OF CHAPTER SIX. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PART A FIRST, GO TO THE PREVIOUS POST.

----------

Having dealt with such wizarding conveniences as the Floo Network since he could reach the powder, Draco didn’t even stumble when he came flying out of the grate and into the darkened living room. He remained firmly on his feet, his clothes barely stained with a hint of ash that he dusted away with a slightly discontented scowl. Heero, having gone through the Floo before him, had already approached the only man in the room.

Apparently, Sirius Black had been waiting for them.

Draco was a little more hesitant about approaching someone who’s name had only been whispered in his father’s circles; though his mother spoke of her favorite cousin with a fond, almost wistful regard. “A diehard Gryffindor to the core,” she would say with a minor note of disdain mixed with a certain amount of affection, “but my favorite cousin, if only because no one could claim he was boring.”

I wonder how he will react when Harry breaks the news that his godson is going out with Narcissa Black’s son? Draco wondered absently, turning back to the grate just in time to catch Harry before he stumbled and fell on his face. Unfortunately, the Gryffindor, not quite as accustomed to the Floo as Draco, managed to tackle the former Malfoy heir to the ground.

Harry blinked and fixed his glasses while Draco surveyed his soot stain a la Harry with a disposition of a defeated man. “Huh. Why am I not shocked that Duo wasn’t joking when he said you’d break my fall?”

“That braided idiot would be the one indirectly responsible for the Harry-shaped soot stain on my favorite red shirt,” Draco said haughtily, inspecting his clothes derisively.

Harry snorted. “Somehow I knew the first thing that would draw your concern was your clothes,” he said cattily before scrambling to his feet, helping Draco up in the process with a critical once-over. “Red suits you.”

“Start fantasizing about me wrapped in a red and gold ribbon and nothing more and you’ll know the true meaning of torment,” Draco retorted with a smirk, obviously pleased with Harry’s observation. “Gold is an atrocious color on me.”

Black’s bark of laughter was almost as loud as a gun shot. Heero and Quatre, who apparently Flooed in several seconds after Harry, flinched visibly, their hands hovering over where their own firearms would be. “Now, would Harry be tormented by the image itself,” the man said jokingly, sidling up to his godson with a quirky grin, “or by the atrocity that is Draco Black wearing gold?”

Cheeky bastard. “Both,” Draco responded airily, “if only because the fantasy version of me would have to beat the fantasy version of Harry senseless for forcing him in anything related to yellow. Even the fantasy Draco has to have some sense of reality.”

Black smirked, glancing at Harry. “He’s Narcissa’s brat, all right,” the man said wryly. “She always was a cheeky bint.”

Draco would have protested Black’s description of his mother if his observation hadn’t been so bloody accurate. Instead, he sighed in defeat and shook his head, pondering aloud, “Hm, I wonder if it’s because I’ve been exposed to the full brunt of Mother’s sarcastic, manipulative tongue straight out of the womb? Lucius has told me such fascinating stories about my mother’s charming remarks about how I looked so much like a runty prune that she found it hard to believe I gave her ten and a half hours of labor no medicine could help. These kind of things tend to leave an impression.”

“Yeah,” Black said with a rueful grin. “Cissy hasn’t changed a bit.”

Draco smirked. “And she still hates it when people call her Cissy.”

“Who do you think circulated that nickname? Ah, to be young again,” Black mused, his eyes dimming somewhat. Draco saw Harry nibble his bottom lip as he looked to his godfather with concern; apparently, Black had been taking the loss of twelve years of his life harder than he let on.

“We’re late for our meeting,” Heero said quietly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Black reacted almost instantly, throwing his arm around his godson’s shoulders and rubbing the Gryffindor’s messy black hair affectionately. Draco noticed that his boyfriend flinched, for a moment visibly uncomfortable with the fatherly gesture. As soon as he recognized it for what it was, the green-eyed boy seemed to slowly calm down until he was left with content confusion.

Why was affection such a foreign concept for Harry? The answer, immediate and undeniable, had Draco clenching his teeth in restraint. Those bloody Dursleys...

Luckily for Dumbledore (and Draco’s climbing blood pressure), Black broke through the former Malfoy’s almost animalistic desire for vengeance with his lazy drawl of, “Can’t keep such a chatty guy like Yuy waiting, can we?” With that, arm still securely wrapped around his godson’s shoulders, Black nearly swept the boy out of the living room, followed closely by Heero and Quatre. Draco hurried to walk closer to Heero’s side, mostly in hopes that anything that attacked them from the shadows would swiftly be dealt with while Draco’s dignity was still intact.

Ew... Were those house-elf heads mounted on the bloody staircase? Draco shuddered in revulsion and forced himself to look at Harry’s back. Narcissa Black, while being frightfully honest about how insane her family was, still managed to hold a tone of respect to her bloodline for hiding their eccentricities for so long. Personally, Draco thought any family who made it a tradition to proudly display the heads of decapitated house-elves deserved to be put away in a mental institution forever. If only because of sheer tackiness.

The heir to the Black Legacy didn’t seem affected by the gloomy atmosphere of his ancestral home too much. (Draco later found out that it used to be much, much worse, thus Black’s apparent comfort with some of the creepier aspects of his home; if what he’d seen was considered “progress,” he really didn’t want to see what “worse” would entail.) In fact, Black’s spirit seemed to have been renewed, almost so much so that his sudden enthusiasm couldn’t have been a front. Draco was slightly puzzled; why in the world would Black be so inspired to smirk so cockily over a meeting Heero had set with the Headmaster? What manner of project was so important that it needed to be discussed within the very headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?

Mercy of the spirits, what was Dumbledore wearing?

“Aha,” Dumbledore cried in delight, his eyes twinkling as he looked to the committee standing in the doorway of the makeshift study. “You see, Severus? It would only be polite to allow Harry and Sirius a little time on their own.”

Yeah, Draco thought snottily, since they don’t exactly get to see each other very often... Crafty git.

Severus Snape, schooled early on just how one would go about reading Draco’s mind, merely looked at the blond and raised his eyebrow in wry bemusement. The former Malfoy rolled his eyes petulantly, haughtily predicting that Severus was going over every little detail and turning the possible conclusions around in his head carefully. The Potions Master was probably privately stunned that Draco seemed so resentful on Harry Potter’s behalf. Of course, the man wasn’t aware that Harry was Draco’s new beau, and the Slytherin Prince wasn’t about to update his Head of House on that matter without several emergency escape routes and surefire certainty that he could easily avoid the man for a week or two. The news would probably be delivered in letter format, and damn whatever the boy’s Malfoy instincts screamed about propriety.

Once Quatre closed the door after subtle scanning the hallway for potential eaves’ droppers, Heero immediately got down to business. “The case is air-tight. All you have to do is have one of your Auror operatives sign-out and protect the evidence the Ministry cast aside; I need it uncorrupted if we’re to have the hearing in two days.”

“Hearing?” Harry questioned hesitantly.

Black’s grin seemed to be catching, as Quatre couldn’t prevent himself from beaming, as well. To affect even Quatre, the man’s enthusiasm must have been phenomenal. “Yuy here took it upon himself to orchestrate a plot to have my judgement overturned. If he’s as good as Albus says, I might be a free man by next week.”

Harry was absolutely ecstatic, which amused Draco more than anything. His boyfriend looked like he’d just been told his puppy sidekick had finally found his way back home, his expression delicately ensnared somewhere between the elation of hearing the announcement and anticipation over finally rejoining with his lost dog. Draco grudgingly admitted that it was kind of... cute.

Judging by the disgusted sneer that twisted his face, Severus didn’t think the scene was quite so endearing.

“The evidence does most of the talking for me,” Heero said monotonously, barely sparing a glance for the psuedo-family moment between godfather and godson. “Black’s wand still remains, and Pettigrew’s autopsy report -if one can call it that- and the photos of the severed finger will explain the logical conclusion the evidence points to. Draco has already promised to answered a controlled list of questions under the influence of Veritaserum; all I would need is for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to agree to the same treatment. Their witness testimony is critical because they’ve actually heard Pettigrew confess to both being the Potters’ Secret Keeper and killing twelve muggles in covering up his tracks. Draco has only ever seen someone called Wormtail on one occasion.”

“What about Moony?” Black spoke up, looking directly at Heero. “He’s an adult; the Wizengamot might find his testimony a lot more reliable than the kids’, especially after the Prophet smeared Harry’s name a few years ago.”

“Lupin is a werewolf,” Heero pointed out quietly. “While I find him to be a perfectly competent, reasonable man, Wufei pointed out that the social climate in regards to werewolves in general might hinder our case.”

“Which just started Wufei off on this rant about the bigoted hypocrisy of the wizarding world,” Draco couldn’t help but to add sardonically. “Best let that subject die, I think.”

Harry smothered a grin. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Just inflicting them with a smidgeon of the torture I’ve had to put up with so far this summer,” Draco said loftily.

“And who opened up his home to the muggle-touting parade again?”

“I don’t know why you keep pointing out flaws in my passive-aggressive vengeance that I’ll simply refuse to acknowledge,” the former Malfoy heir said indifferently. “You should know by now that it’s a wasted effort.”

Of course. Draco would swear to his dying breath that anything wrong that transpired during his life would always be someone else’s fault. “Silly me.”

“You are sure that the mutt doesn’t have to be present for his own hearing?” Severus asked oilily, crossing his arms over his chest as he met Heero’s narrowed gaze bravely.

“I went over wizarding law thoroughly with Wufei,” Heero said flatly. “Sirius Black doesn’t have to be present for a hearing held in his defense. Besides, the Wizengamot can have anyone connected with this case arrested and charged for harboring a criminal if Black is present; even in defending him, it’s important that everyone participating in this trial remember that any affiliation with a convict can have dire repercussions. Our case can be thrown out of court.”

“As usual, Black would only complicate matters,” Severus drawled dully.

“Say that again, Snivel–“

“Sirius,” Dumbledore warned sternly, and the irate Black immediately quailed the man’s desire to physically and verbally attack the surly Potions Master (but only just). “Severus, I would appreciate it if you would stop baiting Sirius.”

“Headmaster,” the Potions Master murmured respectfully; however, the sneer that remained on his face spoke of just how little he thought of that particular idea.

“In any case, it will be nice to see Sirius a free man once more, as he rightfully deserves,” Dumbledore said whimsically. “I’m sure you are counting down the days when you can legally live with your godfather, though it saddens me that this trial is too little, too late.”

“Actually, sir,” the Winner heir spoke up, a fond smile on his face as he glanced toward Harry and Draco for a moment. “We’d all prefer that Harry stay with us. I think Duo’s become rather protective of Harry, and we’re all extremely self-efficient and capable of defending both ourselves and others. The manor is impenetrable as it is, and Heero’s already scheming to increase security by muggle means. Harry has also expressed an interest in taking the same self-defense lessons as Draco, and I think the exercise will be good for him.”

Black was confused, and possibly slightly hurt by the announcement. He looked to his godson questioningly, but made no accusation of being left at the wayside when they finally had their chance to be something like a family. Draco thought that said a lot about his cousin’s disposition, especially considering his Gryffindor nature. “Harry?”

“It is a very good idea, Sirius,” Harry said earnestly, trying to appeal to his godfather’s better reasoning. “I’m sure Draco can make allowances for you to visit as often as you’d like, but the opportunity to learn something new, something I can use for... well, later... It’s really too good to pass up, at this point.”

“I guess your right,” Sirius said, still sounding slightly disappointed but resigned. As a way to boost his spirits, the man proclaimed, “But I get to drop in on you any time I want. Even if it’s just to balance a bucketful of pigment potion above your door, I’m allowed.”

“We might want to make sure the others know about that,” Harry said with a nervous laugh, awkwardly rubbing the back of his messy hair. “They don’t like surprise visits very much.”

“Well, then, as long as we’re clear on that,” Sirius said with a lopsided grin, “I guess I can live with that arrangement.”

Not surprisingly, Dumbledore wasn’t very keen on the idea. “I don’t believe it would be a wise decision for Harry, Duo, and Draco to be together. Voldemort wants all of them for his own nefarious reasons, and the temptation might prove too great for him.”

Quatre’s eyes hardened, which should have been their first clue that things were really about to turn interesting. Something in the Winner heir’s congenial attitude began to slowly fade away, leaving behind a darker, almost more sinister aura. “I don’t believe I gave you a choice in the matter.” The faint chill of ice in his voice certainly brought anything else Dumbledore had to say to a sputtering stop.

Draco’s jaw literally dropped open in shock. What... the... hell? What just happened? What manner of dark creature replaced the sweet, polite blond angel in the span of a second? Why didn’t the world make sense anymore? Draco dazedly turned his head slightly to gauge Harry’s reaction, and he was relieved to find his boyfriend in a state of similar shock. Snape was a little different; the sallow-skinned man had raised a single inquisitive eyebrow in interest as his attention with the proceedings was renewed. Heero merely looked bored, and Sirius Black appeared oddly pleased with how things were progressing.

Apparently, the felon had a few grudges against Dumbledore, too.

Dumbledore, of course, was a little perturbed by little Quatre Winner’s hardened demeanor and faint withering glare. A glare, he noted worriedly, that was becoming more pronounced by the second.

“You have no right to demand where Harry lives,” Quatre continued, his voice practically arctic by this point. “As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the only time you have a right to be worried over Harry’s whereabouts is during the school year. No matter how highly you consider yourself in his life, you’ve given Harry no reason to pledge his allegiance to you. You’ve manipulated him and the people around him from the very beginning, and you’ve done a substandard job of it. It stops here.”

“Mr. Winner,” Dumbledore began, a fair amount of uncertainty overshadowing his normally jubilant countenance.

“I’m not finished,” Quatre snapped. Whatever Dumbledore could possibly say in his defense was immediately culled, and the room momentarily plunged into silence.

“Oh, spirits, I am so glad I didn’t miss this.” Draco broke in with his reverent, almost humble words as he stared at Quatre’s profile. He honestly felt like crowing in delight and laughing. He wanted to jump up from his chair and yell, “Yes! Yes! He is worthy of his Malfoy blood! Yes!”

Draco didn’t particularly care about Quatre’s muggle parentage. Okay, so maybe he cared a little. His subtle, deceptively innocent comments about muggles and muggle things had a sting to them, no matter how glibly he expressed his negative thoughts about muggles and mudbloods. It couldn’t be helped; an entire life of his parents, his parents’ friends, and even Draco’s own friends conditioning him to think lowly of muggles and mudbloods wasn’t about to be changed, no matter how determined Harry and the others were to prove otherwise. To be fair to Harry, he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about instilling total respect for muggles into someone who’d been predestined at birth to hate them. Still, he certainly wasn’t about to get in Duo’s way of attempting to achieve an impossible goal.

Even so, Draco was beginning to see mudbloods in a different light. Oh, not all of them -not by a long shot. The only way Draco could fully accept them was if they earned his regard. This was actually a pretty tough goal, by anyone’s standards; Draco was very hard to please. He was overly critical, overly opinionated as to what constituted as “worthy of respect,” and he found the most insipid reasons to keep people from achieving such an objective. However, it became more and more clear that out of a small number of people that already had Draco’s respect, the mudbloods were starting to outweigh the purebloods.

Heero Yuy and Trowa Barton were two of the best examples of what any Slytherin could only ever hope to be. Draco could only assume that, because of Heero and Trowa’s mudblood nature (perhaps partly because of introducing the tactics of war out of the womb had a little something to do with it, as well), they were destined to be Slytherin to the core despite their heritage. If he really wanted to be honest, Draco secretly thought most of the pureblood Slytherins were often blinded by hatred of a race of individuals they barely knew anything about was at fault for the lack of real Slytherin instincts. Oh, the prejudices against muggles were understandable enough, but few hated them more passionately than the Malfoys. Malfoys weren’t foolish enough to silently wage war on a race of people that never did anything to them.

It was the only muggle history Draco knew by heart. In 1233, a man named Gregory IX -highly revered as a highest representation of that Catholic religion the muggles were raving about at the time- pronounced the official beginning to what he called The Inquisition. Dominican monks were sent to Languadoc, their leader’s attraction of the town specifically because of its abundant wealth and valuable land. The proceeded to set an ultimatum; everyone had exactly one month to confess every wicked, evil notion that challenged the existence of what their Messiah and their God stood for, and they would allow the people to walk away with minimal punishment.

The Malfoi Family was literally wizarding royalty. Oh, they knew to keep their distance from muggles, but that didn’t stop the family from using their keen business sense to their advantage. The Malfoi Family owned much of the land surrounding the outskirts of Languadoc, and they had several dealings in the more successful muggle businesses. To the wizards, however, Malfoi Family was truly addressed with the same titles as royalty.

The last thing a Malfoi would do was to bow down to anyone who dared order it, especially the divine leader of a muggle religion wizards barely acknowledged. Purebloods of the day were heavily steeped in pagan beliefs; the open practices of pagan rituals faded over time, but even Draco showed his reverence to the spirits, nature, and the gods every once in a while. They weren’t about to confess to anything they didn’t truly believe in, and the mere thought that they would be punished if they did made the family indignant. Many wizarding families followed the example of the people they considered royalty.

Then the month passed by, and the Malfoi Family suffered a massive blow that they had only begun to recover from recently. Almost all of the wizards and witches in Langaudoc suffered tragically during this time, but none as much as the Malfois. Because of their open defiance to the Church, they were forcibly ordered to turn over all land deeds and the wealth they’d accumulated because of muggles. The fact that they had been wizards never actually came out; it was their assets in the wizarding world that saved them from complete destitution. Many members of Draco’s extended family were lost to hedonistic torture and eventual death.

Whatever was left of the Malfoi Clan quickly pulled up roots and fled to Britain, along with anyone who could afford to do so. However, the Malfois felt a profound sense of duty to their people, and many of the less fortunate were able to leave the country as an expense to the newly dubbed “Malfoys.” It was probably one of the only completely selfless stunts the family ever pulled.

Draco, as a former Malfoy, wasn’t about to forget exactly why he hated muggles in the first place. However, many of his peers were ignorant of exactly why they hated muggles; they were simply aware that they did. This example of such blind hatred could be why the amount of Slytherin prowess was... lacking.

Heero and Trowa had It. A Slytherin’s instinct as it should be, and not as it had become to purebloods. In that, they had Draco’s respect.

Harry had earned his respect, if only because his boyfriend had sheer dumb luck coming out of the arse. Draco had been raised to criticize everything ideally Gryffindor since he’d been in the nursery; surprisingly, this was mostly his mother’s influence. Lucius couldn’t care enough about silly Gryffindor ideals to ridicule them much. Narcissa wasn’t quite so discreet about her derision.

However, time and time again, Harry proved that the Gryffindor thing actually worked for him. There he was, boldly facing the Dark Lord down since diapers, and he’d yet to show that he’d cracked under the pressure of over thousands of hopes and expectations of those in wizarding society to defeat Voldemort for good this time around. Harry had the best damn luck out of anybody that Draco knew, and if that wasn’t worth respect by itself, Draco didn’t know what else would be.

Quatre had his respect before this new side of him made its appearance. Oh, the blond took an entirely different approach to using his charisma to his advantage; Quatre was more about what was good for the people instead of what would be good for his bank account. He especially excelled at explaining his point of view so thoroughly that anyone listening wouldn’t be able to believe they’d ever thought any differently. To coin of phrase he’d adopted because of Duo’s obsession with something called Star Wars, Quatre used his powers for the Light Side of the Force.(3)

However, Malfoys in general thrived on the Dark Side of the Force. While Quatre was worthy of Draco’s respect despite his halfblood status, Quatre’s easy manners and polite posturing often culled Draco’s urge to think of him as a descendant of the Malfoys. Now there was proof, right in front of his eyes, that Quatre was capable of being just as spiteful and vindictive as a true Malfoy. What was better was that he had the talent to turn the situation to his advantage while still portraying his utter disdain with the Headmaster. Brilliant. Draco couldn’t wait to tell Blaise, Pansy, and the others of the most Slytherin-worthy battle against Dumbledore.

“You were aware that Harry wasn’t happy living with the Dursleys, were you not?”

“I knew that Harry was a little discontent, but–“

Quatre swiftly cut him off, the same impersonal, emotionless quality in his voice as the first question. “Yes or no, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore shrewdly considered the blond Hufflepuff before heavily replying, “Yes.”

“You were aware that Petunia Dursley often called him horrible names and insulted both him and his deceased parents for their magic on several occasions, were you not?”

“Of course I am regretful that Lily’s sister would harbor such bitter resentment for both her sister and her nephew, however-“

“Yes. Or no,” Quatre almost purred malevolently, his teal eyes barely visible through the heavy lids over his eyes.

The wizen man sighed. “Yes.”

“You were aware that Dudley Dursley continuously hounded his cousin, going as far as to threaten physical violence while the Dursley parents turned a blind eye, were you not?”

“Sometimes boys that age vent teenage frustration through physical altercations-“

“I won’t warn you again.”

The Headmaster tensed, his eyes flickering toward Snape for only a second before he responded in the affirmative. Draco, too, managed to tear himself from the scene before him long enough to spare the others a look. Snape, in particular, looked intrigued not only by Quatre’s new “face”, but his posture as well. The Hufflepuff had one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on the arm of his seat as he supported his tilted head on the back of his hand. Quatre spoke slowly and attentively, his face carefully devoid of emotion as he stared cooly at the Headmaster with a heavy-lidded gaze. Every time Dumbledore went farther than a single word answer and Winner had to remind the man that he didn’t want to hear any excuses, his tone became a lot more... predatory.

That was it. Quatre Winner was a dangerous predator in his current state of mind. He was far from mindless anger; every word that came out of his soft, thin lips were coldly calculating, his questions seemingly devised in advance.

Quatre was playing with Dumbledore.

“Were you aware that Vernon Dursley would become so furious over Harry that he would go as far as to strike him?”

“What?” Sirius bellowed, shooting to his feet immediately and crossing the room to kneel at Harry’s side, his hand almost immediately reaching out to hover tentatively over the green and yellow bruise that almost engulfed one whole side of the boy’s face. “Harry, did that fat muggle do this to you?”

This time, Dumbledore looked completely unruffled. “Of course not! I wouldn’t have allowed Harry to stay with the Dursleys if I had any suspicions that Mr. Dursley was physically abusive toward Harry!”

“Please,” Harry broke in nervously, glancing between the two wearily as he hurriedly said, “Most of the time Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were satisfied with screaming at me and adding on more chores or sending me to my room.” Mostly because they couldn’t stand to touch him, afraid his magic germs would taint their happy, normal family. “Last night was an accident -I should have ducked.”

“You shouldn’t have to duck, Harry!” Sirius exclaimed in a mixture of frustration and concern. “Spirits, Albus, you promised me Arabella would inform you immediately if she saw anything like this happen!”

“Arabella admits that she fears Harry isn’t eating enough or the Dursleys treat him poorly, but she has never informed me of a time that either his aunt or uncle has raised a hand to the boy. I wouldn’t have it.” The man’s adamant response was filled with confident certainty that he would have removed Harry from Number 4 Privet Drive in a heartbeat if he had any reason to believe the Gryffindor was being physically mistreated. There was also a tinge of honest concern with how everything seemed to be falling apart around him.

Quatre’s teal eyes nearly glowed with triumph as he purred darkly, “So you believe emotional and verbal abuse are perfectly acceptable, and physical abuse can be ignored as long as it’s just between the boys -but when you hear of Vernon Dursley striking Harry in a fit of rage, you are beside yourself over how unforgivable the man’s actions are? My, my, Headmaster, the manner in which you sort your priorities is most unorthodox.”

“Mr. Winner,” Dumbledore said genteelly, attempting to somehow erase the dangerous gleam from Quatre’s eyes with soft, earnest words and slow, submissive hand gestures, “there are several very important reasons Harry must be with his relatives for as long as possible during th–“

Winner was on his feet in an instant, both hands slamming down on the surface of the desk before him; none of the room’s occupants expected such a hostile reaction, for they all flinched (in Harry’s case, gasped) in shock. A derisive, wrathful sneer twisted his angelic face as he hissed, “Don’t patronize me. Don’t you fucking ever patronize me.”

Heero slowly came to his feet, the hand closest to his gun held out and splayed -a nonthreatening gesticulate. “Quatre, you need to calm down. If we honestly wanted him dead, I would have brought Duo instead.”

Quatre didn’t even spare his friend a look before he sharply demanded, “Stand down, Yuy.”

Heero didn’t move. “Quatre-“

“That’s an order, soldier.”

And Heero stood down.

Nothing really makes sense anymore, Draco mused to himself, almost one entire side of his brain numb with shock. Should I be upset that I’m not more upset about this?

That was probably the shock talking.

Once certain that Heero wouldn’t interfere, Quatre smirked callously down at Dumbledore’s blank face before murmuring, “That won’t work, hiding from me. I know what you’re feeling, even if you don’t want me to. I can tell when you’re being sincere, when you are being deliberately deceitful... when you’re lying to me.” Quatre’s smirk widened maliciously. “It’s very fortunate for you that you didn’t lie to me, Headmaster. I don’t take well to being lied to.

“Harry explained the protection against Voldemort his aunt’s blood provided him. The blood his aunt shares with Lily Potter -the blood that’s supposed to protect him.” Quatre paused for a long, deliberately drawn out moment before he stated flatly, “We also deduced that his aunt’s blood protection became meaningless after Voldemort used Harry’s blood to return. And yet... you still sent him back. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Very puzzling, don’t you agree?”

Dumbledore didn’t so much as flinch.

“I understand,” Quatre went on, an empty smile on his face as he finally straightened, lifting his angry red palms from the desk. “You’re so easy to read, Headmaster -perhaps it’s because you and I are so alike? Master strategists... The Chess masters.” The blond smirked and leaned forward again, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he sing-songed, “I’m so much better at this game than you. Can’t you tell? I’m already turning you into my king.”(4)

The jeering countenance faded almost instantly as Quatre straightened again, his face once again carefully devoid of emotion. The boy seemed to be turning something around in his head absently, a stray thought of his own making or an emotion that Dumbledore was unwilling to reveal. No one quite knew what the blond was thinking; they only knew that, when he spoke once more, his voice was oddly deadpan, a note of finality the only thing that put any meaning behind his words.

“I don’t hate you, Headmaster. I don’t like you very much right now, but I don’t hate you. In fact, I think I respect you, in my own way. It’s only for the sake of better relations between our camps that I will silently bear the secrets behind your methods. Nevertheless, you will not force Harry to do something he doesn’t want to do. He’s of legal age now; if you didn’t have a legal leg to stand on before, you certainly don’t now.”

A small amount of warmth was returning to the boy’s voice and eyes, and a true smile of kindness was beginning to tilt the corners of Quatre’s mouth. Politely, without an infliction of hostility or ice, the Winner heir added, “I appreciate that you answered all of my questions about the Dursleys truthfully. Even if what Harry said was true -that the Dursleys only physically lashed out at him occasionally- I’m a great deal less angry with you for being unaware. I understand that things like that are sometimes hidden too well, and I’m sure Ms. Arabella would have reported it to you immediately if she saw any proof of it.

“You were very sincere when you said you would have removed Harry from that environment at the first whisper of physical abuse, and I’m very relieved by that. Please keep in mind that physical health isn’t everything; if Harry has any chance of being a strong, confident young man (and I have no doubt in my mind that he will), he needs positive reinforcement and not constant derision. I can guarantee that he’ll receive plenty of encouragement for the month he will be staying with us at Draco’s manor.”

The more words that tumbled smoothly from the Winner heir’s lips, the more it seemed like the old Quatre was slowly returning. Only faint shadows of the predator were left in his wide teal eyes filled with understanding and respect, and those shadows were quickly fading. Soon the predator had almost completely bled away from the blond, his body language shifting once more, open and friendly but... cautious.

Dumbledore silently contemplated the Hufflepuff standing across from the desk he’d adopted as his own, nothing of his facial expression or his typically expressive blue eyes allowing even a glimpse behind what the man was thinking or feeling. Then the man slowly tilted his head to Quatre, a humble sort of smile barely lifting the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Mr. Winner. I have no doubt you’ll succeed in what you’ve set out to achieve.”

Well... damn. Quatre did it. Quatre actually talked the Albus Dumbledore into a corner. A seventeen year old boy succeeded where many who were older and (would claim to be) much wiser than the muggle-raised halfblood had failed. Oddly, Draco thought there needed to be a celebration to mark the momentous occasion. A celebration in which there would be a serving of cake and wine.

Quatre’s smile almost lit up the entire room alone. “Of course, Headmaster.”

“The hearing will be held at ten hundred hours in two days,” Heero spoke up, receiving some invisible sign from the Hufflepuff that indicated it was safe for him to take the floor. “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger must be present here tomorrow if I’m going to prepare them for both the examination and the cross examination. With added testimony from Harry and Draco, including the amount of evidence I’ve managed to mount against any defensive argument, Sirius Black should officially be declared a free man by next week, barring any rampant stupidity on the Ministry’s part.”

“Yeah,” Draco said dryly, “you might want to prepare for that. Wherever the Ministry is involved, stupidity usually follows.”

“Our society won’t tolerate another mistake on Fudge’s behalf,” Severus said dismissively, breaking his silence. “If Yuy does manage to prove Black’s innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt, we might be looking at a hasty election for a new Minister of Magic.”

“Wufei will be ecstatic,” Quatre replied with a knowing smile. “He doesn’t think very highly of the ethics of the Minister and his cabinet.”

Their business completed, Sirius took it upon himself to escort the four boys to the crackling hearth in the living room. The older convict took this rare opportunity to share some private words with his godson, and even made a cheerful jibe or two at the expense the somber Japanese Slytherin. Heero, by then nearly immune the quick-witted through the efforts of his rather loquacious boyfriend, took the teasing with a grain of salt and a barely audible “hn.”

It did not escape the Potions Master’s notice that Yuy was only remaining close to Potter’s side as a precautionary measure, which fed his blasted curiosity even more. Was Yuy concerned that Black would attempt to force Potter to stay behind, and if so, why? There were too many contrived answers for such a vague question, and that unsettled the spy more than he was willing to admit. The sad fact of the matter was, almost all of those contrived answers lead to a more interesting and frustrating question: What was their drive?

A Hufflepuff who, despite his congenial and approachable disposition, had quite a venomous bite in him; a Ravenclaw who spent more of his free time approaching various professors for slips allowing him in the Restricted Section, always with the perfect excuse as to why he needed particular books; a Slytherin who kept to himself, enough so that no student nor professor noticed when the boy was about when they discussed private matters; another Slytherin who was every bit as analytical of every situation as Severus himself was, though the boy wasn’t above resorting to violence when it was necessary; and a Gryffindor who was persistent to catch anyone for daunting chats filled with such wit, his very nature so friendly and open and trustful that one could not help but to confide in him.

These weren’t normal teenagers; not by muggle standards, and certainly not by wizarding standards! No, these five companions were more than just friends. They were a well-trained unit. The strategian, the researcher, the spy, the analyst, and the undercover agent -all within a single group of five extremely gifted teenagers who could probably show seasoned Aurors a thing or two. Specifically trained at such an early age to take advantage of any and every military procedure that could be thrown at them...

These boys weren’t mere boys. They were some form of highly respected (possibly decorated) special operations force. So highly regarded that they rubbed friendly elbows with not only the head of that muggle Preventers group, but the muggle Vice Foreign Minister, as well.

Yet... How dangerous were they?

Winner and Draco lagged behind Black, Potter, and Yuy, probably to allow Black and Potter some semblance of privacy. It gave Severus the perfect opportunity to soothe his curiosity. He towered beside Draco, who seemed to be speaking rather adamantly to Winner.

“You need to show that side of you more often,” Draco was saying excitedly, a wicked gleam in his grey eyes. “I mean, spirits, I thought you were going to give the Headmaster a coronary!”

Severus cleared his throat pointedly, drawing Draco’s immediate attention. The boy appeared sheepish, possibly ashamed that he’d forgotten that his favorite professor was present. Nevertheless, the Potions Master allowed the slightest of smirks when he quietly murmured, “Perhaps it is best you keep your exuberance over this matter to yourself, or at least until you can accurately deliver a detailed word by word recollection to Maxwell in a more reserved manner.”

“Well, it’s not every day one is privileged to see a Hufflepuff everyone perceives as rather mild-mannered back a crafty man like Dumbledore into a corner,” Draco murmured slyly in response. “Quatre’s certainly proved to be more than worthy of his mother’s heritage.”

Considering that Winner’s father was a muggle, Draco’s addendum was... almost mind-blowing.

Winner’s face almost split in two, his face absolutely beaming. “Mr. Black, I do believe that’s a very high compliment in your regards. It’s possibly the most respectful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Ah. So Winner understood the full implications of Draco’s statement, as well.

“I wouldn’t let it get to your head,” Draco said slyly before, after a pause, adding, “... cousin.”

Winner laughed in delight. “I’ve never had a cousin before.”

“Oh, you have several distant relations on the Malfoy side,” Draco said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The sly smirk never leaving his face, he cast his cousin a smug glance as he added, “but I’m your favorite.”

Winner laughed again, softly this time, as he looked to Draco with dancing eyes. “Just like I’m your favorite out of all of your fifty-seven cousins from my side of the family.”

“Fifty-seven!” Draco cried in disbelief, stopping directly on the threshold to the living room; the others were looking back at Draco with varying degrees of curiosity and interest.

“You know I have twenty-nine sisters,” Winner said laughingly. “All of them are older than me. Most of my older sisters are married and have children of their own. I became an uncle to both a niece and two nephews when I turned four.”

Draco muttered sullenly under his breath -if Severus heard correctly, it was something about Vikings, whatever that was supposed to mean- as he walked forward, the first to take a generous pinch of Floo powder and throwing it into the fire. The flame billowed out before bleeding into an emerald green that cast ominous shadows around the room.

The boy paused, glancing at Potter. “Well? Are you going through?”

Potter crossed his arms challengingly. “What’s wrong with you going first?”

“Because Duo Maxwell lives to torment me, and he’s bound to have booby trapped the fireplace for my inevitable arrival,” Draco said with a dark scowl. “If you spring the trap, he’ll feel guilty and weasel his way back into your good graces. If I do it, he’ll laugh maliciously and take several incriminating photographs.” Ah. Narcissa Black’s patent I’ll-get-it-worse-like-I-always-do-guilt-trip defense. A very wise maneuver, but certainly not for Draco. Narcissa, being a very quick-witted woman of her stature, could often convince any man, woman, child, or beast to bend over backwards to make her life easier. Draco, being a man, had to alter the defense to suit his sex and sounded less convincing and very indignant. (Severus strongly believed the only reason Draco wasn’t a carbon copy of Narcissa was at Lucius’ stern insistence that if Draco was going to be like his wife, the boy wasn’t going to sound so, quote, “bitchy about it.” Unquote. This, of course, didn’t translate well to a four year old, and Draco took it to mean that he could be exactly how he wanted to be, as long as he acted more like a petulant child instead of a nagging wife.)

“Duo didn’t booby trap the fireplace,” Yuy said monotonously. “He wouldn’t be able to safely determine whether or not Quatre would come through first. Trowa would have certainly deterred him if he tried.”

“There,” Potter said triumphantly, waving his hand to the fire. “After you, Draco.”

Clearly, Potter was assuring Draco he had no intention of catering to the boy’s every whim. That, of course, didn’t sit well with Draco. When the blond began to make further protests against having to head into the lions’ den first, Severus was immediately distracted from the scene that was unfolding when Winner, still standing in front of and slightly to the left of the Potions Master, quietly said, “You want to ask me something?”

Severus narrowed his eyes on the boy’s back, reading nothing from his posture that would indicate what the blond was thinking. “What would you have done if the Headmaster had lied to you?”

Winner’s head fell forward slightly, but when he spoke, he spoke with utter conviction. “Voldemort and his followers wouldn’t have been his only concern,” Winner replied quietly. “We’re used to going against the odds; myself and the other four faced massive forces by ourselves, so going against Voldemort and Dumbledore at the same time would have been cakewalk.

“Harry is in a rather delicate situation for someone like him. With us, he can only become better prepared for what’s to come. And... he’s our friend. We’ve lost so many chances to make lasting relationships with people outside of our circle that we can’t help but to both treasure and protect those we do have.”

The Winner heir’s head lifted again, and the blond’s teal eyes met Severus’ stony black gaze without flinching. “We’ve been treated like weapons before, Professor. To be treated as nothing more than something trained to kill... Harry doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”

With one last searching glance, Winner turned to his friends and moved forward, a genteel lull in his melodic voice as he bravely volunteered to venture through the Floo Network first, effectively ending the almost-teasing banter that was transpiring between Draco and Potter. Green had faded from the fire long before, forcing the Winner heir to take another pinch of powder to renew the connection.

It didn’t matter. Severus understood perfectly. He just found it rather difficult to believe.

They weren’t even normal soldiers.

Any Slytherin worth his mantel knew well enough that it was important to keep up with important muggle events, even if they found it inherently displeasing to do so. While Severus wasn’t quite as informed about the recent end of the war only a year and a half ago as he would like to admit, he still knew quite a bit more than the average pureblood wizard.

Five against the world...

Those colonial vigilantes the muggles called Gundam pilots; people who had frequent brushes with the higher political hierarchy and highly decorated military officials alike...

Terrorists.

END CHAPTER SIX

Teheh. I needed a Snape moment. :grins lopsidedly:

(1) Gordy and Babe! Get it? Get it?... Gaaah, stupid movies about talking pigs... :bows head shamefully: Never mind. Er, forget I made such a terrible joke.

(2) Look, here’s the thing. Lily’s blood protected Harry from Voldemort, right? It’s because of Lily’s blood protection that Harry had to stay with the Dursleys. So why did Harry have to go back to the Dursleys after Harry specifically reported that his mother’s sacrifice was nullified because Voldemort had the same blood in his veins? (Might I add that Dumbledore appeared rather triumphant when Harry announced this, which just fuels my distaste for Dumbledore’s methods even more.) After the events in his fourth year, Harry had every right to tell the Dursleys to sod off and stay wherever he was welcome. (Of course, he didn’t find out about the protection Petunia had to offer him until the fifth book, but the fact Voldemort now has the same blood as Harry still applies to the situation.) It just doesn’t make sense to me.

Did anybody else notice this, or did I just prove to all and sundry that I’m a complete nerd?

(3) Eh, Duo strikes me as a Star Wars nerd. Who am I to ignore whimsical fancy while I’m being fanon? As an afterthought, I would like to apologize for the completely unfound back-story as to why the Malfoys would legitimately hate muggles. I’m bound and determined to keep Draco exactly the way I like him -derisive and snotty as hell, and too set in his ways to change how he views muggles. He’s too stubborn to give up ALL his bad qualities. (And really, isn’t Draco’s unforgivable character flaws something we all just secretly love to bits?)

(4) Quatre’s making a Chess reference here. Why not a pawn, you wonder? Because pawns are actually useful, and Quatre would treasure them above all else. Sure, they only move forwards, or sideways if the move is right. However, once they reach the other side of the board, they become a better piece previously lost in battle. Dumbledore is Quatre’s “king” because the king is not only truly the most vulnerable piece, but also needs to survive until the end of the game. Basically what Quatre is trying to say here is that he will personally use all of his skills to protect Dumbledore because he honestly believes the Headmaster is that important. On the other hand, he’s also clearly informing Dumbledore that he’ll begin his own game if the Headmaster persists in using his friends so carelessly.

END NOTE: I’m trying to erect a forum for HpatSL and HpatFH, so I’ll try to describe the method to my madness about Zero!Quatre there. Until then, please leave me yummy reviews! They make me feel better about being blonde. :grins:

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ZERO Quatre: Q & A

Q: Why is Quatre so scary?
A: Because the ZERO System is just a mindscrew waiting to happen. Anyone who knows anything about GW knows that Quatre’s first exposure to the ZERO System wasn’t exactly a time of happiness and daisies, especially for the colonies he ended up blowing to smithereens. Quatre probably would have been able to handle the ZERO System a lot better if he hadn’t already been half-mad with grief over his father’s death.

Q: But Caps, who does Heero listen to Quatre when he orders him to stand down?
A: Because, despite what many may think, Heero’s the Perfect Soldier -emphasis on the soldier part. He’s more receptive to taking orders than he is giving them. Quatre is actually the unofficial “leader” of the Gundam pilots; he has a brilliant mind for strategy, and the others tend to look to him when it comes to plans.

Q: Er... ZERO System?
A: The ZERO System is a multi-functional, highly specialized AI system that predicts possible future outcomes in a battle based on statistics and the pilot’s own abilities. The system itself can manipulate the pilot’s innate skills and instincts to peak performance. There’s a strong possibility that, because Quatre was so unstable before using the ZERO System for the first time (and he was under the AI’s influence for such a prolonged period of time), the AI could have permanently imprinted itself to Quatre’s brain, since direct contact between the brain and the AI is necessary to utilize the system. In order to do this, the AI would ultimately use the data collected from Quatre’s unstable but extremely calculated actions (his brain waves, if you will) during his “peak performance” -ergo, Quacky Quatre ZERO mode.

Q: What the hell do you have against Dumbledore?
A: This. “For a fleeting instant, Harry thought he saw a gleam of something like triumph in Dumbledore’s eyes.” This single line comes from page 696 of the fourth book (paperback edition), just after Harry explains to the Headmaster that Voldemort gained Lily’s blood protection by using Harry’s blood in his revival ritual. I never cared for Dumbledore after that, and I cheered Snape on when he killed him. Of course, I thought Dumbledore was begging Snape to kill him anyway, so it’s not like I would have actually held it against my favorite greasy Potions Master. :smirks:

Q: But... WHY?
A: Why not? Besides, it sets a whole chain of events into motion between Draco and Quatre, since Draco now sees Quatre as worthy of being a Malfoy (even if he is scary as hell). And to Draco, family is everything -even if he technically isn’t a Malfoy anymore, as long as Quatre still claims him, they’re family. I thought a more familial connection would be interesting to play with in the future. And I have big plans for ZERO Quatre’s next appearance. Mwahahah.

Q: Why is ZERO Quatre’s empathy so strong?
A: Remember, the ZERO System manipulated the pilot to peak performance; Quatre’s empathy isn’t excluded from this brainwave manipulation. Picture this -when Quatre isn’t in ZERO mode, his empathy is limited to the people close to him. In the last chapter, Quatre even used his empathy to calm Duo’s anger; however, as Quatre was rather upset over the situation himself, a small sliver of ZERO came out when Quatre yelled at Draco after our Slytherin Prince encouraged Duo’s fury. I’m sure he’s even empathically building a bridge to Harry’s emotions as we speak, since the Golden Boy isn’t QUITE on the grid yet. But I digress. Quatre’s empathy is so much more powerful in ZERO mode because that, kiddies, is the beauty of the system; manipulate a useful tool to the highest potential. Most of the time I’m sure the knob is set on low, though.

Author’s Note: OMGWTFBBG? Look, everyone! It’s the longest chapter EVAH! Forty pages even! Gah... :clutches head feebly: It just wouldn’t END. :sob:

Author’s Note the Second: By the way, I was too lazy to proofread it. Again. :pause: But I promise I’ll do it later when the mood strikes. :grins sheepishly:

As always, eternal gratitude goes out to my lovely reviewers!

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Six


“Wow,” Harry murmured in awe once the nausea faded away. He was sitting on the soft, dewy patch of grass that had broken his fall, his eyes focused on the magnificent sight that stretched out before him. He had no doubt the scenery would have been even more breathtaking in full daylight; however, even with the meager aid of the large full moon that had already broken the horizon in the distance, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at the untouched beauty of nature surrounding him.

They’d appeared in a rather secluded clearing that was densely populated with trees that towered over him. The view before him, however, was unblemished by so much as an errant twig. Harry could tell they were elevated far above sea level; farther than Harry was accustomed to, anyway. The air was thin and crisp with wild plant life and a heavy scent of pine. Several feet in front of him, the land seemed to disappear -swept away by some mighty force of nature long ago. There were small, rolling hills as far as the eye could see. In the distance, Harry could almost make out what appeared to be a large home.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” someone drawled softly, directly into Harry’s ear. The Gryffindor succeeded in choking back his cry of surprise, having not been prepared for the silence to be broken. Unfortunately, he failed to recover quickly enough to contain his involuntary start.

Draco Black pulled back a little, a satisfied smirk on his face when Harry shot him a stern glance. “Got you.”

“You wish,” Harry automatically retorted, a hint of teasing taking away the sting of the comment. It was their thing. Draco attempted to get a rise out of Harry, and Harry would, in turn, reply, “You wish.” Harry regarded this practice fondly, like it was a tradition to their complex (but amazingly simplistic) coupling. Of course, ‘their’ thing was something completely different. Back when there was nothing but harmful intent and wounded pride, Draco was a spiteful little bugger who did everything he could to butt heads with Harry. Harry, in return, was bloody determined to prove himself a worthy wizard; despite whatever sense of doubt in his mind, Harry was going to lift his chin, look his opponent straight in the eye, and utter those two words with confidence resonating from his voice.

Draco was still a spiteful little bugger when he wanted to be. He still openly ridiculed Hermione, and Ron hadn’t been spared of the former Malfoy’s full scorn. When it came to Harry or any of the Slytherin’s friends, though, he was definitely a lot more casual about it. Oh, he probably still meant most of what he said; Harry didn’t doubt that. Nevertheless, the lack of real bite in his tone mixed with his quick wit was actually quite endearing. It was almost like a subtle homage to those he formed bonds with, whether the status of the relationship be friendly or romantically.

It took another moment for Harry to fully register the situation. “Draco! When did you-?”

“I apparated,” Draco said offhandedly, waving a hand dismissively around his ear. Harry smothered a grin when he noticed that he’d seen Duo Maxwell display the exact same mannerism. Those two really were starting to emulate each other. “Brilliant trick, apparation. You should learn how.”

“I haven’t exactly had that opportunity yet, but it’ll be the first thing I do,” Harry replied dryly.

“No, it won’t,” Draco said, miffed. “The first thing you’re going to do is greet your boyfriend properly. No slacking off, Harry; you have a duty to make me happy.”

Harry snorted and didn’t even dignify that with a response. Everyone knew it was impossible to make Draco happy. He certainly wasn’t going to waste the energy.

The blond pouted petulantly. “You could at least try and make me feel somewhat content. Harry, I’ve been lonely.” His words ended on a rather high, reedy note that indicated that, yes, Draco was going to be a whiney, high-maintenance boyfriend. Of course, Harry would have been an idiot to not consider that before pursuing a relationship with the recalcitrant former Malfoy heir in the first place. He could live with whiney. The high-maintenance bit was something he would just have to tolerate.

A quick spark of mischief lit his eyes, and before Draco could interpret Harry’s intentions and move out of the way, the Gryffindor Golden Boy besottedly murmured, “Oh, Draco!” before he immediately lunged at the unprepared boy, tackling him firmly to the ground. Despite Draco’s struggling (combined with several grunted choice words expressing his frustration), Harry clung to him like an octopus, keeping his boyfriend firmly pinned to the ground.

Harry laid his head on his chest and sighed heavily, mockingly amorous as he wistfully said, “I missed you so.” While Harry’s mockery was very clear, his words were spoken with a certain amount of conviction. He had really missed Draco; oh, Harry felt that he’d certainly gotten to know his new boyfriend better over their letters. Draco was as expressive in written word as he was in person. Letters, however, didn’t quite satisfy Harry’s desire for Draco’s actual presence.

Unfortunately, Draco was a bit more focused on other matters to play along as he usually would. “The ground! I’m on the ground! Harry, I’m getting all dirty -Harry!”

When Duo snickered at the scene they were making, Harry immediately unwound himself from Draco and scrambled away, a light shade of pink staining his cheeks. He was a little ashamed that he’d forgotten that Duo was also with them, but to be fair, the American hadn’t said a word since they appeared in the clearing.

“You deserve it,” Duo said, wicked amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked over his two friends. He was sitting on the hood of a rather expensive sports car. “‘Make me happy, Harry, I’ve been looonelyyy...’”

The blond spared a vicious glare for Duo after Harry helped him to his feet; Draco pointedly refused to acknowledge the amused smile on Harry’s face. The American had pitched his voice in a high falsetto as he recounted Draco’s earlier words, exaggerating the purposeful whine of discontent that the former Malfoy had adopted for the sheer purpose of prodding a reaction out of Harry.

He certainly hadn’t expected to be bloody glomped.

“It’s so nice to hear that you’ve decided to pursue a career as a transvestite,” Draco said airily, delicately brushing blades of grass from the back of his expensive attire. “Decided to perfect your woman voice, have you?”

“Your mother,” Duo replied with a catty wink. He slid from the hood of the car and walked around the other side, walking a fair distance away before kneeling out of sight.

“I hate it when he says things like that,” Draco admitted grudgingly to Harry, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes in exasperation. “It doesn’t make any sense to me, and I can’t decide if I’ve won the battle of wits or not. Bloody Americans always have to make things difficult.”

“I’ll have you know that making things difficult for you is my specialty,” Duo boasted. “We’ll start the bonfire, drink some of Tipsy’s delicious cocoa, and burn rubber all the way back to the mansion when I bury the remains after the fire goes out.”

“Tizzy, Duo,” Draco said wearily. “Her name is Tizzy.”

“Yeah, but she’s even more fun when she’s Tipsy,” Duo said slyly.

“What...?” Harry finally said, obviously confused.

“It’s terrible,” Draco bemoaned, taking Harry by the hand and literally dragging his boyfriend around to see Duo better. He made sure to give the strange contraption that the American’s bum had been resting on just moments before a wide berth. While he was vaguely certain he knew the function of Duo’s frivolous purchase, he was still leery about how it worked.

“He keeps randomly giving the house elves butterbeer despite my protests! Just the other day I found Gordy in the closet fondling one of my mother’s expensive stilettos in a drunken stupor. It was the most horrifying experience of my life.”

Harry blinked, bemused. “You have a house elf named Gordy?”

Draco gave his boyfriend a shrewd look. “You focus on the strangest details.”

“Ask him where Babe is(1),” Duo said eagerly, throwing two bags of trash in the large hole he’d been hollowing out. “Draco loves it when you make jokes he won’t likely understand,” he added, his words weighing heavily with sarcasm that suggested Draco’s opinion on the matter was completely opposite.

Harry belatedly noticed that the American had forgone the skirt, stockings, and shoes, having donned a pair of stone-washed jeans and worn sneakers in the place of the offending items. The discarded women’s clothing joined the bags of garbage in the hole, along with a pile of wood from the surrounding area. Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of a lacy lavender brazier and matching panties before the wood obstructed his view.

Laughter caught in Harry’s throat, and he painfully swallowed the urge to release it. Only Draco would go as far as to force the American to wear lingerie.

In any case, it was no wonder Harry had forgotten Duo’s presence. Apparently, the American had been busy with other things.

“Why are we having a bonfire again?” Harry asked, dreading the answer.

“To drink cocoa,” Duo replied cheerfully, pointing his wand at the hole and murmuring a spell that drenched the pile with something that smelled vaguely of petrol.

Harry sighed. He knew it. It was just impossible to get a straight answer out of Duo. “Okay. Why?”

“You can’t drink cocoa at night in the wilderness without a bonfire, Harry. Jeez,” the American said teasingly, “we really need to expose you to the delights of camping.”

“Don’t do it,” Draco whispered urgently. “I’ve heard about this camping thing -it sounds positively ghastly. It’s all about some ancient muggle ritual to prove one’s worth by taming nature and taking advantage of the natural resources the wilderness provides. I’m almost certain he made it all up just to see me sleep outdoors.”

Harry couldn’t stop his laughter this time. “I can’t believe you told him about camping and expected him to be all for it.”

Duo looked slightly offended. “Harry! Have a little faith in me!” He paused. “I was going to take him camping without telling him what it was all about. Unfortunately, he’s wised up to my wicked ways and asked Heero about it instead.”

By the time Harry recovered from his fit of uncontrollable laughter, the three of them were sitting in front of the roaring fire, sipping hot cocoa from the magical equivalent of a thermos that Draco had brought with him alongside the new change of clothes that Duo was wearing. It had taken only a minute of relentlessly inquiring as to why the blond had been so generous to bring along a spare set of comfortable clothes for the American Gryffindor, but the former Malfoy finally gave in with a disappointed sigh.

“Heero said hamster boy’s debt was paid the second you two left Surrey,” Draco admitted, clearly sulking. “He warned me that Duo was going to be driving back to the manor, and he didn’t want to hear about any accidents along the way because Duo would be in a rush to get home and tear the clothes off.”

“It’s nice to know Heero has so much faith in my driving,” Duo mentioned nonchalantly, stirring the contents of the fire with a long stick. “Jerk.” The insult was said fondly, with no apparent sting meant behind it.

Harry stifled a snicker. “Did you conveniently forget to bring along an extra shirt?”

Duo made a sour face and persistently poked at the fire again.

“That shirt actually looks good on him. Kind of makes him look like a gay gypsy,” Draco said smugly. “It’s one of my mother’s favorites, anyway. I wasn’t about to let him burn it.”

“I bet gay gypsies are so much cooler than effeminate wizards,” Duo murmured cattily, giving Draco a blatantly and specifically slow once over.

“Only in the fantasy world you live in,” the Slytherin retorted, equally catty.

If Harry didn’t stop them now, the contest of wits would continue until dawn. Quickly, before Duo could get the next parry in, Harry asked, “Why are we burning all of this stuff, anyway?”

“Getting rid of the evidence,” Duo replied, temporarily pausing the ongoing battle of wits. “Those two trash bags contained not only the things I used to clean the bathroom, the kitchen, and the den, but also a hairbrush and a wash cloth I used at the Dursleys. I have to dispose of the shoes in case I left any shoe prints behind; burning the rest is sheer vindictiveness on my part, but there’s also a chance I left behind clothing fibers.”

“That’s why you made me clean my room,” Harry realized, impressed. “You wanted to get rid of all the forensic evidence as best as you could. That also explains why you asked me to pack my sheets. You were on the bed.”

“Bingo!” Duo said triumphantly. “No doubt there’s at least a couple of strands of hair and possibly some epithelials on those sheets. We’ll figure out what to do with those later. Personally, I think we can do something along the lines of a toga party. Togas mandatory.”

“I’m not even going to pretend I know what epithelials are,” Draco muttered cuttingly, immediately sending Duo a warning look when the American opened his mouth. “And don’t even bother explaining. It’ll probably just irritate me.”

Duo closed his mouth with an audible click before a single eyebrow rose. “Probably?”

“I’ll rephrase that. Your explanation will definitely just irritate me,” the former Malfoy repeated knowingly.

Duo chuckled knowingly, a lazy smile on his lips as he propped the stick on the ground, laying his head against it as he stared at the fire. Finally, after a moment of silent debate, Duo murmured softly, “That’s one hell of a shiner you have there, Harry.”

The Gryffindor’s hand immediately went to the side of his face, wincing in pain when his fingers brushed the sore, swollen skin there. The reminder of what Duo saw earlier in the evening made Harry feel cumbrous and slightly penitent that his friends were forced to witness what they had. His face flushing with embarrassment, he replied hesitantly, “Yeah... They haven’t been able to land a blow for so long that I almost forgot how painful this is...”

“Which is probably something you shouldn’t bring up right now,” Draco said pointedly, reaching out and taking Harry’s chin in his hand as he gently tilted Harry’s face for a better view of the damage. “Heero made me promise not to let Duo go back and do something he’ll probably never regret. Personally, I think I can conveniently forget to watch over Duo for about ten minutes if he’s willing.”

Duo huffed indignantly. “Hee-chan’s such a spoilsport.”

Wanting to divert his friends’ focus on the Dursleys (mostly out of embarrassment, but partly out of honest concern for the Dursleys if Duo stewed over it long enough), Harry asked, “How in the world did you come up with a moniker like Hee-chan for someone like... Well, like Heero.” ‘Hee-chan’ was cute and affectionate; the one with the nickname was most certainly neither cute nor affectionate unless the person he was talking to was named Duo Maxwell. Well... excluding the cute part. The word didn’t fit Heero’s looks by anyone’s standards. The Japanese Slytherin could only be described by more masculine adjectives.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, since it’s a cultural thing for Heero,” Duo hedged, absently stirring the content of the fire once again. “The Japanese use a slightly different form of address than Westerners do. If Lucius Malfoy had any dealings with wizards in the East, Draco might understand what I’m talking about. Lucius has a high social status, so a Japanese wizard might address him as Malfoy-dono, or even Malfoy-sama. Any Japanese wizard with an equal or higher status would call him Malfoy-san.”

“I’ve heard the first one a lot, but I vaguely recognize the last,” Draco murmured thoughtfully, staring at the fire with an unfocused gaze. He was probably thinking about Lucius and the major upheaval between them. Harry reached out hesitantly and slipped his hand into the blond’s warm palm. The Gryffindor was rewarded with a small squeeze of acknowledgment in response.

“Malfoy-sama is reserved for high nobility and the CEOs of major corporations,” Duo explained. “Malfoy-dono would be for the wealthy, I think. Subordinates of either sex or younger men would be referred to as something like Duo-kun, or Maxwell-kun. That one’s also used between friends, particularly with boys and men. The suffix I use with Hee-chan is typically used... Er...” The braided boy twitched, suddenly realizing the implications of explaining the Japanese form of address.

Draco grinned knowingly. “Let me guess. If -kun is for boys, then -chan would be...?”

Harry’s jaw dropped open when he realized what Draco’s sly inquiry was leading to. “Duo! For Heero?”

“Hey, a guy can handle that particular suffix if his flipping boyfriend is using it,” Duo replied defensively. “I’m allowed!”

“You did it before you got together,” Harry cried.

“Yeah, and he used to punch my arm hard enough to leave bruises when I first started doing it,” Duo retorted, crossing his arms huffily. “Heero always got under my skin. I helped the guy break out of a Federation hospital, and he returned the favor by stealing parts from my aibou to repair his own before taking off! He didn’t even apologize when we met each other again! He pissed me off, and I was just returning the favor. Besides, he was ridiculously serious and antisocial, enough so that he actually drew a lot more suspicion to us than he accused me of with my ‘outlandish flamboyance.’ Those are his words, mind you! I had to do something to loosen him up, or at least make him appear less hostile.”

“By using a suffix meant for girls and lovers?” Draco snickered. “You deserved to be punched. He would have shot anyone else that dared to pull that stunt. I bet your motivation was more a revenge tactic than making him appear a little more harmless to the public.”

“I admit nothing,” Duo said haughtily, which was a blatant admittance in and of itself.

Soon the fire began to fade, having already engulfed all that fueled it until there was nothing left but smoking, fiery embers and withered, charred items that were beyond recognition. Satisfied with how little was left, Duo easily filled the whole with the excess soil until the only sign there was once a hole there in the first place was a slight, suspicious lump of bare dirt.

“That should about do it,” Duo crowed triumphantly, jumping to his feet and brushing the clinging dirt from his hands. “Burned and buried in the middle of nowhere. The chances of the cops ever finding this junk way out here are slim to none, but if they do and they also happen to find anything incriminating on me, I freaking deserve to be caught.”

“Would they honestly try that hard? You didn’t really hurt anyone,” Harry pointed out logically as he, along with Draco, followed the American to the expensive sports car. Draco was giving the muggle form of transportation an uneasy once-over, as if the former Malfoy heir hadn’t quite figured out what they were supposed to do with such a contraption. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if that was exactly the case.

“I still technically kidnaped them by holding them against their wills,” Duo explained knowingly. “It’s certainly not my worst offense, but the government kind of frowns on things like that.”

“What is this thing supposed to do?” Draco asked irritably, his arms stubbornly crossed as he watched Duo pull the handle of the door on one side as Harry made his way to the other.

“It’s a car, Draco,” Harry explained patiently, opening the passenger’s side door and lifting the seat forward. “You’ve had to have seen one before. I know for a fact the Ministry of Magic has several magically enhanced vehicles, and the Knight Bus...”

“The Knight Bus is a tool for commoners to travel,” Draco said haughtily, lifting his chin, “and the Malfoys have always utilized carriages for long-distance traveling. Then again, I don’t understand why we couldn’t use our broomsticks. Black Manor is just down there.” He pointed toward the side of the cliff, and Harry realized the large residence in the distance he saw before must have been their destination.

“Because driving is so much fun,” Duo replied gleefully. “Just as fun as flying a broomstick! So stop complaining and hop in, dragon boy, we’re ready to roll!”

Harry thought it would have been prudent to forgo mentioning how these words, said with such wick glee and combined with the manic gleam in his vibrant eyes, inspired a certain amount of terror within the very depths of his soul. Indicating that anything could possible go awry in front of Draco wouldn’t inspire the Slytherin to feel any better about actually sealing his fate and crawling into the car with Duo behind the wheel... Then again, Harry reconsidered the importance of his gut instinct as Draco quickly bypassed the empty front seat and chose to sit in the back with Harry instead. The Gryffindor wasn’t sure if keeping silent about his unease was a good thing for either of them, as he was almost positive there would be at least one or two occasions where he would feel his life was in danger.

He was proven right when Duo floored the gas petal, the car fish-tailing wildly in the clearing before the braided maniac righted the car and peeled onto the minute road that encircled the steep cliff. In less than five seconds, Duo was roaring down the narrow road at a steadily climbing 70 km/h, whipping around dangerous curves with the windows rolled down, the wind whipping around the inside of the car wildly as the pounding music attempted to unsettle the quiet countryside that lay between them and their destination.

Duo’s thick, heavy braid was even stirring at the phenomenal wind that tore at the occupants of the car, his head thrown back as loud, barking cackles overpowered the music.

“Seatbelt,” Harry screamed at Draco, desperately scrambling to attach the only safety feature that would prevent him from being thrown through the windshield, or worse; rolling unrestrained in the interior of the car and breaking every bone in his body, possibly killing him. Judging by the frightened expression on Draco’s face, Harry voicing his fears at this point would probably have a negatively adverse effect on the poor muggle-ignorant boy’s mental state.

“What?” Draco yelled back, a shrill note of terror in his voice and, for once, showing plainly on his face. Fear was an emotion Harry didn’t often get to witnesses, especially since third year, when Harry scared the obnoxious Slytherin at the Shrieking Shack under the protection of his invisibility cloak. In any case, Harry didn’t waste time answering, instead reaching over his boyfriend and snapping the seatbelt into place himself.

“Spoilsports!” Duo called back to them, laughing insanely as he whipped around another dangerous curve with a drop off that was only meagerly protected by a rather shoddy metal guard that, at the speed Duo was going, would have fallen easily to the power of the American’s car. Harry closed his eyes tightly, unbidden images of the car sailing over the side of the cliff at 90 km/h coming to the front of his mind, forcing him to whimper. Should it have even be physically possible for the American to keep something going that fast at a downward incline around dangerous, almost catty-corner like turns on the road?

Harry breathed easier when the finally reached the bottom, the road doubling in width as the sharp curves straightened out over rolling green hills. Even if Duo was still going at death-defying speeds every time he crested a hill (Harry could feel his stomach jump all the way up to the back of his throat as he literally felt the very car drop out from under him as Duo flew over the top of another hill), after surviving that terror-filled beginning, the Gryffindor Golden Boy had much more confidence in Duo’s ability to manipulate the car to its full potential.

Draco wasn’t so inspired. “You mad, evil little cockroach,” the Slytherin roared over the music, uncharacteristically infuriated enough to lose almost all of his carefully cultivated icy exterior. “You spirit cursed, dastardly madman. People like you deserve to drool in their cereal in St. Mungo’s for all of eternity!”

“He says the sweetest things to me,” Duo yelled, sounding oddly pleased by Draco’s venomous words.

“Take me seriously when I’m angry with you!” Draco bellowed.

To which Duo responded with a glibly delivered, “Nope!”

“I’m telling Quatre you scared Harry!”

Oddly enough, that forced Duo to pause before he lowered the volume of the music pumping through the speakers, a pout just on the verge of making his lower lip tremble. “That’s a low blow, dragon boy.” Still, Duo slowed down to a much safer speed of 75 km/h, so Harry couldn’t complain about Draco’s method... even if he did think it was kind of childish.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Harry mentioned casually, “I think you scarred Draco for life.”

Duo preened as Draco glowered petulantly at Harry, his crossed harms stubbornly held close to his lower chest. Harry thought it was probably more of an effort to keep whatever was left in his stomach where it belonged and not all over the nice leather interior of Duo’s vehicle instead of any resentment over Harry taking Duo’s side, if only to mediate between them.

God. They were exactly like kids. Kids of the annoying sibling variety.

Luckily, it didn’t take much longer for Duo to roar passed the elaborate private gates that still displayed the Malfoy insignia, though the property was clearly listed as the Black family’s asset as far as the Ministry was concerned. Harry wasn’t completely surprised to find that Trowa and Quatre were waiting for them on the front porch of the expansive mansion.

“Duo,” Quatre said chidingly, his hand hovering over the vicinity of his heart.

Duo held up a finger in the air after kicking the door shut with his foot, a mockingly solemn expression on his face as he said, “In my defense... it could have been a lot worse.”

“Yes,” Draco said testily, trying to recover at least some semblance of his old scathing sarcasm. “Yes, we could all very well be dead now.”

“See, Draco? I told you fields are always greener if you look at them from the right perspective,” Duo claimed brightly, casually clapping the disgruntled former Malfoy heir on the back as he breezed his way towards Quatre and Trowa. Quatre still looked reproachful, but Trowa was definitely amused.

As the two recovering passengers followed the exuberant American, Harry laughed quietly and murmured, “This is like an everyday thing for you? Suddenly I’m realizing just how lucky I was being ignored every day.”

“Speak up, Harry,” Duo called over his shoulder, his braid trailing behind him as if it had a mind of it’s own, much like a cat’s tail. He’d just reached the threshold of the doorway when he’d heard the green-eyed Gryffindor’s nearly incoherent murmur. “I can’t think of dazzlingly witty comebacks if you mumble.”

“It’s safe to say you won’t be ignored around here,” Draco said dryly in return. “Frankly, I’m still boggling over the fact I’ve made it this far with my sanity relatively intact.”

“Relatively,” Trowa amended, his one visible green eye shining with humor that didn’t quite reach the rest of his face.

Quatre, of course, was all smile when he said, “It’s nice you’ll be spending the rest of the holidays with us, Harry. I’m sure Draco especially appreciates your presence; he still has some lingering hope that Duo’s rather mischievous behavior will lessen if there’s more to spread around.” Judging by the wry twist to Quatre’s smile, Draco’s hope was one destined for disaster.

“Of course, that will be Draco’s primary excuse to be grateful that you’re here,” Trowa added with a sly smirk. “Then again, we all know the real reason.”

“You people are just as bad as he is when it comes to teaming up on me,” Draco said haughtily, his nose lifting snobbishly in the air. There was no denying the faint tinge of pink in his cheeks, inspiring Harry to grin wildly at the other boy’s back.

They finally found the rest of the gang sequestered in the elegantly furnished living room. Chang Wufei sat languidly in the window sill, his face upturned to the moon in solemn contemplation, his long fingers almost absently playing along the hilt of his sword. The studious Ravenclaw turned slightly to them as they entered, his ebony eyes focusing immediately on Harry before Wufei bowed his head in a silent greeting. The Gryffindor returned the favor, aware that the Chinese youth tended to be a lot more reserved than his friends.

Heero was likewise seated at a writing desk, his back to the rest of the room as he penned out a letter. Duo was leaning against the back of the Japanese Slytherin’s chair, nosily reading over his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Who are you writing?” Duo asked curiously, his interest clearly piqued.

“Dumbledore.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Tell him I hope he fatally contracts syphilis from a used tampon,” Duo said sweetly. Harry shuddered in revulsion at such vivid imagery before he boggled over this newfound resentment Duo had for Dumbledore. What had the Headmaster done to deserve the full brunt of the American’s ire?

“That’s disgusting, Duo,” Heero said flatly. Nevertheless, Heero picked up the quill and easily scrawled a post script.

“That’s pretty much the point, Hee-chan,” the American replied flippantly as he read the letter from over the Japanese Slytherin’s shoulder. When Heero began folding the letter, the braided boy pouted. “It just doesn’t have the same effect without that last part.”

“That’s pretty much the point, Duo,” Heero parried with a surprisingly soft look. “Calm down. You shouldn’t let your anger cloud your judgement.”

“My judgement is fine,” Duo protested. “It’s my temper that’s the problem. Shinigami hasn’t been out to play in ages.”

“That’s a good thing, Duo,” Trowa pointed out logically. “Shinigami tends to traumatize people, if they’re unfortunate enough to survive the encounter.”

Well. That sounded rather... ominous.

“What did Dumbledore do?” Harry asked, insanely curious. He didn’t understand why everyone suddenly quieted down and just looked at him like a peculiar bug trapped under a microscope, but all of the attention made him feel a bit nervous. “What?”

“God, I hope you’re not serious,” Duo murmured faintly.

“I’m afraid that’s the case,” Draco responded with a shake of his head. “The expression currently on Harry’s face is like a milder, nonthreatening version of a Heero Death Glare. I’ve come to call it a Harry Oblivious Stare. This one says something like, ‘Not only do I not know what is going on, but I would not know what to do about it if I did.’”

Harry was tempted to tell Draco to shut up, boyfriend or not. Unfortunately, he knew such a command had the exact opposite effect when applied to Draco and gave it up as a lost cause. He was in too good of a mood from leaving the Dursleys forever behind him to throw it all out of the window by taunting his boyfriend into an angry tirade about being told what to do so rudely. Especially since he hadn’t even been in the manor for half an hour yet. “It would help if you explained.”

“We’re flipping pissed at Dumbledore because he stuck you with those intolerant fu-“

“What Duo means to say is,” Quatre interrupted the American quickly, no doubt sparing them all from a long rant that included many words most would consider too impolite for public consumption, “we’re upset that the Headmaster left you in such a negative atmosphere. Harry, we’re your friends; seeing you being treated like you are less than a human being is intolerable.”

Oh. “Would you feel less hostile towards Dumbledore if I told you there’s a very specific reason for that?” Harry inquired weakly, suddenly apprehensive about the Headmaster’s health if the wizen man were ever faced with five terrorists and a pureblood who was most likely taught straight out of the womb that it was completely within reason to punish the people who irritated him.

“Oh, do tell,” Duo drawled wryly, flopping lazily on the couch.

“I had to stay with the Dursleys because of the blood protection,” Harry explained earnestly. “My mum sacrificed her life for me, which invoked some ancient magic that protects me from Voldemort. Dumbledore said that, as long as I was with Aunt Petunia, the blood protection could keep me safe during the summer.”

Draco frowned thoughtfully. “That doesn’t make sense. You told me that scar on your inner arm was from when Wormtail used your blood in the ritual that brought the Dark Lord back. I remember because you were nattering about Voldemort actually being able to touch you without being hurt.”

“So?”

“So wouldn’t it stand to reason that since your mother’s blood doesn’t protect you from Voldemort’s touch anymore, any blood protection that hag of an aunt of yours had to offer would be rendered completely useless?”

Harry automatically opened his mouth to rebuke Draco’s conclusion, only to find that no words would come to him. That... made sense. Whenever Voldemort tried to physically impair Harry before the ritual, the Dark Lord was severely burned for his efforts. Whatever meager indemnity his mother’s blood offered him was quickly nullified when Voldemort used Harry’s blood to give himself a new, stronger form.

It was very possible that the blood protection was utterly useless.(2)

“Bugger.”

“See, now that just makes me even crankier,” Duo said with forced nonchalance, his well-crafted mask almost slipping to reveal the American’s inner rage. “Remind me why I can’t go with you guys tomorrow morning?”

“Despite the blatant injustice, the rest of us aren’t quite so eager to see the Headmaster die in a vicious manner only befitting Shinigami,” Wufei said solemnly. There wasn’t even a subtle trace of anything remotely resembling a punch line in the Chinese Ravenclaw’s voice.

Duo smirked nastily. “Oh, but you’re all angry enough to inflict Quatre’s tender mercies on the old bastard? Man, if I really didn’t hate him right now, I’d feel sorry for the old man. I wouldn’t wish Quat’s righteous fury on just anyone, you know.”

Draco and Harry exchanged incredulous glances before both turned their attention explicitly on the genteel Hufflepuff that was peacefully sipping at his tea, his countenance one of serene royalty as he sat primly in the high-backed chair aside the couch Duo was lounging on. Harry honestly thought that, if he were to compare Duo’s hot temper with Quatre’s so-called “righteous fury”, Quatre’s scolding would be like a pleasure cruise of mildly chastised guilt. He suspected that Draco thought much of the same thing.

Boy, were they wrong.


----------

Headmaster:

I am sure you are aware of the recent development concerning
Potter’s relocation; as such, I see no reason to go into detail
in a letter that can be intercepted.

I still intend to meet with you tomorrow about the project I have
been working on. We will meet at the designated time at your
preferred location. Be aware that Potter will be attending our
meeting. His attendance will be explained at that time.

Quatre Winner and Draco Malfoy will also be joining us to discuss
an entirely different matter that is separate from the project.

If you seek to contact Potter before our meeting, we will sternly
consider taking affirmative action to derail any persisting
attempts. If you send anyone to the manor in hopes of collecting
Potter, we will perceive you as a threat.

Do not force us to perceive you as an enemy, Headmaster. I am
positive you know more about our past then you would lead us to
believe. We both know who will come out of this victorious.

Yuy

P.S.
Duo wishes you a warm salutation. He would like me to further
indicate that he hopes you contract a fatal strain of syphilis.

----------

Apparently, the designated time at the Headmaster’s preferred location translated into 9:00 AM at Number 12 Grimmauld’s Place. Harry still didn’t know what sort of project Heero had been working that required Dumbledore’s attention. He would have been a little more irritated about it if his attention wasn’t so focused on preventing Draco from burning all of the clothes he deemed unacceptable.

“Oh merciful spirits... Harry! Harry. Please tell me you have a better fashion sense than this!” The blond Slytherin waved a handful of clothes in front of him emphatically. For the occasion, Draco had barged into Harry’s guestroom before dawn, dressed to the nines in durable clothing that covered almost ever inch of his skin, thick rubber gloves that coned around his elbows, a white cotton mask tied around the lower part of his face, and... a hairnet.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” Harry had mumbled dazedly, rubbing his eyes sleepily as Draco marched over to his wardrobe, his big, heavy boots audibly thumping against the carpet.

Duo Maxwell was leaning against the doorframe, smiling wickedly at Harry. “Draco’s afraid of muggle germs,” the braided boy had said gleefully, his amethyst eyes dancing with laughter.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, that is the ugliest eyesore I’ve ever seen,” Draco said faintly, dropping his handful of clothing. He lifted the tongs that had been hanging from the belt around his hip and used it to carefully pry a ratty orange and green jumper from its coat hanger. Harry could just imagine the sneer of revulsion under his boyfriend’s concealing mask.

“Oh,” the Slytherin whimpered, dropping the jumper on the floor as his attention found something even worse. “Are those... Are those pinstriped parachute pants?”

Harry winced. “Um. One of Dudley’s least desirable castoffs.”

Draco stiffened. Duo, having welcomed himself to a comfortable reading chair close to the French balcony door, managed to conceal his frustration with a tiny flinch. The two of them were oddly silent and unmoving for a moment; so much so that Harry became just a little more concerned about the Dursleys’ well-being.

Finally, Draco inquired calmly, “So none of these clothes are actually yours? They’re just...” The former Malfoy made a face, choking out, “just... hand-me-downs?” The last part sounded like it had been torn from him, as if it actually caused him physical pain to speak the words. Harry couldn’t decide if the reason for this was because Draco was trying to choke down his anger at the Dursleys, or the indignity of speaking of something he considered plebeian.

“Yes,” Harry sighed, finally reaching over and donning his glasses.

“So... you think wearing things like... like this...” Insert melodramatic wave of his arm that encompassed what consisted of Harry’s wardrobe here. “You think wearing things like this is acceptable?”

Harry snorted. “Of course not. I just had very little choice in the matter.”

“Praise the spirits,” Draco said in relief, tossing the tongs to the ground as he bowed his head. “My boyfriend doesn’t have a tragic taste in fashion. First thing we do when we go to Diagon Alley is buy you an entirely new wardrobe. This atrocious pile of rags is going to be sealed in a biohazard bag and sent to toxin disposal after that.”

“Why not burn them in the backyard? We can have a party and everything,” Duo said cheerfully, adding a glib, “with s’mores!”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Draco said haughtily. “I’ll not pollute this semi-muggle atmosphere with your muggle diseases. There’s no telling what kind of deadly germs might be roaming on this sorry excuse for clothing; burning them will just make them airborne.” With that, he turned on his heels and left, presumably to carefully strip himself naked and take a very thorough shower that included a lot of anti-bacterial soap.

“I think I’ve been subjecting him to too many B-rated movies about deadly disease epidemics caused by monkeys,” Duo mused absently, staring out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes.

Harry smiled reluctantly. It figured.

Deciding the chances of him getting anymore sleep would be a pointless endeavor, Harry shooed Duo from his room and put together a respectable outfit that wouldn’t force Draco to officially announce that the Gryffindor was a fashion disaster. It was six o’clock in the morning on a holiday. What did people do at this ungodly hour?

More than Harry realized, apparently. Heero was busy in the living room paying more attention to his laptop than the news on the telly, while Duo was idly sweeping the tail of his braid along Heero’s bare collar bone as some form of entertainment. Harry could see Trowa lounging on the patio, painstakingly sharpening his wide array of knives with a whetstone.

“Where are the others?” Harry asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wufei’s out playing Mr. Miyagi to Draco’s Karate Kid,” Duo said with a hint of amusement. “Quatre’s trying to convince the house-elves to make a meal fit for seven, and not an entire army like they’d originally intended. Turns out, you’re hot stuff around these parts.”

Harry faintly hoped that all Malfoy house-elves (former or not) were nothing like Dobby. He honestly didn’t think he’d survive if that was the case.

Luckily, breakfast was ready before Harry had enough time to work himself up over the possibility. It was almost unanimously decided to take advantage of the nice morning to take their breakfast on the patio, and Harry was just getting settled when Wufei and Draco walked around a corner of the manor, both appearing a little winded and sweaty from exertion. Instead of bemoaning his unclean status, Draco seemed oddly pleased with himself.

“Fun work out?” Duo asked nonchalantly, eagerly serving himself a generous helping of scrambled eggs and plump sausages. He topped off his eggs with ketchup, humming jauntily as he stirred the stark red condiment with his fluffy yellow eggs.

“Black finally nailed the third kata,” Wufei replied, grudgingly impressed. “I’m teaching him the fourth kata tomorrow.”

“Oooh, good job, dragon boy,” Duo cheered, saluting the preening blond smartly. “Bet your ego feels ten times heavier.”

“Draco deserves to feel proud of himself,” Quatre said kindly. “At the rate he’s going, he might learn the sixth kata before we go back to school.

“There, see? I deserve to bask in my own glory,” Draco said smugly, smirking at Duo. “Leave me to my innocent ego stroking, hamster boy -with you around, I don’t get to do it as much as I’d like.”

“Aha!” Duo cried triumphantly. “So you’re finally admitting I’m better than you. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

“I said no such thing!” Draco snapped sharply.

“If Duo’s eggs end up in my hair again,” Heero broke in, his tone vaguely threatening, “I’m going to be in a foul mood.”

“The same goes for me and the pancake syrup,” Trowa added casually, gracefully moving the container of syrup out of reach.

“Harry, why don’t you join Draco and Wufei?” Quatre suggested serenely, spreading jam along the surface of his toast absently. “It’s very good exercise, and you could find a muggle approach to defense useful if you ever lose your wand. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“It would be a wise decision,” Wufei said solemnly, his head tilted thoughtfully. “The first step to protecting others is to learn how to protect oneself. We might as well take him down to the basement and cover all the bases.”

Even though Harry was excited about the possibility of doing something new, he couldn’t help but lodge a small complaint. “You mean I have to learn something over the summer?”

Draco laughed wryly. “Welcome to my life.”

Nevertheless, Harry accepted Quatre’s proposal. Breakfast was hurried along after that, Heero having announced that Draco only had an hour to wash away the grime of the morning and put on clothes a little more acceptable for a meeting with Dumbledore as the head of the Order of the Phoenix instead of as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. No one was overly surprised that Draco took advantage of every second allotted to him, which gave Harry plenty of opportunity to drill Heero for answers.

“What kind of project are you working on that would involved Dumbledore?” Harry asked, watching Heero scan the Daily Prophet for anything newsworthy to kill time.

“You’ll hear about it in the meeting,” Heero pointed out rationally, casually pressing a few keys on the laptop that was sitting on the breakfast table.

“Dumbledore and the others usually don’t allow me to sit in on meetings,” Harry replied stonily, resentment stirring in his stomach. He always hated it when Dumbledore left him out.

“Dumbledore doesn’t have any say in the matter,” Heero said monotonously, finally closing his laptop and storing the muggle device in its bag. “Besides, you’re somewhat involved. There’s no logic in leaving you out of any discussion that involves you.”

Talk about novelty.

END PART A

The sky outside of my bedroom window is green.

PEA green.

And the air is cackling with ominous thunder rolling in the distance. I fear that this pea green sky has brought about a terrible, terrible storm. Hail could be involved. A tornado isn't far off the mark, either.

Should I be worried?

*flash of lightning and a crackle of thunder*

... Possibly.

That was actually kind of ironic... And somewhat unsettling.

Today, my friend called me at some ungodly hour of the day (I say ungodly, but it was probably more like appropriate; gah, I need to stop waking up after two in the afternoon) to chit chat about various things. I don't remember most of them, as I was kind of stuck in some semi-delirious state about cannibal babies gnawing at my ankles.

Best not think too hard about that one.

Anyway, I think she invited me over to do something with her. Or she mentioned doing something without me. I don't quite remember, but I do recall replying, "Nah. I'm going to get my ears stapled today."

There was a long, drawn out pause on the other side of the line. And then she said incredulously, "To what?"

I love my friends. They know just what to say to keep me amused for the rest of the day.

So my mom paid sixty bucks to staple my ears today. (Heheheh...) It's this new fad to help people sleep better, stop smoking, lose weight, etc.; basically all the things I have problems with, I suppose. The staples are attached firmly onto the little pertruding lumps of cartiledge in the inner shell of my ears; they twinge every once in a while, and they really irritated the hell out of me for about an hour after having the procedure done. The first five or ten minutes were the worst, and I blame the Gum Chewer for it.

Let me explain.

There were a lot of people holed up in this tiny little hair salon, just lining up to have their ears stapled. (And to think I had been wondering if there would be anyone else in the area who would fall for something that sounds like such a scam. Talk about having high expectations.) I watched them do the whole stapling thing several times before it was my turn. The only reason, mind you, that I was doing this in the first place was because my mom wanted to do it, but she was too scared to do it alone.

Well. That, and how many people do YOU meet on the street that can truthfully say they have their ears stapled? I haven't met any, and I live for the moment when I make a strange announcement about myself and people look at me strangely. but I digress.

I was promised that it didn't hurt at all. "Just a slight pinch, and then she'll teach you the proper stimulation techniques, and you shouldn't too many problems after that," the Gum Chewer informed me gently, trying not to scare me away. I'm sure her real goal wasn't so focused on trying to comfort me, but to insure that her cash flow was sixty bucks heavier. The ones who did it before me didn't seem to be having any problems, so I assumed there was very little pain involved.

The very second the first staple went in, I wanted to make a face. It hurt, damn it. This wasn't a mere pinch; it was a stinging lance of pain that made the inside of my ears throb. I tried to soothe my irritation by thinking that the reason it hurt so bad was because I'd been tense, but when the second staple went in (and I was completely relaxed, mind you) and hurt worse than the first one, I wanted to look at the Gum Chewer and accuse her of lying to me.

If there's one thing I hate most in this world, it's being lied to. This is especially so when I'm doing something that may be painful. I don't mind pain; I can deal with it rather well when I expect it. However, this woman made false promises of a relatively nearly-pain free procedure that turned out to be a little more than "just a slight pinch." I want to be told exactly what to expect, and to hell with kind words and gentle encouragement. Instead of lying to me, she should have looked me straight in the eye and said, "It hurts for a little while, but that eventually goes away." I would have been fine with that, and I wouldn't be as irritated as I am now.

Unfortunately, there were almost over a half a dozen people waiting in line, and I didn't want to freak them out. My mom, however, realized almost instantly that the pain was a little worse than what the Gum Chewer was making it out to be; apparently, immediately after the first staple, my face paled despite my conscious decision not to show how much it hurt by flinching. In any case, that comforted her; she knew exactly what to expect judging by my reaction. I hate being her human test rat.

At least I have staples in my ears. Now I can enjoy the expressions on people's faces when they do a double take after catching a first glimpse of the staples, or the bland disbelief when I suddenly announce, "I have staples in my ears." It's so petty, but I enjoy collecting such vaguely surprised expressions.

Heh. I lead such a simple life.

If this isn't a scam and I do start noticing differences in my sleeping patterns, weight loss, or a decrease to how many cigarettes I smoke a day, it can only be a bonus. In the meantime, I'll just be pretty much satisfied that I did something nobody I know has done. Heh. Such cheap thrills amuse me. ^_^

Ciao.

Kel of "To err is human. To forgive is not company policy." Mayhem

New original user icon. All because my brother's forgetful and left a scan of his artwork on the 250 megabytes he uber-dumped on my computer to make room for more junk on his nifty wand o' memory.

Yay. ^_^ I love the Happy Mushroom. Too bad the entire picture is slightly pornographic, though. (Let's just say that the Happy Mushroom has a perfect line of sight for the reason he IS the Happy Mushroom and leave it at that, okay?)

Pervy Happy Mushroom. *snickers*

Today my brother reminded me of his wisdom with his sage words: "Aliens smart enough to visit Earth are smart enough not to." I love my family.

I found myself tickled with amusement when my brother came in from work today. This is pretty much why.

"How was work?"

"*deadpan* Long."

"How was your day?"

"*still deadpan* Boring."

That's not actually the part that tickled me, though. When my brother was off washing away the filth of a long, boring day, my mother came home right after him.

"How was work?"

"*sigh* Long."

"... How was your day?"

"*sigh again* Boring."

Talk about deja vu. ^_^

Am still recovering from last nights stunning plot twist on CSI (OMFG WTF?!). I meant to wake up early enough to see what The Today Show had to say about it. When I crawled out of bed at some godawful time of the morning, left the warm comfort of my room, and stood in the living room staring incoherently somewhere in the general vicinity of the TV, I decided that mornings are highly overrated and crawled back into bed. I then proceeded to sleep until two in the afternoon.

Heh. Can't wait until I start school again. Fun. *snort*

So my dad went off at the telly today as we watched Fox News. I don't know why he would waste his time with Fox, since they spend all of their time and effort touting the subtle intelligence of our dear President. (Narf.) I have a theory that involves an evil brainwashing device powered by gerbils used by the Fox News Network to brainwash the masses into denying reality, but I don't particularly feel like getting into it right now. Needless to say, I have entirely too much time on my hands, and the sleeping pills stopped working months ago.

But I digress.

Pops was flipping out over all of this illegal immigrants stuff (Fox has come up with this nifty little term: "illegals". "Illegals" is not a noun. "Illegals" isn't even technically a word.), and I guess I just don't get it. Either that, or I don't care. Personally, I'm thinking the latter. All I know is that, with as many illegal aliens in the US right now, there's bound to be some choice job opportunities SOMEWHERE in Mexico.

Well, one would only assume, right?

Considering the Democrats and the Republicans, I feel somewhat cheated. I don't want to camp for either party; the Democrats have tunneled their heads so far into the ground that the ones who DO stand up don't even know what the serious issues are anymore. The Republicans... are idiots.

I'd be a communist -power to the people and all that jazz- if I didn't have a preset judgement on the population as a whole, and have found a majority of them wanting.

I think I'll round off this little rant with three simple words: I hate politics.

Moving on.

Hmm. Less than two months before PotC: Dead Man's Chest comes to theaters. I can hardly wait. *starry eyes towards her ode to Jack Sparrow* Soon, Captain... Soon. I just hope the movie doesn't bomb like most sequels do. That would be heartbreaking.

I wonder when the mothership will come to take the Tom Cruise podperson back. Truthfully, I think we're all getting a little of it.

After reading over this entire entry, I suddenly realized just how much I wish my life was more interesting.

Ciao.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t really take the time to proofread this chapter. It’s long, it was difficult to write, and I’m sick of looking at it. I’ll probably go back and fix all the glaring errors later, if there are any. (I’m pretty certain there are, though.) I just want to dump this chapter on your doorstep and keep on walking.

I have a lot of things in store for this fic, but an ungodly amount of it happens during the summer. I’m hoping to finish the setup in three or four more chapters so I can finally get these obnoxious brats to Hogwarts, and I can start on the REAL story. Gah... I should have just covered the summer in an entirely different fic, but I hadn’t wanted to make this thing a bloody epic. Heheh... Too late.

I also decided to turn a blind eye to angst. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t write angst to save my life. Well, I could -it just puts me in a foul mood. I like happy, smiley Caps a lot more than moping, moody Caps, so the angst I promised you was avoided to the best of my ability.

A very heartwarming thank you to all of you who have taken the time to review. Keep ‘em coming, all of you lovely people -your response is the whip that cracks ominously in the background of my mind as I endlessly toil away trying to give you what meager, homely stuff I have to offer. Kisses to all!

On with the show!

PS
I apologize for the long wait and, as a way to win your hearts back, offer you a chapter that has thirty percent more than any other chapter. (Teeheeh, I feel like I’m selling a product. :sheepish grin:) Enjoy!

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Five

Duo Maxwell was a man on a mission. Well... technically he was a skirt-wearing, face painted, faking-a-husky-falsetto-voice kind of man on a mission, but that didn’t make his mission any less imperative in as much as it made the situation just a tad more ridiculous than it honestly should have been. The mere fact that, yes, the inevitability that Duo would ever find himself on a mission in a dress had come to pass, and the irony should have at least tamed the wild fury of finding out one of his new friends was being horribly mistreated by his family.

Nonetheless, Duo was very close to losing his temper and unleashing an unholy hell on the Dursleys.

His new friend’s situation was, in fact, because of the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself, leader of the secret organization that pitted against Voldemort (and damn what the Ministry of Magic had to say about it) and the official knowledgeable old guy that Harry had to actually work with, which just seemed like a slap in the face, in Duo’s opinion. Harry didn’t need Dumbledore; Dumbledore needed Harry. Therefore, Duo surmised that Dumbledore had no right to demand the Gryffindor Golden Boy stay in such dangerous, soul-crushing atmosphere in the first place.

Duo planned to have a very long, very stern talk with Dumbledore about priorities and where Dumbledore’s were when it came to Harry’s safety mentally and emotionally as much as he cared about Harry physically. The planned discussion wouldn’t be happening any time in the near future, however, as Duo felt he wouldn’t be rational enough in explaining why he thought the Headmaster was a manipulative bastard that had subtler evil qualities that rivaled the freaking Dark Lord. If Duo approached Dumbledore before he had an opportunity to calm down, he would most likely go straight to name-calling, punctuated with the frequent use of deplorable words not fit for the faint of heart.

Meanwhile, if Dudley Dursley didn’t back out of Duo’s personal space soon, the American was going to throttle the pig with his hair (for lack of convenient substitutes for Duo to utilize in slowly strangling someone with a neck that thick until said victim stopped twitching).

Where the hell was Harry? It’d been fifteen minutes. Who took fifteen minutes to wash up and change into clean clothes, anyway?

“Are you even listening to me?” the pig demanded, looking at Duo shrewdly.

“Of course I am,” Duo murmured absently.

“He’s talking about Mega Mutilator Four,” Trowa said tiredly. Duo didn’t blame the quiet boy. Ten minutes of listening to Dudley freaking Dursley enjoy the sensation of feeling wind on his teeth as he spilled his life story and ramble on about his hobbies would make anyone cranky. Draco had almost begged Duo to silently disable the listening charm that was placed on a small earring subtly clipped to the upper cartilage of his left ear. Duo refused, theorizing that if he had to suffer through the endless prattling of a truly uninteresting human being, by God, everyone else was going to have to suffer, too.

But thank God Trowa had actually been listening, or Duo would have missed the opportunity to subtly slight the wannabe Lothario. “He admitted difficulty in beating the boss on level thirteen.”

Duo smothered a grin. Perfect. “Did you know there’s a cheat code for that level?”

The pig perked up, his face brightening in interest. “Really?”

“Spirits, what a simpleton,” Draco muttered in disgust. Duo couldn’t agree more.

“Alt-Shift desperation. Enter,” Duo said primly, smiling innocently and fluttering his eyelashes at the pig. “If you do that right before you get to the boss, something will happen to your health, ammo, and first aid kits. This code has helped me beat that tricky super-mechoid on numerous occasions.”

It was true that Duo wasn’t an avid fan of video games. He was entirely too active to actually sit down for long periods of time and rot away in front of a screen while he could be doing something better, like replacing all of Trowa’s shampoo with super glue and throwing naughty red socks in with Wufei’s white clothes. However, he was no stranger to playing shoot-‘em-up games on Heero’s laptop, and, what with his excellent hand eye coordination, he knew how to win rather spectacularly at them.

“Desperation mode” was a rather misleading term, which was why the code was so brilliant. The name implied that there would be a rapid increase in first aid kits, health, and ammunition. The actual purpose of the code was to make the game more challenging, and it was the mode in which Duo often played. Ammunition was at a bare minimal, one good hit to the player could end it all, and there were absolutely no first aid kits.

He’d given the code to the pig while implying that it would be in some way beneficial to Dudders’ plight while it, in fact, did the complete opposite. It was petty, but damn it, it made Duo smile a little.

Twenty minutes. Where the hell was Harry?

“Dinner is ready,” sing-songed the horse-faced woman merrily, sweeping into the living room like the perfect hostess. She clasped her long, spindly fingers together under her chin as she smiled coyly at Duo and Dudley sharing the same couch. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see young love these days.”

Duo resisted the urge to stare blankly at the woman. Young love? He’d known Dudley for less than an hour and he already foresaw much disappointment in the Dursley matriarch’s future.

“Is she joking?” Draco shrieked indignantly in Duo’s magically enhanced ear piece, causing the American to flinch not only at the volume of it echoing painfully in his middle ear, but also because Draco was actually indignant on Duo’s behalf. “It’s impossible to fall in love in under an hour! Spirits, what kind of knut-store smut does she read?”

“How do you know she reads smut?” Heero asked curiously; the Japanese boy was probably more interested in knowing how he could have missed making the same assessment and not Draco’s actual reply.

“Look at her. Tall, thin, ugly as sin, an equally vulgar husband, and a stupid son. She has to escape reality somehow, and it must be through trashy romance novels.”

“... Hn.”

Duo was just being lead into the foyer towards the dining room when he was lucky enough to catch sight of Harry fleeing what the American had assumed was the bathroom. Unfortunately, his intentions didn’t appear to be heading downstairs; instead, the Boy Who Lived seemed to be making a beeline for a room at the end of the second-story hallway.

“Won’t Harry be joining us for dinner?” Duo blurted suddenly. He couldn’t believe his friend would willingly leave him in the tender mercies of the Dursleys by himself. Harry couldn’t possibly be that cruel.

Oddly enough, Petunia and Dudley hesitated at Duo’s innocent question, and Harry’s escape was eventually cut short. The Golden Boy appeared to be waiting for some kind of signal from the matron, who’s lips pressed together thinly in obvious disapproval.

“Ah, Harry doesn’t really enjoy eating with the rest of the family,” Petunia said slowly, staring up the landing with snapping blue eyes that silently dared Harry to say otherwise. In other words, the explanation reeked of bullshit.

That was okay. Duo could weave some incredible acting out of one-hundred percent manufactured BS, too. He put a delicate-looking hand against his painted lips with a small gasp, his eyes wide and despondent. Regretfully, he murmured, “Oh, my... I’m putting you at an inconvenience, aren’t I? There really isn’t enough for five... I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I would expect you to be prepared for a surprise guest for dinner... I’m such a terrible guest! I should just go...” Add in the appearance of some crocodile tears, and...

“Mum!” Dudley hissed whiningly, apparently not yet willing to allow his prey to leave. Hook, line, and sinker.

Petunia forced a comforting smile. “Of course not, dear! There’s plenty of food. In fact, I’m sure Harry will oblige you in joining us for dinner this evening. Won’t you, Harry?” In the If Looks Could Kill category, Petunia Dursley’s pointed glare at Harry was a weak level one glower, at best. Of course, how could the horse-faced woman compete with such stiff competition like Heero Yuy and Chang Wufei, whose death glares usually rated at least a level eight or higher?

“Genius,” Wufei noted, sounding rather impressed with Duo for turning that situation around.

“No one ever said that Duo is a fool,” Quatre added; Duo could almost hear the smile beaming on the blond’s face.

“... That’s not quite true,” Heero admitted grudgingly, probably remembering the earlier days when the rest of the pilots had neglected to realize Duo’s subtle brilliance. Hell, Wufei didn’t even consider the possibility that Duo had a brain between his ears until the braided boy kicked his butt at Scrabble by whipping out the word ‘floccinaucinihilipilification.’ The American proceeded to spend thirty minutes trying to convince the irate Chinese youth that floccinaucinihilipilification was an actual word in the English language, and Wufei was just being a sore loser by denying the word its rightful place in the English dictionary.

“I mean, how can you not know what floccinaucinihilipilification is? You do it all the time!” Duo had insisted, which only sent Wufei in search of a dictionary just to make sure Duo wasn’t insulting him.(1)

“If you insist,” Harry said drolly, only marginally respectful of his aunt. As the green-eyed boy climbed down the stairs, he gave Duo a meaningful glance that clearly read that Duo wasn’t going to like the result of forcing the Dursleys to invite him to dinner. The American was under the impression that, like all of his friends, if he was going to have to suffer the attention of the freaking Dursleys, he certainly wasn’t going to be the only one. However, he did feel pity that Harry had to put up with them on a daily basis, either until school started or Dumbledore allowed him to leave this hell hole. Besides, Duo needed to know the extent of the abuse before he jumped the gun and punished them in a manner that wasn’t befitting the crime, and what better way to judge their punishment than through proof?

The muscles in Duo’s right-hand trigger finger convulsed spastically of its own will at the thought of Harry having to do more than tolerate rude behavior and overly sharp reprimands. Instead of showing his ire, however, he meekly bowed his head and shyly said, “Well, if he’s okay with that... I don’t mean to put anyone at an inconvenience...”

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Petunia said with a nervous chuckle, her tight smile clearly forced and strained. “Quite alright... Ahm. Come now, this way. Mr. Dursley is probably wondering why we’re taking so long.”

“She called him ‘Mr. Dursley’,” Draco said slowly. “... Ew.”

Then Quatre surprised them all by saying, “That did seem rather hokey, didn’t it?”

Duo covered a surprised laugh with a dainty cough before sweeping gracefully after the horse, a faint smile of amusement tilting the corner of his lips. His eyes were gleamed with the calming familiarity of inner laughter, successfully driving away the dark shadows of fury that once plagued him internally. His sudden good humor was actually a relief, and he suspected that it was more than Quatre’s subtle little insult towards Petunia Dursley that brought about the better side of Duo. It must have taken Quatre quite a bit of energy to empathically soothe Duo’s furious inner demon from such a distance.

There was a subtle bittersweet shift in Duo’s smile. There were very important reasons as to why the American rarely lost his temper; when he really lost his temper. Realizing that a friend was less than happy with his home life was exactly the kind of moral injustice that fueled his burning temper. The more volcanic the Americans temper became, the closer Shinigami clawed to the surface. When Duo’s fury reached the Inferno stage...

Goodbye, cruel world.

And all of the hell Shinigami wreaked would be done with a wide grin and dead eyes. Duo owed Quatre a lot more than anybody realized.

By the time he’d decided to focus back on the current situation he was settling in a chair that coincidentally sat along the length of the table, sharing space with another occupant; Dudley Dursley’s (almost) beefcake-y stature nearly took up more than half of the table, and Duo almost moaned despondently at how close they would be. Duo didn’t care if it spoiled everything; if the pig even thought of playing footsie with the American, Duo was going to shoot them all and keep on walking.

The horse chose to sit close to her walrus husband, who graced the head of the table. This left two empty chairs; Harry quickly took the seat directly across from the walrus and catty-corner to Duo. The walrus frowned, his face starting to color with early signs of irritation. Petunia was quick to silently soothe her husband, her expression fairly begging the man not to... what? Question Harry’s presence? To actually have to look at Harry while he attempted to enjoy his meal?

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

“Duo, please, you’re getting yourself worked up again...”

The American slowly inhaled, forcing himself to calm down before he exhaled again. He couldn’t flip out over every little glare of contempt and irritation. It was rather obvious that the Dursleys didn’t like Harry. That was fine; Duo could deal with that. He needed to know if the level of maltreatment went beyond that.

After calming her husband, Petunia sent a firm glare in Harry’s direction, as if she wanted to demand that the Gryffindor take the only other empty available so the walrus wouldn’t have to suffer too much. However, the only seat left was beside her; the urge to keep her distance from Harry far outweighed the comfort of her husband.

Christ. She was acting like Harry had some sort of communal disease. Had she always been like that to Harry? Had she always been reluctant to actually touch Harry, as if he would somehow pass on leprosy? Duo wondered how that sort of attitude would have impacted Harry as an infant, which probably hadn’t been the best idea. The thought only made his boiling temper even more difficult to control.

“Duo.”

Damn it, this was harder than he’d originally anticipated.

After breaking her doom stare from Harry, she quickly wielded an insultingly false smile of charm that made Duo want to hurl. “I hope you three brought your appetites,” she said coyly. Duo was sure she was doing her best to cut Harry out of the happy family portrait they were trying to set up, but her actions only made her appear mathematically challenged.

Portraying an image of the perfect housewife, Petunia began serving the meal, starting with Dudley. She chose to serve Duo next, and the American barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation when the pig immediately began to wolf down the meal, not even bothering to wait for the rest of them had food on their plates.

“He has deplorable table etiquette,” Draco murmured scathingly. “Spirits, I shouldn’t scold Harry so much on his bad manners. Look at the example this family is setting! It’s only polite to serve the guest first, and no one should raise a fork until the last person is served.” A pause. “Muggles really are uncultured.”

“Trust me, Black,” Wufei said cooly. “They’re deplorable by muggle standards, as well. I’ve never seen such honorless dogs in my entire life.” Apparently, Duo wasn’t the only one who noticed all the subtle glares that the three Dursleys seemed to be unconsciously shooting at Harry.

Duo’s eyes widened marginally when he noticed that Harry’s plate didn’t have a third of the food that everyone else had. Many things happened at once.

Something slammed against Duo’s chest just as a hazy emptiness of pure, uncultured rage clouded his mind.

The freshly washed glasses that had yet to be removed from the drainer and put away exploded loudly, putting a halt on all conversation and drawing the horrified attention of the Dursleys. If Duo had actually been paying attention, he would have noticed that Harry suddenly looked nervous.

“Duo!” Quatre gasped, sounding pained. “Duo, you need to calm down. Duo, calm down!”

Duo forced himself to relax his white-knuckled grip on the rather sharp knife he had been given for the roast. It was heart-wrenching, hearing pain in Quatre’s voice. He had to calm down. He couldn’t lose his cool.

He couldn’t lose his cool.

“What was...?” Duo began lamely, honestly confused by the glasses’ sudden explosion.

“Accidental magic,” Draco explained quietly. “People our age rarely experience it anymore; it’s more of a condition from childhood. When potential wizards and witches become extremely emotional, they’re magic tends to lash out. It shouldn’t be surprising that Duo displayed accidental magic; he hasn’t been training long enough to control that aspect yet.”

When Draco’s explanation ended, Duo tuned in just in time to hear Petunia try to sputter a reasonable excuse as to why her dishes suddenly decide to break on their own, the walrus’ face darkened dangerously as he glared at Harry.

“Boy,” the man growled, giving his nephew a vicious look.

“I didn’t do it,” Harry said immediately, meeting the walrus’ threatening glare with a stubborn set to his chin.

Petunia laughed nervously, attempting to play off the situation by simpering, “Of course Harry couldn’t have -how could he?- I mean...”

“Dad,” the pig hissed urgently. “Make him stop.”

“Go to your room,” the walrus grounded out through gritted teeth, adding gruffly, “And you can just forget about getting any supper tonight, boy.”

Slam. Duo was already diving when Quatre cried out his name, his arm catching the green-eyed boy and bringing him down to the floor just as the light fixture above the table shattered in a glorious burst of sparks as the very bulbs exploded. Duo had just enough time to cover Harry’s body with his own before tiny shards of glass showered the entire area, causing the Dursleys to cry out in alarm as they each belated tried to move out of harms way.

Once the chaos began to subside, Duo scrambled off of Harry with a mumbled apology. Whatever else he had to say was cut short by the sudden appearance of Vernon, standing over them with a look of wrath twisting his sweaty, bloated face. The walrus-like man reached down and wrapped a meaty hand tightly around Harry’s upper arm, dragging the boy to his feet and forcefully hauling the Gryffindor into the privacy of the living room.

“Duo, please... Duo!”

Duo saw red.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret! Duo!”

“Maxwell!”

“Kill the muggles!”

“Damn it, Draco, you are not helping!”

That did it. The American’s anger subsided marginally when he realized just exactly who exploded at Draco this time.

“... Trowa, would you be angry with me if I told you your boyfriend’s hot when he’s angry?”

“Why do you think I like to keep that side of him to myself?”

A pause. “Oh, for the love of...” Wufei could be heard mumbling, irritated by yet another reminder that all of the boys he was staying with were gay; and that they were bringing another boyfriend into the mix.(2)

Duo finally threw his head back and laughed, ignorant of Petunia and Dudley’s scrambling attempts to explain what was going on.

----------

“It wasn’t me,” Harry protested, attempting to wrench his arm from his uncle’s meaty grip as the man dragged him into the living room, away from making a scene in front of a guest. His struggling did no good, and his uncle successfully pulled him into the living room before whirling to face his nephew, his face glowing purple with fury. What made the round man’s violet face glow was the layer of sweat that seemed to be pouring from Vernon’s pours.

Harry hadn’t seen this particular show of “pissed to the extent where actually beating the freak boy is worth the risk of touching him and being contaminated with his freakishness” fury; coincidentally, Uncle Vernon only displayed his anger so totally when Harry, whether accidentally or purposefully, did anything remotely resembling magic in front of other people. The Dursley family had certainly spent a great deal of their time and attention to how normal they appeared to the outside world, never realizing that their many ways of showing off their normality was abnormal in itself. The Dursleys were so far in denial that there honestly wasn’t any hope of inviting them to reality soon.

“What have I said, boy?” Uncle Vernon half-whispered, half-bellowed. The way in which his uncle chose to speak only emphasized his rage; the fact he almost could not mask his fury for fear that their guest would hear almost wasn’t enough to make the effort to bellow. “No freaky business in my house, especially around normal people who are lucky enough to not know how much of a freak you are!”

“And I’m telling you that it wasn’t me!” Harry shot back, his angry green eyes locking defiantly with Vernon’s own brown eyes, bloodshot due to the sudden increase in his blood pressure. For one tense moment, Harry thought his uncle was actually going to hit him for doing so; the beefy man had his hand almost halfway in the air, rearing back to strike when a savage voice stopped him cold.

“I did it.”

Vernon froze, and the both uncle and nephew turned to look toward the doorway. Despite “Dana’s” carefully cultivated appearance of being adorably normal yet still appear so beautifully innocent, the implied threat of ruthless violence in “her” voice actually frightened him to a certain degree. Duo’s acting skills had been flawless while pretending to be sweet, virginal Dana Kinsley, and while some lingering mask of Dana was still present, a predator lurked behind his kohl-accented eyes.

Duo was still smiling... but it wasn’t a nice smile. The wand pointed steadily at Vernon proved it.

Vernon’s grip tightened painfully around Harry’s biceps, and the Gryffindor struggled to cover his wince of pain. Harry had known Duo wouldn’t take well to the Dursleys -in fact, he’d hoped for it, if only to see the American skillfully plot to get back at the Dursleys before he had to leave. However, he hadn’t expected Duo to go so far as to pull his wand on the Dursleys; combined with the dangerous intent gleaming in Duo’s amethyst eyes, showing any sign of discomfort because of the grip would be akin to signing Vernon Dursley’s death warrant.

“You invited one of your freak friends over?” Vernon hissed, glaring at Harry once more.

“I didn’t invite hi-her over,” Harry said stiffly, trying to convey through eyes and facial features alone that pissing Duo off wasn’t the brightest idea. “She wanted to surprise me for my birthday!”

“Oi,” Duo called lazily, drawing their attention away from each other. “Please remember who has the wand, fat man. Now let Harry go before you do something stupid and force me to transform you into something useful.” Duo smirked wickedly. “I hear baby seals’ skins are all the fad amongst the rich these days.”

“I know your rules!” Vernon thundered, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly that the Gryffindor couldn’t hold back the merest of twitches. Duo narrowed his eyes dangerously, but Vernon was far too furious to notice. “You’re still in school. You can’t do magic without being expelled!”

“I’m seventeen,” Duo retorted. “I’m legal and can do whatever the hell I want.”

That little tidbit certainly put an abrupt pause on whatever Vernon was going to say next; however, Harry felt that the man had focused on something other than the implications of harm that Duo was trying to allude to. Instead, the rotund man turned his infuriated gaze back to Harry.

“You can do magic now? No chance of expulsion from that blasted school filled with people like you?”

What Harry said next was probably influenced by many sources that didn’t include Draco Black. For one, it could have been his very Gryffindor nature finally presenting itself to the Dursleys after many years of oppression and belittlement. In fact, it could have also been the pent up resentment over the injustice of being treated poorly for no reason other than petty intolerance, even though Harry hadn’t known he was a wizard until Hagrid told him on the fateful night of his eleventh birthday. Those were two solid reasons for the words that came out of his mouth that clearly did not include Draco Black in any way, shape, or form.

Still, Harry was almost certain that the sudden desire to lift his chin arrogantly and sneer arctically at the man as he spoke was completely and utterly Draco’s fault. “So this day does exist to you. Oh, I’m so overjoyed that you now see me worthy enough to realize I turned seventeen today. Happy birthday to me.”

Lights suddenly exploded behind his eyes as the very ground was swept out from under his feet only milliseconds before crippling pain enveloped one whole side of his face and head. The ringing in his ears seemed to echo cavernously as the blackness that seemed to encircle his faded vision slowly retracted.

Harry dazedly realized that not only had his glasses suddenly disappeared from his face, but he was lying on the floor. He didn’t even remember falling in the first place. It took even longer to realize that the house was deadly quiet save for his uncle’s labored breathing. At first, Harry assumed that his uncle was panting because of his sudden exertion of anger. (Harry belatedly realized that Vernon actually struck him so hard and quickly that Harry didn’t even remembering flying to the floor because of the strength behind it, nor did he even see the blow coming.) After taking a moment to push himself into a slumped, seated position on the floor and gather his wits, he distinctly heard a different pitch of breathing. Instead of sounding enraged, his uncle sounded... panicked.

Without the aid of his glasses, Harry could barely make out the expression on his uncle’s face. Sharp angles were difficult to make out because of his vision impairment, and it was doubly so the farther the object or person he was attempting to focus on. However, color was a different matter. While color was not as vibrant and clear as with the aid of his glasses, Harry could clearly see that his uncle’s face had lost it’s violet hue. In fact, the man was completely blanched and shaky. Harry could see that the man’s hand, painted bright red with the same fluid that smeared across his forehead and nose, was trembling violently.(3)

Harry suddenly heard Aunt Petunia shriek weakly, as if so frightened that her throat had constricted painfully around her vocal cords. Duo was even further away from him than Uncle Vernon was, so Harry had no hopes of making out his facial features; he did, however, notice that the blocky, black shape Duo was pointing at Uncle Vernon couldn’t have been a wand.

“If I ever see you raise a hand to him again, you’ll wish that hadn’t been a warning shot.” Duo’s voice was low, raspy, and filled with so much cold aloofness that Harry was momentarily frightened of the normally jubilant American.

“You shot me,” Vernon gasped frantically. “You shot me!”

“It’s a flesh wound,” Duo scoffed mercilessly, tossing his head, his loose hair ruffling behind him. “It won’t even need stitches.

“See, I realized you weren’t taking me very seriously with a wand,” Duo continued, some form of warmth returning to his voice. The sudden attempt of congeniality only belied the ice that ran underneath his words. “Why would you, when you apparently believe that you’re so superior over people who happen to have magic that you would risk a potentially fatal curse from me -and believe me, after the library I’ve been privy to over the summer, I know a lot of fatal curses. Big mistake on your part. But I digress.

“Since I believe the chances of you taking me seriously drastically increase with the presence of a gun, which is a dangerous weapon you’re quite a bit more familiar with, I decided to utilize this method. I’m sure you realize just how deadly a firearm can be, especially in the hands of a teenaged terrorist who doesn’t really mind killing degenerate pigs like you.”

Oh, God, Harry thought feverishly, searching the carpet frantically for his black frames. He didn’t... Finally his hand came to rest on his black-rimmed glasses, and he absently slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. He winced when the ear piece lightly scraped the left side of his tender, throbbing face, already knowing that almost the aching area was swelling and bruising. When he looked to Duo, his breath caught in his throat. He did!

Duo was holding a gun. Harry cast a second glance at his uncle, his glasses bringing sharp clarity to the profusely bleeding cut on Vernon’s brow.

“This is much better,” Duo cooed, the black gun gleaming dully in the light of the living room. “See? Now you know just how serious I am, which is good for both of us. You’ll live longer, and I won’t have to worry about adding another tally to my already extensive death count.”

When no comment was forthcoming from Vernon, Harry sneaked a quick peek at the beefy man’s face. Vernon’s lips were pressed thinly together, an obvious sign to his frustration. However, the man’s eyes jumped nervously from Duo’s gun to Duo, only to end the quick inspection with a sharp warning glance at Harry.

Harry quickly scrambled to his feet and took great care to move far out of the man’s reach. His vision swam violently, and he thought he was going to pass out. After taking a short moment to collect his wits once more, he steadied himself and exhaled deeply until his stomach settled.

“Harry, we have two options,” Duo said calmly, his eyes never leaving Vernon Dursley’s sweating face. “You find some duct tape and bind the horse, the walrus, and the pig at the ankles and wrists. You’ll use whatever remains to wrap them firmly on that couch. That will leave me free to help you pack all of your belongings so we can sneak out back and Portkey out of here. The second option is that you go straight to packing while I hold down the fort -maybe have a little chat about treating someone as important as family with the common respect he deserves. Or maybe I’ll tell them exactly how much it would please me to kill them slowly. Who knows? And then you can find duct tape and follow the previous procedure. Either way, you’re coming home with me.”

Duo paused. “Personally, you would probably rather pick the first option.”

“It’s the same choice,” Harry said with the frown. At first he thought Duo was calmly pretending he was giving Harry a choice in whether he’d be leaving or not; if that were the case, why would Duo be so explicit as to further encourage Harry to pick one he’d be more comfortable with.

“The second choice would...” There! For maybe all of a millisecond, a chink cracked the carefully constructed mask of a perfectly reasonable human being, and Harry got to see a part of Duo he’d only glimpsed briefly on exceedingly rare occasions. While Duo never seemed to run out of his goofy smiles and crafty quips, people often forgot that Duo was largely capable of feeling an entirely different range of emotions; when the smiles fell away and the quips came to a stop was a critical, dangerous time. Losing a mask that was almost second nature to craft in the first place only meant that Duo was feeling something else more strongly, be it love or care or concern.

In this case, Duo was furious. And that only meant that an entirely different aspect of the American was in full control.

Harry didn’t know how to describe the American’s duel personality, though he firmly believed his friend had named himself quite appropriately. The Gryffindor was fun-loving, moral, considerate, inspiring, and had an easy-going demeanor that encouraged almost everyone to like him. He honestly had no enemies with anyone at school, if only because his insistent ignorance of house walls erected since the very beginning. It wasn’t that any had neglected to inform Duo of such social discretions, but that he didn’t really care about a tradition that encouraged people to view others differently based on such vague references to who they were in character. Duo understood more about the people he knew then those same people did about themselves, and he knew exactly what to do and how to react in accordance with what he understood of them. He honestly had few enemies.

Because of Duo’s easy-going approach, people often mistook him as nonmalignant. Harry slowly learned over time that being charismatic and being harmless were two completely different things. The Gryffindor was everyone’s best friend when he was content. However, when something came along that struck a chord with his firm resolve to protect his friends to the best of his ability, Duo could be ruthlessly calculating and coldly violent. It was a side to Duo that Harry had only heard about secondhand.

‘When he loses that act and actually gets serious is when he gets unpredictable,’ the green-eyed boy recalled reading in one of the first letters he received from Draco at the beginning of the holiday. ‘If he is in survival mode, there is nothing he will not do to insure his safety and the safety of his friends. However, he also knows exactly what to use to his advantage, and if that means taking hostages, he will do it in a heartbeat. He will apologize for going to such extremes, but on the same breath he will assure his enemies that he will go to the extent of shooting his leverage if that means putting someone else at an inconvenience. As much unease as it caused me at the time, in retrospect, I cannot help but respect him for it. It is a move worthy of a Slytherin’s ideals.

‘But when he gets angry... I’ve never seen him completely lose his temper, but...,’ Draco had continued on in his graceful script, the words seemingly purposefully thought out so as not to reveal anything. ‘I suspect there is a reason Duo is so easy to befriend, Harry.’

Duo continued softly, “If you leave me alone with them... Harry, I don’t want to scare you.”

There is a reason Duo is so easy to befriend, Harry... Because Duo felt fury just as passionately as love; but where love seemed to be handled with such simple ease for Duo, his fury was unpredictable and malicious.

“There should be duct tape in the cupboard,” Harry said helpfully, maneuvering carefully around Duo, as the American didn’t seem too much in a hurry to move. He soon figured out why; while Duo had a gun trained on Uncle Vernon, his other hand was gripped tightly at the handle of his wand, the tip pointing directly at the huddling forms of Dudley and Aunt Petunia.

“You two,” Duo said briskly, jerking the wand to indicate what he wanted them to do. “Move into the living room and sit on the couch. You too, walrus man. On the couch.”

Harry was already rifling through the cupboard in search of a roll of duct tape when Aunt Petunia and Dudley scrambled to follow orders. He could hear Uncle Vernon uselessly blither about how Duo and Harry couldn’t hope to get away with kidnaping and holding them hostage in their own home.

“Try me,” was Duo’s calm retort.

“Found it,” Harry said, finally spotting not one, but two rolls of duct tape hidden under a box of broken toys that Dudley couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

“We’ll use them both,” Duo said cheerfully, sparing a quick glance toward Harry’s prizes. “Remember, Harry -wrists, ankles, and around the couch. The extra precaution isn’t only to insure that they don’t escape, but to make damn sure they’ll be really uncomfortable when someone finds them.

“Now you three,” Duo continued, addressing the Dursleys with a devilish smirk, “no twitching or fidgeting that would make Harry’s task difficult. Yes, that means you, walrus man. I’m perfectly capable of shooting both of your kneecaps. God knows I won’t be losing any sleep over it.”

In retrospect, Harry had to admit to feeling a certain amount of satisfaction when he finally had the opportunity to wrap two layers of duct tape all the way around his uncle’s head and mouth. He’d been trying for years to covertly shut the man up, though the Gryffindor never imagined he’d be achieving his dream because of something as muggle as duct tape.

Two rolls of duct tape later, Duo inspected the Dursleys makeshift cocoon with a satisfied nod. “They’re firmly secured. Good job, Harry. Draco should be pleased with your skills for future kinky endeavors.”

Harry blinked at the American, staring when the boy winced and tilted his head to the side in a brief flash of pain. “What?” ... What in the world did tying up the Dursleys have to do with Draco?

“The voices in my head are getting a little uppity,” Duo said with a wide grin, finally sliding the gun back into the holster hidden under the back of his shirt. “C’mon. Let’s get you packed and blow this popsicle stand.”

“You’re so cliche American,” Harry thought he would mention offhandedly as he took to the stairs, Duo following close behind him.

“At least I make sense,” Duo said glibly, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve heard Cockney, Harry. It sounds like the prototype to Mad Libs.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. It was nice to know his friends never really changed.

----------

Harry’s room was... acceptable. Well, the little bedroom was acceptable in that it would function wonderfully as a utility room of some sort. Almost all available shelf-space was taken up by broken toys and forgotten books; Duo suspected the items lining the shelves weren’t even Harry’s because the Gryffindor completely overlooked everything except for what was stashed in his trunk, his tiny wardrobe, and a cubby hole under his bed. Harry was easily throwing his meager possessions into his school trunk under the guidance of the tiny lamp that sat on the little working desk next to the bed, as it appeared that the overhead light had been forsaken as a lost cause years ago. The room was a bit stuffy, and it looked like Harry had been attempting to circulate fresh air in the room by keeping the window cracked.

“Don’t bother,” Harry mumbled when Duo squeezed passed him, clearly hoping to raise the window a little more. “Uncle Vernon fixed it so that it won’t go up any higher. He didn’t want Hedwig or any other owls coming as they pleased.”

“No wonder Duster always looked disgruntled when he comes back from delivering a letter to Harry,” Draco mused out loud. “I can’t imagine he’d have any fun trying to squeeze through a slot that narrow.”

“No offense, Harry,” Duo said, jumping on the rickety bed so Harry could better move throughout the tiny room, “but your room feels like a storage closet.”

Harry snorted.

“My cockpit is bigger than that,” Heero grunted.

“Your what?” Draco yelped, agog. Harry turned and stared at Duo when the boy began to laugh helplessly on the bed.

“Cockpit. Noun. A compartment for the pilot and crew in an aircraft or spacecraft.” Heero snorted, and Duo could just imagine him shaking his head at the blond Slytherin. “Draco, do I honestly look like the type of person who would make lewd, suggestive jokes?”

“Just making sure. That’s such a... misleading word.”

“Hn.”

Still chuckling to himself, Duo launched off the bed and shot for the open door. When he reached the doorway, he paused and said lightly, “I’ve got to wash this crap off of my face. My pores feel like they’ve been clogged with grease. Don’t women usually wear this stuff to cover up blemishes? It sort of defeats the purpose when this makeup stuff seems to cause them.”

“Draco was right,” Harry noted with an amused smile. “You have been spending too much time with him. He’s the only man I know who complains about how silky smooth his skin is supposed to be.”

“Hey...” It didn’t take a genius to realize that Draco was pouting.

Duo preened outrageously, fluttering his eyelashes at Harry as he replied glibly, “He’s just afraid I’ll take his place as the world’s snarkiest pretty rich kid.”

“Keep dreaming, hamster boy.”

With Harry’s laughter echoing behind him, Duo made an immediate beeline for the bathroom at the end of the hall. He thoroughly scrubbed his face, and he found himself a bit irritated when the mascara and eyeliner smeared around his eyes and refused to come off. When only faint traces of darkness remained, Duo gave it up as a lost cause and immediately made use of what appeared to be Petunia Dursley’s hairbrush.

He winced when the coarse brush caught a particularly nasty tangle. That was the problem with leaving his hair down for prolonged periods of time; inevitably, Duo would have to take the time to sit down and battle the numerous tangles that would accumulate, armed only with a hairbrush and sheer stubbornness.

After he conquered over the evil tangles, he swiftly swept his hair into its usual braid, only this time he took his typical hairstyle a little farther. He rolled the braid around his head and pinned it firmly into place with a few spare bobby-pins sitting on the tile counter top surrounding the sink. When Duo was absolutely sure his hair was secure, he reached into the left cup of his brazier and swiftly pulled on the two high-end latex gloves that were stored there.

He knelt on the ground, pulling the cabinet doors under the sink open to inspect the content.

“... What is he doing?”

“Exactly what he’s supposed to do,” Wufei replied to Draco’s flat inquiry. “Duo is about to scrub every surface of that bathroom, especially around the sink and faucet. After finishing the bathroom, he’s going to throw away the hairbrush and the wash cloth, take the trash downstairs, and level it in the kitchen. While there, he’s going to be a good guest and scrub down the kitchen and, while he’s at it, take the trash from there, as well. Then he’s going to find a vacuum cleaner and some surface cleaners and wipe off the phone, the table the phone is sitting on, and vacuum the foyer for good measure. He’s going to do the same in the living room.”

“Duo can’t leave a trace of himself behind,” Quatre added helpfully. “One strand of hair, one partial finger print, even drops of sweat... Muggles have the technology and the knowhow to collect such evidence and analyze it to the point that, should Duo’s hair or blood appear at any other crime scene, the authorities will actually be able to match the evidence from two different places.

“Duo wants to stay off the grid as much as possible. His DNA and fingerprints from a prior incident are already on record, but his crime would have to be on a much larger scale for anyone to gain access to his records. Permission to use those records to compare to any suspects would have to be granted by one person -the leader of the Preventers, Lady Une.”

“Who eventually wants you five to become Preventers when you graduate Hogwarts,” Draco said, a touch of understanding to his voice. “Badly enough that you’re honorary Preventers already -you’re just not getting paid yet. There’s no way she would grant permission.”

“It gets better,” Trowa pointed out. “If someone were to go to the courts about the matter, the Vice-Foreign Minister Relena Dorlian would defend the rights to keep our records sealed. She’s in a powerful position, and while many politicians don’t like her approach to politics, few of them are willing to go against her on the matter. Too many people like her.”

“Admirable,” Draco said, clearly impressed. “You have a Vice-Foreign Minister, the head of the Preventer Organization, and the safety of puppies and Christmas on your side. Why do people like you always get the luck?”

“Karma?” Duo said lightly, finally tying off the trash bag after disposing of the hairbrush and the makeup stained wash cloth. He was placing the cleaners back in their proper place when something suddenly caught his eye.

“If you believe in spiritualism,” Wufei said dryly. His tone was thoughtful when he added, “however, after getting used to the ‘magic is real’ scenario, I suppose I have a little more respect for religion as a whole.”

“Only the Asian ones, I’m sure,” Duo murmured, reaching out and taking the shiny black object from its resting place beside the sink. He considered it for a moment before sliding his thumb upwards.

The beard trimmer came to life in his hands.

“Duo,” Quatre said warningly.

“What’s that?” Draco piped up curiously. “What does that thing do? It looks like it does something marvelously devious, judging by how much hamster boy is admiring it.”

Duo grinned evilly. “Shave and a haircut,” he sang out, pulling the beard trimmer from its charger. “Two bits.”

“It’s never a straight answer with you, is it?” Draco said idly.

“Now I need glue, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, nuts, and a cherry,” Duo said happily, whistling jauntily as he literally danced out of the bathroom, trash bag in hand. The American paused in the hallway before moon walking all the way to Harry’s tiny bedroom, where it appeared that the boy was attempting to fit most of his belongings into a single trunk.

“Harry, do me a favor and clean your room,” Duo said breezily.

“You want me to what?” the green-eyed Gryffindor asked, glancing over Duo’s new look.

“Just trust me,” Duo said, winking slowly. “Pay extra attention to anything you saw me touch. Oh, and you’ll want to strip your bed and pack your sheets. Spotless, Harry. I’m counting on you!” The American proceeded to do an about face before once again moon-walking down the short hallway. He continued an ode to disco all the way down the stairs, pausing long enough to wave cheerfully at the Dursleys, who all froze in their struggles to escape their bonds as if they were five year olds caught doing something bad.

“I’ll get to you three in a minute,” Duo promised sweetly before twirling into the kitchen.

“Thank the spirits,” Draco said airily. “I thought we were just going to leave them like that. I say, hamster boy -well done.”

----------

Finally.

Harry let out a small huff of relief as he glanced around his room, inspecting every surface critically. He felt marginally better about having to save Aunt Petunia the trouble of fumigating any traces of him from the room when he’d heard Duo running the vacuum cleaner downstairs. Obviously, the boy had an ulterior reason for wanting Harry to clean his room; he suspected it would be something better to ask one of the others when he saw them next. Duo, while entirely honest, excelled in his life’s goal to turn everything into a punch line while neglecting to offer a reason.

Though Duo’s answer would probably be more entertaining.

The Gryffindor frowned, realizing belatedly that there was a distinct lack of sound coming from downstairs. He vaguely remembered hearing Duo’s loud, cheerful humming and hadn’t thought much of it until he realized: when Duo was quiet, he was obviously up to something. Something that was going to force Harry to shake his head in wonder.

Oh, God.

What did Duo do to the Dursleys?

----------

The voices in his head were strangely silent.

And then, “Heero?”

“Hn?”

“Would you be angry with me if I admit that I find your boyfriend extremely attractive right now?”

“... Only partially.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I can live with partially. Duo is so bloody hot right now...”

“... I agree.”

More silence.

“Freaks,” Wufei muttered, surprising an explosive laugh out of Duo, if only out of sheer amusement that Wufei couldn’t find a more adequate term to describe Heero and Draco’s deviant attraction to a vengeful Duo Maxwell.

The Dursleys seemed to tremble in fear of the supposed girl laughing maniacally for no other reason than her hedonistic desire to humiliate them. Honestly, they were staring at him like it couldn’t possibly have been much worse. They obviously hadn’t realized just how vindictive Duo Maxwell (a.k.a. Dana Kinsley) could be.

Duo grinned when he heard Harry’s choke of incredulity. The American whirled around, skirt fluttering madly about his legs as he did a small, feminine curtsy with a giggle. “Look, Harry -I gave Mr. Dursley a haircut!”

And indeed he had. Vernon Dursley’s hair was a thing of the past. Oh, the man had struggled as much as he could when he saw Duo coming at him with a beard trimmer and a manic grin, but it didn’t take long for the walrus to settle down and admit defeat. “Chunks of hair missing here and there,” Duo said nonchalantly as locks of the man’s hair fell to his bulky shoulders, neck, and the back of the couch. “Aw, having a nasty little wizard in the house must irritate you something fierce, Mr. Dursley! My, you pull your hair out enough to make your scalp bleed. Naughty!” All of this was said in a sickeningly sweet falsetto. Now the man had an extremely short crewcut that accented his rapidly receding hairline. Duo had allowed the bush mustache to remain unharmed in hopes that it would give the man the same stature as Mr. Monopoly, but he was just as satisfied when he realized the man looked more like a walrus than ever.

He hadn’t wanted to take the time to tear away the duct tape surrounding his mouth, anyway. That might have given Dursley a chance to say something stupid and piss Duo off again.

“I see that,” Harry said dazedly. “And... I’m sorry, did you put glue in Aunt Petunia’s hair?”

“I just wanted her outer appearance to match her inner appearance,” Duo said loftily, waving a hand dismissively. With the aid of glue, Duo had stylized Petunia Dursley’s hair in devilish horns, going as far as to shaping her bangs to create inverted horns. In his opinion, he’d done a marvelous job.

“... Ah. And... Dudley?”

Duo turned to consider his final masterpiece. Dudley Dursley had been reduced to a human ice cream sundae, without the ice cream. Chocolate syrup liberally covered the teenager’s head, shoulders, and bound hands, followed by an enthusiastic layer of whipped cream, crushed nuts, rainbow-colored sprinkles, and a tiny cherry to top it all off.

“I wondered about the psychological response to being turned into a sundae,” Duo replied dreamily. “There’s a chance he’ll be so emotionally scarred from being covered in the makings of a sundae that he’ll actually refuse to eat them for the rest of his life. I’m doing him a favor, really.”

“I see...” Finally, Harry the end of the trunk that he still held in his hands, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Never change.”

“Don’t you think I’d smell rather gamy after a while if I never changed? Then Draco would just have more to complain about. I swear, I can’t win with you people.”

That certainly got a laugh out of Harry. Proud of his accomplished goal, Duo dropped the bubbly-girl charade and raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Harry said, pulling his wand and pointing it at his trunk.

“Let me do that,” Duo said, removing his own wand from his sleeve and casting a shrinking charm on the trunk. “Even though we’re seventeen, the Ministry of Magic still have you under magical surveillance. Any spell you would do would catch their attention. I, on the other hand, have taken advantage of Draco’s astounding knowledge on how to get around the law. There’s a spell on me and my wand that keeps me off the radar.”

“Decades of avoiding getting caught would do that to a family,” Harry said dryly, slipping his miniaturized trunk into his pocket.

“Decades? How small-scale. The Malfoys have been paying off government officials and tinkering around with dark magick for centuries,” Draco boasted.

“Draco would like me to inform you that it’s taken centuries for the Malfoys to protect their slimy underbellies from the authorities,” Duo said sardonically. “You have to admit, the Malfoy Family does pretty good for getting away with hunting down and torturing muggles as a hobby.” This, of course, was a deliberate jibe at the Dursleys, followed by a sly glance over his shoulder and an exaggerated wink.

“Draco?”

Duo laughed, pointing at his left eye. “You’re on candid camera. Or, in this case, a specific scrying spell used mainly for wizarding espionage.”

“Bet it’s not legal,” Harry almost sang, watching in amusement as Duo didn’t bat an eyelid before making his swift reply.

“Useful as hell, though. Ah! One more thing.”

The American turned to the Dursleys, a picture of innocence as he girlishly tilted his hat to the bound family. “I want to thank you so much for taking me into your home. Your hospitality was appreciated, and I mean that in the sincerest way possible.” He then slowly glided to Dudley Dursley’s side, a sultry smile on his lips as he added, “I especially want to thank you, Dudders. Why, what with the game you’ve got going on, I’m sure that the next time you come across a beautiful budding flower, you’ll offer to pay first. I mean, that’s the only way you could ever hope to get with anyone who is way out of your league.”

Finally, as he hovered almost an inch away from the nervous boy’s face, Duo moved slightly to the side and whispered only a scant inch from his ear, “You make me happy I’m not a girl. Truly.”

For almost a full minute, Duo was afraid he had pushed the joke too far. Once the implications of Duo’s words settled in, Dudley Dursley appeared as if he was going to be violently ill, which would have killed Duo’s mood very quickly. The American had his doubts as to how hastily he could remove the duct tape wrapped entirely around the bulky teenager’s head before Dudley gave up and forced himself to swallow the regurgitation, and the sight of that would have incited Duo to lose his dinner, too.

He shuddered. Ew.

Luckily, it didn’t come to that.

After he was positive that the pig wouldn’t make any undue messes, Duo pulled away and smiled winningly at Dudley. He didn’t have to worry about the pig telling the authorities that Dana was a boy; that little fact would hurt his pride entirely too much to admit to anyone.

“Time to go,” Duo trilled sweetly, going over and collecting the trash bags he’d sat near the door. He handed one of them to Harry.

“Hold on to that tightly, now,” Duo reminded him primly. “We wouldn’t want to lose it along the way.” He especially didn’t want to lose that particular bag, as it contained both the vacuum cleaner bag and the bullet Duo had painstakingly pulled from the plastered wall next to the fireplace mantel with the aid of tweezers he’d found going through the Dursleys’ master bedroom.

He pulled his gun from its holster and offered for Harry to reach out and touch it. The Gryffindor laughed softly before saying, “The lot of you would chose to make a gun into a Portkey.”

“Never leave home without it,” Duo said cheerfully. “Get a grip, now. Mission accomplished.”

The words spoken triggered the magic, and the two boys disappeared from Number 4 Privet Drive, leaving a spotless home and Papa Dursley, Mama Dursley, and Baby Dursley all tied up and stuck firmly to the couch. They wouldn’t be found for another two days, when Vernon Dursley failed to show up for work bright and early on Monday morning. By that time, the perishable junk food that covered the Dursley son would have gone rancid, and the glue that spiked the Dursley wife’s once perfect blonde hair would be thoroughly hardened and difficult to remove from every strand.

The British authorities would be baffled for a short time before someone stopped to really analyze the events that transpired, according to the flustered family.

“She comes in, all sweet as you can be,” one officer would say, “Then she sits down and eats a nice dinner with the family before showing them an entirely different side to her. She has the nephew bind them and, while he’s busy packing all of his belongings, proceeds to scrub the home spotless before shaving Mr. Dursley’s head, using a whole bottle of kid’s glue to sculpt Mrs. Dursley’s hair, and turn the Dursley son into a sundae. She even went as far as to clean up the glass from the light fixtures and glasses that she trashed as a show of force. I can’t decide if we’re dealing with a childish juvenile or a criminal mastermind.”

“Not a trace of so much as a single hair which, going by witness description, this girl had a lot of,” his partner pointed out logically. “Trust me, mate -this bird is more professional than she first appears.”

The detective shook his head in amazement. “Talk about Goldilocks going on a rampage.”



END CHAPTER FIVE



(1) Floccinaucinihilipilification. Noun. An act or instance of judging something to be worthless or trivial. (Example: Floccinaucinihilipilification is a stupidly difficult word to pronounce, and I can’t see why anyone would sit around all day trying to introduce it into the English language. Tadaa -it’s difficult to pronounce, therefore, I perceive it as something worthless. Floccinaucinihilipilification.)

(2) Not that Wufei has a problem with homosexuals; he’s just probably feeling a little stifled by all of the romantic affection between the others. I know I get irritated when my friends and their husbands get all kissy-kissy around me. Watching someone grossly fondle my soul sisters... :shudders: Ew.

(3) I spent entirely too much time considering this, so you’re just going to have to let me rant about my stupid reasoning. Yes, I know “bright red” blood seems to be a bit cliche, since we usually see blood as a dark crimson. However, when blood is smeared (as Vernon had done when he touched his head and his hand came away with blood; something Harry hadn’t seen, so I didn’t embellish, as the scene was from his point of view), it has a bright red appearance. Tada. Bright red. (... I really DO have entirely too much time on my hands...)

END NOTE: The last thing I want to do is go fanon and embellish the abuse Harry had to suffer with the Dursleys. There’s no proof in canon that would indicate that the Dursleys are at all physically abusive to Harry, aside from Dudley’s childhood bullying nonsense. However, I firmly believe that there have been instances where Petunia has lashed out at Harry before; in the Chamber of Secrets, Petunia took a swing at Harry’s head with a frying pan. Harry instinctually dodged to blow, indicating that he was used to moving out of harms way when it came to his relatives. After the first swing, however, Petunia didn’t pursue the matter.

I’m not trying to imply that Harry is beaten on a regular occasion or anything. It’s possible that the Dursleys sometimes lash out at Harry when they’re angry, and Vernon striking Harry is just one of the times the Gryffindor forgot to duck.

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Four

Dudley Dursley was many things, and none of them seemed particularly charming. He was egotistical, gluttonous, manipulative, cruel, and overbearing. From day one he seemed to realize he held such an overwhelming power of influence over his parents, and the other traits seemed to come hand in hand with that knowledge. He was never denied what he wanted, and when he wanted something, his parents always gave him the best money could buy. This made him spoiled, greedy, and indulgent, especially when it came to things like meaningless possessions and food. His parents obvious denial that Dudley could be anything less than the perfect son forced them to turn a blind eye to both his obesity and his obvious attraction to violence, especially when he was the one inflicting the violence.

He thrilled in causing the pain and fear of others to the point of sadism; the adrenaline rush of his unfortunate victims’ cowering before him or running away in fear of him was both an addiction and a need. Subconsciously, he realized that other parents showed their love by disciplining their children when they were as unruly and demanding as Dudley, wanting to ensure their children grew to be moral and prosperous adults. Dudley Dursley didn’t have that assurance; he’d never been disciplined for anything in his entire life, and he believed that concern for his safety was something his parents were unwilling to give. He used the euphonium overpowering others gave him to fill that unrealized void for acknowledgment from his parents.

There was no better focus for his need to inflict pain on others than his freakish cousin. That, too, had been something that was ingrained into Dudley at a very early age. His parents’ constant depreciation and loathing for the scrawny boy was passed on to Dudley through learned actions throughout Harry’s stay with the Dursley family, and Petunia and Vernon Dursley’s constant lording over showering Dudley with whatever he wanted, whether it be the quality of food or gifts, while Harry had to accept hand-me-down clothes, tiny portions of the poorest part of meals, and no gifts whatsoever. This constant conditioning inspired Dudley to be selfish and boastful over what he had that others did not. It didn’t even matter if he actually wanted whatever toy or second helping of dessert he asked for, as long as he could say that he had it. It was especially pleasurable when he could join in with his parents over lording what Dudley had that Harry didn’t.

In retrospect, Dudley’s general unpleasantness could have been avoided if someone had taken the time to intervene in the Dursleys’ child-rearing habits early on, when Dudley was still capable of comprehending things like humility and moral fibre. As it stood, that time had come and gone too long ago to do any good for him now.

There was one thing, however, that Dudley was beginning to realize he wanted that his parents couldn’t freely give to him. Not legally, anyway; he was positive that, should he probe the subject with his parents, they would do anything in their power to make sure their precious son was satisfied. He was starting to realize he would soon have to resort to such drastic measures if he didn’t find his wants fulfilled soon, and it was one thing he was reluctant to ask his parents for.

Dudley Dursley wanted a girl.

He didn’t want a girlfriend. Most of his puberty was spent seeing women as objects for pleasure and nothing more. Having a girlfriend would require that Dudley actually spend time with the inferior sex outside of snogging and shagging, and the constant fawning and yearning for attention and love outside of a rough tumble in bed was not something Dudley was willing to put up with. He had his own wants and needs to satisfy, so why waste his precious efforts on the wants and needs of others?

However, from observing the behavior of his posse when it came to picking up birds, the old saying his aunt Marge always nattered about (always after a couple of generous helpings of brandy) had proven true. One really couldn’t lure flies with vinegar. If he was going to get a girl, he would actually have to fake some desire for commitment, at least until he got what he wanted.

Dudley Dursley found his virgin status intolerable. If he wanted to unburden himself from this gross injustice, he was going to have to work some kind of mojo during this summer. He refused to remain a virgin when all of his other friends came to him with feverishly detailed stories of their sexual exploits when he had no experiences of his own to gloat about. Oh, he lied well enough to get away with pretending that he’d had more girls and better sex than all of them combined without question, but lying about it didn’t quite gratify his need for justification.(1,2)

He was fuming over his sordid sex life (or lack thereof) when he was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. His parents had stepped out for a moment, and that freak was probably busy weeding the garden in the backyard before his parents got home so he would actually be allowed something resembling a meal for the evening. It always irked him that the freak took the time to worry about Dudley’s parents’ reaction if their orders weren’t followed to the letter, but his cousin didn’t consider Dudley enough of a threat to answer the door if Dudley bothered to try to make him do so.

The overweight teenager sighed noisily in irritation and pulled his heavy body from where the couch had sunken in dangerously under three hundred and some-odd pounds of girth mostly made up of muscle and fat. While he was now a boxing champion at his father’s alma mater, thanks to actual encouragement from his coach (both when it came to bulking up and constructively feeding his addiction to violence), he still had a considerable amount of flab that had yet to turn into hard muscle.

He almost tore the door off with his vigor to make the unwelcome visitor go away sooner so he could finish the program on the telly, but the actual sight made him stop cold.

A beautiful teenaged girl had decided to grace the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive. She was breathtakingly gorgeous with her sparkling eyes that were accented with kohl and a subtle shade of violet eyeshadow that brought out the uniqueness in her irises. Her hair was long and thick and shiny, falling down to the curve of a delectable rump that Dudley didn’t have the pleasure of seeing; but with a body like that, such a cute arse was inevitable. She had long legs that her flowing floral-print skirt hugged and teased with the aid of the wind, leaving a lot to the imagination. Attached to those legs were lean, narrow hips that curved angularly, and a rather generously proportioned bust that was neither too big or too small for her build.

Perhaps her only imperfection was that her shoulders appeared to be a little too broad compared to the women Dudley often saw in dirty mags that were secreted under his mattress, but her sweet smile more than made up for that slight flaw. When she spoke, her voice was low and husky; the perfect bedroom voice that Dudley usually heard from the vast combination of x-rated movies that belonged to him and his friends.

The words, however, were certainly nothing like what Dudley heard from any pornography. “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?”

That certainly put a damper on Dudley’s rising lust. If anything killed a potential fantasy so fast and so quickly, it was bringing up an icon from a religion that demanded abstinence from followers. It almost wasn’t worth making the effort to at least attempt to fake interest in dating her, even if he planned to drop her as soon as he got what he wanted. However, she was so much more beautiful than the kind of girls his friends picked up, and Dudley Dursley had the best of everything.

Apparently, he didn’t have anything to worry about when it came to the girl being a religious prude. When Dudley had taken too long to form a reply, she grinned lopsidedly, her glistening petal pink lips drawing Dudley’s eyes immediately. She had such straight, perfect white teeth, not like most of the British nation. “Oh, so you were staring at the glory that is my delectable self. For a moment, I thought you were speechless because you expected me to be a Jehovah’s Witness or something.”

American girl. And, if what Dudley had heard was true, American girls were easier than most, especially when it came to British boys. Something about some attraction to the differences in accents, which was understandable; her own accent was especially exotic.

Before he could formulate a reply (hopefully something that would be in some way endearing to her and how attracted he was to her), she offered a hand, her fingernails painted the same shade of light pink as her lips. “My name’s Dana Kinsley. I’m in Surrey visiting a friend of mine from school.”

Dudley took her hand lightly, expecting a dainty handshake. He was a little surprised to find a stronger grip than he initially expected. “I’m Dudley Dursley. What brings a pretty girl like you to my humble doorstep?”

His attempt at suavity must have worked because she hid her face shyly behind her hand as she giggled nervously. “Well, that’s just the thing, really. I’m... a bit out of place. I don’t know my way around much, and I can’t seem to find my friend. I was hoping that I could use your phone?” Her final statement tapered off more like an inquiry than an actual request as her sparkling eyes looked to him hopefully.

Dudley swiftly moved out of the doorway, inviting her inside with a sweeping hand gesture and a smile. Even if being congenial wasn’t in his nature, Dudley certainly knew how to manipulate people; girls were no exception. If he was going to use honey to draw in this fly, he was certainly going to put some effort into it. “Come on in. I never turn down a girl in need.”

Her cheeks reddened slightly, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she hid what Dudley assumed was a smile behind her palm again. He took her embarrassment as a good sign; maybe the British accent and pretending to be interested in her instead of what she had to offer him was working after all?

She glided into the foyer with a click of her high-heeled shoes on the linoleum floor, wandering further into the Dursley home with a curious expression on her face as she examined the domicile. Her attention on the interior design (what else would a girl consider while looking around like she was?) gave Dudley plenty of time to observe the pleasurable curve of an arse that he had known was meant to come with such a beautifully sculpted body.

“Nice place,” she commented, smiling again as she looked over her shoulder at Dudley. He jerked his eyes away from her bum to hurriedly smile disarmingly at her in return.

“Thanks,” Dudley replied, hoping the sudden tightening at the corners of her mouth wasn’t because he’d been caught staring at a place that girls didn’t like boys staring at. Girls were weird like that. “My dad owns his own business, and we happen to be quite wealthy because of it.” What better way to bring a girl to his bed than by informing her of how wealthy he was by proxy? That’s all girls really looked for in guys, right?

“Lucky you,” she murmured airily, not even seeming the least bit impressed by this knowledge. “Thanks for letting me use your phone. Being a complete stranger and all...”

“It’s no problem,” Dudley said, smiling charmingly. “Especially for a beautiful lady in need.” He led her over to the phone in the hallway leading to the kitchen; with his back to her, he was completely ignorant of the girl rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Here it is.”

“I can see that,” she said huskily, sounding amused. With a quick, sultry smile of thanks directed toward the boy, she picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number that Dudley didn’t quite catch. He watched as she waited for someone on the other side to pick up; however, after almost an entire minute of letting the phone ring, she bowed her head in defeat and hung up.

“My friend hasn’t made it home yet,” she said sadly, looking up at Dudley with large eyes. “I don’t think I can find the house from here...”

Dudley quickly jumped at the opportunity to have the girl stay longer so he could wear down her defenses more. “You can stay here and try again later. I’m sure she’ll be home eventually.”

She seemed to hesitate, her eyes flickering over the many pictures lining the walls, all of which featured Dudley and/or his parents in some form or another. “If you’re sure I won’t be imposing...”

“Of course not,” Dudley insisted. This was working out a lot better than he’d originally thought it would. “A Dursley never turns away a girl in need.”

“That’s... nice,” she replied vaguely, her voice oddly choked. Perhaps moving into her personal space had been a bit much when he’d decided to step closer because she seemed to lean back a little for breathing room. “Are you the only one here?”(3)

Dudley froze. Damn. “Well, I-“

His freak cousin took that exact moment to come in from the backyard, filthy with dirt and sweat, his expression sour yet resigned to his fate as the Dursley family’s personal slave. The freak was actually bold enough to snidely mimic Dudley’s mother’s high, demanding voice as he bitterly murmured, “‘And that garden better be weedless by the time we get back, or you won’t be getting any dinner for a week.’ It’s like she intentionally lets the garden get that out of hand just to spite me. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if that is her reason for being such a lazy-“

Harry finally noticed that Dudley was in the hallway; more importantly, Dudley was in the hallway with a girl. The freak immediately halted his words, blinking rapidly at the sight before him. “You have a girlfriend, Dudders?”

Dudley wanted to pound his cousin’s freakish face into ground beef for Harry’s incredulous disbelief, hating that the other was implying that Dudley couldn’t get a girlfriend. Balling his hands into tight fists, he grounded out through gritted teeth, “Like I’ve ever seen you with a girl, Potter.”

The girl blinked, apparently confused by the way Dudley chose to address the other boy with barely veiled contempt. “Sibling rivalry?” she suggested, glancing between the two of them curiously.

Dudley immediately scoffed, and Harry’s face spoke volumes to how disturbed he was about the matter. “We’re not siblings. I can’t stand the freak.”

“As if a spoiled, overbearing oinker like you is such a pleasure to be around,” Harry replied out of place. Again, Dudley felt the overwhelming desire to beat the snot right out of his cousin, only to curb his need for inflicting pain on the scrawny little freak for fear that the girl would run off at such a show of violence.

Harry seemed to do a double-take, examining the girl closely for a long moment; Dudley could almost see the cogs working behind his cousin’s expressive, freakishly green eyes, and he feared his cousin was beginning to realize how gorgeous the girl was. The freak would go as far as to attempt to steal away what Dudley wanted out of spite. (At least, Dudley thought Harry would be so envious over his obvious superiority over Harry that his downtrodden cousin would covet what Dudley wanted.)

So Dudley was surprised when a look of realization spread across Harry’s face. “Oh... my... God,” Harry choked out seconds before he doubled over and began to laugh.

Dudley stared at the obviously insane freak. He’s lost his gourde!

----------

Meanwhile, the series of these aforementioned events happened much differently for Dana Kinsley. Dudley Dursley was certain that he and Dana were the only ones in the conversation, but he was wrong. Not only did Dana know they were being watched, but she could hear the voices of those who did the watching.

“That must be the cousin.”

“Didn’t Harry say he and his cousin don’t get along?”

“I’m certain Harry doesn’t get along with his entire family. He always writes negatively about them.”

“He doesn’t write about them at all in his letters to me!”

“You think muggles are inferior, and Duo’s trying to change that. Harry probably doesn’t want to give you a negative view of muggles.”

“I knew that braided numbskull was only feeding me half the story on those bloody muggles!”

Dana, needless to say, became rather tired of the banter from the voices in her head -literally. And Harry’s cousin was... staring at her with look of unbridled lust, and it was seriously freaking her out.

“Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” she blurted, relaxing when his face slackened with disbelief, the lust immediately seeming to fade.

Of course, the lustful gaze didn’t disappear fast enough to avoid the notice of their watchers. Two of the voices were cackling almost madly, and Dana could hear one of the gentler voices murmur, “Oh, dear...”

Yet another voice calmly said, “Looks like Dana’s a little too convincing, isn’t she?”

A fifth voice actually growled.

Dana felt her lips curl into a smile. A show of jealousy... This will prove most interesting. Than she looked back at the Dursley kid with a small amount of trepidation turning her stomach. Disturbing... but interesting.

“Oh, so you were staring at the glory that is my delectable self. For a moment, I thought you were speechless because you expected me to be a Jehovah’s Witness or something.”

There was silence from the voices. Then, “Are you flirting with the fat muggle?”

Dana wouldn’t have answered even if she could; answering an inquiry that Dursley hadn’t heard would certainly cause him to become suspicious. Instead, she held out her hand. “My name’s Dana Kinsley. I’m in Surrey visiting a friend of mine from school.”

He took the bait. “I’m Dudley Dursley. What brings a pretty girl like you to my humble doorstep?”

“The dishonorable cad.”

“That’s... I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

Someone growled.

“You don’t think he’ll try to kiss her, do you?”

“I can’t decide who I would be more worried for if that happened, little one.” It was clear why one of the voices would worry for Dursley when another growl echoed in Dana’s ear.

Dana almost threw up in her mouth a little. She placed her palm over her mouth to hide her visible frown of disgust when she tasted bile on the back of her tongue, and once she was certain nothing embarrassing would happen, she forced a weak chuckle. “Well, that’s just the thing, really. I’m... a bit out of place. I don’t know my way around much, and I can’t seem to find my friend. I was hoping that I could use your phone?” There. Hopefully she didn’t sound traumatized by Dursley’s flirting.

The rotund teenager welcomed her inside. “Come on in. I never turn down a girl in need.”

Dana smiled in amusement. Oh, if only he knew...

When Dana stepped over the threshold, she immediately began to survey her surroundings. She chanced a frown, her back turned to Dursley; her target was no where in sight. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any sign that there was another person there. Crap...

“Where is he?”

“Is this the right house?”

“Number 4 Privet Drive. We checked the address, remember?”

“Does this mean she’ll have to stay?”

“Hn.” A dissatisfied grunt.

“Nice place.” Dana gulped and forced a smile, turning to look at Dursley just in time to see his head jerk up guiltily. She barely restrained the urge to lose her cool and beat the guy’s face into pulp. Perverted bastard...

“Thanks,” he said, attempting to recover from his social faux pas. “My dad owns his own business, and we happen to be quite wealthy because of it.”

What a jackass...

A voice snorted. “What a witless plebeian. Obviously he wouldn’t know true wealth if it bit him on the arse.”

Draco Malfoy, ladies and gentlemen, Dana thought sardonically. Supreme Ruler of Elitist Snobs.

“Lucky you,” she murmured nonchalantly, hoping to convey just how much that mattered to her. Really. “Thanks for letting me use your phone. Being a complete stranger and all...”

“It’s no problem,” he said, preening. “Especially for a beautiful lady in need.” When he began leading her further into the house, she rolled her eyes to show her aggravation. Dana didn’t know how long she could tolerate Dursley’s failings as a suave seducer, but it was quickly beginning to grind on her nerves.

“Here it is,” he said, presenting her to the phone with a wide hand gesture.

Dana had to stifle a snicker over his posturing. He looked like an exuberant car salesman presenting the latest wears to a potential buyer. “I can see that.”

She picked up the receiver and dialed a random number; before the call could go out, however, she subtly pulled the extension from its slot on the side of the phone, killing the line for the moment.

“Harry’s still not around.”

“He couldn’t be out, could he?”

“Are you kidding? That would be going against Dumbledore’s request for Harry to stay at Number 4 for as long as possible. Trust me; I’ve written the Headmaster about letting Harry stay with me twice, and both times he said it was too soon for Harry to leave.”

“I suppose Dumbledore wants to take advantage of the Dursleys’ blood protection over Harry as long as possible.”

“Heero, you do realize she’s going to have to stay there until Harry shows up.”

A growl. “If he doesn’t show in five minutes, she’s leaving.”

“... I’ll concede to that.”

“Good.”

Dana stifled a groan before she slowly placed the phone down, deciding to leave the extension unplugged. She looked at Dursley sadly and said, “My friend hasn’t made it home yet. I don’t think I can find the house from here...”

Of course, the jerk jumped at the chance to ‘get to know’ Dana. “You can stay here and try again later. I’m sure she’ll be home eventually.”

“Why aren’t there any pictures of Harry?” the nasally voice demanded suddenly.

“What?”

“Heero’s right... Look at the pictures on the walls. None of them have Harry in them...”

Dana’s eyes flew to the family portraits and framed snapshots, barely suppressing her frown. All of them had a member of the Dursley family in some form or another, but Dana didn’t see a single sign of Harry. Oh, God... what if I’m in the wrong house?

“If you’re sure I won’t be imposing...”

“Of course not,” he said, perhaps a little too eagerly, both in action and words. He moved too close for comforting, his large mass invading her precious personal space. The close proximity made her squirm backwards, but the small of her back pressed against the small table where the phone was resting. “A Dursley never turns away a girl in need.”

Dana was starting to feel the bile rise in her throat again. “That’s... nice.” It had to be the right house. Harry had to be there! “Are you the only one here?”

Dursley blanched at that, obviously displeased. Thank GOD. “Well, I-“

And then Harry Potter himself came in to save the day. As always.

“Ever notice how he shows up at exactly the right time; not a moment sooner or later?”

A snort. “Hero’s luck.”

“That makes sense, actually. Heero has the same luck.”

“Heero’s name is ‘Hero’. Stands to reason he was sort of destined to be one.”

Of course, Dana found it difficult to keep up with both of the conversations going on at once, one being the one in her head and the other being a conversation Harry seemed to be having with himself. Judging by the sour expression on the Gryffindor’s face, Harry was actually complaining to himself.

Than Harry stopped talking, looking between Dursley and Dana with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Dana almost breathed a sigh of relief when the bulky jackass moved away quickly, glaring at Harry for disturbing his game.

Harry blinked. “You have a girlfriend, Dudders?”

Dana’s jaw visibly dropped.

One of the voices sounded sardonically amused. “You were right, Barton. Dana’s a little too convincing.”

“That, and Harry’s a little obtuse. Give him a minute. He’ll recognize dear Dana after he really looks at her.”

‘Dudders’ sounded angry and had a look on his face that promised pain as he said bitingly, “Like I’ve ever seen you with a girl, Potter.”

“At least I know he’s not cheating on me.”

“Draco!”

“What? Yes, I realize that I’m too sexy to be cheated on. There’s always a chance he’ll finally see that being my boyfriend will expose him to entirely too much sarcasm that jars with his silly Gryffindor ideals.”

Dana blinked. “Sibling rivalry?” She was supposed to be ignorant of the family dynamics, after all.

The cousins looked absolutely disgusted by the suggestion.

“We’re not siblings. I can’t stand the freak,” Dursley spat, glaring at Harry.

“Freak? Freak?” One of the voices shrieked, almost causing Dana to visibly wince.

“As if a spoiled, overbearing oinker like you is such a pleasure to be around,” Harry replied with the same amount of loathing.

“That’s my Harry!”

“Spoiled and overbearing?” The voice chuckled. “Sounds a bit like someone we know...”

“I am nothing like that whale of a muggle!”

“Really? Then how did you know who Barton was talking about?”

“Wufei...” A voice chided.

“I hate all of you,” the voice responded flatly.

“Hn.”

Harry was staring at her. Many expressions crossed his face, starting with suspicion and a myriad of other emotions that came with it; after the moment passed and recognition hit, Harry first appeared shocked, which quickly turned into hysteria.

“Oh... my... God,” Harry choked.

“Bingo!” a voice crowed. “We have recognition!”

And then Harry doubled over in laughter.

Let’s get one thing straight.

Duo Maxwell did not look like a girl. He was perfectly masculine in every way; so what if his face was a little soft on the eyes compared to Heero, Trowa, and Wufei? So what if he had a braid that was nearly three meters long? Who cared if his slender figure could possibly resemble that of a woman’s? He was manly in every way, and damn anyone who had anything to say to the contrary.

Therefore, he was completely offended that it took Harry Potter almost two full minutes to realize that the girl standing before him wasn’t a girl at all. He had been even more offended that the muscle-headed loser that answered the door had considered him drool-worthy enough to stare at his ass, but Harry’s prolonged reaction was icing on the cake of humiliation.

Damn that Draco Black. Damn him to hell for being so freaking ruthless in dealing with someone who hurt his pride. And damn him again for forcing Duo into a dress, makeup, and letting his hair loose without a braid. Damn the boy for a third time for making Duo wear the fucking open-toed high-heels that were causing his feet to throb in pain. He didn’t know how women put up with such nonsense.

“It accentuates a lady’s derriere,” Draco had replied breezily as he rummaged through his mother’s wardrobe in search of a nice lilac top that would match the floral print of the skirt Duo was to be wearing for the evening. “Now stop complaining and put on your stockings already!”

And while he was on this mental tangent, damn Wufei for taking pictures of the whole transformation process. “For prosperity,” the Chinese youth had remarked with a barely concealed smirk, snapping away with his camera as Trowa quietly insisted that Duo remain still while the quiet Slytherin applied rogue to Duo’s cheeks.

When attempting to find someone to do Duo’s makeup for the occasion, Draco had originally gone to Quatre, theorizing that anyone with so many sisters would know a thing or two about makeup in general. They were all surprised when Quatre claimed that he possessed no such talent and volunteered Trowa for the job; apparently putting on clown makeup was only a bit more different than the technique women used to paint their faces. Duo was especially surprised that Quatre went as far as to volunteer Trowa’s help in the first place; the move had almost listed Quatre as a traitor in Duo’s book. However, in retrospect, Duo miserably realized that he deserved whatever he was getting, and Quatre was just trying to be fair.

That didn’t mean he had to like it, however.

‘Dana’ shook his head, feigning confusion. Instead, however, he was somewhat pleased that Harry was enjoying Draco’s birthday ‘entertainment,’ as it were, even if the green-eyed Gryffindor’s amusement was because of the situation Duo managed to land himself in this time. As it stood, Duo was never going to doubt Draco’s ability in anything ever again unless he had solid proof to the contrary.

“Is he okay?” Duo asked worriedly, eyeing Harry as if he’d never seen the boy before in his life.

“He won’t be by the time I’m done with him,” Dudley Dursley muttered threatening, appearing as if he was just one step closer to raising a fist to Harry. Duo couldn’t smother his concerned frown as he contemplated the tubby but muscular muggle cousin of Harry Potter.

Duo was a great judge of character. It came with the territory, really; on the streets of L2, a street rat like him had to be able to gage the difference between genuine concern and sugar-coated lies very quickly. One mistake in judgement had dire consequences, not only for the individual, but for the pack as a whole. Dudley was exactly the kind of person that made Duo’s internal alarms shriek. Duo had been mentally set at DEF-CON 2 since the moment he’d entered the home. The rotund teenager attempted to soothe “Dana Kinsley” with kind smiles and words, but Duo knew full well that under that pleasant veneer lay something far more vicious.

“Sorry,” Harry wheezed, finally recovering enough sense to play along. “Just... thought of something...”

“Did it hurt?” Duo asked sweetly. Just because he enjoyed making Harry laugh didn’t mean he enjoyed the humiliation that came with it, and he was going to make sure that Harry knew it.

“It certainly did,” Harry gasped, still laughing weakly. “Oh, my sides...”

Bastard.

“Way to go, Harry.” The voice sounded impressed.

“Potter certainly won that round over Dana.”

Duo gritted his teeth. He wished the others would stop referring to him as one of the female persuasion; unfortunately, it was one of the conditions of the bet.

“Shouldn’t you be doing chores or something?” Dursley demanded rudely, giving his cousin the evil eye. Duo almost scoffed at Dursley’s effort to look menacing. His glare didn’t hold a candle to expressions he often saw on Wufei and Heero’s faces.

“I’m finished, Dudders,” Harry replied with a smirk. “Besides, I think I’ll stick around to protect the poor girl’s virtue. It’s a moral imperative.”

“Hn,” Heero grunted, sounding oddly pleased that Harry was present to help fend off Dursley’s unwanted molestation.

Thanks ever so. “How sweet. You think you need to protect me,” Duo murmured in his husky feminine falsetto. “Before you go protecting my virtue, I think introductions are in order. I’m Dana Kinsley.”

Harry bowed sweepingly. “Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Duo said demurely.

“Spirits, will you look at how they’re playing that muggle sap? Priceless,” Draco crowed, chuckling wickedly.

“Quite,” Wufei murmur, sounding equally amused.

For that matter, Duo spared a glance toward the seething wannabe Lothario. The bulky boy looked none-too-pleased with how well his cousin and the girl he’d been flirting with were hitting it off. In fact, judging by the sudden glint of malice in youngest Dursley’s watery blue eyes, the idiot was attempting to devise a plan to rectify the situation.

Whatever plot his pea-brain could develop was abruptly halted by the front door opening, admitting a strikingly thin woman with a neck that was too long and a face that vaguely resembled a horse’s. The fat man with the bushy mustache that came in after her looked equally comparable to an animal, but he was more like a walrus instead of a horse.

The whale, the walrus, and the horse. All the makings of a really bad joke.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who made this observation. “Harry’s related to people with close ties to the animal kingdom?”

Trowa immediately burst out laughing at Draco’s bland question.

“There he goes again,” Wufei said wearily.

The walrus frowned at the teenagers clogging his hallway. Before the man could demand the identity of the strange girl, Dudley jumped at the opportunity to explain.

“Dad, this is Dana Kinsley. She’s staying until she can contact her friend.” The youngest Dursley didn’t phrase this as a request; instead, it sounded very much like a fact, as if ‘Dana’ was staying no matter what Vernon and Petunia Dursley had to say about it.

“Presumptuous git, isn’t he?” Draco muttered. “If I had used that tone with Lucius, he would have maimed me.”

“Seems to be working for him,” Wufei said, sounding disgusted. “What kind of parents are they to allow a child to boss them around? Incompetent fools...”

The horse seemed to catch on to what the whale was implying because she suddenly smiled proudly. “Of course your girlfriend can stay, Duddykins,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. All Duo could think was, ... Duddykins?

“You must stay for dinner, dear,” she prattled on, hanging her stylishly gaudy raincoat on the coat rack. “Do you like roast?”

Duo forced a smile; he didn’t really want to stay for dinner. In fact, he was very ready to leave and remove the uncomfortable makeup and rip off the itchy stockings. However...

“Stay! Stay! I want you to bait the muggles!”

“Draco!” Quatre admonished, sounding oddly sharp.

“What? Look, you people haven’t let me bait muggles for ages. At least let me do it through Dana!”

“This is supposed to be Harry’s gift,” Trowa pointed out.

“So? This is still my wager, and I say Dana hasn’t fulfilled her side of the wager yet.”

“Go ahead and stay, Duo.”

“Heero?” Quatre inquired, sounding surprised.

“I love roast,” Duo gushed. “I’ll stay if it’ll be no trouble to you and your family, ma’am,” Duo added, smiling sweetly and doing a small curtsey. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.” What the hell, Heero?...

“Harry’s description of his relatives has concerned me for some time now,” Heero said calmly. “If my suspicions prove true, I believe it would be imperative to remove him from the Dursleys’ custody.”

“But what about Dumbledore?” Wufei asked.

“Damn Dumbledore,” Draco replied snidely. “I don’t like what Heero’s implying, and even if he tends to be a little paranoid, I want to see if it’s true or not.”

“What a polite girl,” Petunia Dursley beamed.

“That’s my boy, Dudders,” the walrus boasted, clapping his son on the back, a picture of masculine pride. The pride immediately seemed to fall from Vernon Dursley’s face as his attention turned to Harry.

“Well, boy?” he boomed gruffly.

“I’m done weeding the garden,” Harry said stiffly, a spark of rebellion shining in his angry green eyes as he lifted his chin to his uncle.

Duo frowned. Perhaps he was looking too deeply into things, but the atmosphere suddenly turned chilly as soon as the walrus man addressed his nephew.

Heero’s suspicion couldn’t be true... Could it?

Petunia surprised Duo by suddenly turning vicious, her face a shadow of the doting mother she once was. “Then go upstairs and wash up, you useless little beggar! I’ll not have you bringing even more filth into this house.”

Harry looked wearily at Duo before turning abruptly at stomping up the stairs, presumably to wash up. Duo was frozen in his place, his eyes widening incredulously.

Once Harry was out of sight, Petunia immediately adopted her role as the doting mother once again, urging her son and ‘Dana’ into the living room while she and Vernon made use of the kitchen to finish the final preparations for dinner. After that, she and her walrus husband disappeared into the kitchen.

For a moment, there was silence.

“Those bastards,” Draco whispered, sounding just as shell-shocked as Duo felt.

Duo narrowed his eyes, his hands tightening into trembling fists at his side. Those bastards... are going to pay.

The Dursleys were going to rue the day they ever stumbled across Duo Maxwell.


END CHAPTER FOUR


(1) Damn, don’t you just fucking hate my characterization of Dudley Dursley? I kind of wanted Duo to accidently shoot him and rid the HP universe of his presence entirely. Unfortunately, I kind of wanted to leave the murder of annoying people out of this mostly lighthearted fic. I contented myself with having Dudley unknowingly lust over a boy. :snickers wickedly: (Someday, I will kill Dudley Dursley off in a fic for the sheer joy of it. Someday.) He kind of reminds me of what my grandma always says. “Stupidity kills... but not enough to really help.”

God, I love my grandma.

(2) As an afterthought, I spent a total of three hours trolling around in the inner psyche of Dudley Dursley. Will wash, and wash, but will never feel clean again. :shudders:

(3) And then I tried to get him laid! Oh, GOD... :vomits:

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Three

13 July, AC 197

Harry,

I feel as if I am confined in a mad house with five dangerous
lunatics.

I suppose that is not the best way to start a letter to one’s
boyfriend, but there is simply no better way to accurately
describe my utter vexation with the five aforementioned lunatics
with whom I now live. The pitiful part is that, despite the fact
they are dangerous lunatics, they really mean well.

I suppose that is why I haven’t spiked their tea with lethal
doses of belladonna yet. However, it’s on the list.

Before I get too riled up in the details of What These Idiots
Have Done Now, I would like to point out that I would apologize
for taking so long in replying to your last letter, but I feel
deep within my very soul (and yes, despite what Weasley would say
to the contrary, I have one) that it is not my fault. All
responsibility of my very late reply rests solely on -you guessed
right- the Mad Five. Oddly enough, every time I refer to them as
the Mad Five to their faces, Duo tends to feel a little nostalgic
and wistfully claims that Pestilence would be “so very proud.” I
don’t know what he’s talking about, either; frankly, I don’t
care. The point is, perhaps you should bring it up to Duo
whenever you write him again. I hope you make him feel contrite,
but knowing you, I doubt you could manage it. Making people feel
bad isn’t exactly your style.

Then again, I am almost certain that four of the Mad Five are
completely impenetrable when it comes to being bombarded with
guilt trips. I wouldn’t try it with Quatre, though; his boyfriend
wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. (And I hate that Trowa can still
scare me with a single expressionless look. I hate I hate I
hate.)

Needless to say, it has been a rather hectic two weeks.

Deviating from my original rant, I simply must know if what Duo
says is true. He claims that all muggles know how to remove
bloodstains from any material of clothing of any color just as
well as their maths and alphabet. Something to do with bleach and
elbow grease. Personally, it sounds like a disease.

(In the margin beside the above paragraph, in a another shade of ink and a script that was vastly different from Draco’s own carefully crafted cursive, was a hastily scrawled “You smell like a disease!” One could only assume that such an impromptu addition was made after the letter itself had been completed, and someone had felt remarkably Slytherin enough to read Draco’s letter before the blond had time to send it. Popular consensus believed that Duo was at fault here.)

In any case, my irritation with the group as a total did not
start with one Duo Maxwell during this particular period, whereas
Duo is usually the culprit of my irritation. Not long after I
sent you the letter before this one, I retired downstairs to make
use of the library when, much to my horror, I stumbled across
Heero knocking holes in my walls.

Literally. On both accounts.

----------

Draco’s journey to the library to finish a book he’d recently found on dark magic not yet classified as forbidden by the Ministry of Magic (though the book had been written in the eighteenth century and much had changed since that time) was abruptly halted when the blond tripped over some metal box that someone had carelessly left lying in the middle of the floor.

“Ow! Bloody he–who left this here?” Draco demanded loudly, looking around for the perpetrator. When no one had come forth to claim the responsibility -Draco hadn’t really expected much, as the room appeared deserted- he took a moment to inspect the metal box. The lid was open, revealing odd objects that Draco couldn’t possibly put a name to; oh, he recognized the hammer well enough, so it was probably safe to say that the objects in the tin box were tools of some kind, and most likely muggle in origin.

“Who could possibly need tools, and for what?” Draco mused.

“I do.” The blond stifled a yelp and whirled around, finding Heero standing in the doorway of the living room. The Japanese boy walked further into the room and quickly selected the hammer and a pronged tool with a black handle and a metal spike that flattened out at the end. “I hadn’t intended to level these tools in the middle of the floor. Duo wanted my attention and, as usual, he made it sound urgent.”

Draco smothered a smirk. Once again, Duo had used his superior acting skills to drag Heero away from his original task. Knowing Duo, the reason for Heero’s attention most likely involved something sexual in nature. It wasn’t the first time Duo had taken Heero away for a supposedly innocent private chat. The rather fresh hickey glaring at Draco from Heero’s exposed neck only proved it.

“Understandable,” Draco replied, watching in interest as Heero kneeled down directly in front of a wall. The Japanese Slytherin placed the pronged tool against the wall and held it in place as he lifted the hammer.

It only took one solid thwack with the hammer, the pronged tool breaking through the wall, for Draco to go from curious to absolutely beside himself in incredulous anger.

“What are you doing?” Draco shrieked, finally shaking himself from the shock of seeing Heero carelessly knock holes in the wall as if this were a normal, everyday occurrence.

“Installing electricity,” Heero replied, not even hesitating as he delicately continued the procedure of putting a hole in the wall with the use of the flathead screwdriver and the hammer.

Draco wanted to scream. “Electricity!”

“I asked you about it three days ago.”

“You didn’t tell me adhering to your silly muggle whims would involve you putting holes in the wall, Heero!”

Heero paused to look at Draco with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t ask what installing electricity would entail.”

“Because common sense dictates that you inform me of things that involve a drastic remodeling of my home!”

Heero gave Draco a peculiar look. “I would hardly call installing a couple of outlets anything as strongly as a ‘drastic remodeling’, Draco. And if I remember correctly, when I asked you about installing electricity in the first place, you made it quite clear you didn’t even want to know how or why, just as long as I didn’t explain it to you.”

Draco mentally cursed his lack of patience with Heero when the subject was brought up. He’d endured far too much information about muggles from his five friends; if allowing Heero to install this electricity thing without knowing too much about the process in which that entailed, he was only too happy to let Heero do whatever the hell he wanted. In hindsight, his forced ignorance on the matter was a bad call. If he had known the extent Heero had to go to in order to have electricity at the manor, he would have probably immediately vetoed the idea no matter what excuse Heero came up with his need for it.

Now it was too little, too late, and Draco would have to allow Heero to continue what he started.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t complain about it. “Why do you need electricity, anyway? I thought you were getting along just fine with magic!”

“I’m afraid constantly recharging my laptop by way of magic will wear on the circuitry faster than normal,” Heero replied simply, pounding the handle of the screwdriver with the hammer again. With a few good hits, the blunt, flat edge of the screwdriver pierced through the wall. “Duo’s stereo started malfunctioning a few days ago. When I took it apart to see what was wrong with it, the circuitry appeared as if it had been slowly cooked from the inside. Magic just isn’t very compatible with technology, no matter how many times we attempt to substitute through magical means.”

Fabulous.

----------

So now the manor has electricity. As much as I hate to admit, I
barely realize the holes are even there. These “outlet” things
seem to blend into the wall remarkably well. However, if I had
been completely aware of what having electricity would mean to
Duo’s plot to (and I quote) “advance the insidious liberal
agenda,” I would have had one more reason to staunchly veto the
installation completely.

The insidious liberal agenda of which Duo speaks happens to be
his own personal mission to make me a little more tolerant of
muggles. I didn’t quite understand how Duo was going to further
this agenda with what little materials he has to work with, but
apparently he’s found some hidden websight over the internet that
is wizard friendly. Imagine my surprise when twelve owls
delivered a rather large package to the manor, alongside two
smaller packages. Duo later informed me that these strange muggle
devices are called a telivision, a data disk player, and data
disks that he calls “movies.”(1)

Whatever that means.

----------

“So basically, this is a lot like that digital thing Quatre got for you on Christmas?”

“Digital disc player. And kind of,” Duo hedged, hanging the strangely flat muggle invention on the wall and standing back to inspect his handiwork. “The digital discs that you use with a digital disc player wouldn’t be at all compatible with a data disc player, which only plays data discs.”

Draco stared at him, nonplused. It all sounded like the same thing; he didn’t see why everything couldn’t work with everything else when it all sounded like the same thing. “Okay. Explain why that is.”

“Digital disc players are portable so no matter where you are, if you’re in for a bit of a wait, you can pull it out and instantly be entertained. For that, they had to make the discs fit to size.” The American began rummaging through one of the smaller boxes, pulling out a slim, rectangular box with a wildly colorful picture of an eccentric-looking man in a purple top hat. After expertly tearing away the slim, clear covering that wrapped the box, he found the grooved corner and pulled; the box almost split in two with a “snap!” The only thing that held the box together was one of the longer sides.

Now that he thought about it, it kind of worked like a book.

“This round disc here,” Duo pointed at the aforementioned disc resting safe in the center, “is a data disc. The simplest way I could possibly explain it to you without getting too much into mechanics is that a data disc couldn’t possibly fit in a digital disc player. Likewise, a digital disc is too small to fit in a data disc player. Make sense?”

“Muggles make things entirely too complicated,” Draco murmured, shaking his head.

Duo snickered, snapping the box closed in his hands and lying them on a corner table before going about fiddling with the cord things in the back, poking some of the cords from the data disc thing (which was bigger than what Draco remembered of the digital disc player) into the back of the almost flat box with the black screen that Duo called a “flat-screen television.”

“Oh, but the end result is going to rock your socks, dragon boy,” Duo said with a rather bright gleam in his eyes. “Now that we have all the ingredients, we’re going to have a movie night.”

“Movie night?” Draco murmured questioningly.

Duo didn’t embellish. Instead, he finally came to his feet and reached for the slim box that contained the data disc he’d used as an example. Upon studying the cover, a wide grin of glee split his face.

Draco wasn’t exactly comforted by the appearance of such a devious grin. “What is it?”

Duo looked up with glee, quipping quirkily, “There’s nothing like a prize than a SUR-prise, heh-heh!” Without another word, he quickly turned his back to the confused former Malfoy heir and bounded away with a skip to his step, calling out for anyone to hear, “Oi! We’re watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight!”

Somewhere behind Draco, he could hear Quatre, sounding defeat, murmur the words, “Oh, dear...”

Draco turned to look at the weary-looking blond, slightly paranoid. “What?”

“Well, it’s just that Duo likes to replace all the characters’ names with people he knows,” Quatre replied tiredly. “I’m always Charlie Bucket, Trowa and Wufei are always Oompa Loompas, Heero is Mike Teevee, Duo, of course, likens himself to Willy Wonka... and I’m afraid he finally found someone to be his version of Veruca Salt.”

Draco blinked. “Who?”

----------

I am nothing like Veruca bloody Salt. Nothing. Her arse was
thrown down a garbage shoot by a bunch of rodents; I wouldn’t
have put myself in such a foolish situation in the first place,
as I have no desire to own a trained rat like a common plebe! Her
father certainly wasn’t anything like Lucius, either!

On this “movie” thing overall, I would have to say my theory
about the inner psyche of muggles has finally been proven.
They’re all barking mad.

In all truth, Trowa doesn’t bother me as much as the others save
for one thing. You, of all people, should know how much it
irritates me to hold my tongue for the sake of anyone. Curbing my
desire to voice my opinion, no matter how scathing it may be, has
never been much of an option for me. It’s simply not the way my
mother raised me to be, but Trowa can scare me better than Heero
Yuy ever could. Oh, he’s a great friend and a worthy Slytherin,
but when it comes to protecting his angel from scorn, Trowa knows
how to convey an inevitable retaliation with just a glance, and
not a promisingly bloodless retaliation, either. It’s the only
thing that consistently irritates me that I’ll probably have to
learn to live with, and that’s just not how I operate, damn it
all.

Then again, I find myself less and less disapproving of Quatre’s
character as a whole, no matter how much of a true Hufflepuff he
is. It seems like Quatre is the only one that almost takes me
seriously on a day-by-day occasion, and it’s remarkably
refreshing. His earnest goodwill and positive outlook on
everything under the sun works for him because, unlike most
Hufflepuffs, he has the charisma to inspire people to think the
way he thinks and the tenacity to stay dedicated to creating a
safer, peaceful, and fair world for everyone, be they pureblood
or muggle, rich or poor. Things like that usually disgust me
because I honestly do not believe that’s how the world should be,
but Quatre knows exactly what to say to make his hopes become a
reality. It’s sort of inspiring, really, that one teenager could
have so many goals in life and still have the absolute certainty
that he can reach every single one of those goals.

----------

“I don’t think you’re thinking very realistically on this matter, Quatre. The purebloods disapprove of muggleborns being included in the wizarding world not out of unreasoned hatred and bigotry, but because their introduction to our world inevitably leads to even more muggles realizing our existence. We both know that, according to past experiences throughout history, our kind aren’t fondly thought of by muggles. They’re panicky and fearful of things they couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and they lash out by attempting to wipe us out. Despite what the Ministry wants us to think, purebloods usually have enough status to know that many witches and wizards died during the Spanish Inquisition before word of charms that protected against burning spread. A lot of lines were almost ended because of that disaster.”

“But I do understand,” Quatre said somberly, taking a moment to taste the steaming tea from the expensive china that rested in his hands. “It’s a very realistic fear to have, but it doesn’t just apply to muggles. Wizards, too, tend to be irrational about cultures they aren’t familiar with, as well. All-wizarding families like the Weasleys tend to have a blind optimism about how harmless muggles are, and they simply aren’t. What muggles lack in magic, they make up for in technology; and some muggle technology can be quite dangerous on a widespread scale. However, you’re also guilty of stereotyping muggles on the opposite side of the spectrum. You realize muggles can be a threat, but you can’t seem to accept that all muggles aren’t like that. Only one of my sisters knows exactly where I’ve disappeared to, and she’s absolutely fascinated and amazed by the implications of a purely wizarding society hidden away from the rest of the world. She’s very enthusiastic and quite accepting of the new lifestyle I lead, and she happens to be a muggle.”

“Squib,” Draco corrected Quatre. “You’re mother was a witch. I wouldn’t doubt she didn’t even bother telling your father about it, though I would like to know how she hid her magic from him. In any case, your sister would be classified as a squib. All of your sisters would, in fact.” Draco blinked, suddenly realizing for the first time that Quatre had more than one sister. How many squib cousins did he have? “How many sisters do you have?”

Quatre suddenly smiled. “I have twenty-nine older sisters.”

“You’re kidding.” There was no way that was even possible.

“I’m not,” Quatre promised, chuckling. “I haven’t met them all yet, but I know each of their names.”

----------

No wonder Lucius’ sister turned her back on the family. Quatre’s
father must have been quite the Viking in the sack.

(Beside this single sentence was another thing that appeared to have been added after the fact, but instead of words, it was a single drawing of a stubby person that looked remarkably like Duo, pointing at the sentence while clearly howling with laughter, a few block-lettered “ha!”s crowning the doodle’s braid-bearing head.)

----------

“What is Draco boggling over now?” Trowa asked his boyfriend as he swept through the room they’d adopted for tea time. The tall Slytherin casually laid his holster on the breakfast room’s table, the butt of his gun jutting out from the leather confinement. There was no doubt where he had decided to spend his time; Draco didn’t doubt that Duo, Heero, and possibly Wufei were still taking advantage of the dungeons new purpose as a firing range-slash-training course.

Quatre smiled at the taller boy, an almost innocent amusement shining in his eyes. “I just informed Draco of how many sisters I actually have.”

Trowa raised an eyebrow and looked at Draco. “They’re all overprotective, too.”

The poor bastard, Draco mused, absently replying, “I’m beginning to understand why you don’t act like other boys our age, Quatre.”

Quatre blinked, honestly confused. “What do you mean?”

Draco would have explained that Quatre wasn’t quite as masculine and grandstanding as most seventeen year old teenage boys were, and he probably would have been very honest about it. However, a stern, blank look from Trowa immediately caused him to rethink his initial reply and, adopting a facade of nonchalance, said, “I meant that you are astonishingly mature for someone who would normally be thinking less about politics and more about typical teenage drama, like angst over spots and getting called out for misbehavior by teachers. I’ve heard older siblings tend to have such an influence.” Which was a bald-faced lie, but he had to have some reason to justify his reply.

“I’ve just never considering things like that as something to really think much about,” Quatre admitted, taking Draco’s word at face value. Trowa nodded silently in approval and took a moment to pour himself a cup of tea, and Draco allowed himself to relax in relief while still attempting to swallow the indignity of having to placate anyone. “Worrying about pimples and showing off to gain attention aren’t really things that are important, in the long run.”

----------

If there’s one thing I have to say about Quatre, it’s this: he
has an amazing talent of simplifying a common action and making
people realize how ridiculous a person’s actions are with only a
few words and an earnest expression. He’s almost every bit the
half-Malfoy that he is, but with wildly different opinions and a
very sincere persona. Malfoys, as a rule, are also very
opinionated but condescending to the point of cruelty.

I would also like to take this opportunity to say it again: I
bloody hate having to mince words just to placate Quatre so Trowa
won’t enact some sort of vengeance on me for hurting his angel. I
hate I hate I hate.

Wufei, however, has been irritating me on an entirely different
matter, but I can’t blame him solely for this one. To tell the
truth, I asked for it.

----------

“I want you to teach me your style of fighting.”

Wufei looked up from his book, appearing slightly befuddled by Draco’s sudden declaration as the blond barged into the library. “Pardon?”

“You remember our wager,” Draco said, standing at the end of the table Wufei was sitting at and lifting his chin proudly. “I’ve decided what to have you do for me. I want you to teach me your style of fighting. I particularly like the sword style that you practice, but the hand-to-hand looks bloody amazing, as well.”

Wufei blinked, slowly placing a bookmark between the pages he was on and closing the book. “You want me to teach you martial arts?”

Draco frowned. “What? You don’t think I could do it?”

“It’s not that,” Wufei replied, shaking his head. “Although I do find it difficult to believe that you’d willingly adhere yourself to my schedule, I’m mostly surprised that you’ve decided to use this opportunity to learn something new instead of using it to humiliate me like Maxwell would.”

Draco waved his hand in the air with a derisive snort. “Please. Duo’s going to get exactly what he deserves, and he’s going to have to grin and bear it. You, however, really don’t deserve the kind of plot I have for Duo. While you tend to be a bit condescending and appear to have a stick permanently wedged in a place I’m not going to take the time to name, you don’t actively annoy me. It helps that you look absolutely wicked when I see you practicing your katas. As much as I hate to admit that something so obviously muggle fascinates me, it’s certainly something that intrigues me.”

Wufei smirked. “You could have stopped at the point where you mentioned Maxwell is going to get exactly what he deserves, and I would have immediately agreed to teach you martial arts.”

There were more than a few important things that Draco and Wufei had in common. For one, both were fiercely loyal to family and friends, but not to the point they would not take the time to question their methods. For another, both of them were very aware of the importance of tradition, no matter how outdated the world seemed to perceive such things. Thirdly, although Wufei and Draco defined the concept differently, both were very concerned with honor and how their actions honored themselves and their families. One of the most important commonality between them, however, was their desire to see Duo Maxwell taken down a peg or two. The mischievous American tended to use the two of them for his own amusement, and finally being able to one-up the Gryffindor was both refreshing and worthy of combining forces.

“You do realize I’m not going to go easy on you,” Wufei added solemnly, crossing his arms. “You are going to wake up every morning as the sun rises and join me in the clearing of the grove until breakfast, and you’re going to do it with minimal complaining. I’ll allow you a little leeway about complaining for the first few weeks, but I’ll expect you to have a better attitude later on. Do you understand, Black?”

Draco almost considered rethinking his intentions when Wufei basically informed him that he’d have to be sociable at such an ungodly hour of the morning, but Draco Black never backed away from a challenge. “I understand completely, Chang.”

“Good,” Wufei said with a final nod, finally opening the book he was reading previously. “We’ll start tomorrow morning.”

----------

Not that I’m regretting my decision to actively pursue this
sudden introduction into physical defense and offense or
anything, but I have to admit that I wasn’t particularly prepared
for the task master that is Chang Wufei. He’s strict and
irritatingly condescending of all my mistakes, but at least he
evens out his scorn with a fair bit of encouragement when I do
something competently. He’s informed me that my previous
experience with fencing helps, particularly when it comes to the
sword. I just have to remind myself that the rules between the
two sword styles are very different when it comes to posturing,
and I have to admit that I’m quite good at it. The hand-to-hand
form of fighting, however, is a bit more tricky. I’ll just say
it’s a work in process.

As you’ve probably noticed, it has been a rather hectic summer
thus far. I honestly can’t see how I’m going to survive the rest
of the holiday with my ever-so-endearing personality unscathed,
though I suspect you may think this is a good thing. The
unwavering optimism of a Gryffindor is something you clearly are
not lacking, Harry. Even though my inner Slytherin wants to snark
at you for it, I can’t help but to find that optimism adorable on
you.

Which proves that you, too, are trying to infect me with your
silly ideals, whether you mean to or not. I just can’t seem to
get away from people like you. At least I’m never bored.

I hope this letter finds you well. After reading your last
letter, I realized that, compared to my summer, yours is turning
out to be rather mundane. This is simply intolerable, and I vow
that the situation should be promptly rectified. As such, expect
a very unique and amusing experience to happen to you on your
birthday. I’ll even give you a hint: it involves humiliating Duo
and entertaining you. Doesn’t that just put a smile on your face?
It certainly puts one on mine.

I’ve said it before and I’ll write it now. Victory is sweet.

Yours,
Draco

----------

Draco’s parting words, illuminated with the aid of a torch as it was well past midnight, really did put a smile on Harry’s face. Despite the pompous aristocracy that simply dripped from every word of the letter, it was very clear that spending time with their five friends was having a very positive impact on the recalcitrant former Malfoy heir. In fact, the letter Harry held in his hands was the first that didn’t have anything despairingly scathing about muggles in general. Oh, there seemed to be a fond dislike of muggles in general, but it was clear that Draco was far less disapproving and a little more tolerant of muggle things.

Who knew Draco could take so well to the positive things that muggles had to offer? Harry had certainly been leery of Duo’s intentions when he first heard about it. The green-eyed boy had doubted Duo’s personal mission would ever succeed, but it actually appeared that the muggle-oriented group was making some progress on that point.

He folded the letter carefully and slid it back in the envelope it arrived in. He quietly pried the floorboards from their place under his bed and placed the newest letter from Draco in a stack of letters that included not only letters from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but a fair few from Duo and Quatre, as well. Once that was done, he quietly replaced the floorboards and crawled back into bed, silently promising to write back to Draco during his free time tomorrow.

“I wonder what he’s planning for my birthday?” Harry whispered to himself, staring vacantly out of his small bedroom window. Draco had seemed rather giddy about what he had planned, and his plot required Duo’s full cooperation.

One thing was for sure, however; Harry suspected that the Dursleys weren’t going to know what hit them if Duo Maxwell ever darkened their doorstep.

Harry smirked. Whatever Draco’s plan, it would certainly prove... interesting.

END CHAPTER THREE

(1) All misspellings in this paragraph are intentional. The letter IS written by Draco, and I doubt he’d actually go about asking how certain things are spelled.

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Two

Compared to a typical day in the English countryside, the day had started off rather marvelous. So marvelous, in fact, that many of the residents of the Malfoy summer home (now belonging to the Blacks, thanks to a generous divorce settlement between Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black) decided very early on in the morning that such was a day not to be wasted indoors. Heero, of course, was perhaps the only one amongst them that preferred to re-immerse himself in the glory of his laptop, which had been out of commission for far too long. The rest, however, realized that if any day was worth taking advantage of the estate’s vast grounds, this was the day. While there was still an oppressive overcast in the noon sky, the grey cloud cover didn’t blanket the surrounding area. Sunbeams broke through the clouds in the distance, making for a very breathtaking scene to those who weren’t accustomed to Great Britain’s unique beauty. According to Heero (courtesy of aforementioned laptop and the use of wireless Internet), the day could only get better, as the clouds were supposed to thin out by early afternoon.

Trowa and Quatre decided to use the day wisely by finally getting to work on the beautiful gardens that surrounded the manor. Draco had quite a taxing time attempting to hide his amusement as Quatre conferred with the house-elves typically responsible for the welfare of the gardens and lawn; apparently, Quatre hadn’t prepared for the elves habit of self-harm when they thought they were displeasing their masters, which was exactly what happened when Quatre voiced an interest in taking over the gardens. Duo had to actually bite his knuckles to keep from laughing as the genteel blonde frantically attempted to placate a house-elf who’d taken it upon herself to slam her ears in the kitchen door. Both of them immediately stopped feeling so amused and started feeling a little paranoid when Trowa shot them a warning glance. For someone who didn’t say much and seemed rather emotionless, he certainly knew how to get his point across by just looking at people.

Wufei had taken an open space of his own to practice sword and martial arts katas, which Draco couldn’t help but admit looked really neat. Martial arts was mostly a muggle concept, and fencing was practiced by most of the wealthy in the wizarding world. Fencing, however, was a little different than what Wufei practiced. Draco admired the fluid grace of the practiced movements, amazed that someone so stiff and upright in demeanor could move so quickly and gracefully. Putting a sword in the Chinese youth’s hands added an extra element of danger and debonair. If Wufei hadn’t thought so little of women in general, he would probably get a lot more attention from girls merely by showing them how bloody wicked he looked during his katas.

Duo, however, decided to kidnap Draco for his own personal amusement.

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t be such a baby, dragon boy. C’mon -don’t you want to have the element of surprise if any Death Eater comes across you?”

“Of course I do. But not this.”

Duo made a couple of loud noises that sounded suspiciously like a chicken’s call.

“I’m not a chicken.” Draco was absolutely petulant now, pouting at the ground sullenly.

“Then take the damn gun, point, and shoot. It’s not that hard, and it’s not like I’m expecting you to actually hit the target at all. This is just for practice.”

Draco shot the American a typical acidic glare that marked prolonged exposure to Heero Yuy himself. “It’s nice to know you have such confidence in me.”

“Hey, hitting targets right off takes years of practice and a certain amount of talent.”

“I’m a damn good aim with a wand. What makes you think I wouldn’t be a good aim with this muggle wand?”

“Gun.”

“Whatever. The point is, I could hit the target if I wanted. I can’t actually look at the gun without seeing Jansen’s head blow up.” Draco cringed at the swell of memories that the mere mention of past events, specifically the fright of learning that something that something so small and innocuous as a ‘bullet’ could do that much damage with the added benefit of ‘gun powder’ and a ‘kick-ass .44 Magnum’, quoting Duo. The most frightening part of that ordeal was when he had finally realized that something that made Jansen’s head explode in a spray of crimson and... Draco immediately stopped that train of thought, afraid that he was going to do something potentially embarrassing, like vomit. In any case, the same device that did that to the Death Eater had been pressed lightly against his temple by none other than Duo Maxwell himself, and Draco had realized there was a lot more to the Gryffindor besides a goofy smile and a wicked sense of humor.

Duo was like a friendly snake amongst the lions. Snakes in general were loners, but Duo was in a class all of his own. He was easily pleased and quite congenial when he didn’t feel threatened, but as soon as Duo was put in a situation that forced him to act, all the sly fierceness of his instincts came to the foreground.

Duo shrugged unsympathetically. “Sometimes you just gotta find a way around that, man. If I stressed over every death I’m responsible for, I wouldn’t get much done during the day. Besides, we’re trying to prevent you from ever being put in that situation again. Next time you can be my backup instead of my hostage.”

“Your logic astounds and disturbs me,” Draco said mordantly, glaring at the offensive heavy black metal hanging limply from his hand. “If I shoot at the target and get a perfect hit, can we drop this entirely?”

Duo didn’t seem as confident in Draco’s ability as Draco himself was, but he took a moment to critically assess the distance between the blond and the large target set out nearly thirty feet away. From a logical standpoint, the target would have been easy for Duo or any one of the pilots. For a first-time shooter, however, it was a completely different story. Dragon boy really didn’t stand a chance. “Knock yourself out, scooter. Point is, you’re going to learn how to shoot that thing.”

Duo quickly set about teaching Draco how to brace himself for the kick of the Magnum so the blond wouldn’t find himself suddenly sprawled painfully on his derriere. “You’ll need to pull back on the hammer -that’s this nifty little thing here,” he added, pointing at the butt of the barrel. “You’ll use your thumb for that. If you actually take to this whole gun thing, I’ll probably let you use an automatic, but for now, you’ll have to do with a semi. Anyway, clasp the grip of the gun tightly with both hands.”

“You only used one,” Draco mumbled, adjusting his grip on the gun nervously, trying to comfortably fit his hands around the foreign muggle weapon.

“Yeah, but I’ve been playing with guns a lot longer than you,” Duo pointed out logically, reaching out to help adjust Draco’s grip so the process of actually raising and firing the gun would feel a little more natural. “I know how to absorb the kick better than you. Remember to keep a firm grip, and keep your feet exactly like they are now. It’ll help brace your body when you fire.” As an afterthought, Duo added hastily, “And when I used the word ‘playing’, I didn’t mean it in a fun way. Guns aren’t toys, and if I ever see you treating them as such, I’ll kick your ass from here to Hogwarts. Clear, dragon boy?”

Draco snorted. Like he needed to be told that guns weren’t things to be played with. Things that killed people rarely were. “Crystal, hamster boy.”

“Good. The disclaimer is there to protect the stupid and any unfortunate people who fall pray to stupidity. Let’s hope that never applies to you.” Duo smothered a grin when Draco shot him a vaguely disgusted glance. “Now I don’t want you to just point and pull the trigger; you’ll never even get close to the target that way. Instead, I want you to sight down the barrel, focus on your target, and pull the trigger only after you think you have a good shot.”

Wufei’s sudden appearance behind the two stopped whatever snide comment Draco would have delivered. “You’re teaching him how to use a firearm?”

“Yep,” Duo said cheerfully, hardly paying any attention to the disbelief oozing from Wufei’s sharp address.

“You think that is a good way to introduce Black to muggle culture? By teaching him how to use a gun?”

“Well, no,” Duo replied, glancing at the Chinese youth blandly. “I wanted to see if Draco could actually pick this up as a hobby, so next time...” The braided youth trailed off at that point, appearing slightly pensive and bitter.

Draco didn’t exactly need it spelled out for him. Duo knew that his actions during the sudden hostage moment had given Draco a fair amount of nightmares. The sheer helplessness of the situation didn’t sit well with the blond, and having his life solely in the hands of a boy who obviously had no qualms in making sacrifices wasn’t exactly comforting at the time. Duo was a great and loyal friend, but the American was relentless when the situation called for it. Draco expected that Duo might have been feeling guilty over what happened, and his attempts to teach Draco how to use the same weapon that was pressed against his temple months ago was an attempt to alleviate that guilt. Something about conquering and mastering the things one fears -Draco hadn’t really been listening to Duo’s reasoning, as he had completely lost interest after hearing the words ‘teach’ and ‘gun’ in the same sentence.

“Don’t worry about it, Wufei,” Draco said smugly. “Duo’s promised to drop the entire matter if I can hit the target on my first try. I intend to make that a reality.”

Wufei seemed to have about as much confidence in Draco’s ability to achieve that goal as Duo had been, which irked the blond immensely. The Chinese boy looked from where Draco was standing to the target with an eyebrow raised skeptically. “From here?”

“Yes,” Draco said shortly, glaring at Wufei with a challenging jut of his chin.

Wufei smirked, pointing at the painted red, white, and blue bullseye set in the distance. “That target?”

“You don’t think I can do it,” Draco accused.

Duo laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Of course we think you can’t do it, Draco! You’ve never held a gun in your life. Very rarely do people actually make a bullseye the first time, and those people generally have an interest in guns to begin with.”

“Maxwell’s right, Black,” Wufei said with absolute certainty. “Taking into consideration that this is not only the first time you’ve held a gun, but your knowledge of them comes solely from one instance in which you were at the wrong end of one, the logical conclusion is that you cannot possibly hope to hit the bullseye.”

That was not only a blow to his dignity, but a clear insult of his abilities. “And I don’t suppose you two would be willing to make a wager on that.”

Duo and Wufei looked at each other; the American looked tempted to burst out laughing, and Wufei didn’t even attempt to hide his amusement.

“You’re joking, right?” Duo said, his lips quivering with suppressed mirth that glittered brightly in his eyes.

“On the contrary, I’m completely serious,” the blond rebuffed confidently. “If by some extremely bad stroke of luck I should miss that target, I’ll owe each of you a favor of your choice with no limitations as long as it doesn’t require me to break the law. However, when I hit that target, each of you will owe me a favor. No protests, no excuses, and no questioning over my absolute authority.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Duo said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Already, so many wicked, wicked things come to mind. Prepare for complete degradation, Black.”

Draco smirked. “Is that an acceptance, Maxwell?”

“Of course it is!” Duo laughed gaily. “How many opportunities like this comes across a guy in a lifetime? Not enough!”

“I believe I shall take you up on that wager as well, Black,” Wufei said smugly, confident that the chance of a first-time shooter hitting something dead-center at such a distance was astronomical.

“Yo!” Duo waved wildly, facing back toward the manor. Trowa and Quatre appeared to have decided to finally begin their remodeling of the garden. “Quat! Tro! Get the omnioculars from my room and drag Heero down here! You won’t believe what dragon boy’s pulling now!”

“Your strings, as you’ll soon be my personal puppet,” Draco murmured snidely as he watched Quatre, in the distance, turn to Trowa questioningly before Trowa went back inside, supposedly to do as Duo requested. Meanwhile, Quatre was making his way toward them, most likely to hear the story first.

Duo had the audacity to laugh. “Seriously, Draco. While your overconfident brat-like ego is exactly what I like about you most of the time, it’s really going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

Draco raised a single eyebrow pointedly. “And your frequent mistake of favoring muggle war tactics to wizarding ones is going to get you into trouble one day, Duo. This,” he said, pointing the gun away from Duo and lifting the muggle weapon up slightly, “runs out of those bullet things eventually. A wand doesn’t fail until you’re dead.”

“What makes you think I haven’t already realized that?” Duo said with a lopsided grin. “Usually when you’re off avoiding human contact completely, me and the guys gather and work on homework while discussing various ways we can apply both tactics to whichever war situation.”

“Learning the same would, in fact, be wise of you, Black,” Wufei added. “Not only will you have the element of surprise should you ever come into battle, but think of how well you could potentially defend yourself and escape until a better solution comes along should your wand ever be taken from you or broken. There’s also a chance that, should you find yourself amongst muggles, you can use a firearm to protect yourself without breaking any wizarding laws.(1) Teaching you how to use muggle weapons is actually a good idea, despite what one would consider from Maxwell.”

“Should I be insulted?” Duo said dryly right before he turned and cheerfully greeted Quatre.

“Too bad you weren’t here earlier,” Duo said cheerfully to the bemused Winner heir. “You could have talked some sense into Draco before his mouth wrote a check that his tooshie can’t cash.”

“Toos- what are you, five?” Draco demanded, offended that Duo would describe his perfect arse in any way as demeaning as “tooshie.”

Duo obviously ignored him. “Dragon boy here thinks he can shoot that bullseye from here on his first try. When he loses, Wufei and I get to do whatever we want with him.” The braided boy rubbed his hands together maniacally once more. “Victory is gonna be so sweet.”

Quatre looked at Draco with genuine interest. “Really, Draco? You’re really confident you can do that?”

Despite Quatre’s disgustingly Hufflepuff nature, Draco found the wide-eyed honesty in Quatre’s teal eyes very refreshing in the face of Wufei and Duo’s obvious skepticism. Quatre Winner was another one of those rare few who belonged in another house while, despite all outward appearances of complete honesty and concern for the well-being of others, displayed some rather Slytherinesque qualities. The realization had taken quite a bit of time to strike the former Malfoy heir, but a week spent living in close quarters with the Hufflepuff had cemented the realization. True, Quatre was nice and trustworthy -two aspects a Slytherin would never display publically- but he was sly, quick, and knew his way around strategy. Another friendly snake, but in this case, amongst sheep instead of lions.(2)

“Of course I can,” Draco said, ignoring Duo’s silent laughter and Wufei’s amused snort. “It’s these gits who are going to be eating crow.”

Quatre shook his head in response to the others’ reactions to Draco’s confidence. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, guys. A gun might be very different from a wand, but Draco has impeccable aim otherwise.”

Quatre was his new favorite best friend. Then again, anyone willing to stroke his ego almost instantly skyrocketed to the top of his list. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Draco’s attention away from mentally changing the list of favorite best friends, and he turned to spot Trowa and Heero walked toward them, a pair of omnioculars grasped in Trowa’s hand.

“Yeah, but the recoil and the distance change everything,” Duo pointed out. “There’s no way he could possibly do it. That’s what makes this so glorious.”

“There’s no way who could possibly do what?” Trowa asked, handing the omnioculars to Duo in passing.

“Duo and Wufei don’t think Draco can hit that target at this distance on his first shot,” Quatre explained. Draco especially liked the way Quatre decided to word that in his favor, whether it was intentional or not.

“You can’t tell me you honestly think he can!” Wufei said in disbelief.

“I think there’s always a chance he could do it,” Quatre reminded Wufei quietly. “Ignorance doesn’t prove incompetence, you know.”

Draco watched Heero closely throughout the conversation, amused when he saw Trowa look towards the quiet Japanese Slytherin with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if he was silently asking Heero a question without giving away his inquiry in so many words. Heero’s reply was short and barely noticeable as he simply shook his head with minimal movement. When Trowa and Heero chose not to say anything in or against Draco’s favor, the blond was just that more pleased about how well everything was playing out.

“I guess there’s only one way to know for sure, and that requires dragon boy to strut his stuff,” Duo said cheerfully, giving Draco a wide birth. “Have at it, Draco. But before you do, I gotta know if you can fit into your mom’s dresses.”

Draco gave the grinning American an unamused glance as he carefully corrected his stance. “Do I honestly want to know?”

“You’ll see,” Duo said smugly.

Draco hated how Duo was beginning to sound more and more like him during moments of superior certainty. No one should have been able to pull off such a perfect mixture of sincere smugness expect for Draco himself. No one.

Maybe this is why, instead of amusing him like I do now, Harry always found me a tad bit irritating. I know it bugs me when Duo starts leaking the superiority complex, Draco mused, only to immediately disregard that notion. Harry was just a poor Gryffindor Boy Wonder who hadn’t noticed the signs of Draco’s obvious transcendency until recently. Landing Harry as his unofficial boyfriend only served to further prove his point.

Much to Draco’s chagrin, he couldn’t suppress the sudden smile that tilted the corners of his mouth at the thought of Harry Potter. Once the bane of his existence, a tentative comradery sprouted between Hogwarts’ most notorious rivals during the Yule holiday of their sixth year. Coincidentally, Duo was the one to blame for the tolerance between Harry and Draco in the first place; Draco had a suspicious feeling that if not for Duo making light of Draco’s attitude problem (though Draco didn’t see how his attitude could have been a problem in the first place, seeing as how everything he said was true), Harry wouldn’t be nearly as easy-going towards Draco as he was now. The Gryffindor Golden Boy certainly wouldn’t have taken the measure of initiating some form of romantic relationship with the tarnished Slytherin Prince.

Draco wanted to maliciously stomp all over the butterflies that suddenly began to flutter wildly in his stomach as he remembered exactly how Harry had decided to go about initiating a relationship in the first place. It wasn’t a perfect first kiss by any means of the word. (Draco was adamant in his belief that the Dementor’s Kiss didn’t count as a first kiss, seeing as those tended to result in the loss of one’s soul, and his was still intact, no matter how much the Weasel insisted someone had to have a soul to remove for the Dementor’s Kiss to be effective. The former Malfoy heir always sulked when Duo would say, all in good humor, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.”) For one thing, the kiss had been executed in the baggage car of the bloody Hogwarts Train. The baggage car! If that wasn’t a sign from the Fates that such a relationship was bound to come with a lot of baggage of the emotional variety, Draco would eat Duo’s braid. And Draco wouldn’t put that annoying “fifth limb” anywhere near his mouth, which only further proved the absolute certainty that they weren’t exactly meant to be a perfect couple. For another thing, Harry had used the kiss as a way to shut Draco up, which wasn’t really good for his ego at all. (Though he wasn’t about to complain about it at all.)

On the other hand...

The kiss had been perfect. He always imagined that Harry would be terrible when it came to kissing, if only because the Boy Wonder wasn’t exactly known for his skills in that department. The way the kiss itself made Draco feel was... alive. On top of the world. Abso-bloody-lutely fan-fucking-tastic. In spades. The mere memory of it always made Draco’s day seem a little more tolerable, and even if he abhorred romantic sap of any nature... Well, that was how it was. Harry made Draco feel nice. “Nice” in a content way because spirits forbid if Draco had the urge to help a Hufflepuff in distress.

So what if Harry and Draco weren’t The Perfect Couple? Yes, there were a lot of differences between them; some would say too many. Harry had muggleborn friends, held the common plebeians in high regards, and thought the world of truth, justice, and goodwill toward man. Draco thought the wizarding world could do without muggleborns, thought very little of the poor and worthless, and visibly gagged in contempt whenever such ridiculous notions like “truth” and “peace” were brought up. In fact, probably one of the only things the two had in common were they’re surprisingly quick tempers, and that common factor wasn’t exactly how healthy relationships flourished. They’re relationship was doomed to fail before it would even start.

However, when Draco removed himself from the situation and took the time to step back and consider all the facts, no relationship was perfect. People had their differences and, honestly, if Harry had been exactly like the former Malfoy heir, Draco wouldn’t find him attractive in the least. All relationships put to the test had the chance of going awry, and just because Draco and Harry were so very different didn’t necessarily mean they had worse odds than anybody else as long as they tried to make it work.

That sounded a bit too optimistic for Draco, much to his mortification.

Gah! I have plenty of time to think about Harry later. Focus on achieving my goal now, Draco thought to himself, shaking himself from his momentary reprieve. He firmed his stance and, both hands cradling the warm metal under his palms and fingers, lifted the muggle firearm to eye level. He sighted the target in the distance carefully; at this point, there was no room for stupid mistakes. With a deep, cleansing breath and a small prayer to the spirits, Draco pulled back on the hammer, realigned his sight, and promptly pulled the trigger.

The end of the barrel exploded, the shot echoing ominously across the gently rolling hills that were abundant on the Black Family summer estate.

Heero Yuy lowered the omnioculars with a satisfied smirk. “Well done.”

“What?” Duo yelped, snatching the omnioculars from his boyfriend. Draco was absolutely ecstatic to see the dawning amazement on the other boy’s face when he replayed the shot in slow motion. “Well, I’ll be damned... Bullseye!”

Once reviewing the proof, Wufei started cursing coarsely under his breath in what Draco assumed was his native language. “How did you...?”

“Good job, Draco,” Quatre said innocently, the smile on his face genuinely congratulatory.

“Your first mistake,” Trowa said lightly, looking at his two flabbergasted friends in mild amusement, “was assuming that this is the first time Draco has fired a gun.”

Duo blinked. “You mean...” The American turned to look at his smirking boyfriend incredulously. “Heero!”

The Japanese boy shrugged nonchalantly. “The dungeons have proven to be an excellent place to set up a rigorous training facility. Draco expressed an interest when I brought up the idea to him, and I decided that letting him give it a test run would be prudent, as well as a simple way to gauge the difficulty level of the course. Draco proves to be an excellent aspiring marksman.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Duo exclaimed wildly, throwing his hands up in the air to further emphasize his point.

“Trowa knew,” Heero pointed out. “I’d assumed you would have realized that my time hasn’t been entirely focused on you and getting my laptop to work. You just never asked.”

“Your second mistake,” Trowa added, “was bumptiousness. Duo, didn’t you once tell us you’d never underestimate a pureblood wizard after you and Draco were kidnaped?”

Duo grinned sheepishly.

“The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence(3),” Wufei murmured, sounding disgusted. “Cao...”(4)

Draco smirked, handing the gun off to Heero. “You know, despite my misgivings about the whole learn-how-to-use-muggle-weaponry thing, I’m beginning to realize that learning new things isn’t necessarily bad, even if the things I’m learning do pertain to muggles. In any case... Congratulations, boys. From here until I call my favors, I now officially own you.”

“You tricked us,” Wufei accused. “You planned this all along!”

“Now, now, Wufei,” Duo said gaily. “You have to admit, that was a damn good shot. Draco played us right into his hands. Very Slytherin tactic, dragon boy. I’m impressed.” And the American proceeded to clap his hands together enthusiastically in a show of applause.

“Your useless platitudes won’t lessen your humiliation for when I execute my diabolical plot,” Draco said smugly, enjoying Duo’s sullen expression as the one-man applause immediately died. “But thanks for taking the time to stroke my ego, even if you were just doing it to get out of our wager.”

“Don’t mention it,” Duo groused. The American sighed, admitting defeat by asking wearily, “So what’s on the Humiliate Duo Agenda? At least console me by saying Wufei will have it worse.”

“Shut up, Maxwell,” the Chinese youth snapped.

“It doesn’t even have to be true,” Duo amended, “just as long as you console me by saying it is.”

Draco decided to humor Duo just this once. “Okay, Duo. I’ll lie to you and say Wufei is going to have it worse.”

Duo nodded miserably. “Not as comforting as I’d hoped, but thanks for trying. So what’s your plan?”

Draco smirked. In retrospect, crossing one’s arms and lifting one’s eyebrow in faint amusement wasn’t the best way to attempt innocence, but to be fair, Draco never was one for innocence. “What makes you think I already have something planned?”

Duo gave him a blank look. “Because you’re Draco effin’ Black, and you plot your evil schemes in advance.”

“True,” Draco murmured, nodding. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you yet. But rest assured, Duo, it’ll be particularly... entertaining. Well, perhaps not for you.”

“God forbid should I derive any pleasure from having to follow your word to the letter,” Duo mumbled sullenly. “I hope you know, Heero, I’m blaming you.”

Heero lifted a single eyebrow, as if to say, “Like I held a gun to your head and forced you to make a bet with Draco, who already knows his way around a gun thanks to me.” Heero’s expressions tended to imply an awful lot for such a simple manipulation of muscles.

Draco chuckled wickedly. Oh, victory was so sweet.


END CHAPTER TWO


(1) You can take the boy out of the military, but you can’t take the military out of the boy. :inhales deeply: Ah, breathe deep the taint of war...

(2) Yes, Draco’s fully aware that the animal representing Hufflepuff is a badger; then again, Draco doesn’t think highly of most Hufflepuffs, so he would probably refer to them as sheep.

(3) ... Damn you, Samuel L. Jackson, for voice-acting on The Boondocks and constantly quoting your old movies, much to the benefit of my amusement...

(4) :shock: Wufei! You vulgarian. :grins: It’s Mandarin. I’ll give you a hint. Four letters, sounds like truck. If you haven’t guessed it by now, starts with F.

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I own Harry Potter in any way. All major characters that appear in this fic are the product of someone else’s creativity; I just like pulling them out of the prop closet and making them obey my every whim. This disclaimer applies to all chapters from hereon out.

STATUS: This fic is not only a crossover, but a sequel to Harry Potter and the Secret Link. Things probably won’t make a hell of a lot of sense if you don’t bother reading that one first.

TIME LINE: ... has already been established in the first installment of this crossover, but I’ll do it anyway. The year is A.C. 197, and all dates and events that occur within Harry Potter cannon have been adjusted to this date. This isn’t a time travel fic; this is the universe of Harry Potter being relocated into the same time as the universe of Gundam Wing. The HP and GW crews begin their seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

WARNINGS: This story is SLASH, or, in the anime community, YAOI. Not familiar with these terms? Well, there are established same sex pairings. Don’t like it? That’s what the nifty little back button is for. Intrigued? :grins: Welcome.

SUMMARY: SEQUEL! GWHP crossover. The Gundam pilots plus Draco attempt to go on with their lives as usual, which isn’t very usual at all... but what’s this about a second prophecy? And why is Harry looking for an Heir to Slytherin that isn’t Voldemort? YAOI.

PAIRINGS: Established 1+2, 3+4, HPD(B), and I think RWHG is a given... (To explain who “D(B)” is... well, you really do have to read the previous fic to explain that...)

SPECIAL NOTE: Since I started writing HP and the Secret Link long before the fifth book came out, the cannon storyline of HP actually deviates after the fourth book. It’s one of those Sirius and Dumbledore are alive things, but only because I was too lazy to make adjustments, and Sirius is actually important to my plot. I made that point to make this point. In the fifth book, it’s mentioned that Dumbledore was forced to retire from his position on the Wizengamot. In this fic, he’s still a member of the Wizengamot. Fudge is also still Minister, but he’s coming dangerously close to losing his position by this point. The only reason he hasn’t been booted out of office yet is because, while there is proof of Death Eater activity, there’s still no proof that Voldemort’s back, and the wizarding world prefers the ignorance.

SPECIAL NOTE THE SECOND: I am an ignorant American and, therefore, do not know the ins and outs of Bletchingly. My description of the Malfoy lands in Bletchingly are probably very, very wrong, but I’m going by a broad generalization of what I know about typical English country-sides from what I’ve seen on TV. :pauses: Mostly shows from the Discovery and Travel Channels. Or National Lampoon’s European Vacation... Bad example. Never mind. Point is, if you’re from Bletchingly or have BEEN to Bletchingly, please forgive me if I got everything horribly wrong.

Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter One

If one were to take the time to make simple observations about the differences between living on a colony and living on Earth, one would first be required to specify as to which location on Earth one would use to make such a comparison. Typically, one would also be required to go as far as to pick a specific season, as well; while most colonies had fully functional artificial climate and precipitation controls, leaving room for no question when the news declared rain or snow, Earth’s weather system was a lot more volatile and unpredictable.

Weather, in fact, was a good place to start.

Excepting colonies that were unfinished or in the poorest of condition, the weather on each individual colony was accurate to what one would expect on Earth. When the news claimed it would rain, it rained. When the news said to prepare for snow, it snowed. There were never any lasting problems with the weather on a colony, mostly because such things were carefully regulated. Rain would never fall more than the standard six inches, and snowfall was kept at a standard two inches. On Earth, things were vastly different. Man, despite all technological advances, had yet to really find a way to harness and control Earth’s weather system. This left room for a lot of capriciousness when it came to meteorological conditions. There were flash floods, hurricanes, tornados, typhoons, droughts, and snowstorms that typically plagued certain parts of the planet’s surface. These were things true-born colonists could only read about and never experience unless they actually visited Earth; even then, it took very special circumstances for them to actually experience such things.

Another thing one could consider while comparing the living conditions of a colony to Earth was landscape. On a colony, the ground continued forward until it eventually curved, but it didn’t stop there. One’s eyes would follow the landscape further and further up until finally, through the simulated hologram of the sky, one could see the landscape turn inward until it completely circled above; and then one’s eyes would finally trace the landscape’s curve once more, falling downward until finally settling right-side up again.

“It sounds like a hamster habitat.”

“You smell like a hamster habitat. Can I finish?”

Draco Black spread his arms out, hands splayed as a peace offering of good-will. The smirk on his devilishly handsome face belayed that gesture. “Please, do go on, hamster boy.”

Duo Maxwell decided that, by the time the sun rose, he was going to throw the smarmy little prick into the pool. “Thank you. Growing up on Earth all of your life, you wouldn’t really be able to understand the sheer magnitude of the difference in landscape. Ours curves inwardly, floating around the Earth in space. Yours is much bigger and curves outwardly; humans live on the surface here, but on the colonies? We live in the core. Understand me so far?”

“Vaguely. What keeps colonists from falling off the upside down part? I mean, it sounds wonky to me.”

“It would,” Trowa Barton said, stroking the head of a particularly feisty kitten they’d come to call Crookshank’s Spawn (“Spawn” for short). “The wizarding world doesn’t concern itself with muggle science much.”

“All livable colonies have artificial gravity. Gravity is the force that attracts a body towards the center of the earth or towards any other physical body having mass,” Heero Yuy said knowingly, hardly taking the time to look up from the book that lay open in his lap.

Draco ground his teeth together in a (these days) very rare urge to say something out of line. He hated being tactful even to his own mother, and he still smarted-off to her on almost every occasion. To be fair, she gave as good as she got; his mother was whom he’d gotten his attitude from. Even when he was as old as four, he remembered that his mother’s main weapon of defense was always scathing sarcasm, and she did not spare her son from this. Oh, she was caring and loving and devoted to Draco. She had admitted confidently on any occasion that she would sacrifice not only her status and wealth, but also her very life and soul to keep her son unharmed. Her maternal love for him was that fierce. Draco could have no better mother, in his opinion; but she didn’t not coddle him in the least. When it came to her attitude, a young child of four was fair game.

He mentally shook himself of thoughts of his mother, coming back to the source of his irritation for having the urge to say something he may have later regretted because, well, it was Heero Yuy he’d be smarting off to, and sometimes Heero actually scared him that much in presence alone. He hated the Japanese boy’s habit of treating him like an incompetent ninny when it came to muggle science. Nothing spectacular like really complex physics and astrophysics, but he knew about biology and basic physics. He had no idea where Heero and, on a lesser degree, his other four muggle-raised friends got their impression that all pureblooded wizards and witches where completely inept in anything like muggle arithmetic and science, but he suspected Ronald Weasley was to blame. The Weasley family was too poor to even pay a hundredth of what Draco’s tutors earned individually; Lucius would not tolerate anything but the best teachers for Draco.

Some believed that Lucius Malfoy was a very cold, sinister father who would not expect anything but perfection from his only heir. They would assume that Lucius Malfoy cared about having the perfect replica of himself in his heir, instead of the well-being of his son. People perceived that Lucius was a very unloving father, desiring to be more of a “sire”; certainly nothing as tender-hearted as “dad”. The truth of the matter was, Lucius loved him very much, and just as fiercely as Narcissa. He wanted the best of everything for Draco, never wanting his son to be left without. Draco had the best toys, the best governess, and the best education money could buy. Tutors just happened to fall under that category.

His father’s very posture and presence with everyone he deemed beneath his status was the fault of that little misconception. Lucius Malfoy thought everyone was beneath him, and he made damn sure that anyone who didn’t run in his circles (and most of the people who did, barring only a select few) knew what he thought of them, so confident in his superiority. Families like the Weasleys had it worse than anyone, as they were very low in status despite being purebloods. To Lucius, the way he treated families like the Weasleys only marginally less contemptuously compared to mudbloods and muggles was because of his absolute certainty that few were higher in status than him because he was a Malfoy, and there couldn’t possibly be anyone purer or wealthier or powerful than the Malfoys. (Thus the need to have a perfect heir to the perfect name, at least in the eyes of an outsider.) That purity, wealth, and power was something attached to the very name, and Lucius was very proud of his name. Lucius was the very picture of arrogance and contempt towards anyone he considered less than his status.

This was the same posture and presence that Draco had inherited, in fact. It was probably one of only two things Draco ever really learned from his father, and it had a large impact on Draco’s life. Lucius’ desire for Draco to have the best had spoiled Draco to the point that everything he owned was nothing less than anything anyone else owned. That led to the other personality trait that Draco had inherited from his father; his pride in his heritage and, consequently, his status. His way of making sure everyone beneath his status as a Malfoy was not only responsible for his habit of treating everyone scornfully (going to the extent of even treating some of his own professors with barely-restrained contempt), but through shoving his status in everyone’s faces by having the best of everything. Draco was every bit the perfect, spoiled, meanspirited git everyone made him out to be.

People often assumed Draco’s cynicism was because he felt pressured to be perfect by his father, but Lucius wasn’t the source of his cynicism in the least. That facet of his persona was every bit his mother’s fault. Draco may have physically resembled his father and shared the same arrogance, but his scathing wit and sharp cynicism was all his mother’s doing.

Draco was almost like a perfect blend of both of his parents. Aside from having his mother’s nose and, to some extent, her bone structure, everything else was like a younger, mirrored Lucius Malfoy. On the other hand, almost everything about his attitude was what he’d learned from his mother, aside from his arrogance, which was all Lucius.

“Are you all right, Draco?”

Quatre’s soft voice, suddenly loud in his ears, startled him from his musing. He realized belatedly that they other five had long ago fallen silent; one of them had probably asked him something during his pondering over his parents. They were almost something he always thought about, especially since this was the first summer in his entire life that he wasn’t with them. Lucius Malfoy had been forced to disinherit his son to protect him from Voldemort, who wanted to remove Draco’s soul and take over his still-living empty shell. Lucius couldn’t outwardly defy his master in anything, knowing the consequences of questioning the Dark Lord’s authority; however, he had not been willing to sacrifice his son for his lord, and Narcissa certainly wasn’t going to have it. They were going to keep him as safe as possible, even if Lucius had to sacrifice his heir and Narcissa had to sacrifice her status as Lucius Malfoy’s wife. Before consulting the Dark Lord, Lucius immediately removed responsibility of Draco from himself and, so Draco wouldn’t be nameless, penniless, and homeless, divorced Narcissa in the very same instant. It was this way that Narcissa could give Draco her name, her status as a Black, her fortune. They sacrificed their very marriage to make sure Draco was safe from harm and well taken-care of.

He mentally shook himself, feeling the urge to slip into another silent contemplation about his parents. Instead, he’d found that thinking about them had been a wonderful diversion in order to calm down after Heero unintentionally insulted his intelligence. Again.

“Yeah, I was... thinking,” Draco said vaguely before looking at Heero straight in the eye. “Look, Heero, I don’t know why you continue to assume that being a pureblood means I’m a complete idiot when it comes down to what you five learned before coming to Hogwarts, and seriously, I’m pretty certain it has something to do with the Weasel’s stupidity; but I’m not an idiot. I know what gravity is. Just like I know that atoms are the basic building blocks of matter, and how the molecular structure of water was H2O, which is two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. I know basic physics, as hard as that is for you guys to believe. Spirits, having Ronald Weasley as your first impression of first purebloods when it comes to things muggles continue to learn throughout their schooling has really made my life difficult. Yet more proof that the Weasel really is the bane of my existence.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Trowa said blandly, “Quatre’s been trying to drill that into them since he realized they were making a habit of talking to you as if they were speaking to Ron. He knew you weren’t going to like it.”

“Quatre’s just as wealthy as I am,” Draco pointed out. “He probably understands how different being highborn and having an education is compared to a lowborn’s education. People like us get the best tutors money can buy; the Weasleys parents, however, probably took the responsibility of educating their children themselves, and it was most likely a very basic education.”

“In other words, we’re absolutely slaughtering your pride,” Duo said with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, man. Guess it never occurred to me before. We’ll try to curb the habit to break everything simplistic down to baby steps for you, okay?”

Thank the spirits. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Quatre was actually smiling happily at Draco, his palm absently resting over his heart. It didn’t take much for Draco to guess that Quatre was impressed with how he’d handled his urge to rage about the matter, especially considering how close to the surface his temper was over the matter right after Heero defined the word ‘gravity’. By all rights, Draco was entirely too different from Quatre to even share the same air. Where Draco was contemptuous, sarcastic, cynical, and arrogant, Quatre was thoughtful, sanguine, peacemaking, and completely loyal. The two physically resembled each other quite a lot, but the similarities ended there. Draco was supposed to despise Hufflepuffs just as strongly as he hated Gryffindors; both houses were completely useless, in his book. But Quatre was a completely different story. If one took away his compassion and optimism, Quatre Rebarba Malfoy Winner was a tactical, sharp business mogul that had a great mind for strategy and the unofficial status as the “leader” of the other four. When Quatre had something to say in matters of that lead to missions and such, the Winner heir was the one the other four deferred to. Likewise, Quatre was a fair leader. He listened to the opinions of everyone before making quick, smart decisions about how he and the others were going to complete the mission alive, along with anyone else involved.

Quatre was one of those rare nice guys that were to be respected instead of looked down on for being a nice guy. Draco still insisted that every other Hufflepuff, however, was a witless moron.

Duo snuggled up to his boyfriend’s side with a lopsided grin. “But isn’t it nice to have a walking, talking dictionary for a boyfriend?”

Heero snorted and decided not to reply to that.

“I’m betting you meant you wanted to know how gravity is applied to the colony instead of how gravity works,” Quatre said knowingly, his eyes soft and understanding. If the rumors were taken to be true, Quatre was apparently a very gifted empath. He probably understood the emotional cocktail Draco was feeling better than Draco himself.

“Boiled down for simplicity’s sake,” Quatre said with a smile, “muggles use technology to artificially create gravity in space. In colonies, should the artificial gravity fail, colonists and things that aren’t pinned to the ground would float around aimlessly -a condition known as zero gravity- until the problem would be fixed. At that point, they would have to gradually reintroduce gravity to the colony; if they were to suddenly turn the gravity on at full force, everything and everyone would fall as if they had jumped off of a skyscraper.”

“That’s an extremely tall building,” Duo said teasingly.

Draco gave the American a haughty scowl. “I know what a skyscraper is!”

“Because Wufei had to explain it to you!”

“Maxwell!” Wufei said sharply. “Stop teasing Black.(1) There are a lot of things about the wizarding world that he has yet to explain to you. I suggest you not rub his ignorance of the muggle world in his face.”

“Yes, Mother,” Duo quipped back dutifully. “Now where was I?”

“Hamster wheel,” Draco replied with a smug grin. “You were explaining how living in a colony is similar to a hamster wheel.”

While it was a surprisingly apt analogy, Duo wasn’t going to stroke Draco’s ego about it. “Well, think about it, dragon boy. It’s kind of hard to emphasize just how modern colonies are when your only example of modern muggle civilization is what you’ve managed to glean from brief peaks of muggle London. Over the many centuries that have passed, London hasn’t actually changed all that much and, besides spreading wider, everything looks as if it’s been carefully preserved in time. Aside from the requisite park that serves as a natural habitat for the harmless animals that live on the colony, everything as far as the eye can see is more like New York City, save for the suburban districts.

“But here, on Earth, there’s actually land that hasn’t been flattened down and paved over.” Duo pointed at the elegant, far-reaching windows that seemed to encompass the small loft in one of the towers they’d settled in. The sky was just beginning to light up with the promise of the nearing sun, and stars were beginning to wink dimly and fade from the ever-lighting sky. They could see the hills rolling in the distance, unspoiled but for a few thicket of trees that clung together here and there.

“Everything’s so green and natural,” Duo explained softly, eyes still drawn to the window. “Nothing like any colony I’ve ever been on. And L2 doesn’t even hold a candle in comparison. Yeah, we have things that simulate living on Earth, but it’s not like the real thing.

“And that, my friends, is exactly why I woke all of you up at four o’clock in the morning,” Duo finished with a wide grin. “We’re going to watch the sun rise.”

Draco snorted. “Finally! And the braid-boy gets to his point.” He, no doubt, had been wondering why Duo had broken into his room to hurriedly shake him awake claiming there was an emergency, only to find that Duo had dragged everyone up to the tower for a little storytelling.

“We’re going to watch the sun rise,” Wufei said flatly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe something as simple as that was what everything had been all about.

“Yep.”

“Give me a reason as to why I shouldn’t go back to bed right now, Maxwell.”

“Because you’ll only get up in about fifteen minutes to do your katas before breakfast anyway.”

Trowa chuckled quietly. “He’s got you there.”

“Couldn’t we have just watched the sun set?” Draco grumbled, not at all pleased to be awake before breakfast. “It’s like a sunrise, but in reverse.”

“A sunset is nothing like a sunrise,” Duo said defensively, nudging Draco’s thigh with his toes. “The sunset marks the end of a day; it’s far too depressing. But a sunrise is the start of a new day, therefore, it’s much more sentimental and hopeful.”

“That’s just like a bloody Gryffindor to say,” Draco mumbled under his breath.

“Bet Harry likes sunrises,” Duo said with a leering grin. “C’mon, dragon boy, where’s your poetic soul?”

“The dementor ate it,” Draco retorted snidely, scooting away from Duo’s prodding toes. “Good riddance, I say. I’d hate to be an overbearing romantic sod like you.”

The American promptly decided he was going to ignore the former Malfoy heir’s smarm in favor of chalking the blond’s attitude as being a direct result of Draco not exactly being a morning person in any sense of the phrase. Instead, he gently lifted Heero’s wrist and checked the time.

“Sunrise in four... three... two...”

The sun breaking over the horizon was a spectacular sight of warm colors driving away the darkness of night. As a general rule, Duo preferred nights to days; night time provided a great cover for infiltration and extraction and/or destruction missions, and no one was better than that than Duo Maxwell. While the soldier instincts that were alive and kicking inside of him still had a strong taste for night, the relatively new “average citizen” that was attempting to flourish had an aesthetic appreciation for early morning, as well.

Quatre sighed wistfully. “Still as glorious as ever.”

“I know,” Duo said happily. “It never gets old.” Out of the corner of his eye, the American could see Draco staring at the horizon with a faraway expression on his pale face, golden with the full onset of the early morning sun, Duo realized two things. One: Draco wasn’t as dull and bitter about life as he made himself out to be, and two: It was no wonder Draco refused to tan, since such a color would clash horribly with his hair.

When the sun rose completely from the horizon, however, Draco immediately shook himself from his pondering and smirked at Duo. “And now I’ve lost interest.”

Right. Duo should have expected that.

“Hey, what are you–? Duo! Duo, put me down right now!”

“Maxwell, what are you doing?” Wufei asked wearily, eyeing the blond that Duo had easily thrown over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

The American looked at Wufei and smirked wickedly. “You’ll see.”

“No, you won’t! Duo, put me down!”

“You’d make this a lot easier on me if you’d stop wiggling, dragon boy,” Duo said blithesomely, carrying Draco from the room and down the steps with ease.

“Oh, because that’s my plan all along, isn’t it?” Draco said scathingly. “To make whatever it is you plan to do with me easier on you. Put me down, damn you!” He punctuated his heated statement with an especially harsh wiggle that nearly caused Duo to overbalance and fall forward down the winding steps.

“You don’t really want to fall down these steps, do you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then no wiggling until we at least hit ground floor,” Duo admonished with a smirk. “Then you can wiggle all you want, but it won’t change the fact that you have a destined date with the pool.”

“The pool?! The hell I do! Duo, these pajamas are silk of the finest quality, and the best that money can buy! Do you have any idea what the cleaning potions in the pool water will do to them? Not to mention the fact that they’re dry clean only!”

“I think the real question here is: how does this affect me, and why should I care?”

In the end, despite many protests and frequent threats on Duo’s life that the American later claimed were “made out of love”, Draco inevitably ended up thoroughly soaked in water, his ruined pajamas clinging to his body like a second skin.

Duo watched Draco climb from the pool with a manic grin on his face as the blond shot him a particularly lethal glare. “One of these days, dragon boy, when we’ve caught you up on all the marvels of the muggle world, we’re going to take a trip to a colony so you can get the full extent of what I mean.”

The blond made an effort to pull the revealing second skin away from his body, his glare heated as he growled, “I’d kill you if I didn’t think your boyfriend would get to me first.”

“Such is the advantage of having a boyfriend who is just that cool,” Duo crowed boastfully, head thrown back as he laughed at the ceiling. Later, Heero would point out that this was where Duo made his crucial mistake. Taking one’s eyes off of a target that had already been humiliated was a not the greatest of ideas. The establishment of this rule was explained during Draco’s next actions; the blond lunged at Duo with a vengeful gleam in his eyes, and right after their bodies smashed into one another, both were sent tumbling into the pool.

The grumbling pair waded out of the pool, doing what they could to squeeze the excess water from their clothes or, in Draco’s case, preserve what was left of his ever-dwindling modesty by pulling the material away from private areas that could possibly be ogled, most of which was below his waist. Oddly, both of them were bemoaning the state of their hair; Heero later suggested that it was simply an odd anomaly for the two to be in the same state at the same time, especially when they were so different. Either that, or they were rubbing off on each other. Privately, everyone hoped that it was the anomaly theory. Subconsciously, they realized a long time ago that Draco was getting rather brave with his cynical, rather snide comments about everything and anything; it was capped off when Draco openly defied Heero on freeing all the house-elves to avoid espionage and eventual infiltration.

“Look at this place, Heero!” Draco had demanded, waving his arms emphatically around the summer home. While it was in no way comparable to the enormous castle that housed the Malfoy Family for centuries, the estate was still rather large and expansive, including twelve bedrooms, a pool house, seven large bathrooms, a breakfast nook, a luncheon room, a dining room that could seat as many as twenty, a large music room, a moderately small ball room, an extensive library, two dens (supposedly, the reason for two dens was so the womenfolk could gather in one room to discuss gossip while the men could discuss their own private affairs), and a smoking room that Heero had converted into an office in an attempt to get his computer to work with full internet access with magic and willpower alone.

That is to say, it was a rather large house. “Do you think for a moment that anyone is going to have the bloody time and sheer stubbornness to actually make an effort to clean this place? You’re always busy tinkering with that stupid muggle device, Trowa and Quatre already have plans for the garden, and that’s a part-time job as it is; Wufei’s probably going to spending most of his time in the bloody library or doing whatever the hell else Wufei does to entertain himself, Duo has made it his personal mission to mugglify me, and I’m making it my personal mission to detour him from that disgusting concept as much as I can. No one is going to have time to clean and cook and make sure the grass doesn’t overgrow on seventy acres of land, and spirit’s know I’m not going to even consider doing it.

“House-elves are loyal to their masters; they would rather kill themselves than to betray their own masters, and who the hell do you think powers the protection wards here? The house-elves stay. That’s final,” Draco finished off explosively, digging his grave further by finishing off with a rather disdainful, “Sprits, you can be such a paranoid git sometimes.”

Later, Wufei confessed that he honestly thought that Draco was going to die, or worse. (After the fact, Draco eventually brought up the question of what could be worse than death, to which Trowa frankly replying, “Getting in that state courtesy Heero Yuy.” Quatre thought this was a rather accurate assessment, even if Draco thought such opinions about friends were disturbing.) They all nervously laughed it off as being silly, but the thought had crossed all of their minds; Draco’s, a little too late. The blond boy was just about to go into full panic mode when Duo stood up and applauded wildly with a lopsided grin on his face.

“What? With Hee-chan, you really have to stick to your guns to make a point because he’s so stubborn,” Duo said brightly. “‘Course, you get points taken off for going as far as calling Hee-chan a git, but we’ll strike that up as your typical need to insult at least three people a day.” Duo paused thoughtfully. “Then again, you get those points back for sheer guts. That’s probably the second bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do.(2)”

Heero, of course, couldn’t understand why his casual shrug and an offhandedly stated, “If I see a house-elf acting suspicious, I reserve the right to use it for target practice,” surprised everyone. The Japanese boy had expected Draco to eventually lose his temper with him. The blond just wasn’t the type to bite his tongue and sit quietly while something he disapproved of was seriously discussed.

“Only if I have veto right,” Draco said dazedly, his brain having rebooted at the end of his previous rant. “I’ll inform the house-elves about the matter.”

The bullheaded approach was a tactical move few used when dealing with Heero Yuy; Duo was one of those brave few. It was the first time the pilots realized that Duo was probably rubbing off on Draco. They didn’t even think to consider that, following the science they lived by when they weren’t brewing potions or casting spells, each reaction had an equal and opposite reaction. That is, they hadn’t considered it until Duo had exhibited some Draco-like qualities, though Duo’s new character quirks were far more subtle and hidden behind his perfected goofy-Duo dissemble. Most of it was mild and mostly ignorable (to the relief of the four Gundam pilots and one Draco Black, who all thought it would be an awful nightmare if there were two Draco Blacks in the world, with the real Draco Black’s excuse being that he didn’t want to make the bloody effort of attempting to be better than someone who imitated him). Duo would pay more mind to his hair in attempt to braid it perfectly, which was a hefty feat for someone with as much hair as Duo. Duo had also become far more fashion consciences, foregoing his standard black and white with the occasional splash of red and updating his wardrobe to include more violets, indigo, blues, crimsons, and browns that complimented his fair skin (though he was attempting to tan a little, Great Britain’s almost constant bleak overcast simply wouldn’t allow it), his striking eyes, and his golden-tinged chestnut hair. Along with his sudden desire to look impeccable and livelier was a strong surge of vehemence about what was right and what was wrong, according to the morals of Duo Maxwell.

While sounding vaguely Dracoesque, Draco thought Duo’s sudden shift in sticking to his ground was something the American picked up when he and Draco were kidnaped by Death Eaters only a few months prior, and Duo was forced to accept that he was the son of the most-feared Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever seen. Instead of wallowing over the fact that Lord Voldemort -He Who Must Not Be Named himself- was his father, Duo completely denounced everything and anything his so-called father stood for, all the while staring into the half-man, half-monster’s unamused crimson eyes. As for the part where Voldemort was Duo’s father... Keary Riddle never was; Duo Maxwell had always been. And that was all Duo had to say about it.

In fact, all of Duo’s new quirks about clothes and appearance could be linked to that one significant revelation. The Dark Lord wore heavy black robes and looked more monster than man. Duo Maxwell could have subconsciously decided that he would do his best to make damn sure he’d never be anything like “the sperm donor.” Draco couldn’t know for sure, however; it wasn’t like he was going to pry into Duo’s affairs when he knew the American was a bit tetchy about the subject in the first place.

All of this, of course, occurred within only two weeks since the six of them left Hogwarts and moved into Draco’s new home. Already, it was promising to be a rather eventful summer.

After Duo and Draco changed and primped, it was time for breakfast. Duo had already forgotten that Draco was the reason he had to take another shower in the first place, and Draco (in honor of the glorious miracle that was breathing, and how such a natural process of living could be hampered with a steel-like grip around his delicate neck a la Heero) decided to forgive and forget, as well; but, unlike Duo, he was keeping a list of names and offenses.

The morning of June 7th was a rather happy occasion for Heero, though few could tell the difference between his “happy” face and his “satisfied” face. He announced on no uncertain terms that he finally figured out what he was doing wrong.

“Oh, good,” Duo said, relieved. “Does that mean you’re not going to wear the spandex shorts anymore?”

Draco smirked behind the safety of the rim of his teacup at Heero’s almost longsuffering expression. Apparently, Draco wasn’t the only one who felt those ghastly things were a travesty in the face of fashion.

“I mean,” Heero said, giving his unrepentantly grinning boyfriend a pointed look, “that I’ve found out how to get my laptop to work without using electricity and interfering with the wards in any way. After that, it was relatively simple to get us online wirelessly, with the help of a few innocuous satellites and the house-elves.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Okay. You’ve interested me. What language are you speaking, and how do house-elves help you?”

Meanwhile, Duo was positively giddy. “You got it to work? You actually got it to work?” He laughed cheerfully and threw his arms around his boyfriend, taking a moment to peck him on the lips before he turned and attempted to plant his eager fingers all over a laptop he used to be jealous of for all the attention with which Heero lavished it. Interesting, how much almost an entire year spent without the glory of modern technology could do to a guy.

“You’re a freakin’ genius, Hee-chan!”

Heero, a single eyebrow raised, gently pried the laptop from Duo’s eager hands and laid it open on the table, almost in front of Draco. “This is a computer; a laptop, to be specific, since computers generally require a lot more electronic devices that connect together through wires.

“A computer is a multi-functional muggle device; all the applications of a computer are too complex to go into at this time. Suffice to say, it minimizes effort and maximizes the appearance of whatever document or projection you are working on. One of the most famous uses of a computer,” he added, pressing a black button at the topmost right corner of the keyboard, “is known as the Internet, or the World Wide Web.”

“This is the part where things get fun,” Duo added cheerfully.

Heero nodded with a small smile. “The Internet makes everything accessible to you. Any form of documentation, any references to even the vaguest concept can be found on the Web easily, once you get used to it. I’ve developed my own personal search engine that filters out specific things you aren’t looking for, and the encoding ensures that I’m untraceable as long as I keep the IP address bouncing from one location to the other randomly at five second intervals.”

“Basically, all of this means Heero could rob a muggle bank from the comfort of his own computer, and he’d most likely get away with it while everyone goes about their business as usual,” Duo translated wryly. “A couple of cents missing from over a million bank accounts would hardly go amiss, and anyone too anal to notice usually chalks it up as a clerical error. Which is illegal, so don’t you dare do it just to prove you can, Hee-chan.”

“Hn. I surpassed that level when I was eleven,” Heero said with a shrug. “That’s not even much of a challenge anymore.”

“Okay,” Draco said slowly, not quite comprehending but having a suspicious feeling he would be learning a lot about this muggle laptop. “And the house-elves help how, exactly?”

“You gave me the idea,” Heero said. “You mentioned that house-elves power the wards that protect us from any intruders or attacks. I decided to see if I could have one of the house-elves do something similar to what they do with the wards, only I wanted the ward to be focused on a portable object; the laptop. The laptop itself is surrounded by a bubble that protects it from the disruptive power of the wards. After that, all I had to do was a little research to find out if there was anything that negates magical fields.”

“Iron,” Draco murmured, mostly to himself. Heero nodded and pointed at small strips of thin iron that had been meticulously attached at key points on the device itself.

“Iron and a little house-elf magic was all I really needed to get it working again,” Heero replied. “How I managed to uplink to the Web is an entirely different story that I’m sure Duo would rather not hear about right now.”

Duo grinned unrepentantly. “It works. Who am I to question the hows and whys?”

“There is one thing Yuy may want to consider,” Wufei said solemnly. “We need to know what the Earth Sphere Alliance has on us. We need to know anything that was in the media, and hacking into that Peacecraft woman’s computer is probably necessary, as well; just to be on the safe side.”

Heero nodded sharply. “Already done, on all three accounts. I also took the liberty of hacking into the Preventers system to see if Lady Une had anything to say about us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you know she has us listed on inactive duty due to extensive training?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it if she wants to recruit us, which is probably why she’s pushing for the warrants to be pulled,” Quatre said thoughtfully. “Even more so now than ever; having five wizards on the Preventers’ side would certainly be a great asset. We’re pretty skilled in muggle military ways, but wielding magic is an element of surprise no one expects.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt for her to ask us what we wanted first,” Duo grumbled. “What if I had the desire to become a crossdressing cabana boy somewhere tropical?”

Trowa chuckled. “I think the question that’s on all of our minds now, Duo, is if you actually do want to be a crossdressing cabana boy.”

“Well, no, but that’s not exactly my point, is it?”

“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Draco announced haughtily. “Why do you have warrants out on you and for what? What’s a Preventer? And who really considers someone your age on inactive duty to anything vaguely military -whatever the hell that is. Sounds like an Unspeakable, or an Auror.”

Each Gundam pilot exchanged peculiar looks when Duo finally said, “You remember those giant, um, things that I piloted when Hee-chan and the guys came to rescue us from ol’ Voldie’s evil clutches?”

“Big hulking metal things,” Draco confirmed with a nod. “Hollow on the inside, save for strange things I’m not even going to bother attempting to put a name to. What about them?”

“Well, they’re war machines called Gundams,” Duo said slowly. “They’re the only five in existence, currently. Me and the guys fought in the name of the colonies back during the War to End All Wars.”

Draco still appeared nonplused. “Oh... kay.”

“Um,” Duo said, tapping his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “Okay, you had to have known about the big chunk of metal that was quickly falling to Earth a couple of years ago? Huge thing, big enough to create a nuclear winter on Earth and kill billions?”

Yes! Finally, something that sounded familiar. Draco knew about that; it was something that happened in his fifth year when he and several of his yearmates were doing extra credit projects for Astronomy during the winter holiday. Something microscopic but vaguely humanoid had managed to maneuver in front of it just in time to wave a wand and make the metal thing blow up into harmless, tiny pieces. There was something in the Daily Prophet about it the next day, and it was explained away as some form of muggle experiment with new technology (“silly muggles and their silly tricks” the paper seemed to imply) while urging readers to not worry.

“I saw it,” Draco said absently. “The Daily Prophet made it seem like some muggle thing that we shouldn’t worry about. Something about muggles and their silly tricks.”

Wufei snorted derisively. “Sounds like Maxwell’s patent Pay No Mind To The Man Behind The Curtain Method.”

Said Maxwell didn’t acknowledge Wufei’s sarcastic statement. “So you saw the Gundam that got in the way of that chunk of Libra and totally annihilated it, right?” Duo said, bouncing in his seat with a gleam in his eyes.

“Yes,” Draco said slowly.

“That was Hee-chan. He saved everyone on Earth. We all had our parts, but Heero’s the one who really pulled through and saved Earth. Now they kind of want us punished for war crimes, but we have some friends in high places that are trying to get that rectified.”

Draco blinked. “You’re... fugitives?”

“Well, technically,” Duo said, shrugging, “yeah. But only in the muggle world. Since the muggle world has absolutely no dealings with the laws of the wizarding world, as long as we stick to the wizarding world and obey wizarding law, we’re fine. That’s why Lady Une and Zechs Marquise didn’t arrest us when they came with Relena to visit Hogwarts that one time.”

Draco stared at them for a moment before looking at Duo. “Ever since I met you, Duo, I’ve made the strangest friends. It’s entirely your fault.”

Duo preened. The blond shook his head. Of course he would be proud of himself. Duo didn’t know any other way to be when it came to his chaos spreading.

Heero, with some so-called “help” from Duo, explained the basics of the muggle device through breakfast; despite his natural animosity against muggles and all things muggle related, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by this device. Most of his interest fell along how this Internet thing worked. It seemed utilizing such a tool would be quite useful in lieu of reading so many books, especially when Heero found several things he called “websites” and “databases” that pulled up all the information about any known herb commonly used in potions or taken care of in Herbology if you simply typed the word in one of those slim white boxes. Potions, he had no problem with; it was Herbology that he hated reading the material for. This World Wide Whatever would be useful for his worst class, if he could somehow convince Heero to part with it.

Judging by the look on Heero’s face, it was a request that was going to have to wait until the novelty of having a working laptop again wore off. Then again, judging by the mischief dancing playfully in Duo’s eyes, it appeared that Heero would have to adapt quickly. He had the same look in his eyes when he attempted to change out Wufei’s clothes with all of Draco’s mother’s dresses.

That was just another story that almost ended in tragic bloodshed.


END CHAPTER ONE


(1) Yes, Wufei referred to Draco as Black. Confused? Well, you should have taken my suggestion and read the first installment. You still have time to turn back and read that one if you’re unfamiliar with the plot that has already developed. :grins:

(2) The first bravest thing Draco had ever done in front of Duo was, of course, telling the Dark Lord to sod off with only a minimal bit of trembling. Or something to that effect. :grins:

Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty-Nine

Draco and Duo’s kidnaping and subsequent escape was the only thing anyone at Hogwarts spoke about; somehow, the facts of the matter actually mutated into blatant lies, and soon the rumor mill was absolutely positive that Draco and Duo hadn’t been kidnaped by Death Eaters, but wild giants who had planned to ransom them for powdered bones to make their bread instead. According to the grapevine, it was only Duo’s annoyingly cheerful banter that distracted the giants long enough for Draco to hex the nearest one with a dark curse he’d learned as a mere child under the tutelage of his former father.

“As if giants were smart enough to organize a kidnaping attempt in the first place,” Draco scoffed when an eager third year Slytherin asked what kind of dark curse Draco used to subdue a clan of giants long enough for the two of them to escape.

It was only a week before the rumors trickled to a stop, the students of Hogwarts moving on to bigger and better things to gossip about. Draco, of course, had been scandalized for two important reasons, one of them being that he’d quite liked being the talk of Hogwarts for once, especially since he was cast in such a favorable light. In his opinion, it was about damn time his magical prowess had been rightfully noted, despite the fact that he really hadn’t taken out a whole clan of giants with a single curse.

He found no sympathy with Harry. “How can you stand it?” Draco had complained to the Gryffindor irately. “Year after year, you go off and do something death-defyingly stupid -willingly, might I add- and they sing your praises for all of a week before Lavender Brown’s failed attempt at wooing the untouchable Terry Boot becomes the next big thing!”

“Practice,” Harry replied ruefully, rolling his eyes. “Patience. Right now, I’m just happy to not be involved at all.” The green-eyed Gryffindor paused suddenly, glancing at Draco shrewdly. “Is ‘defyingly’ even a word?”

“It is if I say it is,” Draco replied snottily. Harry wisely decided to spare himself the headache of incurring another snit fit courtesy Draco the Drama Queen (as he’d secretly come to call the Slytherin) and didn’t argue the matter further.

The other reason Draco hated the fact that his fifteen minutes of fame had faded was because it gave people a lot more time to talk about Draco’s subsequent disinheritance. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with, even though he had known it would be inevitable. The announcement of the former Malfoy heir’s new status had actually made front page news in the Daily Prophet, going as far as to include Narcissa and Lucius divorce, Draco’s new status as a Black, and the last disinheritance in wizarding history. Muggleborns seemed confused as to why this was so newsworthy, even if most of them probably thought Draco deserved it (and sod them, anyway). Halfbloods and purebloods who had something against the Malfoys and their ilk were eager to explain the importance of such an announcement. To have one’s birthright taken away from them in such a degrading manner was like an informal declaration that the disinherited was worthless and was meant to be seen as such by the wizarding world as a whole. Draco’s only saving grace was that his mother was willing to sacrifice her marriage to assure that Draco didn’t get kicked out of school and ostracized by the wizarding world completely.

Speculation ran wild about the events that had to have played out for Lucius to go so far, but most assumed it was because Draco had become close friends with two Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw, and a Hufflepuff. Draco could only feel somewhat vindicated about this little reminder by noting that everyone knew he still pretty much despised Weasel and barely tolerated Granger, and they were therefore not included on the friendship parade.

McAllistar, as predicted, was absolutely gleeful in reminding Draco of his lost status. The former Malfoy was quick to prove to the seventh year that, while Draco was no longer a Malfoy, he was still a Black. Despite the stigmata attached to the name, care of Sirius Black, it was a name of equal status to the Malfoy family. The Black family was certainly higher in status than the McAllistars.

A few well thrown hexes that caused vicious boils and disfiguring warts helped, too.

Draco remained the Slytherin Prince, if a little... tarnished. He supposed, in retrospect, that was probably the best he could really make of the situation.

Duo, of course, had no problem with the details of the events occurring on Valentine’s Day fading from everyone’s memory, mostly because Draco suspected Duo got tired of answering the nosiest people’s questions without really answering. In fact, Draco was pretty sure Duo was running out of non-answers pretty damn quick, especially when the American Gryffindor started staring at people blankly and murmuring, “El gato?” before wondering off to leave the surrounding people to puzzle over the non sequitur.

“You should take that to mean he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore,” Quatre said delicately as he passed the confused gossip-mongers. Eventually, the Winner heir’s words were heeded, and Duo was happy to spend his free time hanging around Heero.

Speaking of the Japanese Slytherin... Heero had been acting somewhat odder than usual, spending a majority of his free time juggling between doting over Duo and scouring the library for various books on past legal matters handled by the Wizengamot. Draco cautiously decided that his actions could be explained away by one of two reasons. Either the Slytherin was considering a future in wizarding law, or Heero was attempting to find loopholes in laws that he could take advantage of should any future incidents call for it. Going by how tenacious the Japanese boy could be, Draco was actually hoping for the former; he felt he could use a really good solicitor in the future, and Heero was more pertinacious than anyone had any right to be at his age.

When Draco bothered to ask Duo about it, the American’s reply was something along the lines of, “Hee-chan’s just ensuring that the exact details of what occurred you-know-when won’t slip from outside parties. It just means he loves me.”

“Proving your entire government is filled with morons is bonus,” Wufei said scornfully. “If ignorance is bliss, the Ministry of Magic must be paradise.” One could only assume the Chinese youth had something against incompetent people in positions of power for him to verbally denounce the Ministry, though Draco didn’t blame him. In any case, Draco cautiously took this to mean that Heero was doing a favor for his boyfriend and left it at that. He really didn’t need to know.

Draco felt a heavy sense of relief when all talk of his disinheritance ceased once students realized that the exams were so near. This relief was immediately followed by panic, since he, too, was one of the students guilty of forgetting about the tests. While OWLs had made all tests before fifth year seem like cakewalks in comparison, he had no excuse to slack off and risk academic failure. Unfortunately, he was lacking in appropriate study partners. Blaise and Pansy had taken it upon themselves to attempt the impossible and drill knowledge through Vince and Greg’s thick heads in hopes that the two would manage at least below-average scores instead of their usual “by the skin of their teeth” approach. Draco wished them good luck and quickly bailed on that endeavor; he’d learned long ago that, unless the cramming started months in advance, there was no way those two were going to prepare Vince and Greg for the tests in time and still expect to receive good marks themselves. Draco decided taking the every-man-for-himself approach was the right choice for him; he’d already exhausted his selflessness quota for the year.

Unfortunately, going to Duo, Heero, Trowa, Quatre, and Wufei for studying didn’t quite go as he’d planned.

“They’re making you take OWLs?”

“Oh, the tests are slightly adjusted to include sixth year material, as well,” Duo said, surprising Draco by not even looking up from his book.

“However, without our OWLs,” Quatre added, “we can’t take our NEWTs. Without our NEWTs, we can’t graduate. It completely defeats the purpose of schooling here if we can’t graduate.”

Well, damn. There went that spectacular plan, Draco thought sourly. He’d almost resigned himself to studying alone and hoping for the best when his silent contemplations beside the Black Lake later that evening was disturbed by none other than Harry Potter.

“Duo said you’re looking for someone to study with,” the green-eyed Gryffindor prodded hesitantly, tugging on the worn sleeve of the ghastly green jumper that displayed the first letter of his name in gold. Draco considered asking Harry if he forgot how to start his own name off often, but decided that it wasn’t worth the effort considering he and Harry were supposed to be doing that... friend thing. Well, that and Harry had taken up an awful habit of smacking Draco whenever the former Malfoy heir said something that could be considered offensive. He didn’t particularly want or need that headache, thank you very much.

“Duo has an atrociously big mouth,” Draco drawled instead, drawing back and throwing a moderately sized rock toward a barely visible tentacle of the Giant Squid. He missed only by several inches. “What are you getting at, Harry?”

“Why don’t you ask Zabini and Parkinson?”

“Because they’ve decided that Crabbe and Goyle might be able to pull off more than they actually can if both of them help those poor sods, and down that road lies too many headaches and the possibility of academic ruin this late in the year.”

Harry didn’t say anything against Draco’s prediction, proving the point that Vince and Greg’s academics -or lack thereof- were legendary. “Hermione wants to know if you’d like to study with us. Apparently, you’re in her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes, and she feels she’ll be more prepared if she actually has someone who knows the material go over it with her. You’ll have someone reasonably intelligent to study with, and the benefit to her would be likewise.”

Study... with Granger and the Weasel? Draco didn’t know how many times he had to emphasize his point; just because he was on a friendly basis with Harry did not mean he in any way appreciated the company of a Weasley and a muggleborn! Hell, he’d just gotten out of the habit of mentally referring to her as ‘the Mudblood’ every time he was forced to even look at her, not to mention the fact that he still hoped Weasley would fall off the face of the earth one day in the near future. He was just about to tell Harry to inform Granger where to shove her invitation when he paused.

Despite the natural animosity between Malfoys and muggleborns in general, Draco couldn’t help but to secretly confess to himself that he’d been dying to crawl around in Granger’s big head for years. The girl was beyond mere intelligence; she was a budding sixth year whose genius was already legend amongst the Who’s Who of Wizarding Society, all of whom were eagerly anticipating the day of her graduation so they could see which career she would decide to pursue. Even his father, whose hatred for muggles and all things muggle-related was widely known, grudgingly admitted that her mind would be a terrible thing to waste, especially if her talents were applied to something useful.

Getting a chance to see how Granger ticked verses spending a few grueling weeks in the company of Ronald bloody Weasley.

... Damn it.

“Fine,” Draco mumbled grudgingly, half-heartedly tossing another rock into Black Lake. There was no need to sound too eager. “When and where?”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut; Draco was privately amused that the Boy Who Lived was left gaping at him for a moment in the first place. There was a sort of twinkle in his myopic green eyes that left Draco feeling a little uneasy. Spirits above, the prat couldn’t honestly believe that Draco had agreed because he actually wanted to spend time with his little friends, could he? Judging by the bright smile, the answer seemed rather obvious.

What an idiot...

Draco couldn’t decide if his private insult was directed at Harry for being so damn noble and Gryffindor, or himself for being reluctant to wipe that soppy grin from Harry’s face by bluntly stating his real reason for accepting Granger’s invitation. In the end, it all boiled down to him with an appropriate study group that happened to be blemished by the unfortunate presence of Weasley.

After facing the Dark Lord and basically telling him to piss off right before liplocking with a bloody dementor, Draco felt that he could deal with that. Probably.

Maybe.

... Bollocks.

----------

Well. That was...

Well.

Judging by the shade of fury that twisted Ron’s face as he stomped upstairs in a snit, followed by Hermione’s bitter incoherent muttering that included words like “slimy, evil, vile, snotty little prat of a Slytherin” strung together in a sentence that was clearly a list of all of Draco’s more annoying traits, Harry thought he probably owed his two best friends a rather large debt. Not one of those wizarding debts, either; an honest-to-God sign-away-the-rights-to-his-firstborn-son debt.

It became rather obvious early on in the study session that Draco Black was used to dealing with the likes of Crabbe and Goyle for study partners, and the method he used in dealing with the rather thick duo when it came to studying was promptly employed in dealing with Ron. Not only that, but Hermione and Draco had gotten into more than one heated discussion about various subjects that would have normally bored Harry and Ron into tears if not for the fact that Harry had been listening to the heated battle of words attentively, completely fascinated by the passion the two felt about school. A quick glance at Ron during one of the more explosive moments between Draco and Hermione showed that, while pissed off, the youngest Weasley son was just as enthralled by someone butting heads so fiercely with Hermione. Even if the one doing the butting was Draco.

Draco had been channeling Snape. Snape with a smarmy know-it-all smirk and scathing wit peppered with frequent insults.... It was exactly like Snape, minus the smirk. The smirk was all Draco.

“Um,” Harry started and, receiving a sharp glare from Hermione, immediately stopped whatever he was going to say. That was actually a good thing, since he hadn’t any idea as to what he was going to say to the irate girl in the first place.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Hermione almost snarled, which kind of made Harry want to look for an isolated corner to huddle fearfully in. He’d never heard Hermione use such a venomous tone before, and the action scared the hell out of him.

“I thought it was going to be pretty bad. Mal-Bla-Draco is an unrepentant prat on his better days,” Hermione ranted. “He’s inconsiderate of other people’s feelings, argumentative, insulting, vile, haughty to the point that it would drive a saint into contemplating vicious torture, and... and... he has stupid hair!”

Harry blinked. “Um...? I owe you one?”

The distraught Gryffindor threw herself on the couch before the fire and buried her face miserably in her hands. “That’s just the thing, Harry -you don’t owe me one.”

“Er, Okay?” Well, what was he supposed to say to that?

“Because even though he’s inconsiderate, argumentative, insulting, vile, haughty, and has stupid hair,” Hermione bemoaned, “he’s the best study partner I’ve ever had. Beneath all of the insults, we managed to not only figure out a lot of heavy material in both Arithmancy and Magical Runes that both of us struggled with individually, but I’ve inadvertently realized that I don’t do as well in Potions as I do in all of my other classes because, while potion-making requires precision, there’s a lot of room for adjustments that I didn’t realize previously. It’s always bothered me that I excel in Potions Theory when I’m average in practice.”

God. It actually sounded like Hermione had a grudging respect for Draco. Harry flickered a quick glance out of the nearest window in hopes of catching a quick glimpse of the Four Horsemen before the Apocalypse destroyed the world. Harry really didn’t like it when end-of-the-world moments popped up suddenly, and he felt he should be prepared for the event.

“You do realize, however, that you might owe Ron your firstborn,” Hermione said pointedly, giving Harry a look that spoke volumes.

“You’re damn right he does,” Ron said hotly as he came stomping down the stairs, his red hair dark and damp from the recent shower to wash away the slime that had accumulated on his skin due to prolonged exposure to Draco. Duo was right behind Ron, his violet eyes glittering in suppressed amusement.

“His name will be Ulnid, and he’ll be my servant-slash-minion for the rest of his natural life. Congratulations, Potter, you’ve condemned your firstborn to a lifetime of menial tasks and enforced slavery,” Ron said smartly.

Duo snickered. “So I’m guessing it went about as well as expected.”

Pillock. It was Duo who had planted the notion of inviting Draco to study with them that influenced Harry’s pleading with his friends and asking Draco in the first place. Harry hoped that Duo was very happy about Ron taking his firstborn.

“Better for me,” Hermione said grumpily. “Terrible for Ron. Draco seemed to have been under the impression that insulting Ron every other sentence was an excellent way to get Ron to learn what levisticum officinale is.”

“Oi, I know what that is,” Ron said defensively. “It’s lovage, a kind of wonky herb in the carrot family that can be used both in cooking and medicine.”

Harry nodded absently, not even thinking as he added, “Yeah, it’s really effective in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts because it causes inflammation in the brain.(1)”

Duo was blatantly grinning, and Hermione looked a mite cross. It wasn’t until Harry realized the two of them were looking at him and Ron pointedly that he actually realized he and Ron had just easily spouted off something that had to do with Potions.

Harry gaped at Ron, seeing the expression on his own face mirrored by the one on his best friend’s face.

“Where did you two learn that?” Hermione demanded suspiciously.

Harry bit his lip guiltily, letting Ron answer for him when he said, “Well, Mal-Bla-that bloody git said it. It was kind of hard to miss, since he was insulting me. Again.”

Hermione snorted in disgust and said the last two words Harry expected to hear come out of her mouth. “Bloody hell, the prat actually got them to retain something using the Snape method. A highly reformed version of the Snape method, but the Snape method nonetheless.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Er, does this mean...?”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione sighed despondently. “Draco bloody Black must continue studying with us until exams are over. And we’ll have him next year for NEWTs, as well. Tough luck, but your future selves will thank you for it.”

Duo chuckled wickedly. “What if he already has plans to study with someone else next year?”

“I don’t care. I’ll tie him up and lock him in a broom closet if I have to,” Hermione said sharply, pointing at Ron and Harry. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to these two when it comes to learning. We’re stuck with him.”

“Damn it,” Ron grumbled, sending Harry a half-hearted glare. “I hate you so much right now.”

Harry grinned sheepishly and decided he didn’t blame Ron for hating him even just a little bit. If he were in Ron’s shoes, he was pretty sure he’d hate himself, too.

“Hey, Harry. Mind if we chat for a bit?” Duo said lightly after Ron and Hermione went to bed. Harry had almost forgotten Duo was there, which surprised him a little since they must have been sitting in silence for more than a few minutes, Harry staring into the fire as he contemplated the unexpected success of inviting Draco to study with them despite Hermione and Ron’s reluctance. The American didn’t make a habit of allowing for long moments of silence, even though Harry had noticed a suspicious lack of loquaciousness on Duo’s behalf recently.

“Does this involve me owing you my firstborn son, too? Because Ron’s got a prior claim to that,” Harry said ruefully, grinning at the violet-eyed Gryffindor.

Duo laughed lightly. “Nah, nothing like that. I’m really not into minions much.”

Harry couldn’t help but to wonder about the bitter tone in Duo’s voice. No matter how hard the American attempted to hide it, something had been bothering the other Gryffindor since the Death Eaters had kidnaped both him and Draco. Harry suspected it had something to do with Duo’s lack of success in repeating what he had done to destroy that dementor that almost gave Draco the Kiss. He’d seen Duo practice with his scythe often, but in all appearance, the rather unconventional, albeit normal weapon was just that -a normal weapon. In retrospect, he supposed a lot more could have happened to the American while in Voldemort’s tender care that Duo was unwilling to discuss, and Harry really didn’t want to pry.

“Chat on, then.”

Duo smirked. While Harry found nothing wrong with the American personality-wise, he found that the smarmy uplifting of the corners of his mouth annoyed Harry to no end, going as far as filling him with an almost irrefutable urge to punch the good-natured boy’s face in. That burning urge to wipe that look off of Duo’s face always made Harry feel guilty and confused, mostly because Duo wasn’t a bad person who deserved to be hit, smirk or no smirk.(2)

“You do realize that if there’s going to be anything remotely romantic between you and Dragon Boy, you’re going to have to make the first move.”

That was the last thing Harry thought Duo would say. Which, damn it all, meant he really should have expected it. “What makes you think that we-?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Potter,” Duo laughed. “You’re gagging for it. He’s gagging for it. You two are a match made in heaven, as sad as that is. It’s really obvious.”

“Oh, really?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms stubbornly. “How obvious is it?”

“You hate the way he insults your friends, insults random people in general, his little snarky grins and jives, and the way he styles his hair,” Duo said knowingly, “but on the other hand, you think all of these qualities are endearing and unique to Draco. Likewise, he hates how you act before you think, the way you charge in when you don’t have all your facts straight, and the fact you haven’t acknowledged the proper use of a comb yet. On the other hand, he thinks it’s cute.”

Harry blinked. “He thinks it’s... cute? Did he tell you that?”

“It’s all in the subtext, Harry. The point of the matter is, he’s not going to make the first move because he hates to make his feelings obvious, and his ego, while large and intimidating, is easily shattered. C’mon, Harry, you’re the epitome of Gryffindor. You have to make the first move.”

It was a conversation that stuck with Harry for the month and a half that followed, only briefly shelved during exam week which, to his surprise and Ron’s disgust, wasn’t as stressful and difficult as in previous years. It was Ron’s dying hope that this was more or less influenced by the teachers cutting the students some slack for once, but judging by the complaints that Seamus, Dean, and Neville had about the matter, it was a vain hope.

McGonagall had confirmed their marked improvement when she stopped them in a relatively empty corridor while they were on their way to dinner after their last grueling day of exams was finished. “You two did remarkably well on both your Transfiguration written exam and the practical three days ago. I take it Miss Granger has finally whipped the two of you into shape?”

“It wasn’t me, Professor,” Hermione said with a rueful shake of her head. “It was Draco.”

Both of McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Mr. Black? I’d heard that the four of you had taken to studying together, but I had no idea that Black would have such a strong impact...”

“Ron can’t help but to listen to Draco when he uses insults to make his point,” Hermione replied dryly, “and Harry thinks it’s funny.”

“I do not,” Harry lied. Okay, so a small part of him found Draco’s cynicism and wit absolutely hilarious, and Ron’s reactions were more than a little comical, too. Most of his amusement could be explained by the idea that Ron was actually learning something because of Draco’s tactics. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel sympathetic, though.

“He never insults you,” Ron said in disgust when they walked away from McGonagall. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that manky little blighter has a crush on you, Harry.”

That cinched it. If Ron noticed that Draco felt a little more than friendly in regards to Harry (no offense meant to Ron, but he wasn’t exactly the most observant person Harry had ever met), it must have been true. That meant that Harry really did have to make the first move because Draco wasn’t about to go there, feelings be damned.

He had three days to think about how he would go about making the first move. Three days was enough time to devise a plan, right?

Right?

----------

As it turned out, planning wasn’t exactly Harry’s strong point.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t done anything yet.”

“Hey! This is unchartered territory for me. Leave it alone!”

“Harry, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but we’re on a train heading for King’s Cross. In two hours you and Draco will part ways, and the unresolved sexual tension in the air will make the both of you crabby as hell. I don’t know if you know this or not, but me and the guys are going to stay with Draco this summer, and Heero and Wufei tend to be very crabby people. Two crabby people I can handle. Three crabby people are absolutely intolerable.”

Heero gave his boyfriend a reprimanding look. “Duo.”

“What? It’s true!”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t pressure him, Duo,” Quatre pointed out logically, comfortably reclined against Trowa’s side.

Trowa nodded solemnly. “He’s probably feeling nervous enough about this as it is. Draco isn’t the easiest person to deal with.”

Wufei smirked. “Oh, I’m sure your words of comfort relieve that nervousness admirably, Barton.”

“I think all of you are mad,” Ron said firmly. “Absolutely barking mad. The only reason I’m not calling St. Mungo’s on all of you is because I know what smitten-Harry looks like, and that’s it right there. I can’t believe you actually like the git, mate.”

“It does make a twisted sort of sense,” Hermione mused aloud. “Draco’s not a horrible person once you get used to the prickly exterior. Then again, I’m almost positive I’ve grown numb to all the barbs Draco could possibly throw at me. And Harry does think he’s funny.”

“He’s a prima donna drama queen,” Harry said with a snort. “What’s not funny about that?”

Ron looked like the answer was rather obvious. “Oh, it’s hilarious when that prima donna drama queen attitude doesn’t result in that mangy git insulting everything from your physical appearance to your parentage. Again, something he hasn’t done to you in recent memory.”

“You know, he wouldn’t do that to you as much if you didn’t rise to the bait,” Trowa pointed out.

“He calls me Weasel. I’m required by law to hate him.” And that was all Ron really had to say about the matter. The debate probably would have dragged on for another two hours if Duo didn’t gently take Harry by the arm and propel him out of the compartment with a good-natured pat on the back.

“Go and make your move, for God’s sake. I happen to know that he’s in the baggage car silently stewing over the crappy lot life has dealt him recently.”

Harry gave him an odd look. “How do you know that?”

“Because I was with him earlier,” Duo replied cheerfully, “and he threw his shoe at me. He does that, you know; throws the most unconventional things at people. Now go!”

Damn it, he was going to get a shoe thrown at him. And it was all Duo’s fault.

----------

Okay. The cons.

Well, he was disinherited, disillusioned, possibly hunted, and a little miserable over his lousy heart’s decision to patter for the attention of the Boy Who Lived. The disinheritance he could live with, since he knew his former father had his best interests in mind. The disillusionment was bound to happen one day, though he would have preferred it later to sooner. Being hunted would have probably been inevitable anyway because of his stupid heart’s little infatuation.

He glared down at his chest. I thought I killed you already.

His heart mocked him by beating.

Fine, then. The pros.

He’d grown up a lot over the year, learning that loyalty outside of one’s family and house wasn’t exactly as terrible as most Slytherins made it out to be. He had broken the mold his former father had set for him (though he didn’t know if that was a pro or con; he decided to do that thing where he looked at the glass half-full when his innate nature wanted to scream half-empty). He had six new friends, five of which he really did trust with his life and well-being, the sixth well on his way to making it on such an exclusive list, as well. He was free to do what he wanted when he wanted, and damn what anybody else had to say about it.

He was free, even though a part of him really wished he wasn’t.

So maybe things were far from the way he thought they would have played out. He could adapt. It’s what Slytherins did best, after all.

Draco shot a glare over his shoulder when he heard the baggage car’s door slide open right before it was closed again, the unmistakable footsteps of an intruder’s approach loud despite the noise of the train. “If that’s you, Duo, let me remind you that I have two shoes, and I’m just as willing to part with the second as I was with the first.”

He heard a despairing sigh that was distinctly not Duo’s. “I knew I was going to get a shoe thrown at me.”

Draco’s heartbeat quickened dramatically. Stop it! Stop. Damn you, heart, why won’t you die?

Again, his heart openly mocked him by continuing its fast pace.

“Oh, it’s you,” Draco said, standing up to stretch from the uncomfortable seated position he’d taken since the train had left Hogsmeade Station. “That’s alright, then. I can be alone with you here.”

“Thanks ever so,” Harry said dryly, moving forward cautiously. Apparently, the Gryffindor really did expect Draco to hurl a shoe at him, which actually cheered Draco up a lot. Harry stopped within an arm’s distance of Draco, suddenly appearing a little unsure of himself.

“I just... God, this sounds so wrong on so many levels, but I wanted to thank you for what you did for Ron.” Harry smiled sheepishly, nervously flattening his bangs over his forehead. “I know you probably didn’t think we’d noticed, but you somehow make Snape’s method of teaching work on him.”

Draco was both surprised and disappointed that his efforts were noticed. Instead of voicing his surprise, however, he voted to smirk arrogantly and ask, “So was Granger upset that I managed to drill more into Weasel’s thick head in a few months than she’s been able to do in six years?”

Harry shook his head ruefully. “Okay, Draco. Yes, Hermione’s a little jealous. Don’t let it get to your swelled head, prat.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” Draco said sardonically. He thought his ego needed a little stroking right about then, so he certainly did allow Granger’s jealousy get to his head. The offhanded praise was well deserved, after all, since he was simply brilliant like that.

“Speaking of that moron and his keeper, shouldn’t you be with your friends right now?”

The expression on Harry’s face was... strange. “Aren’t you my friend, too?”

That was probably the sappiest thing he’d ever heard, which, of course, made his heart beat that much faster. Spirits. He gave up. Harry Potter was adorable. And Draco Black had no resistance to people and things that were adorable.

“That goes without saying,” Draco said with a casual shrug. “I just thought you’d want to hang out with your cheering squad before you were exiled to the muggles once more.”

“Well, erm... I wanted to... that is to say...” Harry was absolutely flustered, which was something that Draco found both annoying and precious.

The former Malfoy heir raised a single eyebrow in question. “You wanted to... find a cure for the flu? Lycanthropy? See if I was miserable enough to throw myself off the train? Which I’m not, I assure you; I’m not that miserable yet. Okay, let me guess. Four words, sounds like...?”

Harry scowled. “Draco.”

Draco smirked. “I thought the object of charades was that you aren’t supposed to talk, Harry.”

“You’re making this a lot more difficult than it has any right to be,” Harry grumbled.

“No, I’m not. You won’t spit it out, and I’m making the best of the situation.”

For a moment, it looked like Harry was going to throttle Draco. Then he muttered, “Oh, sod it,” before he reached out, grabbed the lapels of Draco’s extremely expensive dragon hide coat, pulled the former Malfoy heir closer and...

And Draco’s brain shut down for five seconds.

Lips. Lips that belonged to Harry. Lips that belonged to Harry that were pressing against Draco’s lips.

Draco decided he really liked the word lips, especially when said word was applied to the same person that made his heart want to explode... in a good way. The kiss was chaste and innocent and lasted just long enough without really lasting at all, and Harry tasted vaguely of mint and something that was what Draco privately called Harry’s flavor because it really didn’t have a name; it was a flavor only unique to Harry, or at least it was what that attention-starved romantic that dwelled deep inside of him called it. The sudden lightheaded feeling that engulfed Draco’s higher brain functions was just starting to kick in when Harry pulled back, fingers still twisted in the lapels of Draco’s coat as the kiss ended.

Harry’s cheeks were stained red as he searched for some appropriate words to say, instead coming up with, “Um...”

Draco tried to smirk. He really did. But the look on Harry’s face paired with the blushing was too cute, and all Draco could muster was an amused smile. “You can let go of my coat now.”

The blush darkened, and Harry abruptly unfurled his fingers. “O-oh. Um... Do you...? Would you like to sit with us for the remainder of the trip?” The last part was said so fast that it took Draco a moment to decipher what was said.

Still couldn’t muster up that smirk. “Okay.”

“Okay?...”

“As in, ‘yes, I will,’” Draco retorted, finally managed a half-decent smirk. “Really, Harry, it’s not exactly a foreign word. Now help me find my other shoe.”

----------

Duo grinned wildly when Harry and Draco finally made their appearance, his attention turning from the oh-so-exciting chess match between the Hogwarts Chess Champion Ron Weasley (who knew?) And the Gundam Chess Champion Quatre Winner battled each other with their best strategies (yawn).

“It’s about time,” he crowed.

“Shut up, Duo,” the two said in unison, Harry’s tell-tale blush evidence to his theory that Harry and Draco had done more than just talk. Oddly enough, Draco had a basket hanging from one arm, a particularly nasty gleam in his silver eyes.

“No matter what, every year is more surprising than the next,” Hermione mused, absently running her fingers through Crookshanks’ fur. “I’m not sure if we should dread seventh year or welcome it.”

“Dread it,” Ron mumbled, scowling to himself when Quatre took his rook. “We have NEWTs, after all.”

“Sod seventh year,” Draco said, barreling into the compartment and sitting himself directly in front of Hermione, giving the orange beast in her lap a vicious glare. “So that’s the filthy little mongrel, is he.”

Hermione scowled at Draco, hugging Crookshanks closer to her. Likewise, the beast gave Draco a baleful glare. “What are you talking about, Draco?”

Draco snorted, opening one side of the basket and peering in, carefully reaching down and pulling a newborn ginger-haired kitten whose eyes hadn’t even opened yet. He held the tiny mewling copy of her father in the palm of his hand as he smirked at Hermione. “Congratulations, Granger. We’re grandparents.” He elaborated his statement by completely removing the lid of the basket, revealing a beautiful long-haired white cat and five more adorable little kittens, two of which also sported the father’s coloring.

“Crookshanks, you cad!” Hermione exclaimed. The beast appeared completely unrepentant, leaping from Hermione’s lap to sniff daintily at the mother cat and her kittens.

“See, Hermione? I told you that cat has no taste,” Ron said, peering suspiciously at the white cat that was giving him a patent you’re-beneath-my-notice look. “He shagged the feline equivalent of Draco bloody Black!”

Harry hid a smile behind the palm of his hand when Duo started cackling madly, leaning heavily against Heero for support. “That’s actually pretty ironic, Ron, since Draco used the same comparison for you and Crookshanks.”

Ron looked utterly disgusted; Duo laughed even harder, if only for the fact that Crookshanks looked about as horrified about the comparison as Ron did.

Draco smirked, leaning back and surveying the ensuing chaos. So there were a lot of cons to how his life had come to be today. He still had his health, his former father’s respect, good friends, Harry, and an almost solid guarantee that whatever scathing comment he made toward the Weasel and Granger would be tolerated to a certain point before the Weasel actually gave in to the urge to hit him. It wasn’t all bad.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be as hard to deal with everything as he originally thought. He was a Slytherin, after all.

THE END

(1) Thank you, Harry Potter Lexicon.

(2) Harry doesn’t know it, but he feels this way because Voldemort and Duo have the same smirk, which I previously mentioned in chapter twenty-five.

Thanks to all for taking the time to read and review! Keep a lookout for the sequel, which I’ve decided to title Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs. Thanks to all of you who took the time to make suggestions!

Ciao!

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Cheerios. See first chapter for original disclaimer.


Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty-Eight


My Dragon,
I know my folly.
It is quite the bitter potion to swallow, my son; as you
well know, I am not one to admit to my shortcomings, especially
when those shortcomings question my ability as a dutiful father
to a most worthy son and heir. Certain events have led me to
doubt that the paths I have chosen for you are even conceivable,
especially after the events that have come to pass this night.
I never wanted you to be a follower. When my lord assured me
that such was not in his design for you, I was mollified and
grateful, blinding myself to my lord’s manipulative nature. Now I
know that it was his plan to use my reluctance to allow you to
become a follower against me.
I never wanted you to be a follower. I never wanted you to
be a victim, either.
I have already cast my lot in with the devil, my son.
Leaving the Dark Lord’s ranks is not an option for me, as I am
and always have been so deep in the Circle. I cannot go against
my lord’s wishes, though he has said nothing of what he wants of
me since he left the manor. I do know that, given the time,
Voldemort will order me to have you brought home in hopes that he
can finish what he intended to do; as your father, Dumbledore nor
your new friends could do anything to stop me from having you
sent home. As much as it pains me, my son, I could very easily
manipulate the situation to have this order carried out.
It would be best for you if you did not consider coming back
home, Draco.
I have already conferred with your mother on this matter,
and she agrees that the solution I have decided on is for the
best, considering the situation.
As of this day, you are no longer a Malfoy.
I do this not out of ire or disappointment, Draco, but for
your own protection. By removing myself from a position that
Voldemort can ultimately use to bring you back to his hand, I
give you a chance to stay far away from his reach... as well as
my own. The paperwork has already been drawn, documents have
already been signed and sealed with the official Malfoy Crest,
and these documents have already been sent to the Ministry. It
hurts me to do this when I know you are worthy of the name
Malfoy; perhaps not as much as it hurts you to know the public
shame of being disowned and left nameless.
I can comfort you on one thing, my former son. You will not
be nameless.
Along with these documents formally declaring your
disownment are a second set of documents for a different sort of
annulment. As you know, your mother is only connected to
Voldemort and his Death Eaters through me; she is, thankfully,
unmarked and free to do as she wishes. We have decided to rescind
our marriage, and your mother is to take back her maiden name.
While you are no longer my son in the eyes of the Ministry, you
continue to remain a part of Narcissa. From this moment until the
conclusion of the war, you will be Draco Julius Daemon Monroe
Black. It should be a small comfort to an otherwise terrible
situation.
Unfortunately, this strategy will most certainly put your
mother at risk. She has chosen to go into hiding until the
climate is far more sociable, and thus, she will be unable to
care for you as she normally would. I cannot disclose the
location to where she has fled, not because I am unwilling, but
because it would have been unwise of her to inform me. Because
the unfortunate divorce has left her with a good deal of the
Malfoy family assets -certainly enough to keep both of you in the
lifestyle with which you are accustomed- you will not be left
penniless. Your mother has arranged a generous allowance that
will be paid to you weekly for you to do with whatever you like.
I realize, in retrospect, that any olive branch I could even
begin to offer would be received with mixed feelings. Narcissa’s
settlement included our property just outside of Bletchingly. The
wards have been reset to accept you and whoever you choose to
stay with you. As you know, this means that whoever you find
unacceptable will not be permitted to enter the borders of this
property; not even your mother will be able to access the
property if you do not wish her to. It is imperative that you
never invite me back to that property, Draco. It would be wise of
you to consider who you trust and how much the risk would be
worth inviting them to Delamont’s Haven, and that goes doubly so
for your friends with Death Eater connections.
That is all I can do for you now.
In the eyes of the Ministry, as well as the rest of the
outside world, you are no longer my son. Know that, in my heart,
I could wish for no better heir.
Yours,
Lucius Octavius Ruston Malfoy

So. That was it, then.

Draco Malfoy was no more.

His father -Lucius- had been right about one thing. The news was received with mixed feelings. It was those warring feelings that encouraged Draco to mentally draw into himself in some dire hope to sort out the whirlwind that raged inside of him.

He was... he was happy. His father -Lucius, damn it, the man wasn’t his father anymore- was not disappointed in him. Lucius confirmed everything Draco ever wanted from the man; knowing that Lucius thought that Draco was worthy, that he wasn’t upset that Draco had refused to submit to the Dark Lord... it made him happy. Perhaps the happiest he had been in recent memory, in fact. To believe his father did not want the fate the Dark Lord had wanted to force upon him and having that belief confirmed was absolutely uplifting, both in heart and in spirit. His father loved him enough to risk everything to assure that Draco would be safe, even if that meant that Lucius not only had to sacrifice his wife, but risk the possibility that the Malfoy name would not be carried on. On the other hand...

On the other hand.

He was saddened in the knowledge that his father (Lucius, spirits damn it...) had to make so many sacrifices because of it. It hurt, spirits, it hurt so much knowing that, while Lucius still thought Draco a worthy heir, that Lucius still loved him despite his blatant defiance... Lucius still had to disown him. For his protection. And, in disowning Draco, Lucius had to forfeit his marriage with his mother, who also had to go into hiding to prevent harm from coming to Draco through her. Most marriages amongst purebloods were more out of necessity than love. Draco had come to terms with the possibility that such a life would be for him. However, his parents were so obviously in love that most purebloods were jealous of the kind of fondness the two had for each other.

Yes, Draco was hurt. Only a small portion of that hurt was for the loss of his last name; the majority belonged to how much his father had to sacrifice to assure that Draco was safe, at least until the Dark Lord could devise a different method of getting him if the monster was absolutely hellbent on having him...

Draco was startled from his jumbled thoughts by a soft, comforting hand touching his shoulder. He shook himself from his pensive mood and glanced wearily up at the blond that had silently gone to his bedside. Draco didn’t even know Quatre had woken up; the last he’d seen of the other boy, the Winner heir was sleeping next to the comforting warmth of his boyfriend.

Quatre’s other hand absently rested over his breast, a small furrow on the other boy’s brow. “How can you be so happy and sad at the same time?”

Draco was reluctant to put his feelings into words, and he doubted he could say anything at that point without either laughing hysterically or blubbering or probably both. Instead of replying verbally, he handed Quatre the letter wordlessly.

“What is it, Quat?” Duo asked quietly. Draco had completely forgotten that he had an audience. He didn’t dare look at any one of them for fear of showing any weakness, choosing to stare resolutely at his lap instead.

“Lucius Malfoy is trying to protect Draco the only way he knows how,” Quatre said quietly. “For fear of Voldemort ordering him to have Draco brought back, Lucius has decided to cut all ties with Draco.”

“What does that mean for Malfoy?” Harry asked, though it sounded like the Boy Who Lived already suspected what that meant. Draco flinched violently at Harry’s form of address.

“It means you can’t call him Malfoy anymore,” Quatre said gently, his hand squeezing Draco’s shoulder lightly. “Lucius has removed himself from a position that could be used to bring Draco back to Voldemort. Draco’s been disowned.”

“Bloody hell,” Weasel muttered, sounding oddly sympathetic. “He’s left you without a name?”

“No,” Quatre answered for Draco, squeezing his shoulder again. “Lucius and his wife have decided to annul their marriage so Draco can have his mother’s maiden name. Narcissa has also chosen to go into hiding in case the Dark Lord tries to harm her, as well.”

Despite what Lucius had written in his letter, knowing that Draco had not been left nameless was more than just a small comfort. Those forsaken by their blood kin in the past, having both name and privilege stripped from them by the heads of their respective families... they never prospered well in the wizarding world, where a last name certainly carried weight, be it muggleborn, pureblood, or otherwise. There were several cases that Draco knew of in which otherwise talented, competent individuals who were cast from their families lost not only their entitlement to an inheritance, but their jobs, friends, and very livelihood, as well. Family was everything in the wizarding world; to shame one’s family in such a way that drastic measures had to be taken left a bitter stigma on the one being disowned. While Draco’s disownment was bound to become public knowledge and create some scandal, having a new name courtesy of his mother’s ilk would not call for the enforcement of such practices. Otherwise, Draco would never be welcomed back to Hogwarts, no matter what the Headmaster would have had to say about it. The only way for Draco to survive would have been to leave the wizarding world entirely, and that was a sacrifice that Draco would not have been able to endure when he knew nothing of muggle culture or muggle practices.

“It’s the only way to keep Draco safe?” Duo inquired solemnly; it was a rare moment in history when the American Gryffindor could be found in such a mood.

“From Lucius’ end,” Quatre replied. “The rest will, of course, be left to us.”

Draco glanced at Quatre, surprised. “You don’t-“

“You’re our friend,” Trowa replied, cutting off Draco’s automatic protest. “We don’t let friends muddle through on their own.”

“You should know that by now, Dray,” Duo said with a lopsided grin. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Ever.”

Draco couldn’t stop the rueful smile that crossed his face at Duo’s words, his mind immediately summoning the memory of Duo facing the Dark Lord, brazenly defiant as the American refused to leave Draco in Voldemort’s hands. Duo was wrong to be uncertain about being in Gryffindor. While Draco knew that the violet-eyed boy was amazingly Slytherin when he had to be, the former Malfoy heir knew for certain that Duo was Gryffindor to the core.

“How can we be sure that Voldemort will be so determined to achieve his goal?” Wufei asked suddenly, a frown on his bronze face. “He can just as easily find someone else to possess.”

“Trust me,” Harry said dryly, “that git is tenacious. Once he’s gotten an idea in his head, he’ll never let it go. Voldemort won’t settle for anything less than his first choice. Bastard probably thought long and hard about who would provide the proper host, and from what I last saw of the Death Eaters, none are as good-looking and influential as Malfoy and his kin.”

“Aw, Potter,” Draco cooed mockingly, slanting a smug grin at the Boy Who Lived, “you think I’m good-looking?”

Weasel, of course, jumped to Harry’s defense when the green-eyed Gryffindor appeared too flustered to comment immediately. “Shut your gob, Mal -bloody hell, what’s your mum’s maiden name so I can yell at you properly?”

“Because you just can’t call him by his given name,” Duo said sarcastically, shaking his head in wry amusement.

“I’d hex him if he did,” Draco retorted with a disgusted glare aimed directly toward the Weasel.

“Narcissa’s maiden name is Black,” Harry said hurriedly. “She’s Sirius’ first cousin. I remember seeing it on the Black Family Tapestry. I can just see Snape cringing at the thought of his favorite student going by the same name as the man he hates as much as, if not more than, my father.”

“Speaking of the new Draco Black,” Pansy said meaningfully, catching everyone’s attention once more. “You’re going to have to do a lot of damage control to remain the Slytherin’s Prince.”

“Exactly,” Blaise replied with a sharp nod, his eyes narrowed in thought. “The Malfoy name is gold in Slytherin, literally and figuratively. Being disowned has the potential to cause some serious power shifts within the house itself. No matter what, people are going to realize that you’ve turned your back on the Dark Lord; and we don’t know where everyone stands on that matter.”

“We already know that Julian McAllistar and his crew aren’t exactly my biggest fans,” Draco noted with a disgusted scowl. “It’s safe to say that I’ll be getting nowhere with anyone from his group. As for everyone else?” Draco snorted. “It won’t take them long to realize that being stripped of the name Malfoy doesn’t make me any less the ruthless, smarmy, best looking bastard this school will see for a very long time.”

Pansy smirked, nodding her head in agreement.

Blaise merely raised a single eyebrow. “Best looking?”

Draco smirked superiorly at his fellow Slytherin rival for best-looking bloke at Hogwarts. “I’m the handsomest, smartest, and most charismatic bloke Slytherin has to offer. Why do you think the Dark Lord wanted to be me? Of course, I don’t blame him. Who wouldn’t want to be me?”

Any further preening was abruptly halted when Duo burst into an irrepressible fit of maniacal laughter, feebly clutching at his stomach as he pointed at the varying expressions on the Gryffindor Trio’s faces. Granger appeared as if she were stuck between being dumbstruck and incredulous that Draco would ever make such a claim. Harry, obviously expecting a declaration similar to that from spending time with the former Malfoy heir, merely shook his head as he rolled his eyes at the blond’s gall. Weasel’s expression was the most amusing, by far; the redheaded lout’s jaw had dropped, agog at the prospect that Draco thought so well of himself when the Weasel clearly thought so little of him.

“If you could only see the looks on your faces,” Duo cried, still giggling. “Oh, God, my sides!”

“Weren’t you just complaining about how being so good-looking put you on Voldemort’s list in the first place?” Wufei said critically.

“Eh, beauty.” Draco shrugged, smirking. “It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“You would take this opportunity to overinflate your already massive ego, Draco,” Harry pointed out dryly, shaking his head once again.

Draco ignored the funny little flip that stirred in his belly when his given name rolled off Harry’s tongue in such a casual manner, silently insisting that the strange feeling was the remnant of his earlier nausea. It was the only explanation; he distinctly recalled Harry taking such liberties with his name before, and while it had made him feel a little discomfited at the time, it hadn’t actually affected him in that manner. Instead, he took the time to roll his eyes in exasperation at the Gryffindor. “You’re never happy, are you? First, I’m always too bloody pessimistic. Then when I try to be optimistic, you insult my character. Tell me, Harry -where is this bright side you often speak of?” And Draco made damn sure to put a little extra emphasis on Harry’s given name, carefully watching the Gryffindor for any peculiar reaction.

The former Malfoy heir was not disappointed; a look of surprise contorted the green-eyed Gryffindor’s features for only a moment, some nameless emotion flickering to the surface of Harry’s fathomless green eyes, only to disappear again before Draco could really put a name to it.

“As much as I hate to fuel your narcissism,” Harry said after he recovered, smiling ruefully, “you’re right. You were trying to be optimistic in your special little egotistical way, and I shouldn’t discourage that.”

Draco blatantly ignored everything before and after those two special little words he always loved to hear. “Hear that, Blaise, Pansy? I’m right. Harry says so.”

The two Slytherins snorted in amusement. Pansy even went as far as to look to Harry with a vaguely pitying expression. “He’s a stubborn git, Potter. Trust me, you can’t win with him.”

“That’s right,” Draco replied smugly. “You can’t win with me.”

Which just prompted Duo into another laughing fit that took quite some time to settle down from. Consequently, Duo’s hilarity prompted Madam Pomfrey to bossily shoo anyone who wasn’t a patient out of the Infirmary, and this time she managed to win the brief battle of wills that occurred between her and one Heero Yuy.

Of course, she might not have succeeded in that situation if it hadn’t been for Duo, who decided that even Perfect Soldiers -whatever that was- needed to rest after thirty-five straight hours, most of which were spent in what Duo referred to as “pre-mission mode, mission mode, and post-mission mode.”

“Go! Sleep! I promise I won’t get myself kidnaped in the few hours you won’t be here. If I do, you can say those words I hate so much.”

Heero raised an eyebrow. “I told you so?”

“Those are the ones,” Duo affirmed smartly. “Now give me a kiss and carry yourself to bed before you get cranky. I’d hate to be the one to tell the Headmaster you shot some poor bastard who peed in your Cheerios because you didn’t get your forty winks in.”

Trowa and Wufei snickered quietly at the end of Duo’s rant. Draco suspected their amusement had something to do with the word ‘cranky’, which wasn’t the first term to come to mind when dealing with the image of an irate Japanese Slytherin. In retaliation, Heero threw a dirty glance over his shoulder before he obediently leaned over and planted a soft, chaste kiss on the American’s upturned lips.

“Oyasumi nasai, koi.(1)” Draco frowned to himself at Heero’s words. Despite living in the same room with the Japanese Slytherin for almost a year, he always seemed to forget that English was only Heero’s second language. Heero didn’t often use his native tongue; in fact, he recalled Heero only ever slipping into Japanese once before, when he murmured those words that made Duo’s face light up after the violet-eyed boy professed his feelings for Heero.

“‘Night, Hee-chan. ‘Night, guys.”

Once assured that everyone who wasn’t a patient of hers had left, Madam Pomfrey nodded her approval sharply before she busied herself with checking Duo and Draco’s vitals, along with critically watching the both of them gulp down some nasty concoction that Draco was almost positive did nothing but leave a bad taste in his mouth. After being assured that the potion was merely something that reduced stress and decreased the likelihood of nightmares that could spawn from said stress (since Duo flatly refused to consume the Dreamless Sleep Potion, muttering something about not liking how that potion made him feel sluggish and unalert), the mediwitch bid them a terse goodnight before she dismissed herself through a pair of doors, dimming the lights of the infirmary with a wave of her wand.

Duo immediately turned in his bed to look at Draco, a wicked gleam in his dancing violet eyes. Draco was beginning to think such a look coming from the American was never a good sign.

Unfortunately, he was right.

“So,” Duo said with a smug grin. “You and Harry.”

“Not a word, Duo,” Draco growled.

“Were you flirting with him?”

“Duo, no. Just no.”

“It sounded like you were flirting with him.”

“Duo!”

“I call it as I see it, man. That definitely sounded like flirting.”

“Shut up, Duo!”

The American sighed wistfully, but he said nothing more after that. The former Malfoy heir thought it was finally safe to relax and sleep until he heard Duo’s infernal humming of a familiar childhood taunting song.

“Duo,” Draco snapped. “No!”

Apparently, Duo didn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘no’ because he soon began to sing, “Draco and Harry, sittin’ in a tree. F-U-C-ACK!”

Something clattered noisily on the floor. For a brief moment, there was silence.

And then Duo said incredulously, “Did you just throw a bedpan at me?”

“Go to sleep, Duo.”

“You did! You threw a bedpan! At me!”

“If you don’t shut up and go to sleep, I’m going to garret you with that blood mediwitch’s stethoscope, just see if I don’t!”

“I’d tell Heero on you if I didn’t think he’d laugh at me. He’s never thrown a bedpan at me.”

Draco growled roughly, turning his back to the chatty American and angrily stuffing his pillow over his head. He couldn’t help but wonder if Duo would explain to Dumbledore that the reason Draco viciously attacked some Hufflepuff ninny was because of crankiness, due to the fact that Duo didn’t know how to shut up and let volatile people like Draco get his forty winks in.

Probably. And the American would explain Draco’s behavior with a smile on his face, too.

Pillock.


END CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

(1) “Oyasumi nasai, koi.” Translated, it means “good night, love.” :grins sheepishly: Yeah, I know. I promised I wouldn’t abuse the Japanese TOO much.

Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty-Seven

As the dawning day broke upon the hallowed castle that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one could not help but to mentally contemplate on how cheesy the scenery was. Early birds were chirping their cheeriness to all that were willing to listen, the weather was pleasantly chill in comparison to the beaming sun that shone down on the Scottish greenery, and even the Forbidden Forest looked a little less dark and foreboding than it usually did. All and all, if one were to judge an entire day by the first few moments after dawn, things were shaping up to be a lovely day, especially after such a stressful night.

Of course, if it had been dark and wet and miserable with ominous black clouds and flooding rains, it probably still would have looked like a lovely day. At least they were all alive with souls still intact.

“I knew he couldn’t have been an ordinary dog. Ordinary dogs don’t laugh at seemingly ordinary snowmen.”

“Gruff.”

“You’re just jealous because you’re a bad actor, Butch.”

“I still can’t believe you expect me to swallow some story about Sirius Black being innocent. The Ministry of Magic... Wait. The Ministry is filled with bumbling morons who couldn’t find a Death Eater if he bared his arm for all and sundry to see in the middle of the Minister’s inauguration parade down Diagon Alley. Sod that, he must be innocent.”

The Grim-like dog snorted ruefully.

Draco just wanted to take a long soak in a bubble bath with cucumber slices over his eyes, a lot of deep skin-cleansing treatments, some minor therapy, and a bottle of mouthwash potion. Knowing that a dementor’s soul-sucking mouth had been over his not three hours ago made him want to retch violently all over someone else’s nice, clean robes. Speaking of which, he would probably burn the clothes he was wearing while he was going at this whole cleansing thing. Will wash, and wash, but will never feel clean.

A nice, stiff shot of Firewhiskey wouldn’t have gone amiss, either.

“I just want to pass out in a bed somewhere,” Duo said casually as the group of students and the large dog jogged tiredly up the steps that led to Hogwarts’ grand entrance. “Actually, I could probably even do without a bed. I just want to pass out and sleep for the next, oh, month or so.”

... Or pass out in a bed somewhere. Draco was feeling a mite too fatigued for the whole spa treatment, anyway. However, the mouthwash potion was a mandatory necessity. Ewww... Dementor drool...

“Jeez, Dragon Boy, if you’re gonna upchuck, do it the other way.”

Draco, perhaps a little green with the threat of losing whatever was left in his stomach after such a horrible night, glared at Duo. “Nice to know you care. Prat.”

“Hey! I care!” Duo protested with a laugh. “At least you have your soul. And it’s not like it was your first kiss or anything...” At Draco’s stricken look, followed immediately by the Malfoy heir running to purge his stomach over the steps, Duo winced sympathetically. “Ew... So I’m guessing I was wrong about the first kiss.”

His comment, while he meant well, was followed immediately by a loud, messy heave as Draco’s stomach muscles seized up into a tight ball, properly expelling everything that had yet to digest fully.

----------

Harry Potter was disturbed from his hazy, unremarkable dream by the soft-spoken tones of a familiar voice calling his name. He pulled himself into a sitting position sluggishly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he simultaneously raked his hand through his messy, bed-tangled hair, fighting back the urge to yawn as he blinked sleepily at the blurred figure that stood silently beside his four poster bed. It took a moment of squinting for his sluggish brain to catch up.

“Trowa?”

The Slytherin held something out to Harry casually; once again, squinting identified the object as his glasses, which he quickly accepted and slipped onto the bridge of his nose with only minor sleepy fumbling. “How did you get in here?... Did something...?” Suddenly he was wide awake, his nerves on high alert as he imagined the worst possible scenario. “Is it about Duo?”

The tall Slytherin nodded solemnly. “Duo and Draco are back.”

Harry let out an explosive sigh of relief.

“Both are in the hospital wing being treated for dementor exposure, and Draco’s exhibiting some common signs of shock. They’ll be alright. They’re resting now,” he responded blandly, as if he were reading off a simple laundry list. Even though the news was so clinically delivered, Harry couldn’t help but to feel ecstatic upon hearing that both Duo and Draco were relatively okay.

“That’s great! When will we be allowed to visit them?”

“Probably later this evening,” Trowa replied. “Quatre is with them now, despite Madam Pomfrey’s protests about how her sleeping patients don’t require a vigil. I came to give this back to you.”

Harry frowned as the Slytherin passed him what appeared to be a scrap bit of parchment, but it only took a moment for him to realize what it was. “The Marauder’s Map? How did you get it?”

“I borrowed it last night,” Trowa explained. “I was also told to inform you that you’ll be getting your Firebolt back later this evening. Snuffles doesn’t have the time to retrieve it right now, but rest assured, it’s in a safe place.”

“Wait...” ‘I was told’? ‘Snuffles’? “You know about...?”

Trowa shrugged. “It was pretty obvious.”

“Only to you,” Harry mumbled, glancing around the room. It appeared that everyone had already left, which was odd; Ron was never one to leave him behind to sleep in, even on the weekends.

“The others were already gone when I got here, but Ron was here a few minutes ago,” Trowa said, apparently noticing Harry’s small frown. “He wanted to give you a few more minutes of sleep. He said it sounded like you had nightmares all night.”

The Gryffindor didn’t really remember dreaming at all, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if he did have some rather terrible nightmares. He certainly felt like he hadn’t rested for more than a few moments at a time during the night.

Hold on a tick... Sirius needed Harry’s Firebolt, and Trowa ‘borrowed’ Harry’s map. Add that to the vague recollection that he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Trowa, Quatre, Wufei, or Heero moments after the Aurors led the four Hogwarts Houses back to their dormitories... In fact, Hermione had specifically remarked that she didn’t see Trowa or Heero amongst the group of leaving Slytherins anywhere...

“You sneaked out of the castle last night,” Harry said accusingly. “You ran off to save Duo and Draco.” The tall Slytherin boy didn’t even bother to deny it. “Trowa! They were kidnaped by Death Eaters -fully trained witches and wizards wouldn’t go on such a suicide mission, much less four students who know maybe two years worth of spells!”

Despite what many may have had to say about Trowa Barton, the boy could definitely speak volumes with a single shift in his facial constructs. In this case, an eyebrow rose sardonically, as if saying, ‘Hello, Pot. My name is Kettle.’ Well, without sounding so glib about it, anyway. “Thus the reason Snuffles came with us.”

“Sirius is reckless!” Harry protested hotly. “He’s an attention-starved man that’s forced to be confined to hiding when everybody knows he can’t stand being left behind!”

“He volunteered.”

“Thus proving he’s reckless!”

“Harry, are you really upset that we left to save Duo and Draco,” Trowa inquired pointedly, “or are you upset that we deliberately left you behind?”

“So it was deliberate!” And damn Trowa for being so perceptive, anyway.

“Yes,” Trowa said serenely, that eyebrow raising again. “We had one objective -to remove Duo and Draco from a possibly fatal situation without endangering said objective with personal feelings. Enacting any sort of retribution for past misdeeds could have endangered that objective. It was therefore decided that it would be best not to include you on our search and rescue, especially considering the facts. Voldemort has wronged you on so many intimate levels. We didn’t have a guarantee that you would show any restraint.”

Harry didn’t have an argument for that. Would he have shown any restraint even when explicitly told to do so? He didn’t know for certain, but he somehow doubted he would have been capable.

That didn’t mean he wanted to verbally confirm that to Trowa, though.

The Slytherin apparently saw Harry’s reluctant agreement in his face. Trowa nodded thoughtfully, walking to the exit of the dormitory. He paused at the threshold of the doorway, turning only to quietly say, “You, Hermione, and Ron should visit Duo and Draco after dinner. I think they’d like that.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “I was planning on it.”

----------

Heero was reluctant to leave Duo alone, even if his boyfriend was sleeping for the time being. The last thing he wanted to do was allow Duo to leave his sight so soon after he’d gotten the American back, but he’d made a promise to spin a tale for Dumbledore and his group. While Duo was capable of a few well-meaning half-truths, the American still kept his vow that he would never outright lie.

Dumbledore wasn’t alone in his office, though Heero wasn’t surprised that the Headmaster was awake this early in the day. The strange woman Sirius called Tonks was present, as well as Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. There were several others whose faces weren’t quite so familiar, other than the fact that the ones present were all either Aurors or part of Dumbledore’s private militia.

“Headmaster,” Wufei greeted stoically, every bit the dignified Chinese scholar as he stiffly took the seat in front of Dumbledore’s desk. Heero merely nodded at the man in acknowledgment before taking the seat beside his fellow pilot.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Mr. Chang. I hear the five of you have been on quite the adventure.” The old man straightened, seemingly far more solemn than before. “You do realize, of course, that the four of you left school grounds when it was specifically forbidden for you to do so.”

Wufei’s eyes flashed. “I can assure you that the consequences of our actions were well worth the effort, Headmaster.”

“So it seems,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, ignoring the outraged expressions of some of his loyal followers. “Duo Maxwell and Draco Malfoy are now safe with us, once again. May I ask how you managed to find them?”

“Tracker spells,” Wufei answered confidently. “We cast them as soon as we found each other again. We won’t be separated again.”

“I see,” Dumbledore replied in good-humor. “How very useful. Sirius has informed me that Draco Malfoy almost had a rather unfortunate mishap with a dementor. Madam Pomfrey’s report on his condition confirms a serious case of dementor exposure and shock, while Duo suffers from a relatively mild case of dementor exposure. Tell me, what has happened?”

“Black and I entered Malfoy Manor at exactly twenty minutes after two in the morning,” Heero said monotonously. “Duo had already initiated a failed escape attempt by that time. There was blood approximately thirty feet away from the exit, a single bullet casing located near the wall. The scene was relatively fresh, anytime between fifteen to forty-five minutes old. The smell of gunpowder was still in the air. I’d surmised that Duo had used the situation to his advantage; Lucius Malfoy had apparently been present at the time, and Duo had taken Draco as his temporary hostage. A Death Eater, ignorant of the implications of a gun and dismissive of a muggle weapon, had made a move that Duo had taken to be hostile. That Death Eater is dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that such measures had to be taken,” Dumbledore said regretfully. “An old man like me never likes to hear how a teenager’s hand was forced in such matters.”

Heero didn’t bother to reply to that. “Black and I moved further down the corridor until we heard voices. Four Death Eaters -Avery, Nott, Malfoy, and McNair. They were talking about what had happened in the foyer. Jansen is the name of the Death Eater Duo killed, as they were discussing the event that had transpired previously. I learned then that Duo and Draco were left alone with Voldemort; however, I knew nothing of the layout to the manor. I decided it would be pertinent to eliminate the loose ends and have Lucius Malfoy lead us to Duo and Draco.”

“So you, too, had to take away lives this night,” Dumbledore said somberly.

Heero met the old man’s eyes evenly. “Avery and McNair felt no pain, though Nott’s knee will probably bother him for the rest of his life.”

“You killed the others,” Tonks said incredulously, as if the thought of someone as young as Heero killing anyone was completely beyond the scopes of reality, “but you left Nott alive? Why?”

“Because Theodore Nott is my roommate,” Heero said evenly. “I did not want to be the one responsible for the loss of a relative.”

Wufei glanced at Heero then, appearing oddly pensive. “You’re getting soft, Yuy.”

“That’s my business,” Heero said, shooting the dark-eyed Ravenclaw a watered down glare. “Theodore Nott sleeps in the same quarters as me. Should he have found out I was responsible for the elder Nott’s murder, I would never be able to sleep unguarded. It wasn’t the efficient choice. I left the man alive.”

“I never said getting soft was wrong,” Wufei said, smirking.

Hn. “Black disarmed Malfoy,” Heero went on to explain, nodding his head toward the aforementioned man. Black remained quiet; apparently, he was satisfied with allowing Heero to explain. “I informed Malfoy that leveling his family home to the ground was perfectly within our capabilities. Meanwhile, Trowa, Quatre, and Wufei were standing by, ready to do just that should I have given them the signal. Malfoy decided to cooperate and led us to Duo and Draco. I stopped him just short of opening the door to ask who was in the room. He told us that Draco, Duo, and Voldemort were in there. I assumed that he was hoping Voldemort could take care of us, but Malfoy was shocked to find that a black-shrouded creature was hovering over Draco. It appeared that the creature was preparing to kiss Malfoy’s son, and Malfoy was visibly upset by the scene.”

“So the Dark Lord nearly had the son of his favorite Death Eater Kissed?” Lupin asked. “Why?”

“Maxwell said that old Voldemort was having some vanity issues,” Black said suddenly. “Wormtail screwed up the ritual that restored his mortality, and really, he should have expected a bunk-up of that magnitude when dealing with an idiot like Wormtail. Combined with his fear of dying, well, the Dark Lord apparently wanted a new body and Draco was ‘the prettiest’. I guess it didn’t hurt that Draco descends from a pureblood family that’s always been a little sympathetic to his cause.”

“The dementor had just began the Kiss when Malfoy called out his son’s name,” Heero went on. “Duo appeared dazed and lost until Malfoy Senior’s voice snapped him out of it. From what Black tells me, what Duo did next is supposed to be impossible.”

“He killed the dementor,” Black said eagerly. “He just slashed at it with this thing he’d been hiding up his sleeve, cutting it right in half. It just burst into tiny white lights and disappeared. I never thought it was possible! Have you ever heard of anything like that, Albus?”

The Headmaster appeared thoughtful and, perhaps for the first time, a little unsure about the report. “I don’t recall ever hearing about anything of the sort being possible. To die, something must live. A dementor is not only a terrible creature in that it steals away one’s happy memories and feeds on one’s soul, but that it does not live. From all reports, the only defense against such a creature is the Patronous Charm.”

“What weapon did Maxwell use?” Snape inquired suddenly, his eyes narrowed in thought. Heero considered the man for a moment; according to rumors, the man knew much of the Dark Arts and, in fact, desired the DADA position because of that interest. The man would certainly do a better job than the sniveling idiot that currently occupied that post.

“A scythe,” Heero replied. “I don’t know where he got it, nor do I know how long he’s had it. As far as Duo is aware, it’s just a normal weapon. He doesn’t know what he did to trigger whatever secret power the scythe holds, or if it holds any power at all.”

“What happened next?” Tonks asked eagerly, leaning forward in her seat by the Headmaster’s desk. She appeared more than a little enraptured with Heero’s account, though Heero didn’t know why.

“Duo threatened to kill Voldemort if they ever met again,” Heero responded. “Voldemort appeared a little uncertain, as if he didn’t know how to interpret Duo’s show of strength. I believe Voldemort’s reluctance to force that power from Duo when he knew nothing about it is why he let us leave with Draco without any opposition.”

“Do you know why the Death Eaters took Duo in the first place?” Dumbledore asked, seemingly innocent. Heero didn’t bat an eyelash, positive that the old man knew a lot more about Duo’s peculiar situation than he was letting on.

“Crime of convenience,” Heero lied with a straight face, taking great care not to give away his lie. He had been well versed on all twenty-three classic signs of lying early on in his training, and he was glad for it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to fool anyone if he avoided eye contact or blinked rapidly, especially when nearly half of the occupants in the room appeared to be a law enforcement official of some kind. “There were few Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor, and Avery had mentioned something about using Duo as a form of entertainment when the Dark Lord finished with him. He implied that he planned to torture Duo while constantly referring to him as a ‘mudblood’, though I’m not familiar with the term.”

“You’re a Slytherin,” a tall black man said, obviously suspicious, “and you aren’t familiar with the term ‘mudblood’?”

The Glare that was directed at the man clearly stated something along the lines of “I don’t need spells to disfigure you -and my way tends to be permanent.” The man, respectfully decked out in full Auror regale, seemed to tense up at the implied threat behind Heero’s steely Prussian blue eyes.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Heero demanded coldly.

“Now, now, Kingsley,” Dumbledore said mildly. “You know as well as I do that Mr. Maxwell and these four students before me are relatively new to the wizarding world, and as far as I’m aware, there have been no reports of Draco Malfoy or his fellow sixth year Slytherin students making any slanderous comments about muggleborn students. I also happen to know that Mr. Yuy would never go as far as to lie about what he doesn’t know. He’s far too proud to even pretend to be ignorant, so when he says he doesn’t know what that derogatory word means, he honestly doesn’t know.”

Wufei snorted. “Yuy and Barton are rather disconcerting to their housemates. It only stands to reason that the Slytherins would tread matters carefully when they are around.” The Chinese youth was, of course, looking directly at the man called Kingsley as he said this, obvious condescension dripping from his tone as he eyed the Auror in barely concealed disrespect. It was as if Wufei had taken Kingsley’s suspicion personal, but Heero wouldn’t have been surprised if Wufei thought Heero was lying, too. The Chinese boy was probably more disgusted over the fact they’d given the man no reason to suspect foul play whatsoever, and the man was still suspicious, instead of angry that the Auror had subtly tried to prove that Heero was lying in the first place.

“So it’s a derogatory term for muggleborns, I assume,” Heero said flatly.

“You’re correct,” Dumbledore replied. “Some purebloods believe that muggleborns and halfbloods are tainted, dirtied with muggle blood. It’s a severe insult.”

Heero snorted. He hadn’t felt guilty about killing Avery and McNair, but he hadn’t been happy about the necessity of disposing of them. Knowing that they so casually insulted his boyfriend assured that he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

“Unless you have any questions, Headmaster,” Wufei said, “I believe I’m speaking for both Yuy and myself when I say that we would like to take our leave now. Despite the fact that Maxwell and Malfoy are safe and recovering, I have no doubt in my mind that Yuy would prefer to be in the infirmary with Maxwell.”

The man called Kingsley appeared to have wanted to ask more questions, but Dumbledore was quick to say, “Of course, of course...”

“Albus,” Kingsley protested, giving the older man a sharp look.

“I am positive that Mr. Yuy and Mr. Chang have both truthfully answered any questions that we had that are relevant to the matters at hand,” Dumbledore said warmly. “Both have been very up-front and honest about their activities since they left school grounds, and Mr. Yuy was kind enough to even admit to the fatalities of the Death Eaters due to his hand. The boys have had a very eventful night, and I’ve no doubt that they would prefer a little downtime now.”

Kingsley, far from mollified, reluctantly nodded his head.

“You two may go.”

Heero left the office without a second glance, hearing Wufei murmur a quiet, “Headmaster,” before the Chinese boy followed after him languidly. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the infirmary before Wufei spoke.

“How much was left out?”

“A bit.”

“How much was fabricated?”

Heero grunted. “A bit.”

“How much is ‘a bit’?” Wufei muttered sarcastically.

“Bit. Noun. A small piece or quantity. A unit of information expressed as either a 0 or 1 in binary notation.”

Wufei laughed sharply, shaking his head. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

Heero smirked.

----------

“A mild state of shock.” Snort.

“Yes, Draco. A mild state of shock. As in, the state you were in when we came in here. It’s that thing Madam Pomfrey diagnosed you with, remember?”

“What the hell does she know? Mild state?” Draco said incredulously. “A mild state of shock is what happens when a no-name Hufflepuff beats the Boy Who Lived to the snitch. I’m bloody traumatized, which is exactly the state of being that occurs when some ugly git wants to have a dementor suck out your soul because you’re prettier than all of the other potentials. There’s a difference! A big bloody difference!”

Duo stifled a small grin at the Malfoy heir’s incessant complaints. The other boy had been soundly bitching about his so-called “diagnosis made by a fat, aging, completely unprofessional twit who couldn’t get a real job in the medical field, causing her to have to resort to Dumbledore’s compassion for idiots who can’t get REAL jobs in their so-called speciality -and I use that term loosely!” since he woke up. The American figured that Draco was probably venting because of any number of reasons that spanned from anxiety, stress, and a staunch refusal to give himself enough time to come to terms with almost having his soul sucked out by a monster.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to be taking the abuse with a grain of salt. Apparently, she had been assaulted with such strong words from Draco before, to the point where she’d made it her personal duty to not rise to the blond’s insults.

“On a lighter note, your complexion’s looking a whole lot better,” Duo pointed out, amused. “You’ve definitely lost that broccoli stalk hue. Still a bit pasty, though, but pasty’s a good look for you.”

Draco glared at Duo suspiciously. “I don’t know whether to thank you for the compliment, or yell at you for not taking me seriously.”

“Go for the medium -yell ‘thank you’ while addressing me with some sort of British slang for loser.”

“Thanks a lot, you bogtrodding bastard.”

“Nice. Bogtrodding. Haven’t heard that one yet.”

Draco broke out into a reluctantly amused smile. “I aim to please. Now stop trying to cheer me up. It’s annoying.”

Duo rolled his eyes. “I can’t win with you, can I?”

“You got him to stop complaining for about, oh, a minute,” Trowa said blandly. “That’s a win if I ever saw one.”

“If I wanted a comment from the peanut gallery,” Draco said haughtily, “I’d ask for it. However, since I still consider you slightly intimidating, you can make any comment whenever you want.”

“And Heero?” Duo said with a grin.

“The same.”

“Wufei?”

“He wouldn’t care if I wanted to hear it or not. He’d say it anyway.”

“Quatre?”

“Has Trowa to beat me up for him.” Draco threw his hands up in defeat. “Let’s face it. I can’t win with any of you.”

Even Heero had to laugh at Draco’s mock anguish.

The two patients hadn’t been awake for long, but it was quite obvious that the two of them were a little less weary compared to the condition they’d been in when admitting themselves to the infirmary. Duo had been surprised that all four of his fellow pilots had been in the hospital wing with them for almost the entire time he and Draco were asleep, save for some necessary trips to Gryffindor Tower and the Headmaster’s office. Quatre had managed to charm Madam Pomfrey into letting him sleep in the bed beside Duo, though Duo suspected it was the mediwitch that forced Quatre to lay down in the first place. Trowa had crawled into the small bed beside him, sitting against the headboard with the blond sprawled across his lap; the green-eyed boy was casually threading his fingers through Quatre’s gold-spun hair as the boy slept even through Draco’s loud tirade. Heero and Wufei assured Duo that the Headmaster had been quite satisfied by their report, even if a few of the Aurors present during the meeting were clearly not.

“Harry seems to be under the impression that facing the Death Eaters and Voldemort was extremely dangerous considering how much we’re lacking in a magical education,” Trowa had said idly after Heero and Wufei had made their comments about how their tale was received.

“That’s rich coming from a muggle-raised idiot who’s been defying the Dark Lord with his fat head since infancy,” was Draco’s retort. Duo didn’t bother pointing out that the Malfoy heir had sounded grudgingly fond of Harry; the lack of scorn proved that, yes, Malfoy could learn to actually like someone he once vehemently insisted he hated.

Duo was brought out of his pondering when he noticed that others were joining them in the hospital wing -namely the infamous Gryffindor Trio, who seemed to be a little wary that Blaise and Pansy had decided to visit Draco, as well.

The American plastered a wide grin on his face. “Hey, guys! Come bearing the gift of get-well junk food? You shouldn’t have!” Even so, Duo was eager to relieve Hermione of her sugary burden. Pansy offered the same to Draco, looking properly miffed that she hadn’t been the only one to think of bringing the requisite goodies to typically sick patients.

“So what happened?” Ron asked, straddling an empty chair. “Trowa didn’t really go into detail.”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Blaise added, shooting Draco a knowing glance. “So what big thing did the Dark Lord have planned for you?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Blaise. “You mean... Malfoy, you thought the Dark Lord wanted you for something?”

“Thought? No. Was convinced? Yes,” Draco replied vaguely, picking over his treats with about as much interest as one possibly could when pointedly avoiding a subject. “And I knew it didn’t involve some tacky tattoo, either.”

“I was a bit surprised myself,” Duo said lightly. “You weren’t the target at all, Harry. Ol’ Voldemort wanted Draco. Go figure, eh?”

Harry was apparently about to ask for an elaboration before a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans pelted him in the back of the head. He whirled around, snapping, “What the hell was that for, Malfoy?”

“For not telling me that the Dark Lord is such an ugly tosser, you git,” Draco said accusingly. “Really, Potter, with as much as you natter on about the bloody Dark Lord, you’d think the fact he looks like a pasty snake would have come up!”

“I don’t natter on about the Dark Lord!” Harry replied hotly. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned Voldemort once since we started speaking civilly on a semi-permanent basis, you conceited prat!”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Duo said casually, eyeing a suspiciously colored jelly bean that he’d picked out from his own box of Every Flavored Beans. “Draco’s venting at everyone. It’s how he deals with something he doesn’t want to really think about, much less talk about.”

Pansy smirked at the fuming Malfoy heir. “He’s got you pegged so well.”

“Don’t help, Pansy,” Draco mumbled, viciously tearing into a Chocolate Frog.

“So what happened?” Hermione said abruptly, looking to Duo for answers. “Harry said something about you two being treated for dementor exposure.”

“It’s none of your business, Granger!”

“Him more than me,” Duo said with a shrug, pretending that Draco hadn’t said anything. “Draco locked lips with a dementor.”

“I’d try to kill you right now if I didn’t know Heero would get to me first,” Draco retorted monotonously.

Heero grunted in agreement, prompting Duo into sending his boyfriend a fond smile. Instead of crawling into the bed with Duo like Trowa had done with his own boyfriend, the reserved Japanese boy had settled into a chair right beside Duo, idly playing with the tail end of his braid.

Ron snorted. “Either the Kiss was interrupted, or the theory that Malfoy didn’t have a soul to begin with has just been proven.”

“I’m sorry your mother dropped you on your head so many times when you were a child, Weasel,” was Draco’s vicious retort.

“Interrupted,” Heero said flatly. “The dementor was... disposed of.”

Hermione, sharp as ever, said doubtfully, “Snuffles’ Patronous Charm isn’t very strong, and it’s not exactly something we’ve covered in the curriculum yet...”

“Never heard of it,” Duo said. “I apparently did the impossible. I killed a dementor.” He held up the universal victory sign with a cheesy grin. “I rule.”

“Professor Lupin said that a dementor can’t be killed!”

“Oh, but I subscribe to the concept that everything can die,” Duo said, his grin becoming slightly rueful, “which is probably how I did it. I’m stubborn like that, Harry.”

“You still haven’t explained why the Dark Lord almost had you Kissed, Draco,” Blaise pointed out. “We’ve known he’s been planning something for you for quite some time now. Why would he do something like that to the son of his right hand man?”

“Because I’m pretty,” Draco said, clearly disgusted.

“Draco’s young, handsome, and comes from a very influential pureblood family,” Duo clarified. “Old Voldemort wanted to remove Draco’s soul so he could transfer his own in its place. I guess someone who avoids death as much as that freak will go to the ends of the earth to find a quick cure for time.”

“That’s terrible,” Hermione murmured sympathetically.

“So you actually touched lips with a dementor?” Ron said, leaning forward eagerly. “What was it like?”

Draco’s face turned an interesting mix of an angry red and an ill green.

It was Wufei who came to Draco’s aid, casually slapping the redhead on the back of the head with a scathing glance. “That’s such a ridiculously inappropriate question, Weasley! What are you thinking?”

“It was just a question,” Ron said defensively, rubbing the back of his head sullenly.

“A question I would have belted you for if you’d asked Sirius, mate,” Harry pointed out quietly. “You have to admit, that was sort of insensitive, even if you don’t like Malfoy.”

Duo resisted the urge to grin like a lunatic. Draco was speaking fondly of Harry, Harry was defending Draco against his best friend... AND Harry had said ‘even if you don’t like Malfoy’. Not ‘even if Malfoy is a prat’ or ‘even if we hate Malfoy’. Oh, yeah. They were smitten with each other all right. Next stop: getting the two of them to admit that they actually liked each other, and not in the platonic sense.

“I guess this is the point in time when we make our other delivery,” Blaise said with a heavy look toward Pansy. The girl nodded solemnly.

“Other delivery?” Draco said suspiciously, watching as his friend reached into the sleeve of her robes. She pulled out an innocent envelope, passing it to the Malfoy heir somberly.

“This came for you during dinner,” she explained quietly, sitting back in her chair. Draco stared at the envelope for a moment, his gaze slightly unfocused.

“Draco?” Duo inquired quietly.

The Malfoy heir didn’t even look up from his lap when he replied.

“It’s... it’s from my father.”

END CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty-Six

Timing had a lot to do with Heero’s overall hesitation to break from the cover of the thick foliage of the forest that spread around a good portion of what Black claimed to be Malfoy Manor. Approximately thirty feet separated Heero from the looming entrance of the castle before him, and Heero felt every one of those feet between him and his goal as a personal offense. Black was hunched down next to him, almost thrumming with an interesting mix of trepidation and excitement.

“What are we waiting for?” Black whispered suddenly. Despite the fact his words were whispered, it sounded like an explosion on Heero’s delicate pre-mission nerves. He instantly fought the urge to flinch, and he didn’t bother to send the older wizard a stern glare. Black was not one of his fellow pilots; he didn’t know that talking this close to executing a mission could very well risk exposure. It would be completely useless to berate the man for being so bloody incompetent.

Heero pointed at his watch and hoped that Black got the message. No more speaking until Heero gave the signal. Unfortunately, Black wasn’t quite that quick as he raised an eyebrow in bemusement and whispered, “Nice. A muggle thing, right? So what are we waiting for?”

Heero ground his teeth together and finally gave in, giving the convict a deadly glare. Slowly, he mouthed two words, “Shut. Up.” And then he mouthed, “Time,” with another insistent point at his watch. Black frowned and made like he was about to talk again, prompting Heero to glare acid at the man again. Finally understanding that Heero wasn’t really in the mood to hear anything he had to say, Black closed his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth.

Thank. God.

Heero checked his watch again. Nineteen minutes had passed by since Black had apparated him just outside the anti-apparation borders. It had only taken the man a moment to disapparate again and repeat the process with his fellow pilots before coming back to Heero, upon which began their journey through the forest and up to just on the outskirts. The purpose of the wait, of course, was to give the others enough time to achieved their desired positions and place the Gundams enough distance apart to compensate for the sheer size of each mobile suit before the spells were negated.

Muggles didn’t have magic. That was fact. However, wizards -even those that sympathized with muggles- had an unfortunate tendency to regard beings without magic as harmless and defenseless; this made wizards complacent and secure in the knowledge of their own superiority. They were about to prove that such an assumption was a dangerous one, and they were probably going to bruise some egos while they were at it. And Heero was in the mood to demolish some overinflated egos.

Twenty minutes. Heero nodded sharply to himself before bringing his ever-present Glock to hand, methodically ejecting the clip and taking inventory of his ammo under Black’s curious gaze. Once assuring himself that he had a full clip, he easily inserted it back into the handle of the gun and took the time to take the safety off. He placed his more familiar weapon into his right hand before taking the wand with his left. While he was uncomfortable not having the freedom of an extra hand, there was a rare chance that he’d run out of ammo before he’d run out of enemies. Having his wand prepped would be better than taking a few precious milliseconds to retrieve it from the place he stored it, giving his enemy the perfect chance to cast a hex while he was unarmed.

He was set. He nodded sharply at Black before breaking cover, going to the entrance of Malfoy Manor at a dead run. He heard Black follow closely behind him, but he paid little attention to the man as he quickly scanned every visible window of the castle. In all appearances, no one was watching; they arrived to the entrance unmolested. Apparently, those inside were confident that no one would even fathom their location.

Idiots.

But it worked to Heero’s advantage.

Once at the darkly polished double-doors that dwarfed them, Black took his wand and whispered, “Alohamora.” There was a faint click, and Black was cautiously pushing one of the doors open soundlessly.

Black waved Heero inside after checking for Death Eaters himself. The elegant antechamber was decorated to near perfection. If Heero hadn’t known that Draco came from a wealthy background, it still wouldn’t have taken much to assure him of the matter; the foyer alone positively screamed old money. The only imperfection with the antechamber was relatively new; a rather large bloodstain spread across the marble floor, chunks of bloody grey congealed into the liquid. A quick inhale was all Heero needed to detect the faint smell of gun powder that had yet to be masked by the overpowering stench of spoiled blood. Along one wall, Heero’s keen sight detected the faint gleam of metal -a bullet casing.

Duo.

“Is that...? Ew. What’s floating in it?” Black whispered faintly.

Heero thought that Black probably didn’t want to know, but he told him anyway. “Brains. Headshot,” he whispered curtly, his mind racing. Judging by the scene, Duo had attempted an escape. Heero expected no less of his boyfriend; the American was never one to bow gracefully before his captors. However, the attempt was probably thwarted, judging by the bloodstain and the casing. Duo only had enough time to get a single shot off... but the accuracy of the shot indicated that he was probably threatening his captors before actually following through. The distance between the bloodstain and the casing also proved that one of the captors was standing at a distance, and Duo would have shot the closest one. Duo’s captors had given him a wide space... If they had converged on him, he would have had plenty of time to get off a few more shots before being overtaken. Duo would have put up a rather efficient struggle, but the foyer showed no signs of it. And Duo wouldn’t have left Draco behind, so the Malfoy heir was, no doubt, with Duo at the time.

This was Malfoy Manor.

“Hostage,” Heero muttered.

“What?”

“Duo took Draco hostage,” Heero elaborated. “No doubt using Draco as leverage against Malfoy Senior, who is a Death Eater from what I gather.”

“How the hell did you come up with that?” Black demanded.

Heero wasn’t about to explain it to him. Instead, he gave the man a sharp glance and continued his path, making sure to avoid the large puddle of blood staining the otherwise immaculate floor. With an irritated grunt followed by a muttered word that sounded a lot like “brat”, Black followed behind him.

It wasn’t long before they heard voices. Angry voices.

“You mean that mudblooded filth actually took down Jansen? I won’t believe it! He doesn’t even have his wand!”

“Said he didn’t need one. His eyes... If you’d been there, Avery, you would have seen the look in his eyes. That little bastard’s dangerous. Didn’t even hesitate when he took out Jansen. I’m almost sure he would have done the same to Malfoy’s son if we gave him the chance!”

“Theo said they were really close friends -surely, he wouldn’t have...”

“Trust me, Nott. He would have done it with a smile on his face.”

Nott. One of his roommate’s was named Theodore Nott. Either the boy was a Death Eater sympathizer, or he’d just been innocently informing his family about the current happenings at school without any ill intent. The boy didn’t say anything that could indicate Death Eater propaganda (besides the general norm for a Slytherin, anyway), but he could have been hiding his allegiance. Heero tightened his grip on his gun as he hovered beside the open door, immediately not liking the odds of a spy sleeping in the same room as them.

“If you are quite finished discussing cold-blooded mudbloods,” someone said testily, “and the danger my son was in, we have a duties to attend to. While it’s safer to have few of us here, I feel uneasy about leaving our Lord unguarded for as long as we have. Especially when we left that mudblood with his muggle weapon.”

“B-but Malfoy... You heard our Lord. He wanted to be left alone with your son and the mudblood.”

“That mudblood is dangerous -you said so yourself, McNair. Any punishment I receive for disobeying our Lord’s orders would be well worth ensuring his safety.”

Right. Heero had heard enough.

Sirius seemed to catch on to Heero’s intentions only a second before the Japanese Slytherin executed his plan. If he had any prior warning, he probably would have tried to talk Heero out of it. Instead, he had just enough time to make a low, guttural moan of frustration as Heero rounded the doorframe, took aim with that weird muggle metal thing and-

“What the hell?” Sirius heard Avery gasp... right before the tip of Heero’s gun gave off a small explosion that nearly deafened the Animagus. Almost instantly, Heero bore down on the trigger again, eliciting a startled cry from someone who sounded like McNair. The sound of heavy things hitting the floor registered a millisecond later, and Sirius braved a peak around the doorframe to see Avery lying on the floor, unmoving with a puddle of blood spreading underneath his head. Half hidden by a couch, he recognized another Death Eater in much of a similar position.

Heero turned his gun to the other shocked Death Eater; the resemblance between this man and his roommate was almost startling in the quick second it took to size the man up. Same auburn hair and bright blue eyes, the same square jaw. He didn’t know what made him intentionally lower his aim and shoot the man’s kneecap instead. Later, the Japanese boy would realize he had no desire to see the expression on Theodore Nott’s face if he ever heard that his father was dead... killed by Heero’s own hand. In any case, he chose to disarm and injure the man instead of killing him.

Even though he felt entirely vindicated in killing the Death Eaters known as Avery and McNair, he couldn’t help but feel as if killing them was nothing more than a hollow victory. Keeping the blood off of his hands for over a year was satisfying; knowing that his hand was forced in this left a sour taste in his mouth.

He wasn’t sure if he could spare Malfoy Senior the same courtesy when he saw the man raise his wand for an attack. He was already aiming for the man’s third eye, his finger easily bearing down on the trigger before Sirius raised his wand and called out, “Expelliarmus!” The spell knocked Malfoy Senior off of his feet, the man’s wand flying right into Sirius’ hand. As an afterthought, the man summoned Nott’s abandoned wand to his hand, as well as McNair’s wand; apparently the man had enough time to take palm his wand before Yuy killed him. Nott didn’t even seem to notice as he desperately clutched his injured knee, biting his own tongue against the pain. And McNair... was a little too dead to really notice much of anything.

Malfoy Senior slowly climbed to his feet, his steel grey eyes spitting cold fire. “Black!”

“Lucius, old boy,” Sirius said cheerfully. “So good to see you!” Sirius pointedly didn’t look at the lifeless corpse bleeding profusely on the rather expensive looking Persian rug. He expected a lot of things to happen, but he certainly didn’t know that Yuy had any intention of killing anyone, Death Eater or not!

“This is my new friend Yuy,” Sirius went on in the same glib manner, nodding his head toward the Slytherin. The boy still had his muggle weapon poised, watching Lucius with a hawk-eyed interest. “He’s a bit of a brat, really. He’s kind of upset you kidnaped his friend... but I’m sure you realized that already.”

Malfoy sneered derisively at Heero. “Should have known there would be more like that little monster.”

“Where is Duo’s wand?” Heero demanded coldly, not bothering to rise to the bait. When it looked like Lucius was going to refuse to answer, Heero continued, “I can just as easily frisk your corpse, Mr. Malfoy.”

Malfoy scowled and looked pointedly at Avery’s body. “You can... frisk... Avery, then. He was the one responsible for keeping up with the wands.”

Wands. Right. Apparently, Draco had been disarmed, as well. “Black, have at it.”

Sirius shivered. Creepy kid... but he did as he was told, hesitantly searching through the dead man’s robes before he found two wands stuffed in the lining of his inner robes. As an afterthought, he collected Avery’s wand in case Nott or Malfoy got any bright ideas.

“Good,” Heero snapped. “Now you’re going to take us to Duo and Draco. We’ll be leaving, unharmed and unmolested, shortly after.”

“And what makes you think the Dark Lord will allow you to walk out of here under your own power, boy?”

Heero spared a glance toward the large French windows before he smirked humorlessly. “Those.”

Sirius couldn’t help but to look, dying to know the ace up Heero’s sleeve. He was completely shocked to see five ominous shapes a short distance away, two of which were in a kneeling position while three more seemed to be standing in wait. The moonlight was just enough that he could vaguely recognize that these shapes were humanoid, if a bit oddly dressed in blocky armor. And by the spirits, they were bigger than giants! Even at a quarter of a mile away, it was clear that these things dwarfed the ancestral home of the Malfoys. With a secreted glance toward said Malfoy, Sirius couldn’t help but feel a little vindicated by Malfoy’s sudden uncertainty. If he were in Malfoy’s shoes... ew. Bad thought. In all honesty, if he were in Malfoy’s shoes, he’d probably have to kill himself in a messy and violent manner for being such a git.

“What are those creatures?” Lucius demanded, his eyes flittering between the boy with the muggle weapon and the things outside.

“They’re not creatures,” Heero replied promptly. “They’re not even sentient. However, my companions control them. If they don’t see Black, Duo, Draco, and myself leave this place in approximately fifteen minutes, they’ll assume the worse and demolish your home. Should you refuse to comply with our demands, I’ll be forced to give them the signal, and your home will be razed to the ground anyway. Fair warning, Mr. Malfoy -those that see a Gundam or its pilot are usually disinclined to living a full and healthy life. Your only option is to surrender Duo and Draco to us, or die.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes on Heero, as if gauging the truth to the boy’s words. Finally, he said, “I don’t see how I have much of a choice. I’m beginning to think Maxwell’s attitude isn’t all because of a pre-genetic disposition to back me into corners.”

Heero didn’t even smirk. Instead, he moved out of the doorway and motioned for Malfoy to start walking. “Make one wrong move and I’ll shoot you in the leg. Any further move to go against me will be followed with a wound you won’t be recovering from.”

A nerve under Malfoy’s eye jumped; it was the only sign to his irritation. Sirius found himself smiling smarmily at the man. “I told you he’s a brat.”

“Quite,” Lucius sniped, moving to lead them to Duo without even sparing a glance for Nott, who looked a little pale because of the blood loss.

How could this have gone so wrong? Lucius silently fumed as he led both the convict and the boy to their desired destination. It wasn’t like they were dealing with the bloody Boy Who Lived, who continued to somehow bungle his way out of every plot against his life time and time again. Maxwell was supposed to be harmless! The boy had only less than a year’s worth of learning when it came to magic, and Lucius was reluctant to admit that he hadn’t counted on Maxwell falling back onto his muggle form of defense. And how had Maxwell’s friends found him? They just had to have been similarly skilled in wielding those odd exploding weapons, too. Realizing that Dumbledore had such... powerful looking things like those giant creatures threatening his very home on the side of the Light wasn’t a comforting thought, either. To top it all off, his son had decided that then was a perfect time to execute that silly notion of rebellion that Narcissa had warned him all teenagers went through.

Things weren’t going exactly as planned, and Lucius was feeling a dire inclination to blame somebody or something. His current choice was Pettigrew; where was that useless lump, anyway? Probably cowering in fear on the upper floors somewhere.

Lucius led them to the closed door of his study, ignoring the sudden tremors that wanted to overcome him. The boy stopped him before he could reach for the doorknob.

“Who’s in there?”

“Draco, the Maxwell boy, and the Dark Lord,” Lucius said smoothly, casting a glance over his shoulder in hopes of seeing that little bastard in a state of uncertainty. Black, at least, appeared to be a little unsure about coming face to face with the Dark Lord, but the little mudblood bastard had the nerve to not even bat an eyelash at the revelation. Instead, the Japanese boy nodded sharply and indicated that Lucius should open the door before he got impatient.

Lucius, fuming silently (cheeky little bastard!), twisted the doorknob and entered the freezing room without actually taking in the scene before him. He entertained himself with images of the Dark Lord putting the insolent whelp through hours of torture followed by a merciless death before he looked up and found his heart suddenly jumping into his throat.

Black cursed vilely, but Lucius really didn’t hear it.

A dementor was there, having backed its shivering, frightened victim against the wall. The hood was lowered, revealing such a horrible visage that Lucius had never wanted to see in his entire life. Long, spindly fingers wrapped in sickly, mottled grey-green flesh were cradling the parched face as one would a dear lover. The Malfoy Senior took in unfocused, hazy mercury eyes that were too wide, skin too pale...

And the Dark Lord, instead of stopping the horrifying scene in front of him, was laughing.

“Draco!”

----------

Duo did the only thing he could think of doing as the creature moved further into the room, the door eerily swinging to a close behind it. Crude and to the point, it tended to work rather well in the place of diplomacy and pleading.

He raised his gun to it and confidently took aim, bracing himself for the kickback before he fired. The creature jerked back as the sound of the bullet tore through its robes and flesh... but it didn’t stop. Neither did Duo. He fired, again and again and again, watching with ever-mounting horror as all the thing did was flinch back with every impacted bullet. No blood fell from the wounds, nor did the creature fall to the floor and stop moving. Nothing.

Fire, smoke, devastation...

Duo shook his head violently, trying to shake away the sudden images that came to his mind as his body shivered uncontrollably. There had to be a way... There had to be a way to stop it! There was nothing that couldn’t be killed, nothing that the God of Death himself couldn’t take down!

“You can’t kill what doesn’t live, Duo,” Voldemort said softly, a note of triumph in his voice.

“Watch me,” Duo growled, bearing down on the trigger again. The shot rang out, and the American boy celebrated when the creature’s head suddenly buckled back... but the exhilarated mood immediately left when he saw that the creature simply straightened itself and hovered forward again. Draco backed away in terror, but Duo couldn’t let himself see that... Couldn’t let himself see that all of his efforts were useless...

“Sister Helen!...”

“I’ll always watch over you, little one... Put faith in my God... He hasn’t lost his faith... in you...”

The smell of disease and decay as pustule-marked corpses littered the alleys and streets...

“Solo!”

“Kid...”

“Duo.”

“Come now, Duo, don’t lose yourself yet.”

Again, Duo had to shake himself from the memories of a past he refused to forget, meeting the shadowed red eyes of the monster sitting calmly in his chair as the dementor came ever-so-closer to the shivering Malfoy heir. Not one glimmer of regret or concern was in those eyes. Monster...

Voldemort smiled smugly. “I see... So it’s the death of the ones you once loved that haunts you. How interesting...”

“Get out of my head,” Duo snarled, angrily throwing his useless gun at the dementor, taking little satisfaction in seeing it impact heavily against the creature before falling heavily to the floor. “God damn it, stop it!”

Smoke filled his lungs, painful hacking, burning eyes as he searched the ruins that still burned for signs of life...

“Sister Helen! Father Maxwell!...”

What could he do? He cast a despairing look toward Draco, hating that the usually confident Malfoy heir appeared so defeated and resigned to his fate, hating that the boy whimpered when the creature lowered its hood, revealing a faceless thing with pustules and rotted skin and a sucker-fish, toothless mouth. The Malfoy scion appeared as if he wanted to close his eyes tightly, as if this alone would drive away the monster as its clammy hand clasped around his chin, but the boy couldn’t look away from the thing before him, couldn’t resist watching as the otherwise sightless thing leaned forward, sucker-fish mouth coming ever so closer to Draco’s parched lips.

Duo could hear the distant sound of Voldemort laughing madly echo in his mind...

“Draco!”

Duo snapped back into action, suddenly driven by a purpose. His right wrist jerked and the warm comfort of a cylinder slid into his palm. Three hard taps against the table and the hidden scythe was revealed, but there was something different about it that the American hadn’t the time or the inclination to notice. Duo pushed power into it, the blade glowing a sickly green as he rushed forward just as the dementor closed its lips around Draco’s. Duo swung the scythe, putting everything he could behind the devestating blow as the blade neatly tore through the monster’s torso.

The creature tore away from Draco and let out a terrible, soul-shattering moan as the top half fell to the ground, the bottom half tipping forward and hitting the ground with sound thump. The creature exploded in a burst of white light, thousands of tiny dancing wisps of light hovering in the atmosphere before fading completely.

Nothing remained of the dementor, save for a ragged, torn robe.

Draco, trembling violently with the knowledge of how close he came to being dementor food, stared down at the remains of the dementor. Then he roughly wiped his hand across his mouth, resisting the urge to vomit.

“What did you do?” Voldemort raged, finally standing from his chair. His eyes were like churning fire from the deepest pits of hell as his monstrous face twisted in absolutely fury.

Duo had no problem matching that gaze. “Don’t you dare presume to tell me what can or can’t be killed,” he hissed, swinging his scythe to point at Voldemort threateningly. “I’m the fucking God of Death! Family, friends, the innocent and the guilty! Brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, lovers, husbands, and wives have all died by my hands and by my actions! I can kill anything! I can even kill you, Daddy dearest, and I wouldn’t lose a damn bit of sleep over it!”

“Dad,” Draco croaked suddenly. Duo’s attention snapped to the boy, and he followed his gaze to the doorway. Malfoy, some unfamiliar guy that was looking at Duo fearfully, and...

Duo almost dropped the scythe. “He... Heero...”

Heero Yuy met Duo’s eyes, and the American saw... relief. “Deathscythe Hell and Wing Zero are waiting for us,” he said quietly. “It’s time to go, Duo.”

Duo didn’t react for a moment, so intent on memorizing every feature of his boyfriend’s face. The adrenaline was quickly fading, and Duo’s knees felt like they were made of gelatine... but Heero was there, for him. Heero had come; Duo didn’t need to worry anymore.

He didn’t need to worry anymore.

There was just one more thing...

“Don’t ever bother me again,” Duo whispered brazenly, glaring at Voldemort. “Don’t ever think that just because... you don’t have a right to ever approach me again. You are nothing to me. If our paths ever happen to cross again, don’t waste your time trying to appeal to me. I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Voldemort stared at Duo coldly before finally saying, “Likewise... Duo Maxwell.”

Duo nodded sharply. “Come on, Draco. We’re leaving.”

Draco cast another nervous glance at the empty pile of rags lying in front of him, severed in two. He scrambled to follow Duo to their freedom, forcing himself to meet his father’s eyes as he passed by the older man. Instead of seeing the disapproval he feared, he only saw a bland expression that almost made him look away. It was the look in the older man’s steel grey eyes that forced him to keep eye contact. His father was... relieved. Regret was there, as well; perhaps remorse over almost witnessing his son and heir lose his soul to a dementor? Whatever that regret was, Draco felt less burdened because of it. His father wasn’t angry at him for defying the Dark Lord.

That was enough.

The scythe that had appeared in Duo’s hands had disappeared. Heero glanced Draco over for a moment before his eyes went back to his lover, and the Malfoy heir barely paid the tall stranger any mind as Duo and Heero suddenly broke into a dead run, forcing both the stranger and Draco to follow at the same pace.

His father didn’t follow. They left the manor unmolested, escaping into the cool night air as they raced across the neatly manicured lawn. Draco almost skidded to a stop when he saw the tall things that stood just outside, two kneeling giants where three more were standing erect. The stranger paused and jostled him, silently urging him to follow the other boys.

“Black, you’re with me,” Heero said curtly once they reached the base of one kneeling giant that appeared to be made entirely of armor.

“That means you’re with me, Dragon Boy,” Duo said, not even taking his eyes off of Heero as he tugged the Slytherin into his arms and planted a forceful kiss on the other boy’s lips. Heero didn’t seem to mind the sudden need for comfort; truthfully, Draco wouldn’t be adverse to a hug or two after this shattering experience, either.

“I love you,” Duo whispered soulfully once their lips had parted, and the American rested his head against the other’s shoulder.

The Japanese boy wrapped his arms tightly around Duo for a brief moment. “Ai shiteru, Duo.(1)” While Draco didn’t know what the words meant, it wasn’t hard to guess that Heero returned the favor by the sudden look of elation on Duo’s face.

Duo kissed Heero once again before reluctantly unraveling himself from the Japanese boy’s arms. He tugged on Draco’s sleeve before running to the other kneeling, immobile beast. Draco frowned as they arrived at the base; two long ropes dangled from the thing’s exposed, open belly. The Malfoy heir found it ironic that he was to apparently willingly put himself in the belly of this beast while avoiding sating the hunger of another.

“Put your foot in the harness,” Duo said, slipping his own foot into the loop of the rope, “and hold on tight.”

Draco followed his example without complaint, yelping involuntarily as the ropes suddenly snapped, the slack disappearing as he was lifted into the air alongside Duo. Once the rope had brought them up far enough, the American helped him into the exposed belly, which looked more like a grounded chair surrounded by strange, muggle contraptions than an actual stomach.

“Crawl into that space behind the chair,” Duo instructed him. “It’s a bit of a tight fit, and you won’t have a harness, but I don’t exactly plan to be doing anything that would require one.”

It was a tight space, and Draco couldn’t help but to shift uncomfortably as something pressed into the small of his back. He clutched at the headrest that was between his legs, closing his eyes tightly to the sight of the ground below. They were still tilted at an odd angle that was beginning to prove to Draco that gravity was working just fine as Duo went about strapping himself safely into the seat. Once the boy was finished, he reached out and pressed several buttons that caused the hatch to close around them, encasing them in the belly and plunging them into darkness.

“What is this thing?” Draco finally asked when the small space came to life. There were strange, transparent windows that surrounded them, somehow showing them the view outside despite the fact that the walls were rather solid. The thing moved suddenly, and Draco could both see and feel that the giant was coming to its feet. The thing’s movement seem to come into accordance with Duo’s ministrations; the boy’s fingers were flying over odd buttons and switches before the boy finally grabbed the lever in front of him.

“My Gundam,” Duo said softly. “It’s a war machine, Draco.”

War machine...

One of the screens blinked, and Draco was startled to see Quatre’s face on it. The Hufflepuff appeared relieved to see that they were both alive and well. “Duo! Draco! Thank Allah both of you are okay!”

A goofy grin spread across Duo’s face as he cheerfully said, “Hey, nobody can keep me down! I tell you, Quat, even God knows there’s never a party without me!”

Wufei’s face appeared next to Quatre’s, his disposition almost grim. “I suppose, as the life of the party, you want to take out your frustration on the site before us?”

“Nah,” Duo said casually, shrugging. “It’s Draco’s home. I just want to blow this popsicle stand. You guys ready to split?”

Draco could see Wufei frown at Duo, but the solemn Asian boy merely nodded. “After you, Maxwell.”

Duo smiled crookedly. “Always knew you’d follow my lead one day, Wuffers!”

Quatre smiled weakly as the Chinese youth grunted before both screens went blank.

Draco was treated to the discomforting feeling of something rumbling under his derriere before he saw the image on the screens shift away from the manor. The rumbling increased until Duo released a lever, and the imagery on the screens blurred and shifted. They were moving...?

Duo was oddly quiet, and the Malfoy heir found himself biting his lip nervously. “Duo...?”

“Draco,” Duo said quietly. “Don’t... mention anything to the others. I don’t want them to worry. I’ll tell them when I’m ready, but... I just want to forget today even happened right now.”

“What are we going to tell Dumbledore and his lot?” Draco asked somberly, not even arguing with Duo. He understood why the American preferred to keep secrets for now. Suddenly finding out one’s father happened to be who everyone in wizarding Great Britain feared -and with good reason- was a devastating blow. If it became common knowledge, Duo would most likely be treated as if he was carrying some deadly plague, and Draco doubted that even the good graces of the American’s fellow Gryffindors would stay in his favor.

“Dumbledore already knows. He called me Mr. Riddle once,” Duo said tiredly. “Anyone else beside that... Voldemort wanted you. I just happened to be in the way. It’s not lying because I did get in the way, and Voldemort really did want you. I killed the dementor, Heero and the guys showed up, we booked it. Sound reasonable to you?”

“... Well, yes, that might suffice,” Draco said slowly, “except that no one’s ever killed a dementor before.”

“Well, I can’t say I drove it away,” Duo said irritably. “We don’t have our wands... Damn!” Duo quickly pressed several buttons that prompted Heero’s sudden appearance on one of the many screens.

“Heero! Did you grab our-?”

“Black has your wands,” Heero said smoothly, as if chiding Duo for expecting him to be any less thorough than he was.

Duo grinned crookedly. “What god did I please to ever deserve you, love?”

Draco, driven by curiosity, asked, “Hey, can he see me?”

“No,” Heero replied. “You’re out of sight. But I can hear you.”

Weird.

“Cover story?”

Duo sighed. “You bet. Hee-chan, I... I really don’t want to have to explain why Voldemort was dead set on meeting me. I suspect Dumbledore wouldn’t be surprised, but... the less I associate myself with that bastard, the better.”

“And you can’t lie,” Heero said calmly. “Understood. You and Draco will report to the infirmary while I explain to Dumbledore and his troupe that you were merely a bystander that got in the way, and Draco was the real target. You’ll need to tell me what that thing was and why Voldemort intended for it to kiss Draco.”

“It was a dementor,” said a low voice that startled Draco. It took a moment for him to remember that Heero was also in the company of a strange man. “The only reason it would lower its hood is to give someone the Dementor’s Kiss -basically, Malfoy almost had his soul sucked out of him, but for what reason? Couldn’t tell you. I always thought the Malfoys were in good with the Dark Lord.”

“Oh, they are,” Duo said with a humorless smile. “From the shock on ol’ Malfoy Senior’s face, he thought so too. Turns out, Voldemort’s having a little vanity issue, and it’s combined with his fear of dying. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Dragon Boy here’s a pretty boy, emphasis on both the pretty and the boy parts. He wanted to have Draco’s soul removed so he could take up residence in Draco’s place. Guess he thought Malfoy the Elder wouldn’t have minded. Bastard.”

“Right,” Heero said. “That’s our story. And the others?”

Duo sighed tiredly. “I’ll tell Quatre, Wufei, and Trowa when I’m ready to come to terms with it myself.”

“And Harry?”

“Would not hurt my feelings if he killed the bastard,” Duo said casually. “He doesn’t need to know. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are my friends, Heero. I’d rather they see me as Duo Maxwell, quirky American Gryffindor. Not Keary Riddle, Voldemort’s wicked spawn.”

Heero’s Prussian blue eyes softened marginally. “I understand, Duo.”

Draco understood, too. For once, he didn’t plan to hold such secreted knowledge over a companion’s head. Duo had done something for him that he never thought anyone would, besides his own father. That was enough to keep his silence.

They were friends, after all.

END CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

(1) “Ai shiteru” -a very passionate way of saying “I love you” in Japanese; it’s mostly used in fan fiction, so you’ll rarely see it in manga or anime. I almost considered using “suki desu”, which is what one would normally say upon the first declaration of love, but ai shiteru is a little more recognizable. I wasn’t going to use a lot of Japanese, but it struck me as a Heero thing to do, expressing his love in his native tongue. Couldn’t resist.

Duo’s New Name:
Duo’s name is actually very symbolic. I noticed that JKR always has an underlining reason for doing what she does -for instance, the day of Harry’s birthday, July 31. That makes Harry a Leo, and thus, the very candidate for Gryffindor, which is a house represented by a lion. The starstone for a Leo is RUBY and the color of a Leo is GOLD -both of those are colors of Gryffindor House. Even Voldemort’s name means something in another language -translated, it means “flight of death” (or wings of death. I’ve heard it translated both ways). I decided to embellish on that. Keary and Guthrie are both Celtic in origin; Keary means “father’s dark child” and Guthrie means “war serpent”.


Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty-Five

To further grasp the situation, we must again backtrack to a time when one manic American Gryffindor and his Prince of Slytherin companion had just begun to embark on a daring escape from the clutches of evil Death Eaters and possibly the most feared Dark Lord in known history. We must also move across a great distance where, instead of the isolated castle located outside of Buckinghamshire that housed Malfoys and Malfoy heirs for centuries after their migration from France, sat a school somewhere in the most remote part of Scotland. Half a mile away from the school was this little known, but vastly popular all-wizarding town called Hogsmeade, where no muggle had ever set foot. In fact, most non-wizarding people couldn’t see Hogsmeade even if they had known of it by some stroke of luck, as even the most high-tech satellite surveillance could not seem to find proof that such a rural place (rural, mind, by only the standards of those who did not believe in all things mystical and magical) even existed.

Sirius Black thought, in hindsight, that he perhaps should have left a note for Remus Lupin that he was once again up to his old tricks playing a severely underrated hero. He had nothing on him to even scrawl out a quick note to send with an owl (not that he had one of those, either), and he didn’t dare venture too close to Hogsmeade and ask the nearest wizard to spare some parchment, a quill, and an inkpot so he could kip over to the owlery to send off such a note. “Why, yes, I am the escaped convict known as Sirius Black, but rumors of my supposed crimes are highly overrated.” It wasn’t exactly something he could say to just anyone, and he doubted even the most congenial or gullible wizard or witch would believe him. He could only hope that Moony would later forgive him for leaving without so much as a word.

And Sirius didn’t even want to think about how much of a bad example he was setting for Harry, who tended to do the same thing too often on way too many occasions. He instead focused on the fact that he was glad that Harry seemed to be relatively Dark Lord free at the moment, and not in the thick of things as per usual.

In any case, he had a slightly bigger problem. When asking Yuy where he was supposed to meet the boy, the Slytherin merely said that they would find him. Sirius didn’t doubt that ‘they’ included the likes of the other new Slytherin Barton, the Chang kid, and the angel-faced Hufflepuff Winner. Just as long as there wasn’t any Gryffindor sixth year that happened to be named Harry, Hermione, or Ron in the mix, he was fine with the odd assortment of would-be rescuers.

“That’s him?”

Padfoot nearly jumped right out of his fur as he whirled around to give the four boys standing at the bottom of the embankment a chiding doggy glare. His keen sense of smell hadn’t detected the approach of anyone; while not on par with real dogs, his olfactory sense was still a bloody bit better than humans. It would figure that Yuy would instruct everyone to remain downwind from him just to see if they could sneak up on the old dog, judging by the smug look on Yuy’s face. Still, Sirius was surprised he didn’t hear their approach. Most people at least had the courtesy to clod around snapping twigs and crunching gravel like normal human beings, but these kids were sneaky about it.

With a pop, Sirius transformed back into his human skin, glowering at Yuy. “You’re such a brat.”

Chang raised an eyebrow. “So Harry’s favorite Snuffles just so happens to be his escaped convict of a godfather? That’s a far leap, even for me.”

“Innocent convict,” Winner corrected his friend gently, propping the broom in his hand on the ground and leaning against the handle casually. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the brooms were Hogwarts’ very own school brooms, judging by the rather careworn appearance and models. “Looks like Duo and Trowa were right. Snuffles really isn’t a normal dog.”

“Been debating about it, have you?” Sirius said flatly, retrieving his own broom from its resting position against a tree. He was inwardly shocked that teenagers could be so observant; grown men hadn’t even realized Sirius and Snuffles were the same, much less that ‘Snuffles’ was anymore than the playful dog with an unfortunate Grimlike disposition. No wonder they had Albus’ respect -these kids were sharp.

Whatever more could be said about the discovery of Snuffles being suspect was cut drastically short by Yuy expertly straddling his broom and pushing off from the ground, hovering in place for a moment. “Let’s go.”

Sirius followed the boys in their movement, dipping down the embankment to hover by Yuy’s side. “Where to, boss?”

Oddly enough, Yuy regarded Winner silently at the question, and it was Winner who responded with, “We’re flying at least a mile south. Once we’re at least a fair distance away from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, we’ll activate the tracker charm that will lead us to Duo. After that, we can risk taking the spells off of the Gundams.”

“Gundams?” Sirius asked curiously once they set out, pushing their out-of-date brooms to the limit. Sirius didn’t have nearly as much trouble keeping up with the school brooms considering he was flying Harry’s Firebolt, which he had borrowed without permission in hopes that Harry liked him enough not to be really upset about it, but he had every intention of bringing back in much of the same condition it was in before he took it. “What’s a Gundams?”

“Plural, for one,” Chang said dryly.

“Scourge of our enemies, for another,” Barton added evenly.

“Duo always said there’s no better warning to toe the line than bringing out the big artillery,” Winner said with a fond smile that seemed rather strained. Sirius guessed that Winner and the Maxwell kid must have been great pals, and the thought of his friend anywhere near the Dark Lord was a very trying concept for him.

Huh. Maxwell. Sirius had to admit, that kid did his godson right. Harry had nothing but good things to say about his quirky American friend, and Sirius had liked Maxwell’s spunk ever since he first laid eyes on him positioning the rather crooked carrot-nose of a snowman that was supposed to represent the sour Potions Master, with a snowman version of Harry clearly making a face at snowman-Snape’s back. It didn’t hurt that Sirius could spot a renowned prankster from thirty clicks away, and Duo Maxwell definitely had everything that made up a true prankster. In fact, the only problem Sirius really had with the kid was Maxwell’s baffling habit of befriending the likes of Draco bloody Malfoy and his Slytherin friends... but even then, anyone who publicly teased ol’ Snivellus Snape couldn’t be that bad.

It didn’t take them long to clear the forest that stretched nearly a mile outside of Hogsmeade. Winner, satisfied with the distance between them and anyone that could possibly see them (paranoid much?), slowed the speed of their travel and declined slightly, touching down smoothly and resting the broom on the ground. The others followed suit almost instantly, causing Sirius’ eyebrows to rise thoughtfully as he leaned against Harry’s Firebolt in contemplation. Clearly, he needed to alter his perception about the group dynamics. Despite being a Hufflepuff in a group mainly composed of Slytherins and one Ravenclaw, Winner seemed to be the unannounced leader, whereas Sirius had almost been positive that had been Yuy’s role.

“This is far enough,” Winner said, tilting his head at Chang. “Wufei?”

The Chinese youth lifted his wand and murmured under his breath. Almost at once, the four inhaled deeply and seemed to turn their heads to look toward the southwest with conviction.

“Far away,” Barton noted absently. “Certainly out of Scotland entirely. That’s farther than we’d anticipated.”

Winner nodded heavily. “Even if we utilize Wing Zero’s flight capability at its’ maximum potential, it’ll take us two, maybe two and a half hours to get there. I don’t think we have that much time to spare, and the cockpit only seats one, two if Heero pushes it.”

“These brooms are entirely too derelict to even attempt that distance, and I doubt we’d get there before the sun rises,” Chang said gravely.

“I recognize the area,” Yuy said suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “It’s Buckinghamshire. I went to the boarding school nearby during a mission once; on my way to the OZ base, I remember seeing that same castle.”

“Wait, what?” Sirius asked, blinking. “Okay. Those tracking spells not only gave you a feeling of where you’re supposed to go, but you got a vision, as well?”

“Yes,” Winner said. “A large castle with wrought iron gates that surrounded it. There are elegantly scripted Ms worked in the gates...”

And there was only one pureblood family with the initials MM worked into the gates near Buckinghamshire that he knew of. Sirius smirked. “I know where that is. Malfoy Manor.”

“You’re positive?” Chang said critically.

“If I were any more positive, I’d be pregnant,” Sirius said smugly. “My parents were bosom buddies with the Malfoys, so every summer I had to suffer through another one of their stupid galas or parties. I’ve been there often enough to know exactly where the anti-apparation borders begin and end. You happen to be looking at the only guy amongst you with any skill in disapparating. And I happen to be bloody good at disapparating with groups.” He had to be; Peter had been a complete disaster at it.

“Isn’t that an odd stroke of luck,” Chang noted thoughtfully.

“It works in our favor,” Yuy said sharply before turning his attention back to Sirius. “How far do the borders extend?”

“Only half a mile from the manor itself,” Sirius replied. “Malfoy Manor happens to be surround by woodland on the east and south sides. It’ll provide great cover. Lucius Malfoy was once a suspected Death Eater in the eyes of the Ministry before he bought his way out of trouble after the first fall of Voldemort, so he won’t chance having other suspected Death Eaters patrol the grounds in case there’s a surprise inspection. I’m not sure it’ll be quite as easy once we’re inside, but at least it gives you the opportunity to get in.”

“That’s all I’ll need,” Yuy said grimly. “I can infiltrate Malfoy Manor while you three take the spells off of the Gundams at a distance. Duo will have Deathscythe Hell ready to go after we’ve escaped; I suspect he’ll want to take a little aggression out on the manor itself. You know Duo never liked being captured. He takes it as an insult to his talents.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Winner noted with a frown. “Mr. Black, can you apparate Trowa, Wufei, and myself half a mile away from the manor itself, preferably to the north?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Sirius said, frowning. “I’m not sure I like the idea of Yuy going in alone. No offense, but you guys have been in the wizarding world for less than a year. These people were raised in families where magic is common.”

“I can handle things on my end,” Yuy said flatly.

“Actually, Mr. Black, I was hoping you’d accompany Heero,” Winner said softly. “It’s as you said -we’re not very experienced when it comes to magic, and Heero will most likely need the backup. However, this street goes two ways; while we might not be experienced with magic, they aren’t very experienced with dealing with muggle militia. Muggles aren’t as defenseless as your world makes them out to be.”

“I’ll take your word on that,” Sirius said, attempting to keep the doubt from his voice. “But what can you three do that far away?”

“We’ll be backing the two of you up, if not in person, then by sheer force.” Winner smiled. “Trust us. We can do a lot more than you can imagine.” He turned to Yuy again. “We’ll give you half an hour to infiltrate the manor before we take the spells off the Gundams. You’ll be going through the front door, and we’ll be covering the back. I’m sure we’ll have their attention after the Gundams are fully operational; give the signal only if it’s obvious the Death Eaters won’t acquiesce with the release of Duo and Draco.”

Yuy nodded sharply before handing a bag to Barton. “All five are there.”

Five? The toys?

“Right,” Barton said, slipping the satchel’s straps around his shoulders. “We’re ready.”

----------

Life is riddled with clues to the great mystery of a person’s origins; whether that person can correctly interpret or even understand the signs given to him makes all the difference.

And Duo Maxwell remembered the signs. They were just never important to him until he realized the true impact of the situation.

He knew, for example, that he was born with the name Keary Riddle, though he refused to acknowledge his given name for the familiarity and meaning of the one he’d given himself -so much more important, he thought, than some name on some document that was long lost and forgotten. The name he’d given himself meant so much more to him than the name given to him by a woman who died before she could truly know him, and vise versa. “Duo Maxwell” was more than just a name to go by; it was the memories of both the happiest and saddest times of his life. And no one could take his memories away from him.

Still, he never questioned why Headmaster Dumbledore continuously agreed again and again to call him by that name, going as far as addressing his first letter from the Headmaster by it. His school records, even his slim Ministry file... all under the name Duo Maxwell. Duo should have realized there might have been some other purpose behind it besides the sake of Duo’s own comfort. He should have known... but he hadn’t cared.

The wandmaker had known. The wandmaker wouldn’t even pretend to know otherwise.

Duo stepped gingerly into the rather derelict store sporting the name Ollivander’s, immediately taking note of the thin layer of dust that seemed to coat every surface of the shop. He smirked in amusement as he turned, watching through the storefront windows as the imposing figure of one pissed off Potions Master skulked off to do whatever pissed off Potions Masters did in their spare time after having to endure a chatty American nuisance for more than two hours.

Duo was still positive that Snape would be allowed to return to the apothecary after that unfortunate incident with the new shipment of highly combustible ingredients and the braided American having way too much fun with a dung bomb some joke shop employee had passed out to random passers-by as free samples. He still didn’t know how something that smelled so noxious could possibly cause the trouble it did... but he had known that it left a lot of amusing potential for disaster that he couldn’t ignore.

At the sound of a wizen voice from behind, Duo turned quickly, his gun already palmed from its resting place and half raised in the direction of the voice. “Ah, Mr. Riddle. I’ve been expecting you for quite some time now.”

The old man’s eyes rested curiously on Duo’s gun, and he easily slipped it back into the waist of his pants, absently remembering to switch the safety back on. He was a little impressed with the man; not many people could actually sneak up on the master of sneak, himself.

“You mean Maxwell,” Duo corrected primly after realizing that no one else was in the store for the man to address. “But I can see how the mistake in pronunciation could be made, since, you know, Riddle and Maxwell sound so much alike,” he added with a light mixture of sarcasm and teasing. He had been expecting this man to play along as Dumbledore had when the man first addressed him as Keary Riddle, but this one would have none of it.

“I know who I’m addressing,” Mr. Ollivander said solemnly, his small watery eyes making an unnerving study of Duo, as if the man could see right through him. “You, Mr. Riddle, are not what I was expecting. Not what I was expecting at all.”

Mr. Ollivander turned then to retrieve the first wand for Duo to try, leaving it at that. And Duo, having no desire to push the subject further, allowed the man to continue addressing him as Mr. Riddle... even if he didn’t answer to it.

And now Duo knew why Ollivander hadn’t been expecting the likes of Duo Maxwell, born Keary Guthrie Riddle.

“The scythe... the teddy bear...” Duo said aloud, comforted by the weight of the gun in his hand as he clutched the grip tightly. “Your doing, I suppose.”

Voldemort’s smirk was his only reply.

That pissed Duo off. “I can knock the teddy bear off as a sick, twisted joke to sate your equally sick, twisted sense of humor,” Duo said flatly, “but how did you know I’d accept the scythe?”

“Your reputation proceeds you,” the Dark Lord said simply, his hand motioning to a newspaper lying innocently on the side table. Duo was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before; a muggle newspaper that sported a very familiar picture of him slumped over, uncomfortably supported by the tight grip of the OZ guards that surrounded him. It was the same picture from his wanted poster from only a year ago.

“A wanted man in the muggle world,” Voldemort continued thoughtfully. “Even from what little one could glean from the picture, it wasn’t hard to make the connection. You do look so much like your mother, you know. It didn’t take much to research what your weapon... this Gundam... was modeled after.”

“Deathscythe,” Duo murmured. “My aibou...”(1)

“My second gift to you,” Voldemort continued lightly, “was a way to determine how you would react to something you deemed unfit that still impacted on a personal level. I must say, I would have never guessed how or why one such as yourself responded the way you did. You, Mr. Maxwell, are a highly unpredictable individual. While many in your position would be cowering in fear or struck speechless in my presence, you’ve spoken to me with casual disregard bordering a clear disrespect. I’m not sure I like that.”

“I don’t care what you like,” Duo retorted, the grip of his gun a comfortable weight in his hand as he glared at the Dark Lord. “I couldn’t care less about what you like or want or even what your favorite breakfast food is. Knowing that we have thirteen out of twenty-six markers in common in our DNA makeup doesn’t automatically ensure that I like anything about you. The point of the matter is, I’m not going to let you hurt or otherwise traumatize Draco. Either he walks out of this place by my side and you live to terrorize the European continent another day, or he walks out with me and, well, I’ll be doing the world a favor in killing you.”

“Whatever gave you the impression that I was out to harm Mr. Malfoy, Duo?” Voldemort asked, tilting his head to the side with a knowing smirk.

Duo understood what the Dark Lord was getting at. There was no way, logically, that he could even fathom what Voldemort had in store for Draco. For all he knew, Draco would be required to learn how to take command of the Death Eaters after the Dark Lord fell, perhaps punctuating the routine with frequent tea time chats about how dirty muggles and muggleborns were. Draco could just be gaining a title -Draco Malfoy, heir to the Dark Lord Voldemort, mini-Dark Lord in training, Prince of Darkness... It could have been any of those, really. But all Duo had to do was look at the uncomfortable, panicked expression that Draco was so desperately trying to hide and listen to his gut instinct. And his gut instinct said that when Voldemort had a backup plan that involved Draco, nothing good could come of it.

Duo’s instinct had never led him astray before, and he doubted it would lead him astray now.

“Let’s just say,” Duo said lowly, flickering a calm glance toward Draco, “that I severely doubt Draco’s position with you involves tea and crumpets and a mutual dislike for muggleborns.”

“I don’t recall giving you any statement to prove your assumption,” Voldemort said smoothly, that same annoying smirk on his monstrous face. Despite the lack of resemblance, Duo twitched irritably when he recognized that smirk; it was the same look Duo himself often got when he knew he was giving someone the run around, and he was doing it well. No wonder his enemies were always on the verge of going into a rage when Duo looked at them like that. It was very effective in getting someone to lose his cool. Fast.

“All I need is my instinct to make the connection,” Duo said coldly, attempting to reign in his temper. He knew the last thing he needed was to blow a fuse and lunge for the same man made infamous for his cruelty. Judging by the gleam in Voldemort’s slitted eyes, the Dark Lord knew that, too. “Cut the chatter, Gramps. I’m not going to join you just to save my buddy’s skin, and he clearly doesn’t want to join you either. Case closed. Moving on now. Draco, let’s go.”

“Draco,” Voldemort said suddenly, “is Duo correct? You honestly wish to go against your father in such a hugely profound way as to risk my displeasure?”

What blood Draco had left in his face suddenly drained, leaving the boy with a pallor that made him appear two steps away from Death’s door.

“Shut up!” Duo yelled, finally lifting his gun and pointing it directly at the Dark Lord, attempts to remain calm be damned. “Shut up! You know Draco’s not going to deny you outright; you know for a fact that Slytherins don’t work that way! Using his reluctance to actually speak out against people like you and his father isn’t going to make me leave him behind! I don’t leave my friends to scum like you!”

“Duo...” Draco said hoarsely. Duo could feel the eyes of his friend drill into him, though he didn’t need to see the look in Draco’s eyes to know there was amazement and gratitude there below the fear of what the Dark Lord had in store for the Malfoy heir.

“Be that as it may,” Voldemort said, “you can’t possibly believe you can kidnap Draco Malfoy from his own home against his will. The world is terrified at the prospect of me being back, preferring to believe that the Death Eaters are working as vigilantes. They’ll never believe that your kidnaping attempt was to rescue poor Draco from a dead Dark Lord. Lucius will have you shipped to Azkaban for it -and despite your reluctance to associate with me, I’d hate for that to happen to my son. It would be... improper.”

“I can damn well try,” Duo said boldly.

“No.”

Duo blinked, glancing at Draco. “What?”

The boy was staring at his limp hands resting in his lap, reluctant to meet anyone’s eyes. Duo saw the Malfoy heir stiffen suddenly, and with heavy resolve in his steel eyes, he looked at Voldemort. “No. I’m not staying here. I was raised to be the Malfoy heir; it’s the Malfoy heir I’d rather be.”

Duo grinned proudly before turning a smug look to the Dark Lord. That’s right. The know-it-all smirk that tempted lesser men into frenzied rages was firmly in place.

Voldemort frowned at Duo disapprovingly before looking directly at Draco, a dangerous glint in his crimson eyes. “I see. So you side with the mudbloods and the muggle-lovers?”

“No,” Draco said brazenly. “I still believe that muggles are little more than dangerous animals, and mudbloods are still hazardous links between the two worlds. Should a mudblood ever reveal our world, I still believe muggles would hunt us as they’ve done in the past. But you -you kill as many purebloods as you do muggles. The more pureblood families you eradicate, the less marriage potential for the rest of us who keep with the old ways. We’ll continue on marrying close cousins until finally the results will be so damaging that we won’t be able to raise anymore than common squibs.

“Those with muggle blood in them were the minority before the mid-seventies, when you became a threat. There was a drastic decline in pureblood births because you’d wipe out any family that didn’t create ties with you. Now the majority of Hogwarts student body are mudbloods, and the remaining purebloods are struggling to keep up. You’re not as interested in pureblood rights as you are your own need for power, and you use our fear of dying out as a way to obtain more power. Nothing keeps you from going after neutral families like the Zabinis or the Turpins or what’s left of the Prewitts after your last reign. No. I’m not joining you. I want nothing to do with you or your obsession with power.”

Duo thought Draco deserved a cookie for managing to keep a brave face in telling the Dark Lord to go screw himself. A really big cookie. Bigger than Draco’s face. He fought a shiver that seemed to be determined to shake him, not out of fear; no, Duo was too pissed off to actually be afraid. The warmth of the room seemed to have been sucked right out of the atmosphere by the seriousness of the situation, leaving him feeling cold and empty.

Voldemort, once seemingly angered by Draco’s frank defiance, smiled once again. “I’d not expected to hear such adamant protest from you when your father firmly believes in my cause, young Draco,” Voldemort said cooly, but Duo wasn’t fooled. Voldemort wasn’t finished yet. “I admire that you managed to stand up to me, despite that it would have been a mistake for you to do so.”

“Would have been?” Draco questioned, fighting to keep the unease from his voice. Duo’s hand trembled suddenly, and he found it difficult to steady the gun in his hand. He was starting to think that maybe the warmth seeping from his very pores had nothing to do with the tension he was feeling.

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I care if you’re willing or not,” Voldemort replied with a smirk. “I don’t necessarily want or even require your permission. In fact, Duo, you’d only be helping me succeed by killing me.”

“Don’t see how I’d be doing that,” Duo said tersely, “as you’d be dead. Kind of means you lose.”

“Can’t you see, Duo? Or perhaps not. You have been away from the wizarding world for most of your life, so maybe you don’t recognize what’s going on quite like young Draco does,” Voldemort said. Duo spared another glance at Draco, shocked to see the boy so openly horrified as he stared not at the Dark Lord, but at the closed door of the room.

“The chill, the palpable misery that seems to be coagulating in your rapidly beating heart... it’s as if the very happiness is being drained from you,” the Dark Lord continued with a malicious chuckle. “And it is, Duo. That’s the very case; your happiness is being stolen from you, and it only gets worse as it moves closer.”

“What’s he talking about, Draco?” Duo asked lowly, bracing his feet apart and moving his other hand to the gun as he attempted to stabilize himself. He fought to control the tremors that wanted to dance along his spine.

“Dementors,” Draco mumbled fearfully. “There are dementors near...”

Dementors. Duo recalled very little about them besides the fact that dementors were supposed to guard the wizarding prison Azkaban. He remembered the one time Harry had mentioned them; the green-eyed boy had been tense and agitated, going no further to explain anything about them other than they were utterly miserable creatures. And the name of the creatures didn’t exactly inspire feelings of sunshine and daisies.

“Only one,” Voldemort said smugly, “but that’s all I need. You see, Malfoy, you will be my heir in every sense of the word. The heir to my title, in name... and the heir to my very soul.”

“Spirits!” Draco yelped, standing up from his seat so quickly that the chair actually tipped back, threatening to fall over before it righted itself again. “You’re going to have it give me the Dementor’s Kiss!”

“The what?” Duo snapped.

“Duo,” Draco said shrilly, sounding even more panicked than when Duo had held him at gunpoint, “he’s going to have the dementor remove my soul!”

Voldemort laughed as if a small child had made a rather amusing childlike observation. “So that I can take up residence unchallenged, of course. You see, Duo, you were right in that the difference between us is that the thing I fear the most is death. Draco is young, handsome, and pure. A fresh start after having to deal with this obviously flawed attempt to bring myself back to life,” he added, gesturing his face and body. “I did not always look like this; this is a mistake made due to that pathetic Wormtail’s stupidity when the ritual was done almost two years ago.

“So you see, killing me wouldn’t stop me from doing as I please. I’ve already given the dementor its orders; once Draco’s soul is removed, I’ll simply be moving in unopposed.”

Duo was left scrambling for a suitable plan when the door swung open, revealing the frightening visage of what seemed to hover just outside of the doorway. Chills wracking his frame, he didn’t think he really wanted to see what was lying under that hood as the creature moved into the room. He doubted Draco was any more inclined than he was.

Well...

Fuck.

END CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

(1) “Aibou” is the manner in which Duo typically addresses his Gundam when he talks to it. It means “partner” or “buddy”. It’s probably the ONLY Japanese word you’ll see appearing in this fic, since I’m trying to get out of the habit of inserting random words just because I know them. If you’ve noticed, Duo hasn’t said anything like “sugoi!” once during this entire thing. In fact, the only thing vaguely Japanese that Duo’s used is the suffix -chan, used as a term of endearment for Heero.

Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty-Four


Draco was in a state of mind-numbing panic. Panic wasn’t something that a Malfoy should ever display in public; his father had told him that often enough. It was a sign of weakness and uncertainty -and ‘weak’ and ‘uncertain’ were two things a Malfoy definitely was not.

But he had some pretty good reasons for feeling panicked, especially to the degree to which he honestly thought he’d have nightmares. For one, a man he had known had just been killed. For another, the person who killed Jansen was his friend. And lastly, that same friend had the same object he used to kill his father’s friend pressed ever-so-lightly against his very own temple.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t only in a state of panic. He was held within the very grasp of gut-wrenching fright, silently begging his stubborn sire to just back down for once. It was never okay to piss off the teenager who didn’t have a problem with killing people. Especially when it was his bloody life on the line!

“Jansen?” McNair said in shock, staring down at the lifeless corpse in shock. “Bloody hell -he’s just killed Jansen!”

Duo... smiled. “Further proof that a vague disclaimer is nobody’s friend.”

“I can see that,” Lucius Malfoy said evenly, his slate grey eyes never leaving his son. “Though I find myself doubting a Gryffindor would go to such extremes as killing his own friend.”

Oh, HELL. “If I were in your position, Dad, I’d be thinking the very same thing,” Draco said nervously, careful not to make any sudden movement to make that thing explode from the end again. “But Duo’s not quite like other Gryffindors, and he’s remarkably Slytherin when he needs to be. Don’t test him.” Or I’m DEAD. Dead, dead, DEAD. As in, not living. No longer alive. Not moving, not breathing, lifeless...

Draco needed to stop his own internal monologue. He really was working himself into a state of frenzy.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you could say about me, Dragon Boy,” Duo said in a tone that sounded like he was teasing, but Draco doubted the American had lost that edge in his eyes.

Draco could see the gears working behind his father’s flat eyes. Finally, the elder Malfoy said quietly, “And how can we come to agreeable terms that will spare my son, yet satisfy my master, Mr. Maxwell?”

“I don’t really care about satisfying your master, man,” Duo said casually. “It goes my way, or no way at all for you. See, you could refuse to let us go, and then I would be forced to kill your son. Then I’d be left without a hostage, and I’d still be in this mess, but you’d be short a son. See how this works? You take away my freedom, I take away your son. It’s an even trade.”

“Perhaps,” Lucius said evenly, “but the Dark Lord is not a kind master, Mr. Maxwell. If I simply let you go before he had his audience with you, he would kill my son as punishment. Both of your options lead to my son’s death, and I would like to prevent that.”

“Ah,” Duo said wisely, “but your son would be coming with me. In that, I would be silently agreeing to protect him. And I don’t honestly think the Dark Lord would kill you in your son’s place because that’s just not a smart move on his part. If one starts killing his men for every slight infraction, eventually, one’s army starts to dwindle.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment that seemed like hours. McNair seemed to have faded into the background, but Draco didn’t doubt that Duo had his attention divided between the Death Eaters evenly.

Oddly enough, Draco’s father chuckled. “I wouldn’t have believed the similarities. You are so very much like her, you know.”

“Who?” Duo said reluctantly after a moment clearly indicated that his question was exactly what Lucius wanted.

The elder Malfoy smiled. “Angelica Proud. Your mother.”

Draco was hard pressed to control his start. Angelica Proud... he vaguely recognized the name. The Proud line was almost as old, if not older, than both the Black and the Malfoy lines. Most of the family had relocated to America not long after the country was discovered, but lack of proper marriage potential caused the family’s numbers to dwindle. He’d always been led to assume the Proud line had died out, as many of the pureblood lines had over time.

“I knew her,” Lucius went on, “and found her to be a remarkable young woman, Mr. Maxwell. She showed such promise in joining our most noble cause until she disappeared so suddenly.”

Duo snorted. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m your illegitimate love child? ‘Duo, I am your father’, right? I have to tell you, man, that’s been so overdone already.”

Lucius smirked. “Of course not, Mr. Maxwell. I am and always have been a happily married man.”

“So, what? Old Voldie wants to meet me in hopes of recruiting me?” Duo said with another derisive snort. “Look, Malfoy the Older, you can tell your master this for me: Duo Maxwell bows to no one. I don’t believe in your cause, and people who justify killing others simply on the basis of purity of blood makes me physically ill. Sorry, but no.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Maxwell,” Lucius said calmly, “my master simply wishes for a moment of your time. Should you wish to leave after you’ve spoken, no one will stand in your way.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Duo replied wearily.

“I swear on my honor as a wizard. My Lord merely wishes to speak to you and, if you choose to leave after that, you will not be hindered in any way.”

“Right,” Duo said. “Draco, how good is this swearing on the honor of wizardry bit?”

Thank you, merciful Fates! “As far as oaths go, it’s a pretty good one,” Draco replied stiffly. “If he goes back on it, he’ll be forced to obey you until you deem the debt fulfilled, and his honor is restored. As far as I’m aware, a Malfoy’s never sworn anything before.”

“Right,” Duo said again. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll meet with Voldie. We’ll chat over a nice cuppa tea. Two conditions: I remain armed, and none of you get within a yard of either myself or Draco. Comprende?”

“Of course,” Lucius said smoothly, bowing his head slightly in agreement. Slowly the muggle device lowered to the ground, and Draco could finally slump in utter relief.

“You right bastard,” he muttered indignantly. “You were going to make my head explode!”

“Hey, you’re still breathing, aren’t you?” Duo said. “Relax, Dragon Boy. I got this.”

Considering the fact that Duo had just agreed to a conference with perhaps the most feared individual known to wizardkind, Draco sincerely doubted that.

His father and his father’s fellow Death Eater stayed true to the agreement, cautious in their proximity to both Duo and Draco. They were led down one of Malfoy Manor’s vast hallways, coming to a door leading to Lucius’ personal office. Draco didn’t doubt the Dark Lord had taken that as his temporary space, and he also suspected that Lucius was very congenial when his master welcomed himself into a room that Draco didn’t see unless he was in serious trouble.

Draco stifled the urge to shiver and glanced at Duo from the corner of his eye. The American Gryffindor seemed ridiculously at ease, but from the way he held that muggle weapon -poised to raise, finger hovering near the trigger- Draco didn’t doubt that the boy was totally prepared for any potential threatening move.

The Malfoy heir couldn’t help but to think no one could truly be prepared to come face to face with the Dark Lord himself, just to tell that same Dark Lord to sod off and still expect to leave with a smile on his face... unless that guy was the Boy Who Lived. And Draco doubted Harry ever “left” with anything resembling a smile on his face.

Draco stiffened when the ornate heavy oak door opened to reveal a rather desolate, empty husk of a man with watery eyes and thinning hair. He felt more than saw Duo respond in the same manner, but Draco had a suspicious feeling that Duo’s reaction had more to do with the strange glint of the man’s hand; in all appearance, it was made of metal.

“Wormtail,” the elder Malfoy drawled condescendingly, smirking. “I’ve brought Mr. Maxwell for our Lord’s audience.”

Wormtail. Where had he heard that before? The strange name struck an odd chord in Draco, but he couldn’t honestly say where he had heard it. It could have been a passing mention from his father, but Lucius rarely talked of Death Eater business while Draco was present. And such a bleak figure would be far below his mother’s notice. Maybe from Harry...

Harry.

That bloody map! Wormtail was one of the four extremely odd names from that wicked map that Draco was almost convinced Harry didn’t deserve. But Harry had said his father and his father’s friends had made it...

Wormtail was a Death Eater? Another friend of the famous James Potter -a turncoat from the Light? Potter would be so pissed when he found out! And if Harry had already found out... well, Draco was sorry he missed it. The sheer look of genuine betrayal and indignity would have been... Actually, if Draco were going to be honest with himself, the sight of Harry’s face crumpled like that probably would have turned his stomach. That didn’t make sense, though; Draco was supposed to enjoy Harry’s misery, not... feel sorry for him!

“Look alive, Dragon Boy,” Duo whispered, snapping Draco from his pensive thoughts. The man called Wormtail had stepped away from the threshold, allowing Lucius and McNair to enter. Draco inhaled sharply, attempting to shove such troubling thoughts into the back of his mind for further ranting later, when it was safer to think about such things without the threat of falling dead to a well-aimed Killing Curse. Thinking about Harry in any other way than utter disgust would be liable to get him dead at this very delicate point, and Draco Malfoy very much liked the land of the living.

The office hadn’t changed much from the last time he’d had the displeasure of being invited inside for some major offense to the Malfoy name; coincidently, the last lecture Draco had suffered in this room was at the end of his fourth year, and it was because of bloody Harry and Draco’s tendency to go off at the mouth that got him there in the first place. His father’s desk sat at the far end, large and imposing and made of oak that was almost stained black. The only light provided by the room came from the large ornate fireplace, where a heartily lit fire cast foreboding shadows across the sharp, angular surface of the side table that sat precariously near a high-backed leather chair that was facing away from the door; across from this chair were two others that faced it.

Draco stiffened when he saw a large snake of indeterminable species peer around the chair to look at those standing at the threshold of the doorway, followed by a bone white hand that stroked the snake’s head in an almost comforting manner.

The almost threatening hissing did not come from the snake.

“That’s a big freaking snake,” Duo noted casually. “Nagini, is it?”

Draco gawked at the braided American. What the hell was he talking about? With a glance at his father, he realized the elder Malfoy looked just as surprised as Draco felt. Then again, the Malfoy heir thought, Duo Maxwell would be the one who thought memorizing the name of the Dark Lord’s most treasured pet would be important.

The hand stroking the snake’s head stilled, and there was a sudden chuckle from the man (Draco shuddered to think that he was in the same room with a man accredited to so much in the way of panic and havoc in the wizarding world) hidden from sight. “Of course,” came the amiable reply, though Draco doubted his words were simply confirming Duo’s inquiry.

“Come, Mr. Duo Maxwell. We have much to discuss,” Voldemort said casually, not at all sounding like the sinister monster he was made out to be. In fact, Voldemort sounded rather likeable, which made a lot of sense in retrospect. Draco supposed Voldemort wouldn’t have so much of a following if he were in a permanent cranky mood.

Draco could hardly believe he just used the word ‘cranky’ in reference to the Dark Lord Voldemort, but...

“Yes,” Duo said as he bravely went further into the room, nudging Draco sharply as he passed and prompting the reluctant Malfoy heir to follow. “Let’s chat.”

Draco guarded himself cautiously as he rounded the chair, hardly braving a peek as Duo welcomed himself to one of the empty chairs that faced Voldemort. Draco stiffly sat himself in the other, perched to bolt the second it looked as if there was going to be any trouble before he finally looked.

If this was the visage that muggles saw before the life left their eyes, Draco thought he should pity them; Voldemort looked every bit the monster he was made out to be, as if the dark magic he so freely cast had actually gone as far as to physically change him. White, smooth skin, red eyes that sported slitted pupils, and the lack of a nose gave the Dark Lord the impression of a Naga, a half-human half-snake creature of myth that hadn’t been seen in the wizarding world for well over a hundred years.

Voldemort spared Draco a more-than-cursory glance that Draco was hard-pressed to shiver at, feeling more than a little violated by those imposing red eyes before the Dark Lord’s attention focused primarily on Duo, and Draco felt as if he could breathe again. “You three may leave,” Voldemort said for the benefit of the three elders in the room. Draco looked toward his father, seeing that the man didn’t like this idea at all, but none made any argument as they filed out of the room.

They were alone. Spirits...

“So. Duo Maxwell. We finally meet. Or should I call you Keary?”

“I won’t answer to it, so you might as well call me Duo,” the American said swiftly; for once, the joker’s facade didn’t encompass Duo’s being, much like when the American held Draco as a hostage before his very father only moments ago. However, even then Duo had held on to at least some part of his laughing mask, but now there was no sign of it. “Cut to the chase, Voldemort. What do you want from me?”

Voldemort’s soothing hand on his snake’s head stilled again, and the man (could someone who looked as Voldemort did truly be called a man still?) looked earnestly bemused at Duo’s inquiry. “Want?” he said softly. “Must I want something from you other than to meet you, Duo Maxwell?”

“People like you want one of two things from me,” Duo said. “For me to fight for them, or to kill me. Lucius assured me that the latter won’t be happening tonight, so I can only assume you want me to join your cause, and I’ll tell you right now that it’s not happening. You might as well let us leave now.”

“I see,” Voldemort said lightly, seemingly not affected by Duo’s announcement that there would be no chance in hell the Gryffindor would join Voldemort’s Death Eaters. “A firm stance you’re taking on this, I suppose.”

“I don’t kill people for causes I don’t believe in,” Duo said solemnly. “There are more important things in this world than the purity of blood and power. Your cause is a worthless one to me.”

Draco wanted to kick Duo. Badly. Was the idiot trying to get himself killed, and Draco by proxy? Because dying wasn’t really on Draco’s list of things to do presently. Maybe at a nice old age of 100, when his good looks had faded in time and there was really nothing more to live for. Certainly not today, when he was still beautiful and in his prime.

“Our opinions on that differ greatly,” Voldemort said cooly, red eyes narrowing on the Gryffindor thoughtfully. “You are much like your mother, in that respect. She didn’t think much of my goals, either.”

“But I’m sure you have some redeemable qualities, since she stuck around long enough for you to actually get to know her,” Duo said flatly.

Voldemort smiled humorlessly. “Yes, I suppose. Dear Angelica Proud... One thing that we have in common is that both of our mothers died in childbirth, Duo Maxwell, and neither of us seem to have cared much of it. She named you well,” the Dark Lord remarked thoughtfully.

Draco couldn’t help but to think this was actually leading somewhere. No matter how personable the Dark Lord seemed to be, he didn’t strike Draco the type to make way for idle chitchat.

Duo didn’t smile or smirk or try to make light of it; instead, the American Gryffindor’s expression became unreadable. “I named me well. Duo Maxwell is my name; not Keary.”

“The name given to you is such a strong name,” Voldemort said. “Unique. Uncommon. What is the reason you cleave so preciously to the moniker you’ve given yourself, I wonder?”

“Duo is for the first friend I ever had,” Duo said evenly. “Solo died of the plague that swept through L2 years ago, and he took better care of me than anyone. Maxwell is in honor of the first family I ever had. I suppose you’ve never heard of the Maxwell Church Massacre.” Duo lifted his chin defiantly, his normally vibrant eyes dull with the pain of distant memory. “I’m the only survivor. If there’s something I learned soon enough, Voldemort, it’s that those who care about me will eventually die. They call me the God of Death for a reason.”

God of Death? God of Death? How come this was the first Draco had heard of it? Who went around calling himself the God of Death, anyway?

“The God of Death,” Voldemort mused aloud, his hand going back to placating his snake. “Interesting how you’ve taken on the very moniker of the ever-prevalent being I’ve spent a lot of my time avoiding.”

“And I’ve embraced the fact that it’ll eventually happen, whether I want it to or not,” Duo said with conviction. “Further proving that we have very little in common.”

“Yes, I see that,” Voldemort said, actually sounding very disappointed about it. “How differently things would have turned out, Duo Maxwell... Though I must admit that I had thought this would be a possibility.”

“Than why even try?”

The Dark Lord shrugged casually. “There’s always a promising chance that things turn out as I hope in the end. There seemed to have been no harm in trying.”

“Right. No harm. Just so you know, I shot one of your Death Eaters,” Duo said casually, standing from his seat. “Though, to be fair, I did warn him not to move.”

“I suspected as much when Jansen wasn’t present,” Voldemort said with a casual twist of his wrist. “Bloody fool could never follow orders well.”

“So that’s it?” Duo said skeptically. “I get to walk out of here without having to worry about an attack?”

“Lucius’ vow was made on my decision, Duo Maxwell,” Voldemort said calmly. “I cannot go back on that vow. You are free to leave, as promised.”

“Great,” Duo said with a grin. “Well, no offense, but let’s hope we never have to meet again. C’mon, Dragon Boy, let’s book it.”

Draco could hardly believe it. They were leaving Voldemort after Duo told him to sod off. And they were alive. Draco was never one to put his faith in the gods, but a deity somewhere saw fit to smile down on the Malfoy heir for once, and he wasn’t about to curse a higher being for his sudden run of good luck.

He was almost out of the chair before Voldemort’s voice aborted his move. “I’m afraid you’ve been misled, Duo. You are allowed to leave. I have further need of young Draco.”

Damn the gods to the very pits of hell and beyond!

Duo narrowed his eyes dangerously at the Dark Lord, and Draco was relieved to see the Gryffindor wasn’t budging. “I’m not leaving without Draco.”

“You’ll have to,” Voldemort said evenly, “because Draco isn’t leaving.”

“What the hell is this?” Duo demanded boldly, his hand very near where he had stored his weapon. “I thought a wizard’s vow was your bond!”

“Don’t impugn my honor, Duo,” Voldemort said softly, sounding very much like the Dark Lord he was made out to be. “You are allowed to leave. Draco Malfoy was never part of that pact.”

“Fuck that,” Duo said hotly, seemingly not even caring that he was saying that to Voldemort, the man who cast deadly curses for lesser offenses. “What do you want with Draco?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, nor do I believe you are striking the proper tone considering your situation,” Voldemort said warningly.

“There is no way I’m leaving Draco to your tender mercies, Voldemort. He’s my friend. I have a right to know exactly what you have in store for him.”

The stubborn glare clashed with Voldemort’s ire, and the room was suddenly tense with a lot of intimidating power that radiated between the two wizards. Draco was speechlessly staring at Duo, the detachment he had so desperately cleaved to in the beginning falling away once he realized that Duo wasn’t going to leave without him, Dark Lord be damned. The Malfoy heir doubted that his own father would go as far as to protect him from someone like the Dark Lord, much less any of his friends since childhood. But Duo, the American Gryffindor that had somehow wormed his way into Draco’s favor, the same Gryffindor who teased him and mocked most of what Draco stood by, who had only befriended him for a scant few months, was standing by Draco. Wouldn’t leave Draco in the face of a messy death.

Damn. Draco suddenly realized he probably needed a lot more friends like Duo. Even if they held devices against his temple that caused people’s heads to explode.

“I could tell you what I intend for young Draco,” Voldemort said finally, raising an eyebrow cooly, “but you wouldn’t like it. In fact, Duo Maxwell, I’m pretty sure you would attempt to stop me, and that wouldn’t do.”

“So you aren’t just going to recruit him,” Duo said accusingly, and suddenly the gun was in his hand again. The braided boy didn’t raise it to Voldemort, however; the gun was left dangling at his side. “What do you want with Draco?”

Voldemort smiled, and it wasn’t a very pleasant sight at all. “Very well. Since things did not work out with you, Duo, I plan to make Draco Malfoy my... avatar, if you will.”

“Avatar... you mean heir,” Duo said, surprise laced in his voice. “You weren’t trying to recruit me... you were trying to name me your heir?”

“I am not getting any younger,” Voldemort said passively. “Someone needs to continue on leading my Death Eaters.”

“Why me?” Duo demanded. “I’ve lived the first sixteen years of my life as a muggle, the very kind of person you despise. You couldn’t have liked my mother that much, especially when you said I’m just like her. Why do you want me?”

The snake’s head lifted and hissed almost inaudibly, bringing another smile to Voldemort’s lips as he casually stroked the reptile’s head. Duo’s reaction was very different; the braided boy stiffened, as if he’d completely forgotten about the snake until that moment.

“Since when,” Duo said softly, “did snakes learn how to talk?”

Draco felt the very breath freeze in his lungs as he stared at Duo. Oh, spirits... Spirits, did this mean what he thought it did?

“Duo,” Draco croaked, silent until this very moment, “the snake... didn’t say anything.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Haven’t you ever seen a snake before, Duo? Have you not, in all of your life, come across one of these creatures?”

“There aren’t any snakes on L2,” Duo said tersely before swinging a glance toward Draco. “And what do you mean, the snake didn’t say anything? It called me an insolent hatchling. Those are fighting words.”

“It seems you are a Parselmouth, Duo,” Voldemort said, dark amusement shining in his red eyes. “The ability to speak and understand snakes. Salazar Slytherin himself had this ability, and it’s been passed down through his lineage. A talent you’ve inherited from your... father, no doubt.”

“Oh, spirits...” Draco said weakly. It did mean what he thought it did. The map... He remembered making out Duo’s first name, and a little of the middle, but his last name was such a blur...

Duo looked to have reached the same sickening conclusion, judging by his pale complexion and the sudden tremor of the gun in his hand. “My mother... of course. She stuck around, even if she didn’t agree with your cause... And you haven’t killed me. The Ministry’s secrecy, the teachers’ caution. Why the wandmaker was so interested in my last name...”

“Riddle,” Draco muttered dazedly. “Keary Guthrie Riddle.”

And Voldemort smiled.


END CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Harry Potter and the Secret Link
Capricious Purple Clarity
Chapter Twenty Three


In one of the many empty, darkened corridors of the noble manor of Malfoy, the shadows shifted silently.

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”

“Why do I get the feeling you haven’t?” was the nearly silent retort as one boy cautiously peered around the corner. “Could it be because you suck at it? Which way?”

“I’ve never had to sneak around my own home before!”

“Shh! Which way, Blondie, time’s a-tickin’!”

“Left.” Draco Malfoy followed the nimble and silent sneak as quietly as he could, dismayed that, even though he knew the mansion backwards and forwards, Duo Maxwell still managed to avoid every potential (and proverbial, because the mansion didn’t have wooden floors) creak and scuffle, causing Draco to feel like a bogtrodding elephant next to him.

Maxwell was like a cat. A lethal cat. Strangely, this only seemed to remind Draco that his traitorous feline was pregnant with Granger’s mangy cat’s offspring, which put him in an even worse mood... if that was possible.

“Do you even have your wand?”

“Something like it,” Duo whispered back, coming to another corridor. He checked both directions carefully, peering into the darkened corridors before glancing at Draco expectantly.

“Right.” Nodding sharply, Maxwell took his advice and went right, sticking closely to the wall. Draco followed his example. “We’ll want to take the servants’ stairs,” the Malfoy heir murmured, managing to shove down his distaste for having to do anything of the sort. “The main stairwell is too open.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” Duo whispered. “What floor are we on?”

“Second.” Draco thought being held on the second floor was a stroke of good fortune; it would have taken twice as long to escape were they on any other floor, and especially so if they’d been locked in one of the towers. His announcement, however, made Duo frown, his brows furrowing in thought. “What?”

“Nothing... Bit of a disadvantage, is all. Stay close.”

“Tell me again why being on the second floor puts us at a disadvantage?”

“They know we’re escaping.”

Draco hesitated in his step, blinking. “What?”

“They know we’re escaping,” Duo said quietly. “They were banking on it, I wager. I saw the tower outside your window, and they could have easily locked either one of us up there. This is nothing more than a scare tactic to see how desperate we can get close to freedom.”

“Wait, stop,” Draco hissed, wracking his brain to think of an alternative escape plan.

“No, we keep going,” Duo hissed back, peeking around another dark corridor that only led one way.

“You can’t honestly expect to just walk into a trap,” Draco said incredulously. “What’s the point if we’re just going to be caught again?”

“I don’t back down. Ever,” Duo whispered tightly. “Now shut up and do as I say, Dragon Boy.”

Draco wanted to argue. Since when had Duo been the expert on being sly and sneaky, anyway? However, it was clear that Duo was an expert; merely observing the way the American peered cautiously around every corner and nook as he silently and swiftly crept down the corridor was enough to squelch Draco’s urge to scoff at the Gryffindor and do exactly what he was told to do instead.

So he shut up and followed the Gryffindor’s lead.

----------

Trowa was a man on a mission. His current objective? To sneak into the Gryffindor dorms undetected, borrow something of Harry’s without asking, and leave that same dorm just as quietly as he’d entered.

It was as easy as done.

The first part of the plan had been to sneak out of the Great Hall without being seen by any of their makeshift guardians, which was fairly simple considering how the students outnumbered the adults twenty to one. Too many were spread too thin as both Aurors and school personnel comforted some of the more hysterical students, leaving Trowa to slip out of the Great Hall only moments before Heero was to do so, as well. However, while Trowa would be going to Gryffindor Tower, Heero’s mission objective was to grab their supplies from Slytherin Tower.

He then had to make his way to Gryffindor Tower without being detected by the outer guard patrolling the hallway; again, they were making this way too easy for him. The corridors, large, wide, spacious and made of stone seemed to echo at the slightest of shuffles. When it came to stealth, Duo was always their best candidate; however, Trowa had always been a close second in that department. He used the echoing corridors against the patrolling Aurors, effortlessly masking any sound he could make as he soundlessly darted from corridor to corridor and up endless flights of stairs. There was a point in time where he was almost caught on the stairwell with nowhere to go, voices from the top of the stairs clearly indicating he had at least three Aurors or some of Dumbledore’s faction that were chatting rather amiably; he could see none of them, which was an advantage at that point, since the angle did not allow them to see him either.

He neatly flipped himself over the stone supports that prevented the more clumsy students from falling over the edge, scuttling far enough to lift his leg and find the overhanging side on the bottom. It was a minor quality about the stairs that he’d noticed about the school, neatly filing the architect into the back of his mind. All of the stairs had overhanging sides and a small niche in which someone could neatly fit his body if he were hiding. Most would not dare to even try it, but Trowa wasn’t one to ignore an opportunity. Hanging several hundred feet above the floor, he wedged himself in that niche, pressing his hands and feet against the edge tightly so as not to fall. The process took all of five seconds, and he only had to maintain his position for a minute more as the guards descended the stairs and disappeared down another corridor.

He waited for a moment before he quickly extracted himself and crawled back over the support and onto solid stone. Caution dictated that he should have waited longer, but he was unwilling to risk the chance of the stairs shifting on him unexpectedly. Trowa had spent a little of his time memorizing the patterns in which certain main stairwells would shift, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the staircase would go to the left, taking him down a corridor that would have forced him to take twice as long in getting to the Gryffindor dorms.

With only a few more corridors, Trowa stood in front of the portrait that guarded the Gryffindor Tower.

“Ah! Trowa, how good of you to come,” Lilah -or as most of the students called her, the ‘Fat Lady’- greeted him cheerfully, having taken a shine to him when he actually engaged in what passed for conversation for Trowa. His caution for all people and things he interacted with prompt him to greet her and ask for her name. She’d taken that as an invitation to talk to him whenever he came by the dorms, declaring him fit to enter her domain, even if he wasn’t a Gryffindor; Trowa suspected she appreciated his tendency to listen without interrupting whatever the rant of the day was.

“Hello, Lilah,” Trowa said simply.

“Why, aren’t you supposed to be in the Great Hall with the other students?” Lilah said, looking down at the Slytherin knowingly. “You’ll be in a lot of trouble for sneaking out, young man.”

“I won’t be if I don’t get caught,” Trowa replied evenly, immediately deciding to appeal to Lilah’s unrivaled urge to gossip. “Have you heard? Several students have been abducted. One of them is in your house.”

Lilah was absolutely scandalized. “Oh, my! I do hope Albus is planning to rectify that!”

Trowa doubted it, but he didn’t voice his doubt. “I need to get in the dorm, Lilah -there’s something in there that might help find Duo.”

“You know I can’t let you in without a password, dear boy. It’s house protocol.”

Trowa resisted the urge to smirk. Of course he knew the password; it was easy to overhear such things when one wasn’t noticed. “Scarlet honor.”

Lilah smiled benevolently. “Always observant, that Trowa Barton,” she murmured to herself before the portrait clicked and swung open. He was in.

And now, he thought to himself as he crawled through the portrait hole, to find Harry’s map.

----------

Sirius Black, more commonly known as Snuffles, was Gryffindor to the core. To him, that meant he was brave, honorable, and willing to stand up for what he believed in. To someone like Draco Malfoy, he was reckless, blind to his own faults, and nosy as hell.

It was that ‘nosy as hell’ part that had overtaken him at this point. Sirius loved a good mystery; there was nothing more satisfying than gathering the clues to figure out the mystery, whether the conclusions drawn were correct or not. And there was nothing more curious then a handful of new students with odd mannerisms that had somehow wormed their ways into Albus’ fond regard, especially when Sirius couldn’t recall any of them doing anything fantastic to deserve that respect.

He had overheard Albus telling Remus to have faith in the boys, as if the renowned wizard was confident that they could save their friend before Voldemort could harm him. He’d seen one of the Slytherins -Yuy, if Sirius remembered right- slip from the Hall unnoticed, and his first instinct was to follow. And Sirius always obeyed that first instinct.

He crept after Yuy at a distance, but close enough to guess where the Slytherin was heading -the Slytherin dormitory. At first, it appeared as if the boy wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings at all as he went down to the dungeons, but Sirius quickly realized that looks were deceiving; the boy seemed to tense before slipping into a dark corner behind one of Hogwarts’ many suits of armor. Seconds later, an unsuspecting member of the Order rounded the corner and unwittingly passed by the boy, sparing only a cursory glance at Sirius, who had settled on his hunches behind a statue of Ulric the Oddball. Yuy didn’t leave the safety of his nook until Jorgan was out of sight, purposefully making a beeline for the blank wall that marked the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory.

The boy murmured the password under his breath, standing back as the wall slid to the side. Sirius waited for as long as he could stand it before he hastily trotted to the entrance only moments after the boy had slipped through, making it inside as soon as the wall started to slide back into place.

So this is enemy territory, Sirius thought, sparing a look toward the confining corridor that led into a rather elegantly (but darkly) decorated room that had to be the common room. He almost missed the sight of Yuy disappearing down a staircase that must have led to the boys’ dormitory, but he wasn’t worried. His senses as a dog were heightened greatly; even if he’d lost sight of Yuy, he’d still be able to pick out his scent.

He treaded the staircase carefully until the scent branched off into a corridor while the staircase seemed to lead even further down. He followed his nose to a door that was cracked only slightly, the dim light leaking through the crack an indication that someone was in the room. He nosed the door further open, almost sighing in relief when the hinges didn’t squeal in protest as he thought they would.

The Slytherin boy was emptying out a trunk, carefully placing school books, clothes, and clean sheets of parchment to the side. Once there appeared to be nothing left in the trunk, the boy reached in and pulled out a long, cloth-covered board from the bottom. A false bottom?

That’s when the boy pulled out something even more curious; five miniature figures of what appeared to be robots that Sirius vaguely remembered Tonks ranting about exuberantly some time ago. The figures appeared to be small toy replicas of those robot things.

Yuy replaced the bottom of his trunk before placing his other things back inside, leaving the toys out. There had to be something more to it. The boy couldn’t have gone to all of this trouble just for some toys to comfort him, especially when it was his boyfriend who was missing. Maybe those things weren’t as harmless as they appeared...

But Sirius didn’t have a lot of time to ponder over that when the boy shut his trunk with a firm click, picking up his wand to cast several wards over it. Then the boy was standing, and Sirius was just about to duck back out of the room when Yuy cooly lifted his wand and turned, pointing it right at Sirius.

Sirius almost froze automatically before he remembered that he was a dog, and dogs weren’t supposed to notice when they were being threatened with wands. When dogs saw wands, they saw sticks that could be potential for a game of fetch. He allowed his tongue to loll out innocently as he wagged his tail in faked anticipation, his human side screaming at him in the typically fight or flight fashion.

“I’m not an idiot,” the boy said coldly, “just like you’re not a dog.”

Shit. Did Harry tell him? Sirius vaguely remembered that Harry hung around with those new students a fair bit, but he never thought his godson would trust them enough to tell them about Sirius’ Animagus status, much less why Sirius had to go around as a dog named Snuffles. He tilted his head to the side, as if asking the boy, “What are you talking about?”

Yuy wasn’t buying it, judging by the ever-narrowing Prussian blue eyes. “Transform before I render you incapable of doing so.”

With a vile curse in the back of his mind, Sirius transformed. He matched Yuy’s glare with one of his own. “Did Harry tell you?”

“Hn,” the boy snorted. “You did. Normal dogs react to tone and body language. You responded to my words while carefully choosing to ignore both my tone and body language, both of which clearly implied that I am a threat.”

Damn Slytherins.

“Who are you?” Yuy demanded, his wand unwavering.

“Sirius Black,” Sirius responded reluctantly, waiting for the instant recognition. Yuy didn’t even blink, and Sirius thought he could get away from this mess relatively Ministry-free.

“The convict.” Those two words immediately spoiled any thought of Sirius not having to explain anything more than his name.

“Sent to Azkaban for the death of twelve muggles and one Peter Pettigrew; the only sign that he’d even been there was by witness testimony and a single finger,” the boy said flatly. “You were sent to Azkaban without a trial, but one thing that most people don’t know about was that you were the Potters’ Secret Keeper.”

“I’m innocent,” Sirius muttered, wanting to cross his arms defensively but knowing this might be a bad move.

“I know.”

That admission surprised Sirius. “How could you know? Most of the wizarding world thinks I’m guilty!”

Yuy smirked. “You told me. You were supposed to have betrayed the Potters, but Harry Potter clearly knows that you aren’t just a dog; you so much as admitted it yourself. You were also sent to Azkaban on insufficient evidence; the Ministry relied on witness testimony, which can always be misinterpreted. If I had been James Potter, I would have declared my Secret Keeper as one person while using another friend without anyone knowing. Also, the spell Prior Incantantum was never cast on your original wand. The likelihood of a body being obliterated is inconsistent with the existence of one part appearing relatively unscathed -in this case, a severed finger- especially when the point of detachment was very clean and methodical.” The Japanese boy lifted his chin in an almost arrogant manner. “Sloppy.”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Now why couldn’t you have been born thirty years ago so you could have pointed out these things then?”

“Because the concept of fairness doesn’t apply to reality,” the boy said evenly.

If not for twelve years of Azkaban that opened his eyes to this fact, Sirius might have argued with the boy on that point. He knew better now; fairness really did have nothing to do with how the world worked.

“So now what?” Sirius said, still conscious of the wand that was pointed directly at his chest.

“Now you tell me whether you followed me to help or hinder,” Yuy said.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You meant for me to see you. You... wanted me to follow you, didn’t you?”

Yuy smirked again. Sirius could really come to hate that overconfident smirk.

Why did Sirius follow the boy? Because Sirius Black was a nosy son of a bitch who liked to have his fingers in everyone’s pie. Sirius Black liked to be in the know. And, most importantly, Sirius Black hated to sit back and do nothing. He hated being ignored or protected, preferring to be where the action was.

Hindering the boy, he felt, would not lead him anywhere remotely near the action, especially when Yuy had Albus’ silent approval.

“To help, of course,” Sirius said with a casual shrug. “Can’t let a bunch of newbies face off against a bunch of Death Eaters. Wouldn’t be sporting.”

Yuy nodded sharply, finally lowering his wand. “Then meet us outside of Hogsmeade in forty-five minutes. And bring a broom.”

----------

Meanwhile, Duo Maxwell and Draco Malfoy were in a bit of a pickle.

Their escape had been going smoothly, which didn’t do anything to relieve Duo in any way. In fact, the lack of conflict had made him even more nervous, and rightly so. By the time they’d carefully treaded down the servants’ stairs and made their cautious way through more ominous corridors, their freedom was just in sight.

Somehow Duo had known that their good fortune wouldn’t last.

Death Eater to the front of me, Duo thought grimly, not even deeming it necessary to glance over his shoulder to see the two Death Eaters covering his back, and Death Eaters at the back of me. Fuck.

“Dad,” Draco yelped, his face ashen as he stared wide-eyed at the chill-faced blond man that blocked their front; beyond him, Duo could see the tantalizing sight of their only exit.

Now, at this time, there were two parts of Duo. There was Friend Duo, who morally and consciously realized that the measures to which he was about to resort for that freedom were just bad manners, as far as friendship went. And then there was Soldier Duo, the cool pragmatic who would go to any extreme when he was backed into a corner. The two rarely mixed company, and with the very brief internal struggle that went on within him, he was more than happy to keep them separate in the future. However, in this case, Soldier Duo promptly hogtied and gagged Friend Duo just before taking the driver’s seat.

“Oh, met?” Duo said casually, swiftly gliding closer to Draco, getting to the point where he was actually behind the stunned Malfoy heir. Then his arm was wrapping around Draco’s neck in a gentle but firm headlock, and the barrel of his gun was pressed oh-so-very close to Draco’s right temple. Using Draco’s brief surprise, he swiftly turned to where his own back was facing the wall in order to see both Death Eaters behind him, as well as the elder Malfoy to the front.

“What the hell-?” Draco sputtered.

Duo cocked the gun, immediately silencing Draco. Even if the pureblood wizard didn’t know what the strange muggle weapon pressed close to his temple would actually do to him, the sound of such a thing was universally heart-stopping.

“Well,” Duo said cheerfully, his gaze flying from the two Death Eaters to the elder Malfoy and back again carefully. “We’re at a bit of an impasse, don’cha think?”

The elder Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his wand almost deceptively lowered at his side. “What do you think you’re doing, boy?”

“You should know, right? Being a Death Eater and all. I’m using my resources to my advantage. Example -I’m armed. My weapon is pressed against the head of your only son and heir. Considering that same weapon has a hairtrigger, I wouldn’t make any sudden moves, if I were you -the human skull is so very delicate. At this range, my buddy’s brains will be displayed very nicely all over this bust beside me. So, let’s play a game called Duo Says. Very simple game, mind you -you do as I say, and my buddy Draco here lives to see the sun rise. Got me?”

One of the Death Eaters to the right of him snorted derisively. “He’s bluffing. That’s not even a wand!”

Duo smirked coldly. “I know exactly seven hundred and twenty-three ways to kill a man with my bare hands alone, and I’ve only used approximately half of them. Unlike your sorry ass, I don’t need a wand to do my dirty work. Try me.”

“Maxwell,” Draco mumbled lowly.

“Now’s not the time to distract me, Draco,” Duo said kindly. “No hard feelings, right?”

“Are you serious?” Draco hissed. “You kill me, and I’m haunting you, Maxwell -haunting you for life!”

“Wouldn’t be any different from any other guy I’ve killed, man, but if it’s any consolation, I’d really regret killing you,” Duo replied. “I try to make it a habit to not kill my friends.”

“Then keep trying!”

“Your dad and his friends aren’t really giving me that option right now, man,” Duo muttered. He caught the sudden movement at the corner of his eye, and his arm whipped around, his finger squeezing down just in time for the muffled blast to ring out. The mask adorning the Death Eater’s face cracked, blood exploding from the back of his head as his limp, lifeless corpse slumped listlessly to the ground.

The gun was back at Draco’s temple again, not quite pressing into his skin, but close enough to where Draco could feel the sudden heat from the barrel.

“Duo didn’t say he could move,” Duo said coldly, all kindness drained from his voice. “Consider yourself lucky that I pointed this gun at that poor sap more out of reflex than anything else, Mr. Malfoy, or your son would have been very, very dead.”

END CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE