What relationship?

Wed, 13 Sep 2006 01:10:27 GMT

Sooo, it's been a month.

We have chapter 3 written... SOMEONE just doesn't think that it's good enough to post yet.

Yeah, sorry for the wait. Hopefully it will be up soon.

Update!

Sun, 13 Aug 2006 03:22:01 GMT

With any luck I'll be able to continue this every-two-week update thing.

How To Misspell Despair
Chapter 02 A Drop Of Lemon

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Dudley was busy fermenting on Harry's bed when Harry came in from his shower.

"Hello, Harry," he drolled, yawning.

Harry paused in the doorway, his mind racing through possible reasons why Dudley was violating his personal space. He stepped into the room and slammed the door.

"What are you doing in my room?" he demanded, spluttering.

"Going through your stuff," Dudley answered, staring at the ceiling.

"What?" Harry shouted, becoming enraged. "Get the hell out of here!"

Dudley smirked at Harry, apparently enjoying himself. "Why?" he asked. "It's my second bedroom and I have a right to see what kinds of dirty things you're hiding in here."

"You little bastard," Harry said. "I haven't got anything to hide!"

Dudley sat up. He held up his enormous hand, and Harry caught a glimpse of a shiny charm. "Then what's this?" he asked. "A gift from Cedric?"

Cursing, Harry lunged at his cousin. "Give me that!"

Dudley let Harry grab it from him, and began to laugh. "And what's this?" he continued.

Harry froze, watching Dudley as he began to unfold a small note from inside the locket. Harry moved towards his dresser, where he had stowed his wand. He grabbed it and pointed it at Dudley.

"Give it to me--now," Harry demanded, still clinging to the towel around his waist.

Dudley looked up at him, saw the wand, and stopped laughing.

"Why?" he asked. "It's not for you."

Harry growled. "Get out, Dud."

"Oh, look at the big man," jeered Dudley, "standing over there with his dildo. Is that all you've got, Harry?"

The next moment, Dudley was on the ground, howling as Harry ripped the note out of his hand. Harry stomped over to his dresser and pulled out a ratty old pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He glowered at Dudley as he retreated to the bathroom to change.

Dudley clambered to his feet as Harry disappeared out the door. He fumed at the thought of his ungrateful cousin having a much more interesting life than he. Dudley heard a tinkling of breaking glass somewhere in the room, and turned to see bits of glass and an acidic smelling liquid burning a hole in Harry's dresser. He smiled. Sweet retribution.

He looked around the room once more. In one corner lay a pile of Daily Prophets, in the other, an open trunk strewn with what looked like long black robes and piles of papers--school books? Dudley glanced at the door, and then cautiously walked over to the trunk, where a heavy book lay, padded an old pair of yellow socks and a pair of trainers. His heart beating against his collar, Dudley bent down to remove the book--Broomstick Servicing Kit, it said--from its safe place in the trunk. He felt oddly light as he walked back to the door and peered out to check if the coast was clear.

Harry managed to convince himself that Dudley was just trying to be annoying, and he was actually terrified of all things magic. After all, the locket had only been lying on the side table, exposed. When Harry returned to the room, he felt uneasy, and he tried to distract himself by examining the locket for the millionth time until he fell asleep.
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Wormtail shuddered against the cold floor, his thin, matted hair steeped in his own blood. He cringed as he heard his master hiss another punishment. Bellatrix sucked in a breath as a ragged scream cut through the room. She hated bothering the Dark Lord when he was punishing a servant. However, her errand was of slightly more worth. She took care to touch neither the door nor the doorway, as it was rumored that one or the other was equipped with an intruder ward. Shaking, Bellatrix slid along the slightly curved obsidian wall.

The Dark Lord’s chamber looked just as it always had. Though abandoned for nearly thirteen years, an intense cleaning spell and restore had turned the chamber back into a perfectly crafted work of art. The room was—in its crudest form—a hollow sphere of obsidian, graced with the most valuable decorations that various Death Eaters had found inside the houses of enemies slain. The table closest to Bellatrix was an antique, an alabaster carving made to resemble a poorly transfigured spider. She eyed the six beady eyes that she had always found disconcerting. She always found her attention drawn to this particular feature of the furniture—and she had been in the Dark Lord’s chamber many times.

Bellatrix turned towards the middle of the room. Wormtail’s broken body was lying on the ground in a pool of blood, but his torturer had disappeared. Frantic, Bellatrix spun around to leave. The Dark Lord stood before her, blocking her escape.

She threw herself to the ground in humility, but her pulse was racing in her throat. Once before, nearly eighteen years before, she had been caught by the Dark Lord in his chambers. That time, however, she was given an honor above any of the other Death Eaters, and now she rather thought herself favored among the Dark Lord’s followers. Now, however, she was a victim of his plans, and he saw nothing more in her than what he saw in her sister. There was a weakness there. Slowly, Bellatrix raised her head to gaze reverently at her Master, careful to put unworthy thoughts out of her mind.

“What is this? Trespassing again?” asked the Dark Lord in a thin and silky voice, tenderly stroking the wand with which he had just finished torturing Wormtail.

"My Lord. The Dementors have made headway," Bellatrix said in a tremulous voice, watching her Master's expression.

The Dark Lord's slitted nostrils flared, and he barked, "Out with it, Bella, I don't have time for silly updates."

Bella sat up, and her eyes glittered. "But my Lord," she said, "Lucius bid me tell you that he and the others have escaped."

At this, the Dark Lord stepped back from his follower and motioned for her to stand. She obeyed, and walked towards him, beaming. Frowning, he made as if to slap her. She winced prematurely, and the Dark Lord broke out into high pitched laughter. Bellatrix bowed awkwardly, and moved quickly towards the door. The Dark Lord stood in the center of the chamber, laughing as he often did these days.

Bellatrix stumbled into the doorway and a great jolt of pain spread through her limbs. Managing to remain upright, she gasped in surprise and leapt away from the wall. Hearing her, the Dark Lord turned, and his laughter grew. This was a wonderful thing, a splendid thing that had happened…
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Harry’s hopes leapt with the swoop of the post owl into his tiny bedroom. It was a Tuesday, and there was a crossword puzzle in the Prophet on Tuesdays. Harry had been very very bored lately, and it was only the end of July.

He was chewing on a nubby pencil, wondering which boy band had recently gone platinum on the mainland, when he heard a loud bang from somewhere in the house. Harry sat very still, hoping desperately that he would not be blamed for whatever had broken. Harry strained to hear what was going on, and then quickly got up to close his door as Aunt Petunia's high pitched scream came from down the hall.

When he turned back to his bed, Harry caught sight of the note and locket on his side table. They were sitting next to a deep burn in the wood that Harry could not explain, but hoped that Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice. He decided that he didn't want to risk losing it again, and so he pried open the locket and managed to stuff the note back inside. Harry dropped it in the pocket of his trousers and returned to his crossword.

Breakfast was tense, but Harry tried not to notice, finding the Dursleys increasingly boring as the summer went by. Dudley glared at Harry with an evil glint in his eye all through breakfast, and Aunt Petunia kept slipping him odd glances between bites. Harry slipped away from the table to start his chores as soon as he could.

Harry returned to his room after lunch, desperately trying to think of which Greek letter came after pi. Closing the door, he heard a wild pecking at the closed window. Harry ran to the window and quickly unlatched it, letting the tiny owl land on his bed. The bird collapsed afterwards, and so Harry picked it up carefully and laid the tiny animal in Hedwig’s empty cage before turning to the bed. There lay another copy of the Daily Prophet. It was much thinner than a usual paper, and for a moment Harry wondered if this might be a joke. After all, it was nearly ten past two. He flipped the paper over and opened it. Staring at him from the front page was Lucius Malfoy, along with Walden MacNair and a small number of other Death Eaters. Harry’s mouth fell open and his mind began to race.

Azkaban. There’d been a breakout. Harry turned towards the window with such determination that for a moment he felt as if he’d heard another noise coming from outside. Approaching the open window, he noticed a small speck in the distance. Watching it for a second, Harry decided that it was headed his way. He was about to close the window when he realized that it was Hedwig. Hurriedly glancing around at the surroundings to make sure the street was empty of Dementors and newly freed Death Eaters, he stood aside to let Hedwig barrel into the room. She also collapsed on his bed, and in doing so she dropped the tiny letter she had clutched in her beak. It was a sealed envelope. There was no marking on it, and Harry could feel a tiny bead or stone inside it, but no parchment. He opened it carefully, thinking that it would be a bad idea to touch whatever was inside. He peered inside, and saw a small marble.

Rage welled up in Harry, and he threw the envelope across the room. Suddenly everything was very much the way he had always anticipated a couple summers ago. Something huge had happened—Voldemort had acted, and now he had more loyal Death Eaters to back him up. And Harry didn't know what was going on. He was angry with himself that for a second he had expected to see Dumbledore’s spidery handwriting, but now he was thinking of the fact that the Headmaster was dead and it wouldn’t do to be upset at a time like this.

Harry couldn’t help it. No one had directly contacted him in nearly two months. The composure he had maintained for so long had only been helped along by his guilty conscience. It was his fault that Sirius and Dumbledore were dead. There was no changing that. Even as Harry’s irrational mind contemplated this, he realized that the present was the only time he had left. He sat there on the ground beside his bed, breathing heavily as if he had just returned from saving the world. He wiped his forehead suddenly, feeling queasy, though no sweat had formed there.

The hottest part of the day passed in a daze. Harry remembered waking for a moment around four when another owl visited his open window and delivered a small letter. It turned out to be from Arthur Weasley, and it contained about as many words as the man had written him two years ago, after the Dementor attack.

Stay at your Uncle and Aunt’s house—do not leave on your own. It had arrived rather late, Harry thought, if the Daily Prophet had reported the breakout the minute they found out. Perhaps there was a problem in the Order’s communication system, he thought as he dropped off to sleep again.

It was much later when Harry woke up again. The tiny Daily Prophet owl had left, and the open window brought an eerie lack of moonlight into the room. A breeze swept through the room before Harry thought that perhaps he should close the window, that the danger was increased now that there were more Death Eaters in Voldemort’s ranks.

Now that he thought about it though, the ancient magic that Aunt Petunia had sealed nearly seventeen years ago still protected Harry, even tonight, the evening before his birthday…

Harry sat up suddenly, startling Hedwig, who tumbled from her perch at the end of his bed. Tonight was his birthday…or rather, tomorrow was his birthday. He had always counted down to birthdays at midnight the night before the actual day. Now….now the magic might be breaking, for according to wizarding law, both modern and ancient, apparently, Harry would be a man at seventeen years of age. And it was happening now.

Instinctively, Harry reached up to touch his scar as he glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed—and stopped. It was ten til midnight. Harry scrambled off his bed and began throwing his things into his trunk. Oh why, oh why had he forgotten his birthday? Especially this one--this was the one that made all the difference, all the difference in the world regarding his life, his fate. Harry paused. Him. He was a target. Of course he was a target. And now, now that there were more Death Eaters, not to mention more dangerous ones, he was in deep trouble.

He had no idea what would happen. Forgetting his things, Harry turned to his door and, opening it quietly, peered into the hall. Then he realized that the house was silent. There was no sound of Uncle Vernon or Dudley’s snores. Understandably high strung, upon hearing a faint clatter in the kitchen, he closed the door, but too quickly. Harry winced as the door slammed shut against the outside wind. He turned desperately to look around his room, half expecting to see a Death Eater climbing in through the window.

There was nothing. His window still stood open, but it looked less ominous now that the moon had emerged from behind the clouds. He was just about to make a noise, just to break the heavy silence when a shout from downstairs stopped him. Something was happening.

Harry ran. The room was small and strewn with possessions. He tripped on the third step, over a marble, a stone, or something that looked particularly like a lemon drop. He fell, and as he fell he felt that familiar hook behind his navel. Adrenaline was spiking through his body, and in the rush of things, he began to feel faint. His last thoughts before landing hard on a polished mahogany surface were of Ron, who would finally get a decent letter to read after all this.
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“So you did get the Portkey—I questioned the reliability of the owl the minute after I sent him. Now, is it your fault or the owl's that you were delayed in answering?”

McGonagall’s voice swept through Harry’s head without registering. It took him a moment to wake himself from the rough journey and to slow his heart rate. McGonagall was sitting before him in the seat that he had only ever seen Dumbledore occupy. She gazed at him with a look of mild worry on her face, but when Harry managed to meet her gaze, she reverted to a more fitting expression.

“Mad-Eye will be glad that you arrived safely. He was against my idea of a portkey, and it was he and his regiment that volunteered to guard your house and take the Dursleys to safety in the end. He was ready to escort you to safety had you needed it,” she said, continuing to explain a plan that still made no sense to Harry. He was still getting over the shock of seeing Professor McGonagall where Dumbledore should be…but of course, she was the Head of Hogwarts now.

“Professor,” he said, wary that she would likely be less understanding than Dumbledore had been in regard to student questions. “I mean, Headmistress, how did you know…I mean, how is it that you knew tonight would be—“

“How did I know that at midnight you would lose the protection Privet Drive gives you? Potter, really, how hard did you land after the portkey?” McGonagall pursed her lips, and she stood up to pace. Harry watched her as she circled the office. “This may come as a shock to you Potter, but Dumbledore did share things with people other than yourself. In fact, I may be the person he trusted most.” She turned to look at Harry and resettle her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. “I knew of the ancient magic placed on you the night He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tried to kill you. I knew that in taking you to the Dursleys that you would be safe for sixteen years.” She looked uneasy for a moment, and then she admitted, “I may not have known the plan at the time, but believe me, Potter, I knew of it soon enough.”

McGonagall shot a different sort of look at Harry now. “Potter, you really do need to learn that not all adults are useless. Given that you are one now, you would do well to remember that.”

Harry’s smile smiled, remembering something. “Professor—“ he stopped, and then plunged on, “Professor, does that mean I can be a full member of the Order of the Phoenix now?”

McGonagall turned away from him. “I think not, Potter," she said finally, without looking at him.

Harry stood up and tried not to finger his wand as he watched her walk back behind the desk.

“I know what you’re thinking, Potter, and the answer is still ‘no’,” she said, still avoiding his gaze. “And I know that you’re angry with me, especially during the next few days and so I think it’s important that you know—“

A high pitched note resonated in the office and a feather appeared in thin air, and McGonagall turned in surprise. Harry watched the brightly colored phoenix feather float to the floor. McGonagall stood up suddenly and turned to Harry. Her face had gone ashy and pale.

“Potter, you may leave. You will remain at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer,” she said, pointing her wand at the door. Then she turned, as if dazed, and disapparated.

“Professor!” Harry shouted, finding the whole thing unexpected. Fuming now, with frustration at not having gotten answers, Harry turned and swept out of the room, leaving the few awake portraits with the beginnings of what would likely be a very interesting conversation.

Unless, of course, they had nothing to discuss because they, in fact, knew everything about what was going on. Unlike Harry. Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on. Something important had called McGonagall away, and he couldn't figure out why. It was maddening.

As Harry passed the doors of the Great Hall, he looked to the other side, where the doors out of the castle stood. Brimming with righteous fury, he strode to the base of the heavily locked and chained doors, and kicked them.
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Comment? Critique? Please, I need some criticism. Chapter Three is in the works, and with any luck, you'll get some more dialogue.

Chapter One is Up!

Mon, 31 Jul 2006 05:13:32 GMT

I don't know exactly how to introduce this fanfic, so suffice it to say that it's Harry Potter and the ~~War of the Ring~~ Heir of Slytherin.

       How To Misspell Despair
    Chapter 01    Cat and Lion

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Late that night, Draco Malfoy awoke to a soft hoot emitting from the mouth of the cave. For a moment he lay still, listening for any other sound. He turned to look at Snape. His Head of House was sleeping on his back, snoring silently—Draco had put a silencing charm on the man after he dozed off.

Draco stood very carefully, checking to be sure his wand was in his robe pocket, and crept towards the cave entrance, hugging the walls. The cave was located on what was almost a sheer cliff and he could see all the way down to the roofs of Hogsmeade village. He shivered to think that he was so close to the place from which he had run away. And Draco shivered to think that he had been so close to turning into a murderer. Draco hated getting dirty.

Standing there at the edge of the cliff, Draco had to fight the urge to begin climbing the rocks down to the familiar and friendly village below. Suddenly the sound of footsteps in the dust behind him made Draco teeter at the edge. He grabbed the cave wall, holding his breath and listening. A tall figure was emerging from further within the cave. Draco breathed.

Squinting as the moonlight covered his face, Severus Snape looked at Draco with disappointment.
“You will be my downfall, Draco,” he said, taking no care to keep his voice down. Ignoring him, Draco gazed down at the pine trees swaying slightly below them in the ravine. Snape sighed. “You spend altogether too much time making me feel guilty for keeping you safe. Sometimes I wish I’d forgone all this bother and left you for the Order to sort out.”

Draco folded his arms and slid down the cave wall into a sitting position, still watching the trees. “I didn’t ask you to play nanny for me,” he said coldly, taking his wand from his pocket and turning it between his fingers.

Snape snorted, then turned and sauntered away. After a moment, Draco heard Snape’s heavy breathing turn into light snores. He waved his wand once and the sound died away. He began twirling his wand again, thinking of just how tired he was of being around his father’s…associate. Draco respected the man, but after spending a month on the run with him, it was beginning to wear on his nerves.

As Draco’s thoughts began to wander, he fancied that he saw shapes down in the pine trees below—misty clouds that changed shape as he grew drowsier. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

Waiting in the shadows, Snape stooped to pick up Draco and carry him back to the pile of blankets. As he lay the boy down, careful not to wake him, a muffled sound echoed from deeper within the cave. Snape withdrew his wand and held it ready at his side as he crept farther into the darkness.

There was a pinpoint of light off to the left and as Snape turned towards it, a wand jabbed into his throat. He swallowed, his heart racing in anticipation. Turning his head, Snape could just make out the face of his captor. He inhaled sharply.

It was Minerva McGonagall. Her face looked thinner and more careworn. Perhaps it was the new title of Headmistress. She looked upon Snape with unrestrained hatred.

“Don’t move, Snape,” she snapped, groping with her other hand for his wand. He relinquished it, a mildly amused look on his face.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, a smile playing around his mouth. “I’ve just been frozen by one of your accomplices, Minerva. I seriously doubt you’ll see me moving while you’re all here.”

McGonagall’s face hardened as she shoved him away from her. He stumbled backwards, smirking at his colleague’s infuriated countenance. Snape bowed to her, and said respectfully, “Headmistress.”

“Bastard,” retorted a voice from the shadows. Snape whipped his head around, and cursed under his breath. The insults continued. “Liar. Traitor.” Snape could make out the faint figure of a woman. Then he recognized the voice as it hissed, “Murderer.” It was Nymphadora Tonks, the young Auror.

“Do you have it?” McGonagall asked her accomplice, who slid a small vial in her hand. The liquid was clear, and Snape recognized it instantly as Veritaserum. The Order, Snape supposed, as McGonagall and Tonks forced him drink the potion, was a mess without Dumbledore.
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Harry was under strict instructions to remain indoors at all times, and being an obedient child, he only disobeyed when Uncle Vernon began grumbling that the garden was not being watered often enough. On this particular June morning, Harry had been sent out at seven to give the back garden a drink before the sun shone over the fence and dried out the flowers.

Usually while watering the plants, Harry let his mind wander to memories of milling around the lake at Hogwarts on weekends with Ron and Hermione. Once or twice on these nostalgia trips, Harry’s hand would wander into his pockets as if to pull out a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans or a Chocolate Frog. It was these times that Harry became homesick for Hogwarts.

But today, Harry’s thoughts were not on fond memories of Hogwarts. Rather, he was trying to keep Dudley in his sight as he poked around the gardenias. Harry didn’t want to be responsible for any damage Dudley did to his mother’s garden. Keeping one eye on the spray of water and the other on his cousin’s fat behind turned out to be far more difficult than Harry had imagined. He turned his attention back to the hose and began to wonder why Dudley was awake so early in the first place. Just as he looked up at the sky to see if the sun had risen high enough to merit him going inside, a loud yelp came from the other side of the garden. Harry turned around in time to see a gnome running away from Dudley’s large rear end. Torn between amusement and shock, Harry dropped the hose and ran over to the sobbing lump, who was trying to kick in the hole into which the gnome had escaped.

“Dudley…no!” cried Harry, as he attempted to pull his large cousin away from the gnome’s nest. Dudley grunted as Harry tried in vain to move him.

“Get off of it!” Dudley yelled, pulling on a few of Petunia’s prized lilies. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see it because I did!” Dudley dove at the ground, digging pathetically, trying to get at the creature. Harry sighed, knowing that he would somehow be blamed for the destruction of the flowerbed, and decided that the situation was hopeless.

Walking slowly back to the hose that was still spouting water everywhere, Harry stopped when Dudley said, “Wait...Harry.”

He turned around, hands in his pockets. “What, Dud? You didn’t seem to want help.”

Dudley shook his head frantically, dirt flying everywhere. “No…I mean…is it like you?”

Harry looked at Dudley, extremely confused. “What?”

“That…that thing. Is that thing like you? You know…” Dudley’s voice trailed off, and he leaned in towards Harry and whispered, “magic?”

Harry blinked, and then understood. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “Yeah, that was a gnome. It’s a magical creature.”

Dudley looked awed. “I knew it was,” he said. “I knew it.” Then his voice dropped back down to a whisper. “Since it is,” he said, “since it’s like you—“

“It’s not like me,” Harry said sharply, cutting him off. “I’m human. That was a gnome.”

“Whatever!” insisted Dudley, who seemed determined not to be pulled into an argument over terminology. “Do you know how to catch it?”

“Catch…why would you want to catch a gnome?” Harry asked, curious as to where the conversation was going.

Dudley looked aggrieved. “Harry, I just want to know—“

“You want to know how to get something that’ll gnaw on your fingers or your bum? Because I can tell you plenty of boys in Little Whinging who would love the chance to—“

“Now you’re just being thick, I know you are, come off it!” Dudley shouted, waving his massive arms around his head like a windmill.

Harry crossed his arms, forcing himself to stay calm. Why Mr. Weasley enjoyed Muggle Affairs he could not for the life of him understand. “Alright then. Why do you want something that’s a bloody pest?” he asked.

Dudley looked at him, confused. “Gnomes are bugs?”

Harry sighed again, and ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. “No, Dud, it’s just…they invade wizard’s gardens and you have to get rid of them.”

“How do you get rid of them?” Dudley asked, trying to get Harry to cough up more information.

Harry shrugged. “You throw them. You throw them nice and far so they get all confused and can’t find their way back.”

Dudley’s eyes lit up, and Harry had the fleeting thought that he might have condemned the creature to death. The large boy turned around and began searching in the dirt for the gnome.

“Sneak up on it, Dud,” said Harry, who had just realized that the faucet was still on and most of the garden was full up with water. He ran over to the wall of the house and frantically turned it off. Then he replaced the hose and ran inside, shouting to Uncle Vernon that the watering was all done for the day.

For the rest of the day, Harry contemplated writing a letter to Ron. It was nearly evening when Dudley finally succeeded in catching the gnome and throwing it. Harry couldn’t decide whether to laugh or worry when the pudgy creature sailed over the fence and into a neighbor’s yard—one of the neighbors far down the street. As he sat back against his pillow, he wondered what Petunia would say when she discovered that her darling Diddy-Ums was covered in both dirt and scratches.

It was nearly dinner time. Harry sat back. Perhaps this summer would be interesting.
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Furious, Draco stormed into his dormitory and proceeded to throw his few belongings onto the floor. Cursing when the heaviest object managed to hit his foot, he flung his wand across the room in frustration. He ran his fingers through his now-messy hair, leaving a few strands to hang in front of his face. Draco fumbled for the opening in his bed hangings and pulled them enough to expose the bottom end of the bed. He sat down and sighed, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“Mind doing that a little slower?”

Draco jumped off his bed and spun around quickly, pushing the hangings out of the way. He blinked, and eyes wide, said, “What?”

A girl was sitting on his bed, apparently waiting for him. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders, and whispered, “Hi.”

In shock, Draco shook her hands off of him and backed away from the bed. “What are you doing in my…” he spluttered. “Who the hell are you?”

She bounced to the edge of the bed. “An exchange student,” she said, tilting her head endearingly.

Draco blinked, his mouth hanging slightly open. He said slowly, “Then…what the hell are you doing at Hogwarts, during the summer, and in my bed?” He punctuated the last bit.

The girl gave him a coy smile and asked, “Isn’t this my bed?”

Draco crossed his arms. “No, it’s not,” he said. She smiled at him and didn’t reply. Draco took a closer look at her.

She had dark hair that hung down to the middle of her back and had a slight wave to it, but her clothes… Draco frowned. “What happened to your clothes?” he asked.

Frowning, she looked down at her outfit. “You don’t like it? Does it not show enough?” she asked.

Draco eyed her again. “Well, it depends on what you’re going for. If it’s ‘slutty whore’ then you’re got yourself set.” He crossed his arms to try and cover up the fact that his shirt was still unbuttoned.

The girl pouted and confided, “Actually, I was going for more of a luring seductress look, but if you’d prefer something else...” She pointed her wand at herself and changed the pink babydoll she was wearing into a dark green dress. “Better?” she asked, displaying her impressive cleavage.

Draco shook his head and asked impatiently, “Who are you? Did McGonagall put you in here?”

“Isabelle Desiree and yes,” she said, playing with her hair.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, “You must be joking.”

Isabelle leaned closer to Draco, examining his face. “You look just like your father,” she said.

Draco let his arms fall back at his sides. “How do you know my father?” he demanded.

“I’ve seen him,” she said curtly.

He stood there for a moment, thinking in silence, trying to make sense of the girl. Draco crossed his arms again and asked impatiently, “Are you going to leave now? I’ve had a rather trying day, you see, and I’d like to get some undisturbed sleep.”

Isabelle smiled and backed away from him, then turned and walked suggestively to the door. Draco groaned and put his face in his hands. He didn’t want to have to deal with people yet, much less obnoxious ones.
“Sleep well,” she said, winking. Then she closed the door.

Draco sighed and changed into his pajamas. As he was drifting off to sleep, he thought, what the bloody everlasting hell.
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Please comment/critique, whatever suits you. I just need some kind of feedback so I'll be motivated to start writing Chapter Three!

Sun, 30 Jul 2006 05:31:23 GMT

How To Misspell Despair
Rating: R for strong language and sexual situations
Summary: After his 17th birthday, Harry is hidden by the Order for his own protection, and must stay in Hogwarts for the last month of summer. By a strange twist of fate, he is joined in his imprisonment by his nemesis Draco Malfoy and a kinky French exchange student. In which Harry realizes a more realistic love life, Snape's spy game, and just how far he is willing to go in order to defeat the Dark Lord.
Post Half-Blood Prince
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Isabelle Desiree, one-sided D/I, eventually H/D

Squinting as the moonlight covered his face, Severus Snape looked at Draco with disappointment.
“You will be my downfall, Draco,” he said, taking no care to keep his voice down. Ignoring him, Draco gazed down at the pine trees swaying slightly below them in the ravine. Snape sighed. “You spend altogether too much time making me feel guilty for keeping you safe. Sometimes I wish I’d forgone all this bother and left you for the Order to sort out.”
Draco folded his arms and slid down the cave wall into a sitting position, still watching the trees. “I didn’t ask you to watch me,” he said coldly, taking his wand from his pocket and turning it between his fingers.