Harry Potter 1. World losers and world forsakers

In the Lap of the Gods  
  
(Summary: When the Room of Consequence shows two Hogwarts students their destinies, they both attempt to deny what they've seen. Can they deny fate?  
  
Pairing: Harry/Draco, perhaps others  
  
Author's Notes: Yes, this will be a fic with much Draco angst. *pets him* Blame Trelawney, the blasted woman, for getting the idea in my head. This will also switch from third person limited from Draco to Harry and even to Dumbledore every so often. Remember to review!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
In the Lap of the Gods  
  
Chapter One: World-losers and world-forsakers, on whom the pale moon gleams  
  
It started out as a pleasant beginning to the school year. The Slytherin had managed to make a cutting remark towards the Gryffindor gaggle, and the Weasley of the trio had turned an intense, splotchy puce and attempted to tackle him, held back by his friends. All in all, a very successful endeavor to get under their skin. Of course, it was all too easy to infuriate Ronald Weasley, but Draco Malfoy consoled himself that he had noticed the ears of his archrival, Harry Potter, slowly turning pink with outrage.  
  
A slight smirk was still curving his full lips as the fifth-year climbed up into the Divination classroom, the perfumed air overwhelming his senses for a moment. Choking back a cough, the blonde waved a mock-careless hand in front of his face and muttered to his two companions, "Crazy old bat. I wonder what 'divining miracles' we're learning this year." Scorn dripped from every syllable as he sauntered over to the nearest pillow, which was used as a seat. His two hulking cronies followed him, mumbling agreement to his words.  
  
During the summer, Draco Malfoy's body had begun the shift from a boy's into a man's. His slender frame had filled out so that while he was still lean, there was muscle on that pale body, giving hints to his outer strength. His visage seemed not so much thin and rat-like as delicate and almost feminine. (It was easy to wager, however, that Draco would hex anyone who even hinted at the idea that the Slytherin looked like a girl.) The Malfoy had let his mane grow so that the strands caressed his shoulders as he walked with a confident waltz to his step.  
  
Even as he settled into the cushion, strands of his mane caught the glow of a nearby candle and shifted from a whitish-yellow to molten silver. When he turned his head to smirk as the Gryffindor students began to arrive, the image of a silver aura around him disappeared.  
  
The Weasley seemed to be still fuming about the Mudblood comment because his freckled face was coated in cherry spots. The splotches did nothing for the redhead's coltish looks, and the Slytherin's sneer widened in cruel delight.  
  
"Crazy old bat, am I?" The unexpected voice beside him made the blonde bite back a yelp and swivel quickly to gaze at the displeased Seer before he regained his composure. Not that Draco believed a word about the woman having any powers in the first place. Still, she was a teacher, and the Malfoy wasn't about to fail because the professor had overheard his negative statement.  
  
So he turned his smirk into a smile for her, and stated in his politest tone that had always worked so well with Snape, "Of course not, Professor. I was simply repeating to Vincent and Gregory here what I overheard some other students saying."  
  
It was obvious that she didn't believe him, for an odd smirk twisted her visage as she murmured, "Of course, boy. We'll just see what you have to 'repeat' after the Room."  
  
"What?"  
  
Pale gray eyes the color of river-smoothened stones watched as the Divination teacher only smiled enigmatically and whisked off to speak with some of her Gryffindor pets. For a moment, the Slytherin felt a twinge of unease, but he brushed it aside after a moment. The woman was just being her typical idiotic self.  
  
He caught sight of the infamous Harry Potter glaring at him, and smirked back, focusing on more important matters. Now, how to get the brunet into detention during the first week of school? Hmm..  
  
Even as Draco mused upon the subject, Professor Trelawney cleared her throat and smiled that pseudo-perceptive smile of hers at the assembled students. "Well," she began in a sing-song voice, "another year has begun, and what a year it will be! I can See so many things, both good and bad, for you all." She spared a sympathetic glance towards Potter, who scowled back, and sighed heavily before continuing. "Still, I don't want you all to discourage just because some of you are doomed to die-"  
  
At this, Draco snorted and muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, "Wouldn't it be lovely if Potter actually died this year?" Both of his cronies nodded their agreement, spiteful grins twisting their faces.  
  
"-so I have gained permission from Dumbledore to use the Room of Consequence," Trelawney finished at the same time the blonde spoke.  
  
Whispers filled the room as the group glanced nervously at each other. What was the Room of Consequence? Perhaps Granger would have known, but the Mudblood was off in another class.  
  
"The Room of Consequence is an ancient, magical object," Trelawney explained, glancing around with her luminous eyes. "To a non-wizard, it seems like only a door that hasn't been added into a building's frame. With a special incantation, however, it will become a portal. Within that portal, you will watch the greatest decision of your life and witness the cost of your choice."  
  
The entire class fell silent at the idea, but Draco smirked. The greatest decision? It didn't sound so ominous. He could already imagine what the Room of Consequence would show him: The image of his assertive frame extending his arm towards the Dark Lord, awaiting the honor to become a Death Eater.  
  
"Um, Professor?" The class turned to gaze curiously at Neville Longbottom, who flushed at his own daring and began to stutter in that idiotic way of his. "W-what if your m-most important decision already, um, h-happened?"  
  
"Then you'll watch that decision and learn nothing of this lesson," stated Trelawney with a sniff, fixing the bumbling Gryffindor with a glare for daring to suggest that the Room of Consequence might be faulty. "I assume, by your interest, boy, that you'd like to go first."  
  
All the color drained from Longbottom's face, and Draco had to fight to keep from snickering from the glares that most of the Gryffindor horde was directing towards Trelawney. Even the professor's favorite students were frowning and casting anxious glances in Longbottom's direction. They were all so protective of the pathetic Squib, weren't they?  
  
"G-Go f-f-first?" Longbottom could barely squeak out the words, and was visibly trembling, his round face glistening with sweat. "B-But-"  
  
Ignoring the stuttering protests, Trelawney drew her wand and mumbled something under her breath. There was a long moment of silence, and then several Gryffindor gasped, for a mahogany structure of a closed door had appeared in the front of the room. The arrival had been soundless and unexpected, catching many students by surprise.  
  
Drawing her robes around her, the Divination professor sauntered towards the door. Her dark eyes were filled with a cagey intelligence as Longbottom began to tremble all the more violently. "This, boys and girls, is the Room of Consequence."  
  
Draco swept a contemptuous glance at the door, which stood, forlorn, beside the Seer. The mahogany wood was lovely, but the inscriptions seemed to have been carved in by a violent hand, marring the surface. The people who had created the Room of Consequence had not been happy when they made it. Somehow, this magical object wasn't something he expected Dumbledore to approve of. After all, from years of traveling through Knockturn Alley with his father, the blonde recognized the creation of a dark wizard.  
  
"Come forward, boy," he heard Trelawney command, and glanced up just in time to see Longbottom stumble towards the front of the room, his hazel eyes locked on the door. An expression of stricken terror was firmly imprinted in that ashen face as the plump Gryffindor quivered and sweated in front of the Room of Consequence. "Now, raise your wand and say, 'Aperuis,' boy. And don't stutter."  
  
"Aperuis," murmured Longbottom, and though his voice shook, he didn't stammer. His hazel eyes glowed in his face while the grayish hue intensified, and he wobbled on his feet as the door slowly opened to reveal pitch black emptiness. At the movement of the door, a chill wind blew through the room, and everyone, even Draco, shivered.  
  
"Now, enter."  
  
"P-Professor-" There was near anguish in the trembling boy's stutter as he turned beseeching eyes upon Trelawney, and the Slytherin might have snickered if he hadn't been so busy shuddering from the low temperature.  
  
"Go." There was a commanding rumble to the Divination teacher's words, and through his shivering, Draco cast the woman a suspicious glance. Was she on something? She was normally so mysterious and passive.  
  
A low, terrified sound escaped Longbottom before he gasped and lurched forward into the threatening void. His wand was quivering violently in his fist as his plump frame disappeared from view. The door swung shut with a slam behind him, and then there was silence. Unable to help it, Lavender Brown leapt from her seat and peeked around the door to see if Longbottom was there. She stumbled back to her seat, her attractive face pale and showing all that the near-Squib was indeed in the Room of Consequence.  
  
The entire group, even Draco, listened with bated breath for any sounds that might reach them through the door. Sure enough, a muted groan escaped the Room of Consequence. It was a sound of anguish and despair, and for a second the Slytherin felt pity for the Gryffindor. That passing madness quickly fled, however, and he simply listened with a neutral expression on his visage. Another moan, louder than the first, escaped the Room, but this cry was filled with some sort of horrible knowledge that only the Longbottom understood. Then there was a silence that lasted for five minutes, then ten.  
  
"P-Professor? Shouldn't Neville have come out by now?" the Gryffindor called Seamus Finnigan asked, his Irish accent thickening with his worry. The broken hush made everyone twitch, but Trelawney simply smiled and ignored the question.  
  
Another minute dragged on. The ensuing crash as the door was flung open earned a surprised yell from everyone, and they all gazed with widened eyes at the jet-black entryway of the Room. Where was Longbottom? A soft, frightened whimper ghosted out from the Room of Consequence before the darkness shifted and a hand came into view. The limb was shaky and the fingers curled desperately around a familiar wand. A second later, Longbottom came into view, crawling on all fours.  
  
It was obvious at first sight that something had gone horribly wrong. The Gryffindor's visage was filled with fear and bewilderment, and his large hazel eyes were empty save for those two emotions.  
  
"Neville!" At the cry, the boy gave a start, glancing up at the group as if he'd only just noticed them. His pale flesh became ashen once more, and Longbottom trembled in fear.  
  
"Ne-Ne-" There was something seriously wrong, because the Gryffindor couldn't seem to get his tongue around his own name. Longbottom choked and clutched at his wand, his hazel eyes widening with terror. "Ne-"  
  
"Neville! Are you all right?" Finnigan demanded, leaping from his seat and rushing to kneel beside the creeping boy. Blank hazel eyes met concerned grayish-green as Longbottom twisted to blink owlishly at the Irish lad.  
  
"Neh-vuh-" The Gryffindor was laboring over his name, his round face twisting in concentration.  
  
"Yes, yes you're Neville Longbottom." Finnigan's voice had taken on a gentle quality as he reached out a hand to brush a sweat-soaked tress of dirty blond away from Longbottom's eyes. "How about we get you to the infirmary?" Noting the confused look, the Irish boy added soothingly, "That's where we'll make sure you're not sick and help you talk again." It was surprising how quickly the normally idiotic Gryffindor slipped into the role of a serious protector.  
  
The trembling boy didn't acknowledge what he thought of the infirmary idea, but he didn't protest when Finnigan helped him to his feet. The hazel- eyed youth leaned heavily on the Irish lad, his legs wobbling as if he'd forgotten to walk as well as talk. The silent class watched as Finnigan helped Longbottom towards the rungs that would lead them downward, out of the classroom.  
  
"Let me help," Dean Thomas offered when they came to quandary of going down the ladder. Longbottom latched onto Finnigan and watched the dark boy with obvious suspicion as he made his way towards them. "Seamus, you can go down first and be there in case he slips, and I'll stand by the rungs to get him to go down."  
  
"Do you understand that, Neville? I'm going to climb down the ladder, and you'll have to come down after me. Dean will watch to make sure you don't get hurt."  
  
As Longbottom bit his lip and mumbled a garbled message that no one could translate, Draco glanced at Trelawney, wondering what the old bat was thinking. To his surprise, she looked slightly pleased, a small smirk on her visage. Now the Slytherin was sure that something was going on.  
  
Finnigan and Thomas spent the next ten minutes cajoling Longbottom into climbing down the rungs. There was a brief moment of fear through the Gryffindor side of the classroom when Finnigan shouted in surprise, for Longbottom had begun to slip, but just as quickly the Irish Gryffindor assured them with a shout that 'Neville was fine, just a bit shaken.'  
  
As Thomas turned away from the exit and glared accusingly in the teacher's direction, Trelawney smiled benignly. Any trace of a smirk was gone from her face, and she murmured, shaking her head, "It was as I feared. So many of you are doomed."  
  
"We shouldn't be using this if it's that dangerous!" Weasley roared, his entire face crimson with suppressed fury. "We don't even know if Neville's going to be all right!"  
  
"Oh, the affects will wear off," Trelawney assured them, although somehow Draco doubted that, judging from the glitter in her eyes that the Malfoy recognized all too well. It was a look his father often had when he was lying just to get his own gains. Then her shimmering eyes flickered around to land upon the Slytherin, and he felt an odd prickling sensation on his neck. It was as if he should recognize that intense look as something other than what it was. "Well, Malfoy, is this class anything you thought 'a crazy old bat' could come up with?"  
  
Draco managed to smirk, shifting into his arrogant role easily. "Definitely not, Professor. I wouldn't have thought Dumbledore approved of this." After all, there was no way that Trelawney could have gotten this magical object except from Knockturn Alley. The Slytherin was now totally certain of this.  
  
"Well, he did. Now, Malfoy, it's your turn."  
  
A cocky sneer lingered upon the blonde's face as he glanced at the stunned Gryffindor. "Me? Go in after what happened to Longbottom? Dear professor, you must think me mad." The disdainful words lingered in and filled up the space, choking students not already suffocating upon the perfumed air.  
  
A bitter smile twisted Trelawney's lips before she replied to the boy's mocking comment. "No, not insane. Slytherin."  
  
The statement caught Draco off-guard, and he blinked owlishly before a wry look replaced his smirk. "I'm cunning, Professor, and therefore not foolish enough to fall for your trap."  
  
"Ah, but you are a Slytherin, and that means you have pride. Is a Malfoy really so frightened to enter the Room of Consequence?" Condescension thickened the words as they spilled from the woman's thin mouth.  
  
The blonde lifted his head in defiance even as he acknowledged her trick that he had been led like a lamb to. If he backed down, he would be a coward; if he accepted her challenge, he might end up like Longbottom.  
  
"Come on, Malfoy! What's the worst that can happen? We all know that you'll see yourself accepting the Dark Mark from You-Know-Who!" snarled Weasley, and several Gryffindor mumbled agreement.  
  
Draco glanced in Weasley's direction, keeping his porcelain visage controlled. Somehow, it wasn't amusing that the redhead had seemed to picture the same thing he had. Still, a mocking smile flitted across his face before he drawled, "Weasel, that was never a decision. That is my fate." As his haughty words filled the room, he drew his wand and stated, "Aperuis."  
  
The door opened and beckoned the Slytherin forward with icy caresses. Casting a superior gaze around at the assembled students, Draco Malfoy let his mouth twist into a confident smile and sauntered into the Room of Consequence.  
  
* * *  
  
The group of pupils watched as the door slammed shut with an ill- omened boom, and every ear strained during the ensuing silence to hear if Malfoy made any noise. Harry Potter was possibly the most attentive listener. Emerald eyes watched the entry as the hush loitered for two minutes, three minutes, five minutes. Even if the Potter disliked the Slytherin with a passion, the former didn't want him to end up like Neville had. The quietness was finally broken when a soft sound reached Harry's ears. Malfoy had laughed, but to the brunet's surprise it had been a laugh of disbelief, as if the blonde hadn't accepted what he was seeing.  
  
Unaware that he was biting his lower lip, Harry was so intent on listening for more of his archrival's incredulity that he didn't realize that a very furious Minerva McGonagall had scrambled up the ladder until she spoke, her voice harsh.  
  
"Sybil, Mr. Finnigan has informed me that-" The words died her throat as the Transfiguration teacher's stern gaze fell upon the Room of Consequence. "Merlin's beard, Sybil, what have you done?" The horror in her voice made more than a few students shift upon their pillows in gestures of unease. What /had/ the teacher done? "Dumbledore would /never/ allow this cursed thing into Hogwarts!"  
  
Trelawney offered the group a triumphant sneer, her visage contorting into a look that obviously was not her own. "That's quite all right. I've finished with my game. I hope Malfoy enjoys the Room." As soon as the taunting words left her lips, the Seer's eyes rolled and she crumpled towards the floor like a puppet whose strings had been sliced.  
  
It was at that point when Malfoy began to scream.  
  
Harry's breath caught in his throat as the Slytherin shrieked. No longer incredulous, the noise was of comprehension, fury, and misery all fused together into yells of raw emotion. The sounds of the blonde's anguish rang through the room for three minutes, six minutes, nine minutes.  
  
It took that long for Dean to get Dumbledore to the classroom.  
  
The headmaster's eyes blazed so fiercely that everyone's eyes watered from the azure orbs' intensity. Raising his wand, the man shouted a sharp command. Almost grudgingly, the door began to creak open, releasing another burst of cold that made everyone shiver in their seats.  
  
"Mister Malfoy?" Dumbledore's gentle call filled the room as the anxious students watched the doorway, gazing hopefully into the darkness.  
  
Then the dark entrance shifted, and a shadowy frame filled the doorway. There stood Malfoy, a stricken look on his pale face. Sweat trickled down from his forehead, making it seem as if the salty liquid was tears, streaming down his haunted face. Voice hoarse from incessant cries, he nevertheless struggled to speak. "Never." Wide gray eyes flickered wildly around the room while his white-knuckled hands grasped at the doorframe. Fingernails scarred the wood and he clung to the framework, as if he would crumple upon release. "Do you hear me? Never!"  
  
"Mister Malfoy?" The headmaster used the same mild tone as before, and Malfoy quivered violently as his head jerked towards the white-haired wizard. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he stumbled forward, leaving the safety of the doorframe.  
  
"Damn-damn you, Albus. Where-where were you? We were supposed to attack-" A crazed look had entered those intense gray eyes as the Slytherin shuddered but looked accusingly towards the headmaster. It was obvious his mind thought he was still in the Room of Consequence. "We needed you-needed to be ready- I needed him safe." Hopelessness slipped into the blonde's rambling, and his eyes flickered wildly around once more, as if searching for someone.  
  
Emerald green clashed with stone gray, and Malfoy shuddered, anguish and fury warring for dominance on his wan face. No longer rambling, those eyes hardened with undeniable hatred. "Never," was rasped out. "Never, Potter!"  
  
The defiant name wrenched itself from the boy's raw throat, and then stone gray was hidden from the world as Malfoy swayed on his feet and fell to the floor. The blonde was deathly still as he lost consciousness, and lay like a broken porcelain doll, his silvery-blond tendrils splayed around him, like an otherworldly, sacred halo. Harry couldn't help but stare as the flickering candles illuminated the Slytherin's halo. How could that crumpled figure look so wretched and yet innocent at the same time?  
  
Dumbledore glanced between the forlorn figures of Malfoy and Trelawney, and looked far older than Harry had ever seen him. "Minerva, please take Mister Malfoy to the infirmary. I'll take Sibyl there after I figure out what possessed her so." Azure eyes flickered around the room. "Students, please go to your common rooms and stay there. I will be questioning you all one by one, but I promise to explain everything to the school once I learn exactly what happened."  
  
"Professor Trelawney wasn't acting herself, Headmaster," Lavender Brown offered in a meek tone as the students clambered down the ladder to flee to the safety of their common rooms. The pupils were all too willing to discuss what just took place, but all preferred to do so in the safety of the common room where a warm, soothing fireplace awaited them.  
  
"Thank you, Miss Brown." There was a weary note to the wizard's voice as he turned back towards the Room of Consequence and fixed his blue gaze open it.  
  
Harry was the last one to climb down the ladder, so it was only he who saw the look of total rage that contorted the headmaster's face as Dumbledore snapped a single, powerful word, and it was only he who saw the Room of Consequence slam shut and give a convulsive quiver before bursting into eerie, sky-blue flames.  
  
Feeling a shiver rack his thin frame, the Gryffindor slipped down the rungs, his emerald green eyes empty. Even as Ron tugged him in the direction of the common room, the Boy Who Lived wondered what on earth had just happened.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus Dumbledore felt suddenly extremely old. Every joint in his usually nimble frame ached as he glanced at Minerva, who was watching the flames with a stunned blankness to her eyes. Exhaustion evident in his tone, the headmaster whispered, "Please take Mister Malfoy to the infirmary, Minerva. I'll see what possessed Sibyl."  
  
"She-she said, 'That's quite all right. I've finished with my game. I hope Malfoy enjoys the Room,' right before she fainted, Albus. It wasn't Sibyl who said it though. I suspect Imperius." The astounded Transfiguration teacher waved her wand and began to usher the unconscious Slytherin down the ladder, mentally thanking Merlin that she could use magic instead having to haul Draco Malfoy down the rungs like Finnigan had had to for the unfortunate Mr. Longbottom.  
  
Albus glanced at the motionless form of Sibyl Trelawney until Minerva and her floating charge were a ways away. His eyes studied the relaxed, oblivious face of one of his favorite teachers. After all, her rivalry against Minerva was incredibly amusing. Shifting his wand in his hand and wincing at the arthritis pain that randomly plagued him and had chosen to today of all days, he pointed the wand towards Sibyl and dragged her from the realm of oblivion with a single, soft command.  
  
Her eyelashes fluttered as her expression shifted to one of confusion even while the headmaster murmured a spell that would inform him when she was lying. "Head-Headmaster?" There was a note of bewilderment in her slurred inquiry as her blurred eyes focused on him.  
  
"Do you remember anything, Sibyl?"  
  
Disorientation remained in her eyes as the Divination teacher blinked and attempted to sit up, wincing when her body protested. Then, as fast as lightning, realization struck. Immediately, the Seer panicked, her hands waving wildly in the air as she stumbled over her words. "Oh no! The-the Death Eater, Albus! He forced me- the Imperius- he wanted- the Room of Consequence!" Her luminous eyes filled with tears, and she looked completely beside herself. "I could-oh Albus!-I tried- the Room- Did I use it?"  
  
"Yes, Sibyl. Under the Imperius curse, you were forced to send two students into the Room of Consequence," Albus informed her, his tone grave, as the woman shuddered.  
  
"I'm so sorry-" A look of horror flitted across her face as her scrambled brain managed to connect with the fact that she had been teaching a group of fifth years. "Not Potter?" Although she normally intoned the boy's doom, her colorless face assured him that she didn't actually want the boy dead.  
  
"No." His keen blue eyes locked onto Sibyl's, and the woman found herself spell-bound, caught in his severe gaze. "Did you get a glance at the Death Eater, Sibyl?"  
  
The Seer shook her head, still looking distraught. Her spindly fingers trembled as she fumbled with her mussed robes. "No, no, I didn't. He was wearing a mask. Who did I send in there?"  
  
"Did he say anything unusual?" Albus' inquiry was carefully impassive.  
  
"Albus, please! He said nothing, only forced the Imperius curse upon me! Who did I send into that terrible room?"  
  
"Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. Now, tell me, Sibyl. You really have no idea why on earth a Death Eater would want to send Lucius Malfoy's only son into that evil place?"  
  
Sibyl shook her head, looking completely distraught. "Why-why would a Death Eater send one of his fellow members' sons into the Room?"  
  
"That," stated Albus in a grim tone, feeling his arthritis pains start up once more, "is precisely what I would like to know."  
  
* * *  
  
"Harry?" Dark brown orbs met the boy's equally dark green eyes as Dean Thomas hovered before him, the dark-skinned lad looking uncertain. "I've just finished my chat with Dumbledore in his office. He says it's your turn."  
  
"My turn?" Harry knew he sounded like a bemused idiot, but he couldn't help it. Malfoy's loathing 'Never, Potter!' kept ringing through his head. What had the Slytherin been rambling about? What had he seen in the Room of Consequence?  
  
It took him a moment to realize that Dean had begun speaking once more. "- wants to talk to you about what happened to Neville and Malfoy, I s'pose. Listen, if you see Seamus.." At this point, the football-loving youth faltered and looked uncertain. "Tell him if he needs me, I'll be in the dormitory, resting."  
  
"I will." As the promise flowed from his lips, Harry saw the look of relief that flitted across Dean's face, and wondered at the boy's earlier insecurity. "He's still with Neville then?"  
  
The taller Gryffindor shrugged his slender shoulders, biting down on his lower lip. "Pomfrey won't let any student into the infirmary, but I think Seamus stayed by Neville's side." Deep brown eyes clouded when the Irish lad's best friend considered something, and Harry watched as Dean wandered away, a small frown lingering on the dark youth's handsome visage.  
  
The Potter glanced around at the common room, startled to find that all the other years had come from their classes while he had been lost to his musings, and were now questioning the drained fifth-years. Ron was waving his hands wildly, a scowl on his freckled visage as Fred and George interrogated him. Green eyes sought out Hermione, and found his other best friend huddled in a corner, murmuring something to a white-faced Ginny.  
  
"-I told you, Fred! Dumbledore will tell us what happened!" Ron's exasperated yell made Harry start, and the Potter realized that the headmaster was waiting for him. He wondered if everyone else had been questioned, but brushed the thought aside as he hurried from the common room and into the hallway.  
  
Harry breathed in almost desperately, enjoying the sensation of semi-fresh atmosphere and the sensation of cool air against his heated flesh. It had been far too crammed in the Gryffindor common room.  
  
'Never, Potter!' The Gryffindor fought the shudder that racked his frame as Malfoy's pale, troubled face filled his vision. Would that image and shout haunt him forever? A cold reminder of Cedric's lifeless visage assured him that the memory of Malfoy would fade with time, though others would not.  
  
Perhaps Dumbledore would be able to tell him what the blond Slytherin had seen. The thought quickened his pace, and Harry nearly sprinted the rest of the way to the headmaster's office. He was out of breath when he reached entryway, glancing up at McGonagall as the professor frowned at him.  
  
"Fix your glasses, Potter," she declared, for they had been rattled askew by his jogging. Her following tone was not unkind, and Harry noticed that the Transfiguration teacher looked rather tired. "Dumbledore will see you now."  
  
"Thank you." His voice sounded strained to his own ears, and his fingers trembled as he settled his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. Wanting to bite his lower lip in a nervous gesture like Dean had, the Gryffindor stumbled into Dumbledore's office.  
  
His rapidly pounding heart was calmed somewhat by the sight of Fawkes, who was preening and didn't notice him at first. When the headmaster smiled and motioned for Harry to have a seat, however, the phoenix glanced at the boy. Instantly, a sweet melody soothed him as Fawkes welcomed him into the office.  
  
Dumbledore chuckled, but it was not as cheerful a sound as usual. Even his blue gaze was dimmed somewhat as he stated, "Well, Harry, it seems Fawkes remembers you. He completely ignored all the other students except Seamus, but that was because-" The headmaster cut himself off and motioned for the Gryffindor to sit.  
  
Harry settled into a comfortable purple chair that seemed to swallow him and lull him into a sense of security. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he relaxed into the softness, but he opened his eyes as Dumbledore spoke once more.  
  
"Harry, would you please tell me exactly, in your own eyes, what went on during your Divinations class today?"  
  
So the Potter did. He told Dumbledore about how Trelawney had seemed normal until she had revealed the Room of Consequence, how she had assured everyone that the headmaster had declared the object safe to use, how she had bullied Neville into entering the Room and what had happened to the plump Gryffindor, how she had tricked Malfoy into entering the Room, and finally how she had fainted after McGonagall's arrival. When he finished, Dumbledore looked grave.  
  
Pressing his fingers together, the headmaster rested his azure gaze upon Harry. "So you have no idea what Mr. Malfoy was talking about when he yelled at you, Harry?" A shake of ebon tresses assured Dumbledore that Harry was clueless, and the white-haired man sighed. "Thank you for your time. I have to speak with Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Malfoy before discussing anything with the school, but from my studies of the Room of Consequence.." Dumbledore sighed once more, looking far older than Harry had ever perceived him.  
  
"Is-is Neville going to be all right?" Harry's inquiry was almost timid, and his emerald eyes were focused upon the headmaster's wan face as he waited for an answer.  
  
"I hope so, Harry, but many people have come from the Room of Consequence destroyed because of what they've seen," was Dumbledore's grave response. "Now, I need to speak to Poppy and see if Mr. Longbottom has regained any of his speaking ability and if Mr. Malfoy has awakened."  
  
Numbness swept through him at those frank words. Neville had to be all right. What would the Gryffindor fifth-years do without the round boy's eager expertise in Herbology and the weekly explosions in Potions? He rose from the chair, an image of Neville's terrified, haunted face filling his vision.  
  
Harry didn't know how he managed to wander past McGonagall and end up in front of the Fat Lady, but it took quite a few minutes for the brunet to remember the brand-new password. As he finally fumbled for the correct saying, he fled up to the dormitory to collapse on his own bed. Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice that Dean's breathing was not like a sleeping person's.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus rubbed his forehead as he gazed upon an unconscious Draco Malfoy. He knew shock was keeping the blonde from regaining consciousness, and because of that he had to wait until Draco's body allowed him to rouse. Feeling a headache begin, the headmaster turned in the direction of where Neville Longbottom huddled against Seamus, his dirty blond curls shielding his face from view as the round-faced boy kept his countenance pressed into his Irish companion's shoulder. After a frantic struggle with Poppy as she had attempted to check him for any injuries, Neville had clung to Seamus and refused to move. His bemused wits had become fixated on the idea that being near the Irish Gryffindor meant he was safe, but at least that kept him calm.  
  
"Mr. Finnigan?" Seamus glanced up at his name, his grayish-green eyes revealing his inner anguish as his companion twitched and pressed himself closer. "Do you think you could try to get Neville to speak? It would help me if I knew what he had gone through."  
  
"Of-of course, sir." Even as Albus watched, the Irish lad raised a hand to gently stroke Neville's dirty blond curls and began to murmur soft words of encouragement to the traumatized boy. The headmaster had never seen the jolly Gryffindor so serious as he attempted to convince Neville that it would be a good thing if he spoke.  
  
As Seamus' gentle whispering filled the infirmary, Albus returned his attention to a certain lifeless Slytherin. His keen eyes detected a slight tremor in those ashen cheeks, and the man knew that Draco would soon return to the land of the conscious. Draco's golden lashes were beginning to flutter weakly when the door to the infirmary opened with a loud bang.  
  
An irate Lucius Malfoy and a nervous Narcissa entered the room even as Draco's eyelashes stilled and his delicate features relaxed. His subconscious had ordered a hasty retreat at the threatening sound of the door.  
  
"Dumbledore, what the hell has happened to my son?" Lucius' demand was sharp with fury, and in the ensuing silence, Albus heard Neville's muffled whimper.  
  
The headmaster turned just in time to see Seamus direct a loathing glare in the older Malfoy's direction. Shimmering locks of golden light-brown fell in front of the Irish lad's face as he continued to soothe his fellow Gryffindor.  
  
"Lucius, lower your voice. We have two students who have gone through a painful experience, and your anger is not helping matters," Albus commanded, his words soft but sharp. "The better question would be: Why would a Death Eater trick /your/ son into entering the Room of Consequence?"  
  
Narcissa paled and swayed on the spot, her mouth opening to form a silent motion of surprise. Her husband ignored the swaying blonde as resentment sharpened his features. "Well, he's no use to me as an heir now, no matter who caused this," Lucius snarled, casting an annoyed glare in the direction of his son's bed. "The Room of Consequence will have left him insane. It's St. Mungo's for him."  
  
Seamus' gasp of fear was audible in the oppressive silence that followed the Malfoy's outburst, and Albus narrowed his eyes. "Now, now, Lucius, some people have left the Room of Consequence with their minds intact. Judging from the fact that your son knew how to formulate sentences and that he was able to understand when he was out of the Room, he might be one from that group." His tone was as mild as always, contradicting his inner feelings. Though he couldn't help but wish that the dark creator of the Room had not made it so that the victims' memories couldn't be modified. Then perhaps the blonde would have been more lenient.  
  
Pale gray eyes flickered in the direction of Seamus and Neville, and a nasty sneer formed on Lucius' lips. "Oh, and I suppose /that/ boy will emerge from this experience wonderfully?"  
  
"Mr. Longbottom will be fine." The resolute declaration made an elegant eyebrow raise.  
  
"So that's Frank Longbottom's son?" The spiteful smirk never fled his lips. "I'm certain he won't mind joining his par-"  
  
"Be. Quiet." The sharpness of Albus' words could have slashed through flesh, /would/ have stabbed at the older Malfoy's delicate visage and sent crimson liquid trickling down his porcelain face. "Neville will be fine. I'll make sure of that."  
  
"Draco." The whisper escaped Narcissa's mouth and both men glanced at her, taking in her sallow face and wide, alarmed eyes. The blonde seemed about to faint, still swaying precariously. "Is-will he-"  
  
"Shut up, Narcissa." The cool command made the frightened woman shrink back, her entire posture caving in into a gesture of defeat. For a second, she seemed like a lost, frightened girl before Lucius snapped, "Go back to the Manor. I'll deal with this."  
  
"Yes, Lucius." The meek agreement filled the air as Narcissa Malfoy turned and strode out of the infirmary, her shoulders bowed.  
  
When Lucius turned back towards Albus, he was much his distant, poised self again. He tossed his head before a slight smirk curved his lips. When the blonde spoke, it was brusque and almost uncaring. "Really, Dumbledore, you don't have to be so sweet. My son went into the Room of Consequence. Whatever he saw was horrifying, which means he saw himself not accepting the Mark from the Dark Lord or something to that effect. Why should I even bother to care for my son if that is his fate?" His cold gray eyes didn't bother flickering towards Seamus, for it was obvious Lucius didn't think that the lad was a threat.  
  
"You know as well as I, Lucius, that the Room of Consequence shows the most important decision of a person's life, but at the same time, it's the choice that affects as many people as possible. Draco might have sacrificed himself for Voldemort and then seen Harry Potter defeat him anyway."  
  
Lucius raised an eyebrow once more, looking almost amused. "Very well then, Dumbledore, I'll wait until Draco wakes up, but if he says anything about not joining me by Voldemort's side, /something/ will have to be done." A warning note lingered in the room, and Albus knew what that warning was.  
  
"I will not allow you to take Draco from Hogwarts if you're going to kill him, Lucius, and every student has the right to claim sanctuary within these walls," the headmaster warned. "Draco is no exception."  
  
"Ah, and that sanctuary so saved Cedric Diggory last year." Lucius' mordant reply made anger stir within Albus' breast, and the white-haired man knew his eyes were flashing with reproof.  
  
A low sound interrupted them, and the two men turned to gaze down upon Draco as the blonde began to revive. His refined features contorted for a moment before his golden lashes fluttered open to reveal bewildered gray.  
  
* * *  
  
// It's so cold. So very, very cold. Is Harry safe? Where is Albus? Voldemort is here, and he's going to hurt Harry. Have to stop him, have to- //  
  
"Draco." Lucius' tone was formal, but his son jerked up to a sitting position, his eyes widening. Draco's heart pounded wildly in his chest as his eyesight blurred and then cleared. Befuddled gray clashed with distant gray before the young blonde fell back into mental ramblings.  
  
// -protect Harry. Wait. That voice. Those cold features. Has Voldemort conjured an apparition? I watched my father fall like a forlorn, shattered toy after Harry used the Curse- //  
  
"Father?" The fair boy's response held more than a hint of disbelief. "But you're dead!" His trembling lips formed the words and didn't acknowledge his audacity to call the man of living flesh and bone before him deceased.  
  
"Excuse me?" The older Malfoy's tone was cold, but the cerebral tangents had begun again, softer but still intense.  
  
// -to send Lucius falling, broken forever, upon the green grass, months ago. Where is Albus? He promised to be here hours ago. The battle's raging. Everywhere, screams and shouts of the Unforgivable Curses as countless lives are ended. Where's Albus? //  
  
Dawning comprehension filled his mind as the mumbles wavered and finally ceased in his dazed mind, and Draco felt himself blanch. He was out of the Room, safe in a world that was real, and his father was gazing at him with unsympathetic eyes. "I-I mean, in the Room. It can't be true, Father- I won't let it be true!" Panic tinged his words despite his struggles to regain his composure. However, his self-control had been stolen by the Room, and he had lost any semblance of poise. "I won't let you die!"  
  
"What exactly did you see, Draco?" Compared to his father's remote tone in regards to his son, Dumbledore's voice would normally have been unbearably kind to a prideful soul such as Draco Malfoy.  
  
* * *  
  
At the moment, however, the blonde didn't seem to care about the tones of the men as a stricken look fixated itself on his countenance. An uneasy glance towards his father assured Albus that what Draco had seen would not please Lucius in the slightest. "I-I saw Potter's defeat of the V-of the Dark Lord." There was an edgy quaver to the Slytherin's words, so unlike his standard, self-assured manner.  
  
"And that is why you glared at Harry and said, 'Never, Potter!' before you fainted?" Albus persisted in his questioning, keeping a wary eye on the older Malfoy.  
  
Again, troubled gray eyes flickered towards his father before Draco mumbled, "Er, yes, that's why. Stupid Potter will /never/ kill the Dark Lord!" There wasn't any conviction to his words, however, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on the boy's forehead.  
  
He should have waited for a few more hours to question the Malfoy this thoroughly in front of his father, Albus realized. It was too much of a strain for him, and Draco was already so jittery that he couldn't lie to save his life. That, incidentally, was what he was attempting to do.  
  
"Don't lie, boy." The Slytherin's father loomed over him, his eyes cold as ice. His facial expression shifted to one of contempt. "The Room showed that you never took the Mark."  
  
"Please, Father, it won't happen. The Room was wrong. I'll be a Death Eater, I swear it!" Sweat trickled down the blonde's face as his tone became frantic and almost pitiful. Shaking hands grasped desperately at his bedspread, and Draco looked about to faint once more.  
  
"The Room of Consequence is never wrong, boy."  
  
"Father, please!"  
  
"You're no son of mine, Draco. You're not even fit to be a Malfoy, much less my heir." As the cruel declaration filled the air, Lucius gathered his robes about himself and turned to stalk out of the infirmary and away from the son he had just disowned.  
  
"I won't let Harry kill you!" The hysterical yell seemed to echo through the infirmary as the older Malfoy's footsteps faltered.  
  
"/Harry/, boy?" The question was unemotional, hiding the emotions that the Death Eater might have been feeling. Lucius stood still, his back to his son as Albus watched Draco's thin face contort.  
  
The delicate features of the blonde shifted into harsh lines of weariness and despair as the fifth-year fumbled for something, anything to say to his father. His impassive mannerisms had been stolen by the Room as a despondent expression filled his face. "I mean, Potter. Not Harry, never Harry. Why would I fall in-" The words halted on his lips, and Draco looked horrified.  
  
"Why would you fall in what, boy?"  
  
"Fall in-fall into Potter's trap!" The lie faltered on Draco's lips, and the silence that resulted was filled with an eerie impression that someone, somewhere, was mocking the young Slytherin's pitiful attempts to tell an untruth. "He won't trick me now that I know what he did!" Wide gray eyes remained fixed upon his father's back, and the blonde swallowed desperately before plunging forward. "I won't do it, Father! I swear! Please, Mother will believe me! Where is she?"  
  
"Running to your mother for help, boy?" came Lucius' cool response. "She always coddled you. I should have sent you to Durmstrang and ignored her concerns. Maybe then you wouldn't be such a disappointment."  
  
Draco reacted as if he had been slapped, crumpling back against the white pillows. His thin face drained of all color so that he nearly seemed camouflaged against the pale sheets. "Please, Father." The broken whisper was almost imploring.  
  
"A Malfoy doesn't beg. It seems you never quite learned that, boy. You were forever begging me for attention." With a dismissive note to his final words, Lucius added, "I shall have the house-elves send your belongings to Hogwarts." Without another word, the Death Eater swept from the room, leaving two Gryffindor, a Slytherin, and a very weary headmaster alone in the infirmary.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco closed his eyes in a gesture of defeat as the Room's dark thoughts crowded into his mind again. A shiver racked his frame as the icy chill swept his body once more, but this time the Slytherin didn't bother to protest. After all, a Malfoy doesn't beg. So he fell against the soft pillows and let the whispers engulf him.  
  
// Voldemort is somewhere in this chaotic mass of dying witches and wizards. He's after Harry. I have to get to Harry and protect him. Where is Albus? Why hasn't the damned old fool come? Harry! Harry, you can't die, not today! Not now! We have to fight the Dark Lord together. We have to kill the bastard so this can all end. Where is Albus? //  
  
Everything was growing darker. Even the faint light against his closed eyelids had become dim. All was spiraling into darkness, and Draco Malfoy was going to die years earlier than he was supposed to, choking on his own scream of misery.  
  
Perspiration stung his flesh as the droplets of sweat seemed to turn to frost upon his freezing body. Shudders racked his frame, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything but what had happened.  
  
// Damn! Everything's going wrong! Harry, Harry, where are you? Please, Harry! You promised! We'll fight Voldemort together! Harry! Merlin damn you, you stubborn fool, you promised! Where's Albus? Severus! Severus, where the hell is Albus? //  
  
"/Draco/!" The sensations of hands grabbing his quivering shoulders pulled him somewhat from the Room's reality, and he blinked and stared into familiar blue eyes. Anger seized him, and his freezing visage twisted into a look of frustration.  
  
"Albus! Where the hell were you! We need to-we need to stop Harry-" Two realities warred for dominance, and for a moment, Draco could simply shiver as the coldness nipped at his marrow.  
  
"Draco, that was the Room of Consequence. You're fifteen years old and in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Please, calm down and let me talk to you."  
  
"Talk to you?" the blonde bit out, his throat closing tight in misery and choking him as the Room won the skirmish once more. What had Voldemort done to make Albus say such insane things? "Talk to you! Albus, what kind of game are you playing? Harry, we have to protect Harry! Voldemort, he'll- "  
  
Those hands shook him again, and the familiar blue eyes flashed. "Draco Malfoy, that's not happening! I told you, Voldemort is nowhere near the infirmary, and Harry Potter is perfectly safe! Don't let the Room of Consequence destroy you."  
  
In the back of his mind, Draco felt the murmur begin that perhaps Albus was telling the truth. Perhaps he wasn't on the battlefield, smelling the scent of death, hearing the far-off cries as wizards fell to the Killing Curse. His hands groped out blindly and seized soft cloth. "Albus?" His voice wavered, and the Slytherin fought the urge to scowl. He hated being seen as weak, even in front of Harry, and Albus was no exception.  
  
"Please, Draco, you're safe. Harry's safe. Calm down and come back to reality." Albus' voice was insufferably compassionate, and the blonde's pride rankled.  
  
"Don't use that tone with me, Albus. I'm fine! I-" The memories that had crowded his head since he had staggered from the Room dissolved into a dizzying jumble of thoughts and sounds, and vertigo struck him. For a long moment, everything whirled around him and he was the center of a dizzying universe.  
  
When the vertigo finally slowed and stopped, Draco's vision cleared to see Dumbledore watching him anxiously. The sounds and scents of the infirmary washed over him, and his shivering frame eased its trembles somewhat as his mind finally connected with what the headmaster had been saying all along. Then he remembered his father. "Father-Father left?"  
  
"I'm afraid so, Draco." Dumbledore's eyes were filled with something akin to relief, and Draco assumed it was because he had finally dragged himself from the grip of the cursed Room.  
  
"Where-where will I go on holidays?"  
  
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled to some extent. "You can stay here."  
  
* * *  
  
The sour look the teen directed his way lightened the headmaster's spirits, and he chuckled, glad to see that the young Malfoy had returned to reality. "Please, Draco, it won't be that horrible. Severus has offered you his spare room so you won't be in the Slytherin Tower alone."  
  
The sour look faded slightly and instead Draco simply sneered, looking much himself again. "Well, that's better than nothing, I suppose." Even the drawling note was back into his voice as the blonde managed to regain most of his composure.  
  
"Can you tell me what you saw?"  
  
Gray eyes surveyed the headmaster, and a faint smirk curved his lips, though his eyes were oddly empty. "What do you want me to say? I refused the Death Mark and fled like a kicked puppy to your side and became 'friends' with Potter. In the Final Battle, I sacrificed my life for that sorry excuse of a Boy Who Lived."  
  
"You died?"  
  
A grim smile flickered across that ashen face. "Precisely, Headmaster. Would you care for me to go into details?" Sarcasm filled his words at the question, and the dour grin remained. Then suddenly the look was gone, replaced by total rage.  
  
Caught off-guard by the hate-filled expression, Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder to see what the boy was staring at, and finally remembered the two Gryffindor. Seamus had a staggered look on his face, while Neville peeked in Draco's direction and looked uncomprehending at the blonde's hatred.  
  
"What are you two looking at?" Draco snarled, his thin face flushed as his eyes glittered in a dangerous way. It was clear that he was not pleased with the thought that the two Gryffindor had seen him at a moment of weakness.  
  
His harsh tone caught Neville by surprise, for the plump boy mumbled something apologetic and buried his face in the Irish boy's neck once more. Meanwhile, Seamus shook his head slowly, an odd expression on his features. "I don't know, Malfoy. I honestly don't know," was his puzzled answer before he began to calm Neville down.  
  
* * *  
  
It was at that point when the door flew open for a second time, and the infirmary flooded with anxious people who could be none other than Neville's assorted relatives. Seamus gazed around at the varying wizards and witches, and attempted to ignore Malfoy's smirk as an old woman wearing a hideous hat turned her beady eyes upon the Irish lad and marched towards him.  
  
"What are you doing with my grandson?" she fairly screeched, her thin face puce with anger. A cane narrowly missed breaking Seamus' nose as the old woman waved it at him in a threatening gesture. The Irish boy flinched away, but couldn't move, held down by his fellow Gryffindor.  
  
"Mrs. Longbottom-" Dumbledore began, and the old woman whirled to face the white-haired man.  
  
"Headmaster Dumbledore, would you care to explain /what/ exactly has happened to my grandson?" Her tone was imperious, and vaguely Seamus remembered his parents discussing the old wizarding families and the fact that the Longbottom lineage was quite famous. Apparently, that meant she thought she could order Dumbledore around.  
  
The Irish boy noticed the headmaster looking slightly amused at the order before the glittering blue orbs became serious once more. "I'm afraid young Neville was tricked into entering the Room of Consequence."  
  
Instantly, the room burst into pandemonium, and as Neville squeaked and pressed even closer to him, Seamus Finnigan began to develop a migraine.  
  
(Author's Notes: The title of the chapter was inspired by an excerpt from a poem by A. W. E. O'Shaughnessy. It was about poets, but I figured it fit the story adequately. *grins* I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. One other note: Some people might consider Draco slightly out of character, but because of happened, he really wasn't. He and Neville are both going to be affected by their experiences in the Room of Consequence, and that point Draco couldn't keep his mask of confidence on. Please, any questions, suggestions, criticisms, are welcome! ~Cinaed) 


	2. My heart is stone, yet still it trembles

In the Lap of the Gods  
  
(Summary: When the Room of Consequence shows two Hogwarts students their destinies, they both attempt to deny what they've seen. Can they deny fate?  
  
Disclaimers: Oh, I forgot to mention, I don't own any of the crew that JK Rowling created. *whistles innocently* Did I fool you?  
  
Pairing: Harry/Draco, perhaps others  
  
Author's Thanks: AnaRae, Your Silencer, blade-princess, Kimmy, Tramill De Laxson, KittenBabyGirl, Lanevaly, chibidark angel, and MAD_Clown for reviewing.  
  
Author's Notes: To answer several reviewers' question, yes, it was a bit odd for Lucius and Draco to discuss the Dark Mark and being Death Eaters in front of Albus. However, you must remember that Draco was in a bit of a shock, and Lucius is, well, Lucius. From what I know about the character, it seems to me that he's overconfident. There's no way that Albus can have him arrested for being a Death Eater because the Ministry is ruled by Cornelius Fudge, who is under Lucius' thumb. Needless to say, Lucius knew that Albus would know that he was one of Voldemort's major supporters because Voldemort named him at his restoration and Harry Potter survived to tell the tale, and thusly Lucius enjoyed the ability to flaunt that fact when Albus couldn't arrest him. He also didn't consider Seamus much of a threat, so there was no harm done there either. I mean, who's Seamus gonna tell? No one important, in the Malfoy's eyes.  
  
I hope that explanation did my reasoning justice. Please, remember to review!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
In the Lap of the Gods  
  
Chapter Two: My heart is stone, yet still it trembles  
  
Seamus winced slightly as (or at least it seemed to him) a needle pierced through his skull and burrowed into his brain. The agonized waves pulsated within his head. Meanwhile, Neville's relatives bellowed and waved their hands in the air. Seamus closed his eyes and ignored the migraine, intent on keeping calm the boy who still clutched him.  
  
"Mrs. Longbottom-" Dumbledore's voice rose above the clamor. His serene tone eased the Irish lad's headache even as Seamus began to murmur to Neville about which Quidditch team he thought would win this year. (How could the Gryffindor team not, with Harry Potter as Seeker?) The prattling distraction didn't seem to work, however, for Seamus felt the other boy's hands become fists as the latter grasped at the Irish Gryffindor's robe.  
  
A quick glance at Neville's face revealed that the round-faced boy was overwhelmed at the mass of family that now crowded the infirmary. Hazel eyes were filled with confusion and alarm at the racket, and a soft moan ghosted from between his lips while the plump boy gazed at the Irish boy. There was a pleading expression in his eyes, as if Neville expected his companion to instantly silence the large group.  
  
"It'll be okay, Neville," Seamus found himself assuring the trembling boy. "These people all care about you. They're just worried-"  
  
The elder Mrs. Longbottom, unfortunately, chose that moment to cry, "Don't send him to St. Mungo's, Headmaster!"  
  
The room fell silent at the beseeching shout. Their eyes flickered in Neville's direction, and the forgetful Gryffindor pressed his frame closer to Seamus. Quick, sharp bursts of warmth hit his neck as the Irish boy let Neville bury his face there once more. Curls of dirty blond tickled Seamus' chin, and he had to fight to keep from wiggling away.  
  
Warmth flooded his visage as countless relatives glared at him. It wasn't his fault that Neville was now partially in his lap! In an effort to get even closer to the Irish wizard, the Longbottom had snuggled near and even draped a leg across his thighs. Neville was apparently unaware of what /that/ looked like to the crowd. Seamus stayed perfectly still despite his scarlet face. He couldn't move, not wanting to startle the other boy.  
  
"Neville will not go to St. Mungo's, madam. He will recuperate here and continue to attend class." Dumbledore's tone was firm. "It is the only way he'll regain his memory and return to normal. He /must/ continue his daily routine." He glanced at Seamus and Neville, and there was a definite twinkle of mirth in his blue eyes when he noticed the position the Irish lad was trapped in. "I trust you won't mind staying with Neville until he regains his memory, Seamus? He seems to have formed an attachment to you."  
  
Seamus attempted to ignore the glares many of Neville's relatives directed his way, and defiantly wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist when the latter shifted into a more comfortable position. "Certainly, sir. Neville's my friend. Just tell me how to help him."  
  
"Just stay close to him. Since you were the first person to talk to him after he came out of the Room of Consequence, he basically latched onto you as the only one he can trust." His eyes still twinkling, the headmaster turned back towards Neville's relations. "Now, Mrs. Longbottom, if you and your family would accompany me to my office, I'd like to discuss what happened."  
  
The entire group glanced towards Neville's grandmother; obviously, she ran the show for the Longbottom clan. For a moment, the old woman looked indecisive, her beady eyes flickering between Dumbledore and her grandson. Then resolve sharpened the lines on her weathered face, and she snapped commandingly, "Well, Headmaster, let's go!"  
  
"If you or Neville need anything, Madam Pomfrey is in a private room with Professor Trelawney," the headmaster stated, turning his gaze back upon Seamus for a moment. "Just call for her." His eyes flickered towards Malfoy, and he added mildly, "The same goes for you, Mister Malfoy."  
  
"Malfoy, eh?" Mrs. Longbottom repeated, a bitter note twisting her words as she glared in the Slytherin's direction. The Irish boy noted that Malfoy's lips were threatening to twitch into a smirk.  
  
"Yes, ma'am, I'm Draco Malfoy." The statement was made in such an innocent tone that Seamus knew the blonde was faking it. Mrs. Longbottom, however, was fooled by Malfoy's pseudo-sincerity.  
  
"Your mother must have taught you manners, young man, because your father certainly doesn't have any." The old woman favored the Slytherin with a thin smile. "Then again, my Frank was friends with Narcissa back in school."  
  
"My mother /was/ the one to teach me my manners, ma'am." Malfoy returned the smile, looking for the moment quite charming. If Seamus hadn't known the Slytherin for five years, he would have thought that the blonde was actually being sincere.  
  
Mrs. Longbottom, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow towards Dumbledore. "Well?" Judging by her tone, she seemed to think the headmaster was stalling for time, though Seamus had no idea why Dumbledore would be dithering.  
  
"Of course, Mrs. Longbottom, I was simply making certain that my students would be all right," stated the headmaster in a docile manner, his blue eyes twinkling. Something had apparently amused him, but the Irish boy couldn't tell quite what.  
  
One by one, the adults reluctantly left the infirmary. Most offered concerned looks in Neville's direction (and scowls in Seamus'), but some simply shook his or her head in despair before vanishing from view. Neville kept his head buried in the curve of the other Gryffindor's neck the entire time, his trembling frame easing slightly as the sound of footsteps faded from his hearing.  
  
For a long moment, Seamus was content with the warmth pooling against him and the faint sensation of curly locks caressing his ticklish neck. This was reminiscent of holding his numerous cousins when they had exhausted themselves by being little hellions. The major difference, naturally, was that Neville wasn't a demonic child, but the Irish lad smiled slightly at the idea that the round-faced boy might have been.  
  
His smile faltered when he noticed a pair of gray eyes surveying him. The Gryffindor arched an eyebrow towards Malfoy in a silent question, staying perfectly still. If he got angry, he'd upset Neville, so it was better just to see what was going through the Slytherin's head than get irritated at the Malfoy for no reason.  
  
The blonde wore an odd look on his face, as if he was reliving some distant memory. A faint smirk had tugged his lips into a sneer, but it wasn't filled with malice. Instead, it was tinged with something akin to roguish amusement.  
  
"Something amusing, Malfoy?" The accented words filled the air, Seamus' tone as light as always.  
  
At the question, those gray eyes flickered with a foreign emotion before the smirk contorted into a look of scorn. His response dripped with sarcasm. "Just thinking of what an /adorable/ couple you and Longbottom make."  
  
Seamus grinned affably even while he fought back a blush. By Merlin, if any of the Gryffindor House students came in, he would never hear the end of this. "Somehow, I don't think his family shares your sentiments, Malfoy," he retorted dryly, a strand of sandy brown falling in front his eyes. He couldn't move to brush it away without disturbing Neville, and so he pursed his lips in aggravation, attempting to blow the annoyance out of his face.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco watched as Finnigan made a face and began attempting to blow a stray lock away from his grayish-green eyes. At any other point in his life, the Slytherin would have mentally snickered at the comical display, but at this moment, he had more important things to think about.  
  
"Just keep your wand by your bed, Finnigan, and maybe they won't kill you in your sleep." Pleased with having had the final say, the blonde reclined against his pillow and pulled the blankets closer to him. The chill of the Room was still making his bones ache, and he reminded himself to yell at Pomfrey for more blankets.  
  
In the meanwhile, Draco Malfoy needed to do some serious reevaluating of his future. Letting his visage smooth out into an emotionless mask, he slipped deeper into his musings, running over the facts. First, every memory of the Room pricked his Malfoy pride, and he would have to make certain that what he had seen never came to pass. Next, his father had disowned him, which was not helpful if he wanted to change both of their fates. Subsequently, he'd have to make certain that Albus never found out everything he had seen, which meant he would have to keep Longbottom quiet. While the first part of that fact would be a problem (the headmaster was a meddlesome old man who was too smart for his own good), the second part would be relatively easy. From what the Room had shown him of his interactions with the pudgy Gryffindor, Longbottom wouldn't want to discuss his future. With those three major facts firmly implanted in his mind, the Malfoy began to plot.  
  
To keep the Room's predictions from coming to pass, the first thing he would have to do was stay as far away from Potter as possible. If he went near Harry- Potter, just Potter, damn it! The Room's memories kept slipping in at the worst times. He'd just have to keep away from the dark-haired Gryffindor.  
  
Now, how to get his father to take him back? Well, he'd have to prove his worth as a Death Eater, wouldn't he? His eyes flickered shut as he began to entertain several ideas, most of which involved kidnapping numerous Weasleys (there were just so many to get rid of) and sacrificing them to the Dark Lord. He would figure out which plan to use later.  
  
The third detail he put aside for a moment. He'd have a private conversation with Longbottom once the fool learned to talk again. Until then, he was safe. Well, as safe as anyone with a secret could be within Hogwarts.  
  
* * *  
  
Seamus couldn't keep himself from studying Malfoy's visage. The blonde's face was completely devoid of any emotion. With his eyes closed and the long golden lashes brushing against smooth flesh, the Slytherin looked like an empty porcelain doll. He couldn't be asleep, the Gryffindor decided after a few minutes, because people were supposed to look younger when they were dreaming, not lifeless.  
  
His musings were interrupted as the boy compressed against him began to shiver, the tremors light but nevertheless they shook the bed. The Irish lad glanced down and pulled his companion closer. "Neville, do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
The round-faced boy lifted his face from the curve of Seamus' neck, and shook his head in a negative gesture. His mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, and then the Longbottom mumbled something that sounded like, 'Old.'  
  
Okay, Seamus had never been good at Charades (or any /actual/ game that had to do with translating garbled words), but he understood that at least. Offering the other boy a warm smile, he declared cheerfully, "Great job, Neville! I bet that consonant is a bugger to have to say. So you're cold?" When the plump teen nodded, Seamus added, "I'll steal some blankets from the next bed."  
  
Unfortunately, that's where the Irish boy came to a quandary. When he attempted to pull away from the other boy and go to grab some more blankets, Neville's face drained of color and he tightened his grip on the Finnigan. Seamus sighed as the other Gryffindor began to mumble something in a desperate tone, his look one of anxiety.  
  
"Neville, I can't get you more blankets when you pin me to the bed," he commented, which only made the other boy cling even tighter and frown up at him. "How about I get Madam Pomfrey to get you some blankets?"  
  
Neville shook his head and frowned a little more, his facial expression one of deliberation. After a moment, the boy opened his mouth and said, in a faltering, uncertain tone, "S'ay n' kee' me wa'm." Consonants seemed to be the major problem in the boy's speech, and it took Seamus a moment to translate. 'Stay and keep me warm.'  
  
"I don't think my body heat can warm you-" The Gryffindor halted in mid-sentence as Neville ignored him and grabbed for the blankets while one arm kept Seamus close to him. If he didn't know better, Seamus would have sworn that his dorm mate was pinning him to his side. "All right, but if Madam Pomfrey comes out, I'm asking her for blankets." Sensing that he was being totally ignored, the Irish lad fell silent and shook his head a little. He wasn't certain whether or not to be amused by Neville's actions. After all, it was all due to the Room..  
  
Neville awkwardly draped the blankets over them so that they were both covered up to their chins, and then shifted so that he was spread face- down. His head pressed against Seamus' neck once more, the youth began to relax. One arm remained loosely arrayed across the Irish boy's chest, while the other one rested beneath the pillow.  
  
Seamus bit back a sigh, and shifted a little to get comfortable. The movement pressed the sides of their hips together, and the Irish boy couldn't help but venture a cautious glance in Malfoy's direction. Luckily, the blonde was still wearing his vacant façade, so he didn't notice the flush that had stolen upon Seamus' cheeks.  
  
Neville sighed and mumbled something under his breath is a drowsy tone, his head slipping from the curve of the other boy's neck to rest against Seamus' chest. After a few minutes, his breathing evened out, and soon the hazel-eyed Gryffindor was sound asleep.  
  
Grayish-green eyes rested upon the dreaming boy's crown of dirty blond curls, and Seamus couldn't help but smile. Neville had always seemed so innocent to the Irish lad, with his wide, bewildered eyes and forgetful manner. His free hand rose to gently twine fingers in the silky tresses. How many times had he wondered if Neville minded being a near-Squib? His smile faded slightly. How many times had he berated himself after forgetting to bring Neville into the lives of the other Gryffindor?  
  
If only the fifth-year wasn't so bloody quiet. Either he was apologizing profusely over something he had botched or fading into the shadows. It was if he wanted to be ignored..  
  
.Which Seamus didn't understand at all. How could the Longbottom not want to be surrounded by friends, by life? Sounds and warmth were what the Irish Gryffindor lived for, and he couldn't comprehend someone wanting to escape the eyes of the crowd.  
  
His fingers stroked the other boy's curls, and as his mind absently took in the way that a nearby light turned strands of Neville's mane glittering gold, Seamus vowed that he would not leave his fellow fifth-year in the shadows ever again.  
  
* * *  
  
A small smirk toyed with full lips as pale gray eyes watched the scene. Did Finnigan even realize how sensual that gesture was? Draco watched the Gryffindor stroke Longbottom's curls for another moment before the by-now familiar chill of the Room swept over him. Golden lashes fluttered, and the blonde was thrown back into a disjointed flashback. (Was that even what someone would call a memory from the Room?)  
  
// The image of delicate fingers brushing away a lock of sandy brown, and the sound of a bright, cheerful voice exclaiming in a teasing tone, "Seamus, how on earth will you impress my grandmother if you're twitching?"  
  
The sound of a brogue that had an uncertain lilt to it, even with warm laughter following his guess. "I-I'll amaze her with my Irish charms?"  
  
"Come on, love, stop being so nervous. She'll adore you, I promise. So will my great-uncles and great-aunts."  
  
"Either that, or keep your wand by your bed, Finnigan. Maybe then they won't get you during the night."  
  
An image of three frowns being directed towards an amused smirk.  
  
"Draco!" //  
  
The Slytherin shivered, shaking himself from the recollections. When had that happened? All the memories had become scattered, and even now they fled like startled fowl when the blonde tried to actually understand them.  
  
Draco's eyes opened, and he raised a hand towards his forehead as an ache began right between his eyes. What was he thinking? He didn't /want/ to understand what the Room had shown him! He wouldn't believe that he'd become such a goody-good! A damned, simpering git..  
  
The very idea made his stomach twist unpleasantly. No, he refused to become such a useless fool. He refused to believe that his father would die by Harry-Potter's-hand. And most of all, he refused to believe that he would ever press his lips against the mouth of the Boy Who Lived.  
  
And yet, there was an odd pressure in his chest, as if icy fingers had wrapped around his heart and clenched the hand into a fist. The heaviness increased with every passing moment, but Draco bit his lower lip and ignored the sensation. If this was the Room protesting over his decision to fight against 'fate', it could be blasted to Muggle Hell for all he cared.  
  
Ignoring the weight of a stone heart in his chest, the Malfoy glanced in the direction of Finnigan and Longbottom. The former had an odd look on his face as he glanced down at the sleeping boy, as if he was mystified by something. Probably wondering what Longbottom had seen, Draco decided, shifting a little on his bed in a vain attempt to get comfortable.  
  
If only this pressure would go away. Maybe then he'd get some sleep-  
  
// Shouts for help. Screams of pain. Cries of the Killing Curse. Where's Harry, Severus? Damn Albus! He was supposed to be here! We have to protect Harry, Severus! He's going to be a damn fool and get himself killed! //  
  
Draco felt a sheen of sweat break out on his forehead, and he drew his hand away from his forehead to grab desperately at his upper body. Fingers scrabbled against the thick robe as he fought against the agony. Damn the Room! His heart was no longer stone and unmovable, but shaken and bloody as an invisible knife twisted deeper.  
  
// You know where he is? Come on, we have to hurry, Severus! He could be fighting Voldemort even now, the bloody fool! We have to help him keep his arse intact! Hurry! //  
  
"Malfoy!" The harsh whisper sent the phantom thoughts fleeing away, away from the forefront of the blonde's throbbing mind, and he blinked before his eyes focused across the room to meet familiar grayish-green eyes. Grayish-green eyes that were now filled with concern.  
  
"S-Seamus, what the bloody hell-" The words faltered on his lips as Draco regained full control of himself. His eyes narrowed to slits and he attempted a sneer. The pain had receded to a dull ache at the cry of his given name. "What do you want, /Finnigan/?"  
  
Finnigan seemed to ignore the tone, and instead the Irish boy looked solemn and worried. Mentally, the blonde snorted. Yet another example of why he would defy the Room at all costs: he didn't want to end up as a fool, like Finnigan. "Are you all right? You looked like you were having a- a heart attack or something."  
  
* * *  
  
Seamus watched Malfoy carefully as the Slytherin sneered, looking like his normal, haughty self. Cold gray hid any other emotion besides contempt. Only the wan tinge to the blonde's porcelain cheeks reminded the Gryffindor why he had been so nervous before.  
  
"A heart attack, Finnigan? Your imagination must be running wild. I'm perfectly fine." The drawled words held only a slight tremor. Of course, Seamus only noticed the tremble because he listened for it.  
  
"Well, excuse me," and the Gryffindor's response dripped with sarcasm, "but when I see a bloke grabbing at his chest and going as white as a sheet, I tend to assume something's wrong."  
  
"I'm fine, Finnigan! Stop acting like such a bloody Gryffindor and leave me alone!"  
  
Seamus opened his mouth to angrily retort that Malfoy needed to stop acting like such an idiotic Slytherin, but then Neville stirred beneath his hand. The Irish lad focused his attention on his roommate, ignoring the stubborn Malfoy. "Neville, go back to sleep." Compared to his sardonic words to the blonde, Seamus' tone was almost a soothing lullaby. After a moment, the curly-haired youth sighed and settled back into peaceful dreams.  
  
"If only Creevy was here. He'd be taking photos of this picture- perfect moment."  
  
Seamus ignored the taunt, and stared at the Slytherin for a long, silent moment. He took in the fact that Malfoy's thin, pointed visage was still damp with sweat, and realized what the blonde was trying to do. When he spoke, his voice was calm. "Stop it, Malfoy. Just tell me if you need Madam Pomfrey or not."  
  
"No." The defiant answer received a bold glare in return, but Malfoy remained tenacious, and after a long moment, Seamus sighed. Right now, he felt extremely irritated. Why did the blonde have to be so bloody pompous?  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, Albus tilted his face towards the skies, wishing for even more patience than he had been gifted with. Neville's grandmother reminded him of one of his childhood dogs who had been obsessed with a particular bone. Mrs. Constance Longbottom's bone seemed to be the idea that the headmaster had failed in his duty.  
  
"Mrs. Longbottom, I assure you that there was no way to prevent this," he murmured for perhaps the sixth time that afternoon. "If you would calm down- "  
  
"Calm down? My grandson went into the /Room of Consequence/!" Several relatives nodded in agreement, ignoring the phoenix who glowered at them from his perch. Fawkes didn't seem to like anyone in the horde at the moment, much to Albus' amusement.  
  
"I am very much aware of that, ma'am, but if you'd let me-"  
  
"Let you ruin my grandson's life even more? It's not enough for anyone that he's a near-Squib!" The elderly woman waved her cane around, and a few relatives ducked while she continued her tirade. "No, no, he has to be put through hell time and time again, having to see my dear Frank in St. Mungo's during the holidays, and now he has had to see his own fate!"  
  
"Mrs. Longbottom." The normally genteel headmaster acquired a cold, commanding tone. "I am perfectly aware of what Neville's home life is like, and I can guarantee that I know more about the Room of Consequence than anyone else in the world, except perhaps the person who cast the Imperius Curse on my Divinations teacher. If you would be silent, I'd be able to tell you how I plan to help your grandson recover."  
  
Constance's thin face turned an interesting shade of puce as she sputtered for a moment, her cane trembling in her fist. After her original spluttering, however, the old woman fell silent. Her beady eyes remained focused on the headmaster, demanding that he speak.  
  
Albus cleared his throat, and offered the assembled a serene smile, hoping that they'd remain calm. He absently wondered how the other teachers would handle it, and decided to have a meeting with the professors before announcing what had occurred to the students. He realized that everyone was watching him anxiously, so he cleared his throat once more, and began. "As you all know, the Room of Consequence was created by one of Salazar Slytherin's most devoted students. It is-or rather, was-one of the most powerful Dark Arts object in the world."  
  
"Was?" One of Neville's great-uncles interjected, and the wizened man ignored the glares his family directed his way.  
  
"Yes, I destroyed it." Ignoring the startled looks, Albus continued. "One of the main reasons the Room of Consequence was so dangerous was because whatever a person saw could not be erased by Memory Spells. Another reason was, naturally, that people are never supposed to know their fates. They'll always try to change it. I do not know yet what Neville saw, but I can only assume it was something that meant a great sacrifice on his part."  
  
He didn't add that the Longbottom had probably lost his life in the upcoming battles with Voldemort. Somehow, he thought that would bring more of Constance's wrath upon him. "However, from my experiences with the Room, there are only a few ways to keep young Neville from going insane from all the memories he's experienced. First off, we must keep him at Hogwarts. He spends most of the year at the school, so it will be the best place to remind him of reality. Secondly, we must not ask Neville what he saw. That will only cause terrible flashbacks." He knew that asking Draco what had happened to him had been a risky gamble, but at the moment the boy had been so out of it, nothing could have affected him.  
  
"Will he be able to come home on the holidays?"  
  
"No. Not for Christmas, at least. We shall have to see how he's faring by the end of the school year."  
  
Constance didn't look pleased with that, but the old woman seemed to yield for the moment. "You'll update me weekly." The tone made it clear that the statement wasn't a question.  
  
Albus nodded, watching Fawkes from the corners of his eyes. The phoenix was still glaring at Neville's grandmother, disgruntled by her lack of respect. Luckily, the majestic creature had kept his temper for the moment.  
  
"What about us?" The same great-uncle that had spoken up before once again ignored the sharp look his sister directed towards him. "Don't glare at me. Neville's my great-nephew, and I want to know what's going on. You'll have to send us all copies of the letter, my dear Constance." The rest of the family nodded in agreement, and Albus fought the urge to smile at the mild revolution.  
  
"Fine," snapped Constance in a peevish tone, her cane rapping against the floor of the office. "I'll send you all copies of the letters when I receive them."  
  
Albus pressed his fingers together and glanced at the great-uncle in approval. Theobald Longbottom had been a respected Auror before old age had forced him into retirement. He had been the one to teach Frank the way to survive the life of an Auror, but unfortunately, he had lived longer than his protégé.  
  
"Now, if you all have ways to get to your homes, I need to discuss the students' experiences with the staff," he informed them, his tone calm and resolute. Minerva was probably distraught, and he had no doubt Severus would be worrying about one of his favorite students.  
  
"Thank you for your time. If you need any resources to help Neville and the other boy, just owl me. I still have /some/ connections." With that, Theobald heaved himself to his feet, his weathered face serious. Hazel eyes met pale blue as the two old men surveyed each other, and soon Albus smiled, remembering earlier days.  
  
"Thank you, Theobald. I'll be certain to keep that offer in mind."  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, Harry Potter wondered. Intense green blazed from his pale, unmarred visage as he gazed up towards the ceiling of the dormitory. A thousand questions filled his head, and the Gryffindor suspected that soon he'd begin to babble if he didn't get at least one answered.  
  
What had Malfoy seen? Would Neville be all right? Would Malfoy tell him what had happened in the Room of Consequence? What had /Neville/ seen?  
  
A sudden thought occurred to him, and the Boy Who Lived jerked upright. His chest heaved for a quick, exhilarated moment. A soundless gasp escaped his lips while his eyes widened. Maybe Neville would be able to tell him what Malfoy had seen!  
  
The thought made him grin excitedly, looking for a moment like the mischievous, carefree teenage his father had been. Once the Longbottom was feeling better from being in the Room of Consequence, Harry would ask him about what had made Malfoy react that way.  
  
Even as he grinned, Ron Weasley burst into the room, his cerise locks falling haphazardly around his long, solemn visage. Every inch of the coltish, lanky Gryffindor's frame was trembling with impatience. "Dean, Harry, didn't you hear? Dumbledore called everyone to the Dining Hall. He's finally going to explain what happened!"  
  
Harry didn't realize he had leapt to his feet until the blood drained from his head and he blinked. The dizzy moment passed just in time for his eyes to watch a disheveled Hermione Granger stalk into the boys' dormitory. The light glittered off her silver prefect's badge, momentarily blinding the brunet.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron and Dean squawked at the same time, both sounding scandalized. The latter lurched to his feet, looking oddly exhausted, as if he had been drained by every passing moment, even while the aforementioned Gryffindor sniffed and ignored them.  
  
"Come on, Harry!" The bushy-haired girl overlooked the other boys for a moment as she smiled in her normal, anxious way towards her best friend. "We'll get into trouble if we're late."  
  
"McGonagall would have a field day," agreed Ron, and shuddered slightly at the thought of imagined punishments. "Let's go."  
  
"Are you okay?" Harry blinked before he realized that Hermione had directed her abrupt question towards Dean. Her hazel eyes regarded her fellow Muggle- born in an alert, thoughtful way.  
  
The dark-skinned boy frowned. "I'm fine." The clipped words held no truth, but Dean stuck to his statement. Determination was etched upon his weary face as he frowned in Hermione's direction.  
  
Hermione, unfortunately for Dean, was Hermione, and the boy's negative glance was pitiful when compared to one of Ron's fierce glares. "What's wrong? I know you're worried about Neville, we all are, but-"  
  
"Just leave me alone, Hermione!" Not seeming to care that he had harshly interrupted the prefect, the Muggle-born began to storm from the dormitory. Every gesture was jerky and slow with fatigue.  
  
"Dean!"  
  
Ignoring the girl's shocked tone, the football-loving boy reached for the door handle, intent on leaving. He might have opened the door without another word, had Ron not lunged at him. Large hands that the Weasley would someday grow into forced Dean to turn and face the trio.  
  
"Don't talk to Hermione like that," Ron warned, his tone cold and furious as cerulean eyes flashed amidst freckles and a deep, dark flush.  
  
Feeling stunned at Dean's transformation, Harry noticed Hermione's mystified expression, and couldn't help but silently agree. Ron was being more than somewhat hypocritical. How many times had he yelled at Hermione, and had been shrieked at in return? How many times had he interrupted the prefect and ignored what she'd been saying? How many times-  
  
"Get. Off. Me." Dean's dark eyes blazed while he answered Ron. He towered over the Weasley, but didn't move to brush the redhead's hands away. Instead, he leveled a glare at the other boy.  
  
"Not until you apologize."  
  
"Why should I?" Dean challenged, seemingly oblivious that he was causing a scene and that the twins had opened the door and were at the moment poking their heads inside to gaze at the boy in unfeigned surprise. "I don't have to explain myself to Hermione, and I don't have to follow your orders!" Frustration roughened his tone, and Harry couldn't help but notice the trembling of Dean's shoulders against Ron's hands.  
  
"What's /wrong/, Dean?" Hermione demanded, having gazed wide-eyed at her fellow Muggle-born while he and Ron argued.  
  
"None of your business!" snapped their fellow Gryffindor, and now he rivaled Ron with his glaring as he glowered at them all. His mocha flesh had blanched to a dry, pale dusty color, and the Boy Who Lived was startled to realize that Dean was distraught and close to something akin to hysteria. Over Neville? He hadn't realized that Dean was that close to the Longbottom..  
  
* * *  
  
The fury that threatened to overwhelm him surged through his veins like adrenaline, burning its path through his tall frame. Dean Thomas bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from adding something that would shock Hermione Granger and earn a punch from Ron Weasley. Why did the Inseparable Trio have to fix their eyes upon him at the worst possible moment? He couldn't think clearly, couldn't concentrate on acting calm, couldn't-  
  
"Look, Dean, we're your friends-" Hermione began, her light sepia waves falling in front of her serious, studious face. Her tone was almost patronizing; within him, the anger intensified in one mighty rush.  
  
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped him before he could help it. He wanted to smirk at the startled looks he received, but instead struggled to keep from howling out what boiled within his chest. When he thought he could speak with reasonable poise, the teen began. Despite his attempts, he heard the hostility in his words.  
  
"My friends, Hermione, my friends? Apparently we don't have the same definition of friendship. You three are acquaintances, no more, no less." He scoffed at their shocked expressions. "You, Harry, and Ron are the Inseparable Trio. How could the rest of us /dare/ to intrude upon your threesome?" He bit his lower lip and fought the pain in his chest. That ache wasn't about them. He shouldn't unleash that upon the three best friends, despite the fact that they were being annoying gits. "The rest of your fellow Gryffindor year mates, your friends? Don't be stupid."  
  
"Dean?" For the first time in quite some time, Harry Potter spoke, and his incredulous and slightly hurt tone cooled some of the boy's antagonism.  
  
The dark boy sighed and glanced around at the threesome, this time managing to keep his voice calm. If a hint of weariness slipped in, he paid it no heed. "Think about it. What do you know about me? About Neville? About Lavender or Parvati? About-" His throat compressed suddenly, and betrayed him when he managed to croak, "About Seamus? You three don't know anything about us."  
  
"Oh-oh and you do?" Ron challenged, his expression one of shock and dawning comprehension that Dean was right. He barely knew anything about his fellow Gryffindor.  
  
A wry smile flickered upon the Thomas' lips, and for a moment, he felt amused. The mirth quickly vanished, and he shook his head, the anger diminished enough so that he felt weary. "No, but I know Seamus, and Seamus knows you all."  
  
"Seamus?" Harry's skeptic tone made the agony in his chest increase.  
  
"Yes, Seamus!" The retort was almost a snarl, and Dean saw the Potter visibly flinch before a slight frown defaced his pale features. "You all don't know the Seamus I know!" The pain built up in his chest, and Dean couldn't quite catch his breath as he continued to rant. "No, he has to be an unneeded /hero/, doesn't he? He smiles, he teases, he acts like he hasn't got a damn care in the world, but meanwhile, he watching you all, worrying, wondering what he can do to make you all smile because he considers /you/ his friends! He puts on that jovial Irish mask to make sure his friends are happy, but he doesn't realize that you all don't really give a damn about him. /He/ knows Hermione's favorite breakfast. /He/ knows the exact schedule Ron wants to follow when you all go to Hogsmeade. /He/ knows Neville's favorite plant out of all the things we've seen in Herbology. /He/ knows Harry's-" The Thomas finally cut himself off, struggling to catch his breath. It felt like someone had punched him through the chest, and one hand unconsciously reached up to press against his robe. "For-forget it."  
  
Ron's hands were still on his shoulders, but the Weasley's fingers were limp and unclenched as the redhead looked thunderstruck. Dean took that opportunity to brush the limbs away from his shoulders before he whirled and headed for the safest destination: the exit. He paused briefly to scowl at the Weasley twins, who silently got out of the way.  
  
It was almost satisfying, in a bitter, twisted sort of way, the Thomas mused to himself, that it had taken a single outburst of most of his rage to get what he thought of the trio out into the open. As he stalked down the stairs and ignored the buzzing in his ears and the lump in his throat, a vague thought began that promised contrition and apologies later, but right now Dean wanted to know if Neville was going to be all right. If the forgetful Gryffindor was, then Seamus would be.  
  
And if they weren't going to be all right, then Dean promised himself that hell would break loose.  
  
* * *  
  
There was a long, stunned silence as Hermione, Harry, and the Weasley brothers gazed at each other, too stunned to speak. Harry glanced at Ron and noted that the redhead was speechless, his cerulean eyes filled with astonishment.  
  
"Well, that was-" began George (or was it Fred?), his tone almost humble.  
  
"-interesting," finished the other twin, sounding slightly uncertain.  
  
"He-he's right though. We really don't know that much about our year mates. Not that I want to be friends with Parvati and Lavender, but I should know more about them than the fact that Parvati has a twin and that she and Lavender both adore Trelawney." Hermione's voice was quiet but pensive. "I just wish he hadn't yelled like that." The hurt note in her words was obvious.  
  
"Well, I think he was just upset over Neville, and couldn't help but take it out on you three," offered one of the twins, uncharacteristically introspective. Naturally, his look-alike spoiled the affect by adding, "It's exactly as I said, Feorge; never trust the quiet ones. In the end, they always stick the Stink Bomb in your bag and get you caught."  
  
"Oh, naturally, Gred." Both Fred and George seemed back to normal as they grinned at each other. "Now, let's be off to hear Dumbledore!" The group exited the room at a much slower pace than a certain football-lover had, each lost to their own thoughts as they walked towards the Dining Hall.  
  
The silence was only broken by Ron mumbling to himself, "What /is/ Herm's favorite breakfast?"  
  
* * *  
  
Seamus opened his mouth to argue with Malfoy for a few more minutes, when Madam Pomfrey bustled out from one of the private rooms. The nurse glanced around and immediately caught sight of the Gryffindor and the Slytherin. A sharp, quick pair of eyes took in the sheen of Malfoy's flesh, and she marched over to the two beds. "Need anything, Malfoy?" Her voice was quiet, not wanting to wake the dreaming Longbottom.  
  
"Yes," drawled the blonde, offering her one of his famous smirks. "A few more blankets."  
  
Seamus raised an incredulous eyebrow, and noticed that even Madam Pomfrey looked disbelievingly at the mound of blankets already swathed around the pale boy's lithe frame.  
  
"More blankets?" Her inquiry held a hint of skepticism, and earned another smirk as Malfoy nodded. "Well, all right.." Intelligent eyes flickered over to Seamus. "Do you need anything, Finnigan?"  
  
"Well, Neville was shivering a little while ago," the Irish lad admitted, glancing down at the tousled head that rested on his chest. "Maybe another blanket for us too?"  
  
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and marched off to get the needed cloths, muttering something about side effects of the Room. She returned quickly, with about five blankets in her arms. "Are either of you thirsty?" was asked as she set to work settling the blankets atop them. While she did so, Neville shifted against his bed companion, but otherwise remained fast asleep.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Seamus saw Malfoy blink and then rub his throat as if just realizing how sore he was. Within a moment however, the flicker of discomfort vanished, and the Slytherin drawled, "A glass of water would be cracking."  
  
As the nurse nodded and bustled away to get a pitcher of cold water, Seamus glanced down at Neville once more, and found himself attempting to untangle several strands of dirty blond. When the Longbottom woke up, the Irish Gryffindor would have to ask him if he wanted to have his locks combed. Not that Seamus doubted for one second that he needed one himself, but he was content to ignore the fact that he looked like a mess.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus glanced around at the assembled students, hoping that they would react calmer than most of the adults had. Pomona Sprout had immediately burst into tears over her favorite student and had hexed Severus Snape when he had commented about how now the boy would melt even more cauldrons in his class. Albus had also feared that Minerva would have a hysterical act when her face had drained of color and she had muttered wildly about the boy always getting into trouble.  
  
The Dining Room was filled with the clamor of dozens of students whispering at once. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables looked confused, all glancing towards their Heads of Houses. Meanwhile, the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables seemed to be talking nervously with one another. However, two gazes seemed to almost burn right through the headmaster's forehead, and he glanced towards the Gryffindor table first.  
  
Dean Thomas met his eyes, his dark brown eyes smoldering with uncountable emotions. The boy wore a look of determination, as if decided upon a certain action depending on what Albus informed the school. Remembering that the fifth-year was a close friend of Seamus, he offered the boy a quick smile that was unreturned. Instead, the color of his flesh seemed to turn an even unhealthier color of dusty brown. The boy's eyes narrowed briefly before he scowled, impatience obvious in the way his long fingers drummed upon the table.  
  
Knowing he'd be unable to calm the Gryffindor, his blue eyes flickered towards the Slytherin table, and clashed gazes with another fifth- year. It took a moment to recall a name. Oh yes, he was Blaise Zabini. The Italian was ordinarily quiet, and today was no exception. The antisocial youth was silent as he glared at Albus with his unusually-colored eyes. His warning was clear: if Draco Malfoy wasn't all right, Blaise was going to make the Hogwarts staff's lives torture. The headmaster frowned a little. He didn't remember seeing the studious Slytherin following the blonde around..  
  
Shrugging it off, he swept his stare around the room and cleared his throat, putting on a solemn visage as the room quickly fell silent. "As some of you know, an unfortunate incident occurred during one of Professor Trelawney's classes. Unbeknownst to the rest of the Hogwarts staff, Professor Trelawney had been attacked by a Death Eater-" He paused as the whispers began, and waited for the students to finish before he continued. "-and put under an Imperius Curse." He quickly outlined the events, explaining what the Room of Consequence was, and ended with Draco and Neville being forced into the cursed place.  
  
A dumbfounded silence met his ears when he finally fell silent. Most students had stunned looks on their faces, and several were shaking their heads in disbelief. Pansy Parkinson had dissolved into tears and Vincent Crabbe was awkwardly trying to console her. He noted that both Dean and Blaise had impatient expressions on their countenances.  
  
"Are they going to be all right?" The loud, clear voice made everyone jump, and all eyes focused upon the speaker: Blaise Zabini. His eyes flashed golden at them all as he awaited Albus' answer.  
  
"That is precisely what I was coming to, Mr. Zabini." Albus straightened to his full height and looked stern. "Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Malfoy will be all right as long as everyone follows a few rules. First, /no one/ is to ask them what they saw in the Room. The flashbacks are painful both mentally and physically, and asking them questions will only hinder their recuperation. Second, everyone to act normally around them. Settling them back into their normal routine will help the recoveries immensely."  
  
He frowned at them all. "Anyone who asks them about the Room of Consequence will have twenty points taken from their House and given a week of detention with Filch, no matter what the excuse. If Mr. Longbottom or Mr. Malfoy decides to tell someone about their experiences, then that person must hold it in strictest confidences. Now, I'm afraid classes are cancelled for the rest of the day. If anyone has any questions, see your Head of House or another professor." With a wave of a hand, he dismissed them, and winced slightly as the silent Hall suddenly roared to life.  
  
Everyone was talking, chattering about what had happened. Most of the Hufflepuff students glanced over at Pomona once or twice, since it was well- known that Neville Longbottom was one of her favorite students. Pomona, however, wore a neutral expression on her face. Only her reddened eyes betrayed the fact that she had wept earlier.  
  
Albus felt the two burning gazes on his forehead once more, and mentally sighed. Somehow, he thought that Blaise and Dean weren't pleased with his answers.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry dared to glance over at Dean, and noticed that his fellow Gryffindor was staring at someone sitting at the staff table. He followed the boy's gaze and felt his brow wrinkle in bewilderment. Why was Dean glaring at Dumbledore of all people?  
  
The Boy Who Lived shook his head and turned as Ron tugged on his sleeve. Somehow, he didn't think he wanted to guess what was going on in the Muggle-born Gryffindor's head. He stood up and noticed that Hermione had already vanished.  
  
"Hey, where'd Herm go?"  
  
Ron shot him an incredulous look. "She had never heard of the Room of Consequence before, so she dashed off to the-"  
  
"-Library. Right. Well, do you think we can go visit Neville tonight?" In the back of his mind, Harry wondered if Seamus was in the infirmary watching over the Longbottom. Somehow, after hearing Dean's rant about how much the Irish boy cared for them all, the brunet hoped so.  
  
"I guess we can go ask McGonagall."  
  
"Can-can we come too?" The hesitant inquiry caught him by surprise, and he turned to see Lavender Brown hovering beside his chair. She looked slightly self-conscious, as did Parvati. "Parvati and I borrowed one of his Herbology books, and he'd probably like that to read.." She trailed off, seeming uncertain.  
  
"Headmaster Dumbledore didn't say how long he'd be in the infirmary. Neville might get bored," Parvati added quickly, her pretty face revealing her own discomfort.  
  
Harry glanced at Ron, and found the redhead gawking incredulously at the two. Slightly amused at the Weasley's shock, he elbowed the taller boy. Ron blinked, and finally mumbled, "Um, sure. We'll ask McGonagall. Er, we'll ask her later."  
  
At the moment, the Transfiguration professor was being bombarded with questions by anxious first years. The expression on her face suggested that she would rather have them all bother some other professor, but she assured them that everyone was safe nonetheless. Even as the Potter watched, she snapped something towards a smirking Snape. A smirking Snape who seemed to have the faintest hint of the impression that purple spots had been dotting his pale flesh recently.. Harry blinked and stared at the Potions Master for a moment before he decided that he was seeing things. There was no way that Snape could have had purple spots.  
  
As the brunet and his redheaded best friend were swept along with the crowd in the direction of the corridors, the Boy Who Lived mentally frowned. Dumbledore had really made it tough for him, hadn't he? He'd just have to figure out a way for Neville to confide in him about the Room. Maybe then he'd let something slip about Malfoy.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco sipped at the water as Pomfrey fussed with the blankets. The ice cold liquid soothed his sore throat even as warmth spread through the rest of his body. The chill of the Room was gone for the moment, unable to torment the blonde as he basked in the heat. When he was out of Hogwarts, he'd definitely have to travel to a tropical paradise like Hawaii.  
  
"Do you need anything else?" A smirk curved his lips once more as he glanced at the nurse. The mental thought that she must be desperate for something to do flickered through his brain, and his smirk widened, a touch of cruelness souring his expression.  
  
"I'm going to sleep. If anyone needs me, tell me when I wake up." Without bothering to gauge her reaction, Draco closed his eyes and sank into the warm embrace of the blankets. Now, to sleep and not dream.. Yes, that would be a wonderful thing.  
  
* * *  
  
And meanwhile, Neville Longbottom dreamed. Warmth draped its gentle arms around his plump form, emanating from the Gryffindor pressed against him and the fleece blankets. His entire frame was relaxed, even while the Room of Consequence's memories surged through his mind. The dreams came as fragmented memories, of which he would forget as soon as he opened his eyes until another time.  
  
// He laughed softly as he watched Harry and Malfoy glare at each other from across the Divinations classroom. It was amusing how much they detested each other. Not that Neville blamed the Boy Who Lived. Draco Malfoy was a cruel, selfish bastard who was going to grow up to be just like his father.  
  
Lucius Malfoy. Unconsciously, the quill he'd been using trembled in his grip. Somehow, some way, that man had been involved in the torture of his parents, and when Neville had proof, the unproven Death Eater was going to pay---- //  
  
// ----The snow spiraled down towards the Quidditch field, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain attempt to warm his trembling frame. The field was filled with laughing students as most made snowmen. He smiled and waved at Ginny while she grinned in triumph. Her flaming locks were sprinkled with snow as she put the finishing touches on a snowman that looked suspiciously like a certain Harry Potter.  
  
"Neville, look out-"Neville never had a chance. One moment he was waving shyly back at his friend; the next, he was face-first in the snow as a snowball began to melt on the back of his head.  
  
"Oomph," he muttered into the snow, gazing into the whiteness. The snow stung his already freezing cheeks as he raised himself up by one arm. Shaking his head and watching as whiteness fell from his dirty blond locks, he heard his name cried again.  
  
"Neville, I'm sorry! Are you all right?" The Irish accent thickened with Seamus' worry, and the round-faced boy discolored with embarrassment as he raised his hazel eyes to meet greenish-gray.  
  
"It's not your fault, Seamus," he murmured bashfully, gazing up- //  
  
// ----The Potions classroom was freezing, and Neville shivered, folding his arms across his chest and glancing anxiously towards the door. What would Professor Snape yell at him about now? The Longbottom had managed to keep his cauldron intact this lesson.  
  
"Longbottom?" The detached call jerked the Gryffindor's attention back towards the professor's desk. The dark-haired Head of House glowered at him. Menace and disapproval seemed to radiate from the man, and Neville suddenly longed to be in the Gryffindor Common Room, where he could listen to Dean and Seamus talk about Muggle life and bask in the unfamiliar happiness that seemed to spill from their frames and soak into his heart.  
  
"Y-Yes, sir?"  
  
For a moment, Snape looked vaguely uneasy, which surprised Neville to no end. In all the six years he had been taught by the Potions Master, Professor Snape had never once seemed uncertain about anything. The brunet cleared his throat. "Dumbledore has asked me to-" //  
  
// The only sounds in the remote, white corridor were the sound of his own breathing and the quiet sound of his boots tapping against the tiled floor. Nervous sweat streaked his face as he marched down the hall. He was so very frightened about what he was going to do, but it was for the best.  
  
The tiny vial trembled in his grip as he forced himself to quicken his pace. The sooner he reached his destination, the sooner this, everything, would be over. After all, what did he really have to live for? Taking a deep breath as he turned the corner and saw the grim, masked figures awaiting him, he whispered, surprised at the steadiness of his words, "This is for you, Mum, Dad." Without another word- //  
  
And so Neville slept, dreaming of numerous memories that were pleasant, embarrassing, heartrending, or even magnificent. His physical frame embraced the warmth even as the Room of Consequence chilled his soul.  
  
* * *  
  
Dean watched as most of the students vanished, off to discuss in private what Dumbledore had told them. As the Hall emptied, the Gryffindor suddenly wondered how many students actually resided within the school. Musing that the number was probably around three hundred, he stalked in the direction of the teachers' table, where Dumbledore spoke in low tones to an upset-looking Hagrid.  
  
Ignoring the fact that they were obviously in the middle of a conversation, the Muggle-born demanded, "Now will you tell where Seamus is? He's watching over Neville, isn't he?" Thinly veined accusations thickened his words, and he frowned at the headmaster.  
  
Stern blue eyes regarded him carefully for a moment before Dumbledore replied. His tone was so calm that it was infuriating. "Do you understand the term 'imprinting,' Mr. Thomas?"  
  
Caught off-guard by the seemingly random question, Dean snapped, "Yes, sir. That's when a duckling hatches and thinks whatever he sees first is his mother. What's that to do with Seamus?"  
  
"The only person Neville trusts at the moment is Seamus, since Seamus was the first person to speak to him when he came out of the Room. If your friend leaves Neville's sight, I don't know what might happen." The headmaster's calm explanation eased some of the pain in Dean's chest. So Seamus hadn't gone to someone else to spill out his uncertainties about whether or not Neville would be all right.  
  
Nevertheless, he couldn't help but grumble, "You could have told me that earlier."  
  
"Shouldn't Draco have a Slytherin year mate with him, Headmaster? Since Longbottom has a friend with him, wouldn't it make sense to have Draco have one with him as well?" The clear voice was familiar to Dean only because that same voice had called out to Dumbledore a few minutes earlier. He turned slightly to see Zabini standing a little ways away, a serious expression on his tanned visage.  
  
"I'll ask Draco if he's inclined to that idea, Mr. Zabini," Dumbledore commented, sounding slightly amused at something.  
  
Dean found himself watching Zabini, waiting for his reaction. The Italian's visage didn't alter from its original solemn expression, but his eyes revealed his inner thoughts. The dark brown orbs, flecked with gold, clearly showed that the quiet Slytherin was relieved.  
  
"Thank you, Headmaster." The soft, accented words filled the air as Zabini turned on heel and began to march towards the doors of the Dining Hall. His sable tendrils flowed down his back in a ponytail, and Dean found himself wondering why the girls weren't after the Slytherin. Maybe it was because he was so quiet and scholarly that people overlooked him. Come to think of it, the Gryffindor also wondered why Zabini hadn't been put into Ravenclaw.  
  
Well, he could always blame the Sorting Hat.  
  
(Author's Notes: The chapter title was inspired by a line from Les Miserables. *grins* Javert is great. Everyone has to love the fanatical police officer! We just won't mention that Javert killed himself at the end of the song. *looks innocent* Say, does anyone know some good Irish songs? *looks even more innocent* ~Cinaed) 


	3. I am the master of my fate

In the Lap of the Gods  
  
(Summary: When the Room of Consequence shows two Hogwarts students their destinies, they both attempt to deny what they've seen. Can they deny fate?  
  
Disclaimers: Oh, I forgot to mention, I don't own any of the crew that JK Rowling created. *whistles innocently* Did I fool you?  
  
Pairing: Harry/Draco, perhaps others  
  
Author's Thanks: Sorceress, Kimmy, esaure, beautifulelf, Tsuyuno, blade- princess, Death, Lee-chan, Nikki, AnaRae, chibidark angel, Alura, Rue, sie, Stephanie, Marsky, and Dia for reviewing.  
  
Author's Notes: I just wanted to thank Sorceress for her lovely review. I work hard on characterization, and I like putting in little twists into their personalities that stick out to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. *grins* For those who don't study Greek mythology, Hypnos is the god of sleep and Morpheus is the god of dreams. Also, to give you an update on the time: between chapter two and three, the Hogwarts students had lunch and returned to their common rooms. Needless to say, those in the Hospital Wing are going to be starving when they actually remember to ask for meals.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
In the Lap of the Gods  
  
Chapter Three: I am the master of my fate  
  
Draco felt himself sink into the warmth. Yes, he'd definitely live in a tropical paradise after Hogwarts. The final conclusion of his consciousness fled from him as sleep overtook the blonde, and then Hypnos cradled the golden child in his arms. For a moment, the Slytherin was gently embraced, before he was passed along to Morpheus, who eagerly awaited the boy.  
  
And so the blonde dreamed. Scattered sensations teased him, offering hints of soft declarations whispering about devotion, of mild caresses lingering upon his cheeks, and of loving fingers running through his flaxen tresses. His lithe frame twisted and fought against the coverlets that suddenly trapped him. To no avail, he struggled to capture the tantalizing allusions of love that the Room tormented him with.  
  
Full lips opened in a soundless cry of anguish before the blonde jerked out of the inaccessible reveries, tearing himself from Morpheus' grasp. His entire frame seemed to be drenched with sweat, and the moisture quickly grew cold upon his trembling body. Shivering even while he regained his composure, Draco lifted his head and gazed blindly forward.  
  
The noises and aromas of the Hospital Wing flooded his senses just in time for the Slytherin to hear Pomfrey say, not unkindly, "You can't visit Longbottom, Weasley. Both of my patients are sleeping. I'll ask them if they want to receive visitors later, but you all will have to wait until tomorrow morning."  
  
"We can't even talk to Seamus?" Every muscle in Draco's frame locked in place at the voice, and all tranquility fled once more. A mental ramble that went along the lines of 'Damn the Room, damn /Him/, damn the Room, damn /Him/!' filled the blonde's head as he was racked with uncontrollable shivers.  
  
"No, Potter. He's actually sleeping as well. I'll leave your presents by Longbottom's bed, but you nine cannot come in right now. Also, it's almost time for dinner, so you all need to leave."  
  
"Well, all right-"  
  
"-Can you give this note to Seamus?" Thomas' query contained a slight tinge of anxiety.  
  
Draco didn't notice, too busy scrambling from the bed and fighting the blankets to escape as a wave of nausea washed over him. Every time Potter was mentioned, the memories of that fateful day overcame him and threatened to make him relive his ultimate consequence. Damn Potter-  
  
// Severus! Why are you just standing there? You said you knew where Harry was, we have to go there! Where-oh fuck! Albus! Albus, look out! Look out, you damned old fool! Look behind-oh shit, oh- Severus! Wait for me! //  
  
* * *  
  
Dean swallowed as Pomfrey glanced at the note skeptically. The witch stood in the doorway of the infirmary, blocking any entrance. He didn't see why the witch would refuse the simple request, but nevertheless, his fingers trembled, and he hastily jammed his free hand into a pocket to hide the tremor.  
  
Ron glanced at him when he made the hurried gesture, and the boy felt his face warm in embarrassment as he recalled his earlier rant. He'd have to ask for forgiveness later. Offering the redhead an apologetic look, Dean returned his attention to Pomfrey. Not realizing that his dark eyes were burning with intensity, he fretfully studied the woman's face. However, he had never been any good at reading faces, and so Dean was clueless as to what Pomfrey was thinking.  
  
The nurse opened her mouth to respond, and the Gryffindor felt his heart leap into his throat. She /had/ to give the note to Seamus. She /had/ to! Before the woman could speak, however, she frowned, as if she heard something behind her.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco's gray eyes were blind to anything other than what he had seen within the Room as his thrashing form wrenched free from the blankets. He toppled down to the floor, helpless to avoid his plummet. The violent impact sent agonized waves of pain through the blonde's frame (he had smashed his head upon the nightstand beside his bed), but all Draco could mumble was a weak, "Wait," as the Room's recollections claimed his perceptions of reality.  
  
// Severus! Severus, wait-damn! Damn, damn, damn! /Avada Kedavra/! Watch your back, Severus! He nearly got you! Severus! //  
  
* * *  
  
The sound of a quiet thump reached Poppy's ears. The witch blinked before glancing over her shoulder into the Hospital Wing. Not seeing anything suspicious, she returned her attention back to the anxious Gryffindor students. It must have been her imagination.  
  
She gazed sternly at the group, taking in their earnest appearances. The dark boy (she vaguely summoned the name Thomas) was staring at her with a frightening passion in his dark brown eyes. Absently wondering what was written on the paper he dangled in front of her, she took a deep breath. It was such a pity that these children had been born in such troubled times. Brown and Patil looked ready to collapse from agitation, and all four members of the Weasley brood were fidgeting with anxiety. Well, she'd have to reassure them, and remember to suggest to Albus that they bring in someone from one of the medical colleges. Hogwarts needed someone who would know how to speak to students one-on-one without being distracted like the Head of Houses undoubtedly were.  
  
"Look, Thomas," she began in a gentle tone, "I-"  
  
* * *  
  
The blonde couldn't help it. With a surge of adrenaline, he attempted to crawl upright. The movement seemed to drive a nail right through the area near his left eye, and Draco cried out in agony, even while his knees buckled and sent him back to the floor. His hands flailed out blindly, searching for something, anything substantial. Where was Severus? They had to save Albus, they had to-  
  
* * *  
  
The sound of a choked, desperate cry made Pomfrey jump, and she dashed back into the infirmary, an apprehensive expression on her face. The assorted Gryffindor glanced at one another in worried bewilderment before following suit.  
  
The scene that met Harry's eyes made the brunet do a double-take. Pomfrey knelt beside a shivering Draco Malfoy. Intense green eyes took in the gash running down the left side of the blonde's face. Blood trickled from the wound, crimson upon porcelain. Malfoy had a stunned, horrified look on his delicate features even while he ignored Pomfrey's inquiry upon whether or not he was all right. In fact, he didn't even seem to hear her question.  
  
"You damned old fool. You damned-" The shaky, pained tone was a far cry from his normal attitude of drawling superiority. Gray eyes, glazed over with mental and physical pain, closed for a moment before a look of wrath contorted his features. "They'll all die for that, Albus! Do you hear me, you damned-" His attitude had hardened into a lethal need for vengeance.  
  
"/Malfoy/!"  
  
The blonde's head snapped towards Pomfrey, and then Malfoy blinked. His hand trembled when he moved to touch his injury, but a glare from the witch froze him in place. Now the Slytherin looked bemused and weary, the expression foreign on the Malfoy's visage.  
  
* * *  
  
"Is it over, Poppy? Did we win?" The hopeful whisper escaped his lips before Draco regained full control. Instantly, the blonde scrambled for the scattered pieces of his pride. His lips curled into a sneer. "Would someone kindly explain to me why I'm bleeding?" The blood felt wet and slick as it trickled down his cheek, and he raised his hand once more to catch a droplet before it could stain his robes. The gash stung even while the left side of his face began to ache. He didn't doubt there would be a bruise later.  
  
"It seems you fell out of bed, Malfoy." The witch's tone was calm.  
  
"How lovely." Putting the drawl back into his words, Draco forced himself to keep from gazing up at the bloody Gryffindor who now cluttered the room. Hadn't they heard Pomfrey's order for them to go back to their House? Idiots.  
  
"Hold still, and let me get something on that cut," he heard Pomfrey instruct, and obeyed her even while she spun and snapped at the owners of the eighteen feet that Malfoy now stared at. He didn't dare glance up into the curious gazes of the Gryffindor gaggle. He might accidentally catch Potter's eye, and he'd be damned again if that happened. "Get out before I take ten points each from Gryffindor!"  
  
"Could-could you give this to Seamus when he wakes up? Please?" One set of boots shuffled forward, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he studied the leather. Pathetic Muggle-born. He didn't know that dragon-hide was the only type of leather to use for boots.  
  
"Of course, Thomas. Now, leave. You're going to be late to the evening meal."  
  
* * *  
  
Dean smiled slightly as the folded note was accepted. He had labored for thirty minutes to word everything exactly right. Although he had wanted to give the letter to Seamus himself, the wizard knew that Pomfrey wouldn't read it. That's why most students trusted her.  
  
"How did Seamus and Neville /not/ wake up?" Ron's incredulous question seemed too loud when compared to Pomfrey, Malfoy, and Dean's hushed words, and Pomfrey immediately glared at the redhead. The Weasley grimaced and then looked sheepish. He shuffled in place for a moment before stating in a quieter tone, "And, um, why are they in the same bed?" The ensuing flush turned Ron's face a brilliant red that almost matched his cerise locks.  
  
Dean blinked. He had been so focused on the unusual sight of Draco Malfoy that he hadn't noticed the sight of the sleeping bedmates. Dark brown eyes lingered on the duo, and the Thomas flinched a little at the pang of jealousy that pierced him through. He /shouldn't/ be envious of Neville! It would be wrong to be, after what the near-Squib went through.  
  
"It's a side-effect of the Room. Dumbledore told me about it," he informed the others, trying to ignore the fact that his best friend wore a contented smile on his Irish countenance, and that the Longbottom's head rested on the other boy's chest. "Since Seamus was the first person that Neville saw when he came out of the Room, he's the only person Neville trusts-"  
  
Pomfrey glanced up from dabbing a bubbling purple liquid on the blonde's wound, and scowled at them. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and if you all don't leave right now, I really /will/ make it ten points /each/! Go to dinner!"  
  
The Weasley twins quickly bolted after they set their presents down on the stand next to Neville's bed. They'd been in the Hospital Wing enough times from their numerous escapades to know when the witch was being serious. As the others followed suit, Dean cast a last glance towards Seamus. A lock of sandy brown had fallen in front of the Irish boy's handsome features, but the Finnigan didn't seem to mind while he dreamed.  
  
Reassured that Seamus was all right, Dean turned and followed after Ron's only sister, Ginny. He'd give Neville his present (some of his favorite Muggle chocolates) once the boy had eaten most of the candy the others had left behind.  
  
* * *  
  
Despite the fact that points had already been taken from Gryffindor, Harry couldn't keep from lingering in the infirmary. The purple liquid on Malfoy's visage was already smoking into oblivion, revealing the now- unblemished flesh. Tracks of scarlet still stained his cheek, but otherwise, the blonde looked healed.  
  
During the entire exchange between Pomfrey and the Gryffindor group, Malfoy had kept his gaze directed towards the floor. Now, however, his cold gray eyes rose to land upon the Boy Who Lived. Instantly, the orbs flashed with a dizzying whirlwind of emotions, and the blonde glared at him. Delicate features sharpened as Malfoy poured his hatred into a venomous look.  
  
Inwardly, Harry was startled. Of course, he and Malfoy had always glared at each other, but it had never been with the loathing that the brunet had always reserved for Voldemort. Usually, it had been childish resent that had fueled their antagonisms, immature grudges over House points and Quidditch matches. Now, however, it seemed as if Malfoy had a real reason to despise him and want him dead. Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder about the blonde's incentive. Outwardly, he arched an eyebrow and kept a neutral expression on his face.  
  
"Want another ten points taken from Gryffindor, Potter?" The inquiry dripped with malice. "I'm ever so certain it can be arranged.."  
  
A scowl twisted his lips and ruined his attempted aloofness as Harry snapped, the insult automatic, "You're such a bloody git, Malfoy!" Why couldn't Malfoy act like a mature teenager for once? The brunet had thought that the Room might have changed his deposition a little, but it seemed that the Slytherin was the same arrogant bastard as before.  
  
The blonde's malevolent look shifted to a contemptuous smirk. "And you're an idiotic Gryffindork, Potty. Of course, those two usually go hand in hand." Derision colored every word as Malfoy added, "Get out of here, Potter."  
  
The Potter fought back a wave of anger. Why did the Slytherin always get under his skin so easily? "Bugger off, Malfoy," he snapped, glaring at his archrival before he turned and stormed from the infirmary. He didn't even bother to acknowledge Hermione or Ron, who had been waiting outside for him.  
  
* * *  
  
As soon as Potter stomped from the room, Malfoy visibly slumped, his face draining of color. Poppy found herself watching the blonde in concern, noting that all of his anger had vanished and had been replaced by exhaustion.  
  
"Does Potter bother you that much, Malfoy?" She kept her inquiry as straightforward as possible. A Slytherin, and especially a Malfoy, was a proud soul, and she had to word her next few sentences carefully.  
  
Malfoy scowled in her direction, his face an ashen hue. "Yes." The biting response filled the air as the blonde visibly shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment.  
  
"I'll put a charm around your bed whenever he comes in to visit Longbottom," she found herself promising. It was obvious that Potter, whether or not he knew it, made Malfoy experience the side-effects of the Room. She would have to keep the Gryffindor far away from the blond Slytherin. And inform Dumbledore, of course.  
  
"That sounds like it would work." The implied thank-you was offered in a grudging way, as if the blonde wasn't used to being grateful. After all, she mused, being a Malfoy, he probably wasn't.  
  
"You're a patient, Malfoy. Whatever is in my power to make you comfortable, I do," Poppy said simply, offering him a hand so that he could get to his feet. "Now, do you need anything to eat? More blankets?"  
  
* * *  
  
There was a hint of irony in Pomfrey's words at that point, and Draco rolled his eyes. He couldn't help if the chill of the Room stayed with him. Nevertheless, he accepted her hand, and slowly stood, trying to keep his natural grace.  
  
Attempting to hide the fact that his heart still skipped a beat every few seconds and that the memories of the Room still whispered faintly in the back of his mind, he arched an eyebrow towards the nurse. "Another blanket would be cracking," he drawled, enjoying her look of exasperation. He would conquer the damn Room, and resume his old persona. They would see. They would /all/ see. After all, he was Draco Malfoy, and he was the master of his fate! He would have asked for food, since he hadn't eaten since breakfast, but the experience with Potter had left him feeling nauseous, and a Malfoy did not throw up in front of the Hogwarts' nurse.  
  
Another blanket, this one thicker than the rest, was thrust into his arms, and the blonde blinked. As soon as he realized he'd been gazing off into space, he nodded towards Pomfrey and sauntered back to his bed. It took only a moment to notice that the blanket was rather pretty. It was pure white with a lithe, crimson dragon curled upon it; an image of a blood-red ruby set down amidst unsoiled snow. Sliding back under the other layers, he draped the final blanket over the rest. Maybe the dragon would bring him good luck.  
  
It took another minute for Draco to realize that this was no ordinary blanket. As a muffled profanity escaped his lips, the magically-induced lethargy swept through his frame in an unhurried, taunting progress. It wasn't that the dreamless state soon to come would be unwelcome; it was that the nurse had thought he had needed it! The pleasant warmth spread through his frame, lulling his breathing into a slower process until the Slytherin yawned.  
  
"Good night, Mr. Malfoy. You'll wake up feeling quite refreshed in the morning," he heard Pomfrey state, but her voice seemed to be far away.  
  
"Did-did you give one of these to Finnigan?" Draco labored to enunciate every syllable correctly even whilst his eyelids fluttered and began to close. A mischievous chuckle was Pomfrey's only response, and then Hypnos carried the young man away to a faraway land of lost dreams and forgotten memories.  
  
* * *  
  
Poppy couldn't muffle the quiet laughter that escaped her lips as the Slytherin drifted off to sleep. The displeased expression on the blonde's face was almost comical. Although she couldn't guarantee that Malfoy and Longbottom's sleeps would be dreamless, she had been assured by Dumbledore that the magical blankets were perfectly safe. They certainly made her job easier. Softly humming to herself, she flicked her wand. At once, Malfoy's visage was spotless, the dried blood gone. Any trace of sweat had vanished along with the blood. Still smirking, Poppy went to check in on Sibyl. The Divinations professor would probably like something to eat..  
  
Her hand had just reached the handle that would lead her into the private room when she heard the door leading out into the public corridor open with a quiet creak. Gritting her teeth as frustration welled within her, she turned and began a sharp tirade that died on her lips. "For the final time, Mr. Pot-"  
  
Zabini raised an eyebrow towards the nurse, his expression puzzled but respectful. "I thought Draco would like a few trinkets, ma'am, so I brought one. I can leave it on his bed stand, if you'd like." His polite, straightforward words made Poppy fight a blush.  
  
"Of course, Zabini, I'm certain your friend would appreciate that." She smiled at the fifth-year before adding, "Just close the door on your way out. They're sleeping thanks to the magical blankets Albus provided, so don't worry about waking them." Still smiling, she whisked her way into Sibyl's room. The Italian Slytherin was very well-behaved, unlike the majority of the Gryffindor group. Besides, Finnigan, Longbottom, and Malfoy wouldn't rouse until the blankets were pulled away from their frames.  
  
* * *  
  
"Whatever gave you the idea that Draco is my friend?" The soft inquiry went unanswered as dark brown eyes watched the nurse disappear into another room. Shaking his head, Blaise surveyed the room with an aloof gaze.  
  
The sight of Finnigan and Longbottom was for the most part ignored, although he made a mental note to scribble that interesting fact into his observations later. His eyes focused on the motionless form of a certain blonde, and his lips tugged into a half-smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. Of course, not many of his expressions actually lit up the dark orbs.  
  
"Well, well, Draco, today hasn't been your day, has it?" The low comment was murmured almost to himself while he approached the bed. As it always was, the Slytherin's tone was polite and detached. The gold flecks in his eyes blazed while the orbs studied his roommate's face, but that was only the light from candles lit nearby. He made a silent comment to himself that Draco seemed to be radiating irritation. Then again, when did the Malfoy not seem angry about something? "I thought you'd want one of your trinkets, and I knew that Vincent and Gregory were too moronic to remember it."  
  
Ignoring the fact that he was speaking to himself, the Italian smirked, the expression pure Slytherin. A graceful movement of his hand revealed what he had brought to the unconscious blonde. "I knew you'd want this." The common, chestnut box seemed even more ordinary when it rested in that delicate palm. "Don't worry, I didn't look in it. I seem to recall when Gregory tried to.. He was quite lucky that Snape had a potion for burn marks when the anti-theft curse reacted." He paused, and added in an almost thoughtful tone, "I don't think I want to know what's in it, actually. Some things are more interesting if they remain mysteries."  
  
He placed the mundane box on Draco's bed stand and regarded the blonde for another moment. Quelling his inner curiosity, he spoke once more, letting his Slytherin mask fall away for a moment. It was only then that Blaise smiled a mild grin, the look filled with impish mischief, mischief which hinted at the fact that the brunet had been a hellion as a youth. His eyes glowed, and this time they did so without the aid of candles.  
  
"Don't bother thanking me, Draco, though Merlin forbid that you'd even ponder the idea. It's just a thank-you for keeping our fellow Slytherin year-mates' attention off me for all these years." Without another word, the façade slipped back onto his face, and the Italian looked bored. "Well, I'm off to see if I can take any points off a wandering Gryffindork. I'll be back in the morning, Draco, with some more of your precious trinkets." His quiet words echoed faintly in the otherwise silent room long after Blaise Zabini had fingered his prefect badge and then strolled out of the infirmary.  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, Harry stalked down the corridor. Both Ron and Hermione had to jog to keep up with him. He knew that they were regarding him anxiously, but he didn't care. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and he quickened his pace. He stormed by the twins, ignoring their curious looks.  
  
Malfoy was such an obnoxious git! Remembering the superior smirk that the blond Slytherin had worn only a few minutes earlier, Harry muttered something under his breath. He would find out what Malfoy had seen, no matter what! He /had/ to know what had made the blonde so vulnerable in the Divinations classroom.  
  
Glittering verdure blazed in the midst of ivory flesh as the Boy Who Lived vowed to learn the Slytherin's fate, even if it meant Harry learned that he himself died at the hands of a triumphant Voldemort.  
  
* * *  
  
Dean watched Harry's back as the brunet stomped away from the rest of the Gryffindor. Ron and Hermione were nearly jogging to keep up with the dark-haired boy. Raising an eyebrow and wondering why Harry was so annoyed, he mentally shrugged. The brunet's problem was no matter of his. It was Seamus he was concerned about.  
  
"Hey, Dean?" The quiet whisper tugged his attention away, and he glanced over at Virginia Weasley.  
  
"Yeah, Ginny?" The dark-skinned boy kept his tone casual, although he had no idea how to talk to girls. They mystified him, and frankly, he didn't want to be bothered to unravel the enigma. They could go off and flirt with whoever they liked, as long as they didn't pester /him/.  
  
"What kind of candy does Seamus like?" As soon as the words left her lips, Ginny flushed hotly and glanced downward. Inwardly, Dean flinched and felt a little ill. He had realized that Ron's sister was finally losing her infatuation with Harry Potter, but he hadn't realized that she might turn her attention towards Seamus. Couldn't she just fall in love with Colin or someone in her own year? He hurriedly revised his opinion of girls. They could go off and flirt with whoever they liked, as long as they didn't pester him /or/ Seamus. "I mean, it, well, looks like he'll be with Neville in the Hospital Wing for a little while, and we all know his reputation with sweets. I was just, well, thinking of bringing him some."  
  
"I pity Neville then," Dean couldn't help but remark dryly, earning a startled look before he explained. "I would pity anyone that was trapped in a room with Seamus after he's eaten even a single piece of candy."  
  
Ginny giggled, her cheeks still tinged red with embarrassment. Did all girls become self-conscious this easily? Being an only child, the artist had no experience with them, even if he'd been around Lavender, Hermione, and Parvati for the past five years. "You'd have to pity Malfoy then."  
  
Dean smiled crookedly as the image of Malfoy's anguished visage and the sounds of desperate cries of 'Never!' filled his head. "Somehow, I think I already do." The Weasley looked puzzled, and the dark boy smiled enigmatically at her before quickening his pace to walk with the twins. At least they didn't blush all the time.  
  
* * *  
  
Virginia Weasley stared after Dean, feeling bemusement muddle her senses. Were all boys that odd? Shaking her head and running a hand through her long scarlet waves, she decided not to wonder about the dark boy. After all, he was an artist. They were supposed to be eccentric.  
  
She suddenly realized that Dean had never told her what Seamus' favorite type of candy was. Pouting, the fourth-year glanced in his direction just in time to catch him wearing a troubled expression. What was his problem /now/?  
  
"Hey, Thomas, are you almost done with that painting of Oliver we asked for?" Fred asked. She could tell it was the younger of the identical duo because George had magicked a parchment on his twin's back that flashed, 'I am Gred, kiss me,' every few seconds. Naturally, someone else (probably their best friend, Lee Jordan) had added onto the joke so that after the first message, there was a second note of, 'Only a Knut a kiss.'  
  
Dean shrugged. "I'm almost done. I'm running low on supplies, so I'll have to write my mum and ask her to send me a couple shades of paint. Also, do you two have any more photographs of him? I need to check on the color of his eyes."  
  
"Why do you guys want a painting of Oliver?" Ginny asked, and sighed at the identical smirks of roguish evil. "Never mind, I don't want to know."  
  
"Oh, his eyes are sepia-"  
  
"-like the faintest hint of rich strawberries submerged in darkest chocolate," added George, obviously quoting from something he'd read, and the Weasley twins snickered together.  
  
Ginny was glad to see that she wasn't the only one giving her brothers an odd look. Dean's dark eyes looked absolutely baffled and even a trifle mistrustful. "I'll still need a few more pictures," the artist murmured, obviously trying to be polite, "despite that, um, /poetic/ description."  
  
"Naturally!" The twins probably would have tormented Dean further, if Fred had not noticed the parchment on his back at that moment. Hazel eyes widened in surprise as he exclaimed, "What the hell's on my back?" Those same eyes narrowed when he read the flashing words. "Bloody hell, I'm worth more than a Knut a kiss! I'm worth at least a Sickle!"  
  
George immediately burst out laughing, and bolted down the corridor. Mumbling profanities, his doppelganger drew a wand and raced after him, swearing vengeance. Unsurprisingly, the parchment was still on Fred's back.  
  
* * *  
  
Dean watched the Weasley pair bolt down the hallway, and sighed to himself. Sometimes, he was very glad that he was an only child, even if Seamus always assured him that having tons of siblings was a good thing. However, he still wondered why the twins had commissioned him to paint a large portrait of Oliver Wood.  
  
// "Hey, Thomas, you're an artist, right?" The upcoming fifth-year blinked, and did a double-take. Literally. He had thought himself alone within the bookstore at Diagon Alley, so how had the Weasley twins snuck upon him? He quickly hid the book he had been glancing at behind his back, hoping they wouldn't notice. Dean would never hear the end of it if they saw what book he'd been glancing at.  
  
"Oh, hi, Fred, isn't it?" His voice cracked on the final word, and the dark boy fought back a flush. He really prayed that his voice would be done changing by September 1st. "Yeah, I'm an artist. How are you both doing?"  
  
"George, actually. We're doing great-"  
  
"-but we've found that we need the services of an artiste-"  
  
"-and since you're the only one we know-"  
  
"-could you paint a portrait of someone for us?"  
  
Dean stared at them both for a moment, deciding that twins were very bizarre. "What type of portrait?" he inquired cautiously. Knowing the Weasley duo, it could quite possibly be someone naked, and Dean didn't particularly want to paint that sort of thing.  
  
"Just a heroic painting of our beloved Oliver Wood," George and Fred assured him in one breath, sounding all-too-innocuous.  
  
"Why do you two want a picture of Oliver?" His voice broke again, this time on the word two, and he was glad that his dark skin hid his blush. The book trembled behind his back, but luckily neither Weasley noticed.  
  
The twin he figured was George snickered, and looked unbelievably innocent. "No reason, just to have a portrait of a soon-to-be famous Keeper- "  
  
"-and tease one of his fans with it," the other one added, actually sounding honest as a mischievous grin split his face.  
  
"Who?" Instead of answering, the two produced several photographs of the former Quidditch Keeper, and asked how much the portrait would cost. //  
  
He still hadn't found out who this fan was, but Dean figured that he would find out when the twins presented the visual rendering to their latest victim. The artist was so lost in thought while he turned a corner that he didn't notice the other person until it was too late.  
  
"Oh!" To his utter mortification, his voice cracked on the word. Damn his hormones! His voice hadn't cracked in weeks, and today it decided to start up again. Well, at least it hadn't cracked in front of Dumbledore. From his position on the floor, he struggled not to blush as he glanced up at the person he'd slammed into.  
  
"Daydreaming, Thomas?" The soft drawl held no malice, only a vague hint of emotion that the Gryffindor couldn't quite name.  
  
"You could call it that, Zabini," Dean agreed, nodding as he scrambled to his feet before the Slytherin could offer his hand. "What're you doing, wandering out in the halls?"  
  
"I could ask you and Weasley the same thing."  
  
Startled, the Gryffindor glanced around and realized that only he and Ginny were left of the nine who had hopefully knocked on the infirmary door. "We were at the Hospital Wing, trying to visit Neville and Seamus, but they were asleep, so we're headed back to the Gryffindor Tower."  
  
"That makes sense," mused Zabini, as if he didn't quite believe the Gryffindor. His dark eyes flickered towards Ginny for a brief moment before he offered them a mock-smirk. "Just make certain you have a similar 'excuse' for any teacher that comes by, Thomas. We wouldn't want you to lose any /precious/ Gryffindor House points."  
  
* * *  
  
"Of course not," Thomas agreed, and actually smirked. His eyes danced amidst his dark chocolate flesh, revealing his amusement. His lean frame was relaxed as the Gryffindor arched an eyebrow. "Try not to lose any House points for Slytherin, Zabini."  
  
"Oh, I won't." Blaise resisted the urge to smirk back and instead let his expression shift to one of languor. "See you during classes, Thomas." Ignoring the Weasley girl, he turned and sauntered in the direction of the Slytherin dormitory. He didn't think anyone would be out in the halls after what had happened to Longbottom and Draco until it was /actually/ time for dinner. Besides, he needed to update his notes on numerous Gryffindor and a single Slytherin. If some of the new observations made his stomach twist uncomfortably, the Italian didn't acknowledge that fact.  
  
* * *  
  
Dean found himself watching the other boy walk away and wondering what went on in the Slytherin's head. Now that he thought about it, Zabini was even more of an enigma than any girl he knew. After all, at least girls actually revealed their emotions. Only the Italian's eyes gave away any sentiment he felt.  
  
Shaking his head, Dean glanced over at Ginny just in time to watch her blush and glance away. Had she been staring at /him/? The thought muddled his senses, and he blinked at her. Perhaps she didn't have a crush on Seamus. Maybe she was simply enamored of any boy she spotted at the moment.  
  
"Um, Dean?" The dark boy looked over at her once more. "You never told me what kind of candy Seamus likes." Her royal blue eyes darkened to lavender as she blushed again.  
  
Dean mentally sighed. He'd been hoping to get away with not answering her question, but he didn't see any way to distract her now. He glanced at her for a moment, watching her face tilt towards him expectantly. "Well, his favorite type of candy is Peppermint Toads, actually. One of his deep, dark secrets," he said at last, before winking at her. "Of course, there's also a rumor that he likes blood-flavored lollipops."  
  
Ginny laughed and shook her head. "Peppermint Toads it is then," she declared, a dimple appearing on her cheek as she smiled at him. "Thanks, Dean." She turned to hurry in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower before she paused. "Oh, and what's Neville's?"  
  
Yes, she definitely had a crush on Seamus, if she had forgotten about the Longbottom. Hadn't she gone to the Yule Ball with him last year? Poor Neville. He deserved a girl that would /remember/ him when a cuter boy walked by. "I think he likes éclairs, but don't quote me on that."  
  
* * *  
  
"Thanks. I think I remember him having a few éclairs at the Yule Ball," Ginny said once more, smiling at him. She probably looked like an idiot, thanks to her pale Weasley coloring that so easily betrayed her embarrassment, but at the moment she didn't care. She had a few Knuts and perhaps even a couple Sickles saved up from gardening at some Muggle homes near the Burrow over the summer. Ginny could buy Seamus and Neville some candy, and still have a little money left over for Christmas presents, if she planned carefully and found some good deals in the thrift store in Hogsmeade.  
  
"No problem," Dean assured her, winking once more. She couldn't help but blush. He really was quite handsome, now that she wasn't blind to everyone but Harry Potter. Of course, the Boy Who Lived still held a part of her heart that would always mourn the unrequited love of her first crush, but now she could actually notice that Dean's dark eyes were smoldering with a foreign emotion, and that that was /very/ sexy. And of course, now Ginny was flushed again, a coral pink hue accenting her light tan. She sometimes wished she hadn't been born a Weasley.  
  
"Yes, well, I'm going to go get ready for, well, dinner," she murmured, suddenly aware that Dean was watching her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Smiling at the dark boy, she lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers in a good-bye signal that she had adopted from the twins.  
  
As the Thomas' good-bye drifted to her ears, Ginny gathered her robes to her and quickened her pace. Colin was Muggle-born, and he had mentioned that his father had been taking evening classes about psychology. Maybe he'd be able to help her figure out if her hormones were flaring and if that was why she kept staring at every single boy in her year and up.  
  
* * *  
  
Collapsing boneless against his pillows, Blaise glanced down at the notebook in his hands. It was so amusing, really, that such a simple object held the psychological information of nearly every Hogwarts student that he had ever met. Especially since he had penned the data down himself. The small book had an ebony-black leather covering, inscribed with the bronze words, "The Observations of Blaise Zabini, Slytherin at Hogwarts, 1991- 1998."  
  
Several strands of sable had slipped from his ponytail, but a careful flick of his wand and a soft spell had his hair perfect once more. If he prided himself on one thing, it was the fact that he managed to look as well-groomed as Draco without having to use hair products. Just magic. Blaise drew a quill and an inkwell (charmed not to leak or break) from the fathomless depths of his robe and arched an eyebrow. It had become a habit, over the years, to speak out loud to himself even when it wasn't needed, but this was a rare moment when it was. Still, Blaise glanced around to make certain that Vincent and Gregory were still occupied down in the common room.  
  
"It's me, my notebook. If you would be so kind as to open?" He had slaved away for months to create this seemingly harmless tome, and so he was always pleased when the ebon book flashed golden before it opened to a blank first leaf. He paused, his quill hovering over the blank page. "I think we'll start with Draco Malfoy, at the moment."  
  
The clean page seemed to shimmer for a moment, before his handwriting appeared on the crisp white sheet. The elegant, artistic style with which he looped his letters could be called feminine, but he /had/ learned to write by copying his mother's text. The content detailed every fact he knew about the blonde: his name, age, birth date, family members, identified romantic liaisons, known friendships and/or alliances, physical description, emotional description, and history. He skimmed the beginning, but paused at the last two sections. He'd have to alter the emotional description /and/ the history. Well, that was as annoying as hell.  
  
Blaise leaned back and tapped his quill upon the sheet. "I'm going to alter the emotional description," he informed the book, which immediately made the rest of the precious information vanish. That left him the entire page to pen down these new developments. Frowning for a moment, he dipped the quill into the inkwell and meticulously began to write this fresh occurrence and the blonde's current emotional status. After that, he'd rewrite the history, but he knew that there would be more to notate in the next few weeks. Much, much more.  
  
* * *  
  
Dean mumbled the password to the Fat Lady, but it had been a waste of breath. As soon as the portrait swung aside, a wave of Gryffindor students swarmed through the exit, smiling at him as they hurried off to eat. The dark boy sighed. He rather thought he'd skip dinner today. It would mean extra time to figure out how to word his apology to Hermione, Ron, and Harry..  
  
"Hey, Dean!" The cheerful timbre filled the artist's ears, and he mentally groaned. He'd also rather hoped that Fred would launch into a full- scale 'war' with his twin and leave him some free time..  
  
"Yes, Fred?"  
  
"S'George, actually," stated the twin, smiling up at him. A good- natured smile toyed with the redhead's chapped lips, and Dean was immediately suspicious. "You wanted some more pictures of Ollie?"  
  
"Well, yes, but how-" The artist cut himself off and sighed when no less than ten photographs were thrust into his hand. Why were the twins so obsessed with Oliver Wood? He assumed that they knew someone who had a crush on Oliver, but who? Ginny? Dean doubted that. "Er, thanks, George. Did Fred ever catch you?"  
  
"Well.." The hazel-eyed Weasley hedged around the question, offering the Thomas an almost sheepish smile. "Not yet, which means I'd best be dashing off to supper. I hope the photographs help!" Without another word, the seventh-year vanished into the horde that made its way towards the Great Hall.  
  
Dean sighed and shook his head, glancing down at the photographs. He might as well go back to the boys' dorm and work on the portrait of Oliver Wood. Painting always helped him clear his head and think things through. Still shaking his head, the black boy squeezed through the hole.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been about to follow after their housemates and go to the meal when Dean appeared, looking skeptical over something. When the brunet caught sight of them, however, the dubious look was replaced by a self-conscious one.  
  
"Oh," the artist declared, shifting uncomfortably. "Um, listen, can I talk to you three after dinner? I want to, well, apologize for being such a prat." The smile he wore was nervous at best, but to Hermione Granger, it did seem that Dean was truly sorry.  
  
She smiled at him, relief moving to the forefront of her mind. "Of course, Dean." The prefect couldn't help but add, her mothering instincts surging after the ordeal the fifth-years had gone through, "Aren't you coming to dinner?"  
  
Her fellow Muggle-born shook his head in a negative manner, looking rueful. "The twins are anxious about a commission they're paying me for, and I should probably work on it. I'll see you all after the meal."  
  
"What sort of job?" Ron asked, a note of curiosity coloring his inquiry.  
  
Dean sighed. "Believe me, Ron, you probably don't want to know. Your brothers are extremely odd."  
  
"Naturally, but-" Whatever line of reasoning the Weasley had been about to launch into was cut short as George scrambled through the portrait hole and fell onto the ground with a loud thump. The older of the twins was clearly disheveled, his carmine locks falling in front of his pleasant visage.  
  
"Oh, hello," he said airily, noticing their stares. "Got any idea where I can hide from Gred? He's rather angry-" A furious yell drifted through the exit of the Gryffindor common room, and George paled.  
  
Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione noticed that Harry and Dean were both biting back their laughter. Both boys shook with the strain, their eyes dancing. Ron, however, wasn't quite as inhibited. His cerulean eyes were filled with tears of mirth as he howled in amusement.  
  
"He /finally/ noticed the parchment?"  
  
George shot his youngest brother an affronted look before bolting for the safety of the dormitory. As soon as he vanished up the stairs and out of sight, his doppelganger tumbled through the hole, wand clenched in a shaking fist. Fred was obviously quite out of sorts, with his hazel eyes blazing and his tanned flesh turned rosy red.  
  
"Where is he? I'll show him I'm worth more than a bloody Knut a kiss!" The twin brandished his wand for emphasis, and frowned at Ron when the boy doubled over, chortling even harder. Fred seemed to gleam something from Ron's mirth, however, because his eyes abruptly widened. An evil smirk crossed his face, reminding Hermione of Malfoy, before the redhead began to saunter towards the stairs. "I think I'll just grab something from the dorm before I look for Feorge some more.."  
  
The quartet watched as Fred marched up the stairs, obviously prepared to deal out revenge to his older brother. Dean and Harry both began to chuckle while Ron shook his head and muttered, "I almost pity George."  
  
* * *  
  
Dean couldn't help but nod in agreement, even while laughter slipped from his mouth. The mirth seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep inside him, a place that Seamus often tapped into. The stress that had been tensing his muscles ever since Neville had stumbled into the Room of Consequence was momentarily eased as the amusement rattled his frame in the form of soft chuckles.  
  
"Listen, go on and eat." He flicked his fingers at the trio, still smiling. "It won't do you all any good if Pomfrey decides to let us in to see Neville and Seamus and finds that you've forgotten to eat and fainted in the middle of the common room."  
  
"Wouldn't we be /in/ the Hospital Wing with Neville and Seamus then?" Harry pointed out, his emerald gaze sparkling. His ivory flesh was stained pink as the brunet flushed with amusement.  
  
Dean paused before he arched an eyebrow towards the Boy Who Lived. It was nice to see the Potter so carefree. When they had spoken on the train, Harry had seemed tired and almost forlorn, even with Ron and Hermione sitting beside him. It also appeared that his fellow Gryffindor had gotten over what had made him so furious earlier. "Touché, Harry!" He managed an elegant bow towards the green-eyed boy, keeping the bright smile on his face.  
  
"We'll talk to you after supper, Dean," Hermione commented, the prefect smiling at him. "Maybe we can look at the summer work for Potions, Herbology, and Charms, since we missed those classes today." She sounded disappointed over the fact that they wouldn't get to have the three classes until Thursday. Beside the bushy-haired girl, Ron rolled his eyes and mimicked gagging.  
  
Fighting back a grin that would reveal Ron's actions to the Granger, the black boy nodded. "Sure. I was a little confused by Snape's assignment, so maybe we could collaborate on the six-foot essay he had us write?"  
  
Hermione beamed. "Of course!" Ever since the prefect had discovered Dean was in the top ten of their year, she had become intent on dragging him to library whenever she could. Which Seamus found hilarious, naturally.  
  
"Do you want us to bring anything back for you?" Harry's green eyes surveyed him carefully, but Dean obstructed the gaze with a lopsided smile. It was a grin that he'd perfected from Seamus.  
  
"No, just go on and gorge yourselves." His lithe fingers moved in the direction of his fellow Gryffindor, pointing them all in the direction of the still open portrait hole. The Fat Lady could be heard grumbling about the slowness of children. "I have some candy in my trunk; if I get hungry I'll eat some."  
  
The trio offered him different reactions to his comment before they disappeared through the hole. (Harry chuckled, Ron grinned knowingly, and Hermione sniffed in faint disapproval.) Watching as the Weasley's fiery mane disappeared from view, Dean ran a hand through his locks, glancing down at the photographs still in his hand. The top one had Oliver Wood standing in his Quidditch uniform, beaming proudly at someone behind the camera.  
  
"Well, Mister Wood, I hope your admirer enjoys the portrait-" he began, when a loud explosion rocked the Gryffindor Tower. It had come from the room that the Weasley twins slept in. Rolling his eyes and not bothering to react to the howls of mirth (most likely from Fred the Avenger), the artist began to climb the steps towards his nice, safe, and /empty/ dormitory.  
  
* * *  
  
"I wonder why Fred and George want a painting of Oliver Wood," Ron remarked, his tone curious. He glanced at Harry and Hermione to see if they had any clue, but both were off in their own worlds. The Weasley sighed. He supposed he'd have to figure that one out on his own. He glanced over at his two best friends, wondering what they were thinking about.  
  
Hermione's hazel eyes were clouded, and Ron smiled slightly as she bit down on her lower lip. It was an unconscious habit she and Harry had both developed in their first year at Hogwarts, but the Weasley always found the involuntary gesture amusing. Waves of light sepia tumbled wildly around her visage, but the prefect didn't seem to notice, too lost in her thoughts. Ron's fingers itched to brush a few of her tendrils away from her face, but he pushed that thought into the farthest reaches of his mind. She was probably thinking about what books would have information about the Room of Consequence.  
  
His eyes flickered towards his other best friend. Clear-cut gems of purest dark green had unconsciously darkened in thought as Harry frowned in an absent way that assured the Weasley that the Boy Who Lived was confused over something. His thick glasses had slid down his nose, but the brunet had yet to notice the precarious situation. Though he wasn't biting his lower lip, Harry instead was squinting into the distance, towards something only he could see.  
  
Shaking his head, Ron decided not to pry. If Harry and Hermione wanted to tell him what they were thinking about, he'd listen, but he was too hungry to squabble about how they never told him about anything.  
  
"Harry! Hey, Harry!" The high, piping call filled the corridor leading to the Great Hall, and Ron mentally groaned. Colin Creevy had such horrid timing. Well, all right, any occasion was horrid timing when it was Colin.  
  
"What- oh, hi, Colin." To anyone save Colin, it was obvious that Harry was distracted and not in the mood to talk. Of course, the photographer had always been oblivious, and even now the short fourth-year bounced on the balls of his feet and beamed up at his idol.  
  
"Hi, Harry! How're you doing? Do you know if Neville's all right?" Ron was surprised to note that Colin's voice had lowered over the summer, but it was still high compared to the other fourteen-year-olds. His wavy locks of light brown had grown out a bit, but that didn't make him seem any older.  
  
Only Ron noticed the flicker of impatience in Harry's eyes before the Potter smiled in Colin's direction. Always the valiant Gryffindor, his best friend was. "I'm fine, Colin, and Dumbledore said Neville will be all right. Madam Pomfrey told us that she'll allow visitors starting tomorrow."  
  
"That's great!" the Muggle-born squeaked, glowing as he gazed up at the brunet. "I'll have to give him his present tomorrow then!"  
  
"His-his present?" Harry's tone betrayed his bemusement, and the Creevy's light brown eyes brightened. It was obvious that Colin was proud of whatever he had accomplished as he straightened to his full five-foot height and grinned up at his hero.  
  
"He asked me to make him a photo album of Hogwarts. He's been helping me with Herbology, so I told him I'd do my best. Neville's a great guy, isn't he, Harry? A really great guy! My Herbology grade-" Suddenly, Colin fell silent. Then the younger boy shuffled for a moment, looking almost sheepish. "I'm-I'm babbling again, aren't I? Ginny said that you all think I'm too loud, and she's /really/, really smart so she's probably right. I'm not /bothering/ you, am I, Harry?"  
  
* * *  
  
Harry gazed into Colin's hopeful brown eyes and fought back a sigh. He knew that the Creevy was trying to be more mature, but he didn't know how to be diplomatic about that question. Luckily, Hermione was there to rescue him.  
  
"Of course you're not bothering us, Colin! We agree with you about Neville. He's sweet," the prefect stated, smiling at the photographer. In a softer, more curious, tone, she added, "Do you think we could see the album, or it is private?"  
  
Colin frowned for a moment, his brow wrinkling in contemplation. "Well, Neville never said that it was private, so I guess you can see it," he declared at last, flashing them all a pleased smile. Blinking, Harry realized that he'd never asked Colin about any of the photographs he'd taken over the years. What had happened to the countless photographs that had been taken of him? "Here."  
  
A thick, rectangular object was suddenly pressed into his hands, and Harry glanced down at the photo album, with its plain brown covering. No one glancing at it would realize what a keepsake it was. Maybe Neville wanted it that way?  
  
He realized that Colin had started speaking once more, and actually listened, just in time to hear, "-ten, Harry, if you want, I can tell you how I got some of the pictures. Some of the stories are really funny!" The eager-to-please, almost wistful note still lingered in the fourth year's high-speeded words.  
  
"Sure Colin, but where's Dennis?" Ron had decided to speak up, and the redhead sounded surprised to see the boy without his younger brother. Ever since Dennis had arrived in Hogwarts, he had shadowed his older brother, his idol second only to Harry.  
  
"Oh, he /fancies/ someone and he's off mooning over her," Colin declared, rolling his eyes. "He's too young for that of course, but he won't listen to me. Even Ginny's tried to convince him, but he won't listen. He-"  
  
"Hey, Colin," Harry interrupted quickly, realizing that the boy was about to launch into another long ramble, "how about you tell us some of the photograph stories while we're eating?"  
  
"Oh, oh sure!" There was a note of almost ecstatic happiness in Colin's voice. With a twinge of guilt, the Potter realized that he had been rather cold to the Gryffindor for the past few years. Of course, no one could blame him for not wanting someone around who prattled about how everything you did was perfect and took pictures of you while you weren't paying attention...  
  
"C'mon, then," Ron declared, jolting the Boy Who Lived from his thoughts. "I'm starving!" Harry glanced over at the redhead in time to see the Weasley force a smile on his face. It was obvious that Ron was a little wary of Colin's abrupt realization of his maddening habits, but it was also evident that the fifth-year would go along with whatever Hermione and Harry wanted. "I'm starving!"  
  
Colin flushed and looked to be on cloud nine. His light brown eyes glowed as he bobbed his head up and down. "So am I. Let's go tuck in, Harry!" Those trusting eyes turned towards the aforementioned Gryffindor, and Harry suddenly had to swallow against a lump that had lodged in his throat. Colin had the same blind faith in him that Hagrid did. Of course, it was only because he was the Boy Who Lived, while Hagrid believed in him because he was simply Harry, but still..  
  
He forced a smile. "Yeah, let's go."  
  
* * *  
  
As soon as they sat down and began to eat, Hermione studied the brown album that rested by Harry's elbow. The words 'Neville Longbottom's Album of Hogwarts' was pressed in, the pale gold text glittering among the ordinary brown color. Wondering what sort of photographs Neville had asked for, she set her pumpkin juice aside and asked Colin.  
  
"Oh, photographs of everyone and anything we thought was interesting. He only asked that I didn't make the album into a shrine for Harry," the Creevy stated, glancing over at Harry and smiling brightly as if the brunet might find that amusing.  
  
Of course, Harry did, and chuckled. "I'm assuming you didn't?" His bright eyes glinted with amusement. It seemed that her friend thought Colin was much more amusing when he wasn't nattering on and on about how Harry was marvelous and perfect.  
  
Colin, who was sitting across from the trio, grabbed the book and opened it up to the first page. "I had to ask one of the sixth years who's also a photographer for some pictures of your first year," he explained, noting their looks of surprise.  
  
The threesome gazed at the first photograph in amazement. It was a picture of them, as first years, shuffling into the Great Hall right before the Sorting. Under the photograph, someone had penned in careful print, 'Before the Sorting, 1991.'  
  
"Blimey, we all look like we're about to faint!" declared Ron. Hermione secretly agreed. The first year Ron had an expression on his face that suggested he was about to vomit, while Harry and Hermione's faces were drained of any color while they stumbled into the Great Hall. Neville was clutching Trevor to his chest as if the toad would protect him, his eyes as wide as saucers as he glanced around wildly.  
  
"Look at Seamus!" Harry suddenly declared, jabbing a finger towards the Irish lad, who had suddenly tripped over his own feet and had clutched at Dean's robes for support. His sandy brown locks fell haphazardly over his eyes as he silently began to apologize to the Muggle-born.  
  
Smiling with pleasure at their interest, Colin flipped to the next page, and Ron gave out a loud shout of laughter. "Look at Lavender!" The photograph, in which Lavender's head was enveloped by the Sorting Hat, was dubbed, 'Lavender Brown, being Sorted into Gryffindor, 1991.'  
  
"What about me?" The aforesaid witch glanced over from chatting with Parvati. When they showed her the photo, she blushed in embarrassment. "Why does anyone have a photograph of me being Sorted? I look so silly!"  
  
"Neville wanted a photograph of all the Gryffindor's Sortings and some of his other House friends," Colin explained, looking shell-shocked that Lavender had actually spoken to him.  
  
* * *  
  
"Potter?" Harry glanced over his shoulder and blinked in confusion.  
  
"Yes, Professor?" He noticed Hermione and Ron were gazing at McGonagall in bewilderment, the photograph album momentarily forgotten. Returning his attention to the Transfiguration teacher, he was relieved to note that she didn't look annoyed. That meant he wasn't in trouble, right? Her following words made him rethink the hopeful thought.  
  
"You will go to the headmaster's office after you finish dinner," she informed him, her tone as curt as ever. Her eyes flickered towards the album, and something of a smile ghosted upon her thin lips.  
  
"I'm-I'm not in trouble, right?"  
  
"Of course not, Potter." She eyed him shrewdly. "Unless you're done something wrong that I wasn't informed of." There was a slight accusation in the harsh professor's words, and Harry gulped.  
  
"Oh, all right, Professor. Then I'm not in trouble." McGonagall's frame relaxed a little before she nodded and moved away from the table and back towards the high table. Harry's gaze followed her for a moment. What did Dumbledore want?  
  
Well, he supposed he'd find out after the meal. He turned back towards the photograph album, but his heart wasn't quite in it as it had been before when Colin showed them more pictures of the Sorting and a few of the Quidditch games.  
  
(Author's Notes: The title is a quote taken from a poem by W. E. Henley. I thought it was quite appropriate. *smirk* Oh, and I do think someone needs to knock Harry over the head. Really.  
  
Prelude to Chapter Four: Blaise is developed a little more, Dumbledore chats with Harry, Neville's point of view is finally acknowledged, Dean works on his portrait, and Colin's change is explained a little bit more. ~Cinaed) 


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Romance