Fanfiction

Draco and the Discards--by Wandwaver

Draco and the Discards

by: Wandwaver

Summary: What happens when a certified canon character gets lost amid fanon's discards? A whole lot of chuckles! Draco finds himself in the land of "To Where", and all of the discarded ideas authors have tossed there from their stories.

Five…six…seven…eight…nine…ten…eleven… The clock struck the hour jolting Draco back into awareness. The room was full of the jostling energy created by young wizards in close proximity. He could see pansy arrayed in black and silver robes dancing with Blaise Zabini whilst other students congregated by the vat of pumpkin juice and butter beer. Draco just couldn’t seem to care. It was Samhain, an ending and a beginning. Day of the Dead. The night of All Hallows’ Eve, when the Veil between the Worlds grew thin and all things became possible… Draco wandered away from the Hall, occupied with his thoughts. He felt separate from the other students, even whilst observing their frivolity. There was a vague formless kind of longing for something within him. As he wandered aimlessly an amused voice rang like a bell throughout the corridor; “Wish granted…” As he spun to face the speaker, who had apparently disappeared from view, he found himself facing a door labelled clearly “To Where”. Without hesitation he opened it and passed through into the realm beyond upon the other side. Behind him the letters on the door proclaimed the succinct message “From There”.

“Halt! Who goes there!” A less than stern voice hailed him.

“What message do you bear?” A second person inquired.

Draco saw two people he could only describe as shabbily dressed guards standing before a large gateway. It looked like Hogwarts…but certainly not the Hogwarts he knew. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered haughtily.

The guard on the left hesitated. “Surely he’s…?”

“Isn’t he?” The other returned.

“I think so,” the first concluded.

“Do you ever make any sense?” Draco interrupted impatiently.

“Hardly ever.”

“Although never say never,” added the other less than helpfully.

“Do I get to go through?” Draco asked. He wanted to see the rest of this off kilter version of his school.

“But of course!”

“You are the Master.” Draco was confused. Obviously they had mistaken him for someone else. He wondered if it mattered for the moment. He walked past the sentries and into the hallways of Hogwarts. As he did so, he saw a charge of angry teenagers rampaging towards him. “There he is!”

“He has to answer to us!”

“What the…?” Draco found himself thinking, before he was grabbed from behind and thrust bodily thorugh a nearby doorway. “Thank goodness I got to you before they did!” A girl of about his own age gasped.

“Not to be funny but who are you?” Draco asked. “Seeing as you obviously seem to know me and I don’t have the foggiest as to your identity.”

“Stop messing around, Draco darling!” she smiled. “Are you feeling all right? Do you want a massage?” Her hands crept round his shoulders.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the offer but can we just clarify your identity first?” Draco protested. “It’s a bit much not to even have a name to put to a face.”

“That’s never bothered you before,” she pouted. “Nor with the others, either.”

The others? Draco's mind boggled. Just how many women did he supposedly have on the go? ? “Much as I’d love to hear about my wondrous harem at this point,” he stated sarcastically, “let’s just start with you. I’ll repeat it in words of one syllable so it’s easy for you to understand. Who are you?”

“I’m your long suffering girlfriend, of course!”

“No you’re not,” Draco argued. “Pansy’s supposed to be my girlfriend!”

“Behind the times, mate. That idea went out yesterday. She came through the gates sometime during the afternoon, gave you a piece of her mind regarding polygamy and stormed off to shack up in other quarters. She might be with Dozydore or Loopy concocting Yet Another Plot to Accomplish Nothing if you look. Either that, or try Serious but he’ll be far too busy with his state of mind to even notice you,” she warned. Since Draco’s head was already spinning by this point, he stuck with the most logical thread of the argument. “But I don’t even know you!”

“Of course you don’t. That’s what makes me a discard, isn’t it? The relationship never got off the ground. I don’t even remember getting a name.”

“What the hell are you on?” Draco exclaimed. “Whatever it is you’ve obviously taken too much – or maybe not enough!”

“I think it’s you who’s been indulging too much. In the year 0AD you staged a revolt and threw over the rule of Tiresome Tom?”

“Who?”

“Tiresome Tom. That Tom Riddle bloke who made such a nuisance of himself in Book Two. There was never any room for him in any of the others so he found himself here and formed his own set up immediately. Rather boring ruler actually. Spent most of his time sulking about wanting to return to the good old days and admiring Frodo’s final finger which arrived gift boxed from the fires of Mount Doom. Before that we had the Sultan of Swing.” Draco’s face obviously said it all. “Well, this is the Domain of Discards,” the girl reasoned. “You can’t expect much ingenuity, can you? Besides, someone had a severe Dire Straits habit. Sometimes the real world gets muddled in along the way,” she clarified.

Draco wondered if he had misheard the word “muggle”. “What do you mean, the real world?”

“The one where the author decides what happens here.”

“The who?”

“Well, at least it’s better than Dire Straits.”

“What?” said Draco, nonplussed.

“You really don’t get out much, do you? You need to indulge in some decent conversation. We were talking about the author. The author who invented you.”

“No one invented me!”

“You think that if it helps you. You’ll learn. We all do in the end.”

“You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met!” Draco exclaimed.

“Proves a point, doesn’t it? That was why I was discarded in the first place,” she exclaimed ruefully.

“Well, at least you admit it.” Draco was mollified. He found the idea of having control over more than just Crabbe and Goyle rather enticing seeing as they’d never managed to string a sentence together anyway.

“What’s my title here?”

“Big Bad.” The girl stated.

“Oh. My. God.” Draco intoned.

“Well, you considered that one too but decided the other was more succinct.”

“How sad!” Draco conceded.

“You want to be careful about the rhyming thing. It’s a leftover from the Sorting Hat songs. It’s been known to afflict us for hours. Unexpectedly. It’s all right until you realise you’ve mentioned the word orange.”

Draco considered that particular piece of warped wisdom. “So, where’s Perfect Potter then?” he enquired, thinking even if he was called Big Bad, he might as well put his power to good use.

“Oh, he’s not here. He’s the main protagonist. Did you really think he’d get thrown away? The chances of him developing into a discarded plotline are less than those for Snape and McGonagall getting carried away in a fit of elicit passion and eloping to Groaning Green!”

Oh, he wouldn’t ever get discarded, would he? Draco sulked.

Just then a pounding sounded from the other side of the door. “What do we do?” Draco asked. “Ignore them and hope they go away?” God, even the dialogue here’s rusty! He found himself concluding. “I don’t intend spending the rest of my afternoon in a cupboard!” he stated.

“Why not? It’s where you normally spend the majority of your time. It’s where you do your seducing.”

“Couldn’t I find somewhere a little more up market than this?”

“Well, you’ve been known to frequent the Palace of Plot Binds,” Girlfriend suggested helpfully.

I can’t stand much more of this! he thought. “Does everyone know everything about me here?”

“Well, you’re not very complex you know. I presume you had a major overhaul at some point in canon.”

“Canon?” Draco repeated.

“That which is otherwise known as The Truth, to us. The real stuff as opposed to the discards who hang around here.”

“is there anyone sane in this place?” Draco asked. After all, everything around here seemed utterly random. He might as well follow the pattern.

“You might try Ginny Squeezy,” Girlfriend suggested doubtfully.

“Squeezy?” He repeated parrot fashion. Girlfriend nodded. “Where will I find her?”

“Oh, just wander aimlessly for a while. I’m sure she’ll turn up. People normally do.”

“What about the fanatic females?”

“They’ll have given up for no reason whatsoever by now. Their plots are never continued,” Girlfriend stated smugly. Draco edged his way cautiously from the random classroom to find Girlfriend was proven absolutely right. The horde was gone. He wandered with no particular notion as to where he was headed, passing a girl wearing a badge proclaiming herself to be Mary Sue in a steamy clinch with an older, raven haired wizard who looked like an advert for Vidal Sassoon. He introduced himself enthusiastically as Snoop.

After a few minutes of pointless dithering he found himself facing a teenager he presumed to be Ginny Squeezy. He could see a couple of differences between the Weasel he knew and the one facing him now. Suddenly the name made a whole lot more sense. Maybe he would enjoy this more than he had originally thought. She eyed him warily. “Draco Malformed. What do you want?”

Malformed? Draco thought incredulously. I refuse to believe I ever answered to that name? It’s even worse than Ferret Boy and that takes some doing!

“Just to talk.” He was beginning to see more and more why so many of the ideas ended up here.

“You never want to talk,” Ginny Squeezy protested suspiciously. “That wastes too much time you can employ otherwise.”

“Today is different,” Draco told her. What an understatement!

“There is something different about you,” Ginny decided. “I just can’t quite put my finger on it…”

“Never mind that now,” Draco argued. He’d heard enough about other rulers’ fixations to last a lifetime. “I need your help. Do you think you can make sense for more than thirty seconds at a time?”

“I can try,” Ginny returned. “It’s kind of hard to concentrate though with random additions drifting in and out on a constant basis.”

“Go ahead. Knock yourself out,” Draco urged, then suddenly realised he hadn’t quite meant that as it sounded. Still, he didn’t think Ginny Squeezy would have noticed. She was too busy frowning in thought.

“I need to get back to the Canon,” Draco clarified.

“Do you know how to get there?”

“I can only suggest heading back in the same direction as you came from,” she suggested. “Watch out for my brother, Pervy, though. He’ll most definitely invite you in for…tea,” she warned.

Suddenly, like a flash, Draco remembered the door with the sign directing him back to “From There”. He hoped it hadn’t disappeared since things rarely seemed to stay the same for long in this place. “Ginny Squeezy, you have my eternal gratitude,” he proclaimed.

“Can’t I have more than that?” she pouted suggestively.

Draco considered the ramifications of her suggestion. After all, if Enhanced Attributes!Ginny Squeezy was truly a discard he wouldn’t really be seducing a Weasley, would he? And he could think of a couple of good reasons to give in to temptation.

“I’ve already propositioned Peevish but every time we tried to make contact I just ended up putting my hand through him. Seemed kind of rude, really.”

“Tempting but, no, I really must go.” There was that blasted rhyming thing again! If he had his way the sodding Hat Song would be removed from every book altogether! It would save an awful lot of trouble. Without further ado he turned on his heel. Funny how the way back seemed doubly long compared to his arrival.

….Twelve… The clock struck once again and Draco found himself raising his chin from where it rested upon his chest. What a madly detailed dream he had been having! Now, if only he could remember precisely what it had been about… Still, whatever had happened, it had left him with the inescapable urge to pull Ginny Weasley into a random cupboard just to see how she would react.

Harry Potter and the Eye of Power--by Berilac

Chapter Five: The Lethe Caves
Author: Berilac
Rating: PG

Summary: Yorick whisks Harry away to the Legendary Lethe Caves. Legendary, that is, if you pay attention in History of Magic. Harry discovers that the name is as befudduling as the place, and Yorick's weak explanations are nothing compared to the twisted secrets he begins to reveal about himself. It's time for a lesson in the History of Grindewald, but Harry finds that he can barely focus on where he is much less what's going on. Is Yorick more evil and powerful than Harry dared to suspect?

CHAPTER FIVE:
THE LETHE CAVES

Yorick took another deep breath and stretched his legs out, as if anticipating that whatever he was going to say would take a great deal of time. The continual cascading of the water from the geyser crashed down toward the ground and into the moat with such grace and smoothness that it appeared that the geyser naturally spouted out from the ground-that no one altered the rocks in order for the groundwater to spring forth.

Harry remained mesmerized by the fountain, even as Yorick cleared his throat and began to talk.

"Let's see... I was telling you the reason why I brought you away from Little Surrey...."

Harry's mind was slowly calming down to an unconcerned state, as if all he had heard earlier meant nothing, as if all Yorick had already told him wasn't surprising or frightening. Even the unpleasant premonition Harry had felt just a moment ago didn't budge him or unnerve him in any way. The apprehension drifted away, everything ebbed slowly to a barricaded place Harry couldn't penetrate. He closed his eyes.

"The main reason was for your safety, Potter, your safety. Without your godmother there, on a Muggle street with only a mere Squib to protect you-well, let's just say that Voldemort would be ecstatic to find you like that. To kill you. What if the dementors showed up again? Or one of his Death Eaters? Any of them would die to get to you. To end you. And no one that I know wants you to die...."

Harry's head lulled back and forth in agreement, as if Yorick was controlling him like a puppet; but Harry replied to Yorick's words anyway.

"The Order of the Phoenix is watching me.... Many trained wizards are probably still watching me... the same as last year.... I'm safe...."

Yorick snorted loudly.

"Safe? Dumbledore's Order surely did a bang-up job in coming to your aid when your aunt and uncle left, didn't they," he said sarcastically. "You think that the Order of the Phoenix is still up and running? Everyone knows Voldemort's back in action now. The best they can do now is work with those Ministry bunglers.

"Sure, they've always been big help to you," Yorick went on mockingly. "Remember when the dementors came last year and almost sucked the soul out of you and your cousin? And remember when they were unsuccessful in stopping the Ministry to control every aspect of Wizarding life? Yes, a huge help they were!"

With these words, Harry snapped out of his catatonic trance and looked at Yorick.

"The Order did as much as they could to stop the Ministry! It was all that Umbridge's-"

"And remember when their attempts were less-than-par in stopping you and all your little friends from breaking into the Department of Mysteries?"

"I thought that Voldemort was torturing Sirius-"

"Yes, but they weren't able to stop you from breaking the prophecy! And dozens of others! Completely wasteful!"

"We might've been killed by the Death Eaters. We had to escape-"

"Also, remember when they let Sirius Black fall through the portal of death? Remember that?"

With this, Harry arose, his body now coursing with an unbridled rage.

"THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX DID NOT ALLOW SIRIUS TO DIE! THEY'RE NOT TO BLAME!"

"Potter, calm down," Yorick said consolingly, putting his arm around Harry and lowering him back to his seat, not taking his green eyes of Harry's. "Be quiet and listen to me."

Harry didn't say anything else. He peered forward, not looking at Yorick. He sat there again, suddenly and oddly entranced, staring at the geyser that continually spewed out a torrent of water from underneath the ground.

"Now, if you'll allow me continue, your bias just might shift," Yorick said in a very calculating tone.

Again, Harry didn't reply further.

"Good. Now, I'm not saying that the Order didn't try to help you, Potter. They're just not as advanced, they're not as careful with certain things. They are insistent on trying to protect you from Voldemort, and I admire them for that. But-" he sighed loudly, clearly disapproving of whatever the Order had done, "-they have the wrong motives in protecting you. You know of the weapon that they're hiding within the Department of Mysteries, don't you?"

"Y-yes..." Harry mumbled, clearly not taking in what Yorick was telling him.

"I won't go into it, but I will let you know, that the weapon is now safe. It can't be penetrated by Voldemort in any way. The impenetrableness of this distinct room where the weapon resides is only able to be opened by one single soul.

"Who?" Harry said, blearily and blissfully unconcerned.

"Well, to put it bluntly-me," Yorick smiled deftly. "But I have no desire to break into the room. And I have no desire to be within ten feet of the Ministry of Magic. I'd die before I'd give away the means to achieve entrance to the room within the Department of Mysteries. You see, I'm the Secret Keeper for the room... and the weapon's location. You see, the whereabouts of the weapon's location is held within the room... the secret weapon... a weapon that no one knows about. This weapon hardly known by anyone is within a secret barrier. Only I know of the exact location. I've never told anyone about it ever... everyone thinks the weapon is in the secret room... but it isn't...."

Harry continued to stare blankly at the geyser. Somehow, he couldn't take his eyes off of it now; his whole concentration was fixed upon the gushing water-no cares were placed upon what Yorick was saying-even why he was sitting there, or where he was. All Harry really cared about was the waterfall created by the geyser in the center of the room.

"You're probably wondering why I left that weapon and the means to find it inside the Department of Mysteries instead of finding Voldemort and using it against him...." There was no answer. "Well, I have a little weapon of myself that's tamer and more usable than the other one. If Voldemort dares confront me, I won't be merciful. He's human now, you know. You gave him the power to die...."

Harry flinched at those last words and took his eyes off of the water.

"I-how do you know this?"

"Well, I-"

Yorick stopped and stood up; footsteps sounded from overhead. They gradually became fainter and less noticeable above the light roar of the geyser next to the two of them.

"Just a few of my fellow comrades, most likely," Yorick murmured softly after silence haunted the room underneath the torrent of groundwater. "Well, back to your question, yes.... I know because I have certain devices that allow me to see things people wouldn't normally see. You're thinking it's only my Legilimency powers; you're wrong. There's more to it than that...."

"More to it?" Harry said vaguely, his eyes eventually wandering back to the geyser, completely stumped as to why it could be so entrancing.

"It's in relation to my weapon. Actually, it is my weapon. It has multiple uses."

Yorick paced around Harry, keeping his back in the direction of the geyser and his face directly upon Harry. His eyes never lost their demonic glint, their jade-like luster.

"My weapon is very powerful, very secret," he added zealously. "It can see things that are miles away, hear conversations from an unthinkable distance, retrieve situational happenings immediately without one ever having to make an effort to Apparate or travel there. If I could make it all knowing, seer-like, then, that'd be my ultimate goal. It would be ever closer in power to the dangerous weapon that's locked away. It's good enough for me at any rate."

Harry nodded slowly, the reflection of the falling water visible from his gaze. His mouth was gaping slightly open, taking in the geyser and all that was in it. And, on the side, the words of Yorick filtered in his mind, to an unknowing segment, probably forgotten.

"So, Potter," Yorick shouted loudly. "I've told you why I brought you here, and how I knew that you were in grave danger, alone with that Squib. Now, I'll bring you up to date as to how I managed to reside in these caves and why I particularly left the realm of the wizards and the corruptive forces of the Ministry of Magic. Is that all right with you?"

"Sure..." Harry said distantly. His eyes were now glazed as he leaned forward on the stone bench, his hair ruffling a bit as a chilled breeze drifted around the room. It died down almost as quickly as it began.

"Well then, since you do not object..." Yorick took a seat on the bench in front of Harry, making sure that Harry's line of view with the geyser was not obstructed in any way.

"I was a part of the Ministry ages ago, quite a few years back, way far back before Voldemort surfaced as an extensive threat to everybody's safety. I was head of the Department of Mysteries far underneath Ministry of Magic; there were so many experiments that we went through. I remember ages back when a small group of us tried to fine-tune time-travel. Fudge around with it.... Unfortunately, the complexity that went along with traveling through time was so evident that we had to scrap that plan. From what I hear they're still trying to find a breakthrough in time travel; and I daresay that those brainless ninnies at the Ministry won't be able to get an inch of additional information to help them on their path to discovery.

"But I'm digressing," Yorick said with obvious relish, knowing all too well that digressing was what he would be doing a lot. Harry didn't seem to be minding at all.

"I was saying I was in the Ministry up until Voldemort's reign of terror. It was then that I began to question the reliability and the trustworthiness the Ministry possessed. Barty Crouch was the minister at the present time. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the most psychopathic individuals I'd ever known. He outlawed every petty thing; he raided countless homes of innocent victims he thought were tied in with Voldemort; he even accused me of being a Death Eater, working in the secret rooms of the Department of Mysteries to help aid Voldemort in his rise to destroy all unclean magical types.

"You know," Yorick added. "I partly agreed with the idea that Muggles and half-bloods were less likely to excel and fit in with pure-blooded wizard types-that part of Voldemort's ideology ensnared me, but I didn't give into his tempting offer of power and cataclysmic domination. No, I rebelled against Voldemort, but I didn't follow Crouch."

Harry closed his eyes, immersed in his euphoric splendor. The last part of Yorick's narrative filtered harmlessly into his brain and swam around before striking a nerve. He jerked his head to the side and peered at Yorick.

"Why didn't you follow Dumbledore then, eh?" he questioned harshly.

"Dumbledore, Dumbledore..." Yorick said despondently, shaking his head in a disappointed fashion. "That man has caused endless troubles for me and my family. I've such an enormous grudge that hasn't faded much these long years, I'm sorry to say."

"Grudge?"

"Yes, Potter, a grudge," Yorick snapped. Harry was taken aback and he looked instead at the falling water once more. Whenever Yorick's voice became harsh and his eyes burned madly, Harry didn't care to look on them. The geyser and water spouting from its mouth was more soothing, more mollifying.

"A lot of people have grudges that seem to never vanish," Harry said absentmindedly. "And they can still fight for the same side as the people with whom they have grudges for...." Harry was particularly thinking of Snape and The Potion Master's undying hatred for him and his father. But thoughts of Snape slowly ebbed away-just like everything else did when he sat there, entranced by the geyser.

"Grudges vary in intensity," Yorick said. "They can stick for a good long time; and I admit that I am not a better person for it. I cannot bear to let it go. Even though it had to happen... for the world's sake, for my sake... Dumbledore killed my father, Potter."

Harry was too engrossed to take what Yorick was saying in completely. What came out of him seemed dazed and indifferent.

"He did?"

"Yes, he killed my father, just as Voldemort killed your parents. Although I believe it was for opposite reasons. Dumbledore killed my father to save the world. Voldemort killed your parents to save himself...."

Yorick got up once more and stood in front of Harry, this time blocking his view of the geyser. Harry awoke suddenly from his trance and looked up at Yorick.

"What are you saying?" Harry said with complete confusion. "I'm lost."

"You've learned about the history of the magical world, haven't you?"

Harry groaned; all he knew was what Professor Binns had taught him. And what Harry knew about that was very little. He rarely paid attention to Binns's wispy monotonous lectures, too busy with napping or daydreaming.

"As I suspected," Yorick sneered. "Well, I'll just give you the facts here. Around 1945, there was a great war between two groups of wizards. One side was as dark and conniving as possible, eradicating Mudbloods, Muggles, and basically a good lot of unsavory individuals according to them. They felt that pure-bloodedness was necessary to promote the advancement of the Wizarding world and thereby improving the way of life for all wizards.

"Dumbledore and a large group of supporters felt otherwise. They fought on similar grounds as today. Except today, you're thrown in the mix. The motives are similar. Voldemort wants power; he wants to rid the world of half-bloods and Muggles; he wants to kill you for who-knows-what reason."

Harry flinched but remained silent.

"Finally, the day came when Dumbledore went to duel the great leader of the opposing side," Yorick continued. "They fought for what felt like hours (or so I was told; I was only three at the time). Dumbledore eventually defeated his enemy with the use of some type of magic-pilfering device. He sucked the magic all out of him, which caused his opponent to flee-and eventually kill himself.

"A few select people think that Grindelwald was murdered directly by Dumbledore; still few others believe that he was killed in the midst of a different battle by a whole group of warlock infantry; mostly everybody else feel that he didn't die in battle, but died of old age, after Dumbledore had defeated him.

"But that's not true, that's not true!" Yorick hissed manically. His eyes were bulging; he clutched Harry's shoulders so that Harry knew what was going on.

"My father didn't die of old age! I'd have known! He was killed in battle! My father killed himself! Because of Dumbledore's victory over him...."

Yorick broke down at these words and collapsed onto the floor.

Harry stared at him with slight benevolence. But then the sympathy immediately drained from him; anger and loathing entered to fill the empty spaces. Yorick's father was Grindelwald? It couldn't be... but... how should he know? How could he feel sympathetic for someone who killed people mercilessly for the same reasons as Voldemort? How could he feel sympathetic for Yorick also? Grindelwald was better off dead; his death brought justice to the deaths of all those innocent people....

Yorick suddenly clutched Harry's ankle with such a force that Harry almost toppled backwards over the stone bench.

"I know what you're thinking..." Yorick looked at Harry with eyes of rage. "Sure, I could agree with that. My father's better off dead. BUT HE WAS MY FATHER!"

"You're not the only one who's lost a father here!" Harry roared, his anger rising even more. He hated Yorick with a passion that he had never felt before in his life. He wanted to do something to him, strangle him, shut him up somehow. Yorick had said too much....

"Well, we must be friends, I guess!" Yorick spat. "Remember, I did save you from possible death earlier today! Isn't that enough of a way to show my gratitude to you? And this is the disrespect I get! I should've let you die like your parents did! Like that godfather of yours did!"

"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed uninhibitedly, lunging at Yorick with hands outstretched. "SHUT UP! DON'T TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS OR SIRIUS LIKE THAT!"

Without a second's pause, Yorick reached into his pocket and brandished his wand straight at Harry's face.

"Make one more move and I'll do it," Yorick said dangerously calm. "I don't care if Dumbledore locates me and punishes me. I don't care if any wizard punishes me. I don't care if your demise ruins everything! You will stop now, or I'll strike!"

Harry stood there, still incensed, his chest heaving heavily, sweat streaming down his face. Yorick remained where he was as well, gritting his teeth in full concentration. His wand still remained pointed at Harry, his arm shaking with utter trepidation.

"You've heard me out. I'm sorry that all this has happened, but you must realize why I am the way I am. I hold no grudge against you; I saved you from Voldemort."

"I need a drink," Harry replied scathingly. He turned around toward the aisle and walked up to the geyser.

Yorick leapt over both rows of benches that separated him from the falling water. He shouted with all his might.

"Don't! DON'T DRINK THE WATER!"

Harry froze with his arm outstretched, about to come in contact with the gushing cascade.

"What?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed with irritation. "So now you're giving me orders on what I should and shouldn't do! And right after threatening to kill me... oh that's tactful...!"

"Why are you being this way...?" Yorick said exasperatedly.

"Because that's how you're acting!" Harry shouted. "You act like you're some all-powerful god or something!"

He made another move for the fountain.

"Don't drink from there... or you'll be sorry!"

Harry walked up to Yorick's face, totally ignoring the fact that his eyes once freaked him out; forgetting that just a moment before Yorick has his wand pointed at Harry's face, about to curse him with inevitable death.

"Such a martyr..." Harry snarled. "First you almost kill me, now you're warning me that I'll die if drink this?"

"Oh, you won't die," Yorick smiled evilly. He slowly steered Harry away from the geyser, shielding his eyes from the running water. "No, you won't die-but you'll be close to as blank as death if you drink from that geyser."

"What d'you mean?"

Yorick lightly forced Harry onto one of the benches. He then shoved his hands in his coat pockets and took out his gloves.

"I should've warned you before about the Lethe Caves," Yorick sighed. "It'd have saved me a bit of trouble. Like now..."

"The Lethe Caves?" Harry asked. "What are those?"

"Where we are..." Yorick said faintly, putting on both his gloves in a rapid nonchalant manner. "These caves were always thought to be myth, false. But I stumbled upon them one day with a group of my friends from the Department-shortly after we had rebelled against the Ministry... and Dumbledore.

"One of my best friends, Louis Amnesil, was parched from our trek around. There are hundreds of passages in these caves; he was the first to come across running water. Without thinking, he took some in his hands and drank it. Immediately, his mind grew numb and he totally forgot who he was, where he was, who we were, and why he would be found in the company of people such as us. As I saw the effects the water did to Louis, well, I realized where we were-what we had stumbled upon-the Lethe Caves."

Yorick paused and looked at Harry. Harry's arms were crossed across his stomach, his head bowed, refusing to gaze at Yorick even once more.

"You see, Potter," Yorick continued. "I don't want you to lose your memory. These pools, these geysers, have the same power as a Memory Charm does. I daresay you've seen a few of those in your time, memory charms. Professor Lockhart, yes? Well, let's say that my friend, Louis, is still with us, although quite a different man than he once was. We've tried as much as possible to restore Louis's memory to its normal state. It's been tough-very tough."

Harry sighed and got to his feet. He wheeled around and leapt over the benches that were once behind him. He reached the top level of the arena-shaped room and peered down at Yorick, who remained motionless. The geyser sparkled in the background, the lights from the candles reflecting eerie oranges and reds in the water. Harry stood there, in a stupor once more, entranced by the falling water.

This must be true... Harry thought subconsciously... it must be true! But there's one thing I don't get... why am I affected like this... why do I all of a sudden don't pay attention to anything... besides this beautiful fountain...?

"Yes, the Lethe Caves exude quite a lot of power," Yorick said instinctively, looking at Harry with a sheepish grin across his face. "The water can penetrate all your senses, mainly your sense of taste... and sight. When you gaze upon the waters, Potter, your mind momentarily gets wiped clean; you become entranced by the gushing water, the tranquility of it. You must learn not to look directly upon the springs and the rivers all around this place."

Harry nodded but remained transfixed, unmovable.

Yorick strode over in front of Harry and Harry shook his head, groaning angrily. Sweat continued to stream lightly down his face. His scar began to tingle, his eyes started to well up, wrought with emotion and heavy due to exhaustion.

"I haven't looked upon the waters since we've arrived," Yorick said consolingly. "It's what you must do if you want complete control over all your senses."

Harry nodded again. Yorick took hold of his shoulder and walked toward a different opening in the wall. This one was slightly narrower than the one they walked through to enter the room. It appeared as if an erratic slab of rock had caved inward and broke off from years of weathering and erosion.

"Follow me, Potter," Yorick said. "We'll head to another place now...." He squeezed through the narrow opening to a new and unwelcoming darkness. Harry peered through the hole after Yorick made his way completely through. It unmistakably needed proper illumination; without it, Harry felt like he'd most likely fall forever down a bottomless pit.

"You must follow me now, Potter, or you'll get lost in here," said a distant voice from somewhere amidst the blackness.

Harry took a small step after going through the opening, landing on unstable ground. Immediately, he stretched his arms forward to grasp onto something steady to lean on-there was nothing in front of him...! He toppled over without much effort, his knees scraping the ragged floor hard. His hands cut roughly against sharp stones that lay in front of him. The pain throbbed dreadfully, like a multitude of red-hot wasp stings. Harry felt something liquid running down his arm... he couldn't see a thing, but he guessed it was blood....

A faint murmur resounded in the distance. In response, a light arose in the center of the consuming darkness, behind it-Yorick, shadows dancing eerily across his face.

"You'd do well to follow me."

"Yes, especially when I can't see where I'm headed...." Harry replied fiercely.

"Watch your tone," Yorick said silkily, his teeth gritted once more. He moved the light over to his left side and stretched as far as he could go. The path next to them dropped off drastically downward, ending who-knew-where.

"Grab a hold of the cave wall on your left and try to remain as close to it as possible," Yorick said. "We don't want any landslides because of poor footing...."

With eyes completely shut, he pointed his right finger at Harry's bleeding hands. The blood upon them vanished immediately; bandages appeared from nowhere and wrapped tightly around his palm to stop the bleeding as much as possible. Yorick then turned around quickly, making Harry's surroundings, again, barely visible.

Fumbling in the dark, Harry finally hovered close to the wall, the dampness penetrating through his shirt like bitter wind. He edged through the bleak silence, trying to calculate how far ahead Yorick truly was. The pathway was sharp and erratic, rising now and again severely, dangerous crags jutted out from the floor at times. Harry had to stop periodically to regain proper footing. Yorick kept his wand alight so that Harry could see faintly the direction in which they were headed.

The trek seemed to take hours, but Harry knew only twenty minutes or so had passed by since they entered the dark chasm-filled caverns. The winding path continued to snake around the edge of the same jagged cliff. Right when taking one more step along the hazardous trail seemed an unthinkable chore, a luminous opening surrounded by the blackness came into view. It grew larger as they approached the exit from the caverns.

What change Harry walked into as he passed out of the unsafe pathways was nothing less than drastic. The entire room was aglow with bright light from orange and yellowish candles that floated around the ceiling of another gigantic cavern-like space. This one was even larger than the arena-shaped room that held the enchanted geyser. In the center of this room was another fountain, as large as a nicely sized room, this one made completely out of marble, the smooth ivory surfaces glittering underneath the floating candles. In the center of the fountain's pool arose an Ionic column with an anonymous wizard raising his left hand forward as if trying to gesture toward something far away. Spewing forth from his finger were light jets of water. Surrounding the wizard was a shell-like prison, the ends rising upwards, water flowing consistently down to the pool. Around the edge of the marble pool arose many cupids turned inward, looking up at the wizard, their bows aquiver, about to shoot the wizard down as if it was a target!

Harry walked forward toward the fountain, without a noise, without saying a word. He examined the marble cupids closely and noticed a glower in each pallid face. The resemblance to utmost loathing was uncanny. It was as if the wizard overhead was Voldemort and the cupids were all those against him, cornering him, about to cut his life short.

But the soothing flow of water down from the wizard's fingers and the shell surrounding it finally grabbed Harry's attention away from the angry cupids. It fell down into the pool gracefully, reflecting the candlelight almost naturally. Harry wished to plunge into the massive fountain, to cool off from his laborious hike to this room... until....

"What the hell?"

"Hey, what is that boy doing?"

"Get him away from the water!"

"POTTER!"

Harry felt someone push him down to the floor, rather forcefully. His glasses fell down and shattered upon the surprisingly smooth floor, polished clean of dirt, free of rough trenches and glass-like ridges of rock.

He looked up and saw an indistinct blur, but the voice of a familiar, semi-concerned voice. It was Yorick.

"You hurt, Potter?"

Harry shook his head and tried to find his glasses; he eventually wrapped his fingers around the shattered lenses and the half-bent frame. Yorick intervened and took the mutilated pair of glasses and, wordlessly, repaired them, placing the finished product back resting on the bridge of Harry's nose. His sight came back into clear focus.

"Er-thanks," Harry mumbled softly.

"Don't worry," Yorick said. "Just come and follow me. Harry stood up and froze. Yorick was flanked by three other people.

One of these people was a squat, middle-aged woman with long flowing black hair all the way down to her hips. Her eyes resembled someone who rarely received a decent amount of sleep. Faint grey patches rested underneath her eyes, which were a pale green. Her lips were set like Professor McGonagall's thin mouth when she was displeased (like the times last year when McGonagall would stare at Professor Umbridge...). The squat woman also wore a coat similar to Yorick's. But she wore red trousers and lime-green boots that stung Harry's eyes because of their luridness.

The other two individuals next to Yorick both wore the same clothes as him. One had long, sandy blond hair and a goatee, along with matching hawk-like yellow eyes. The other looked almost an exact replica of Yorick, except for the fact that his eyes were a deep shade of violet. This guy appeared even more agitated than the squat woman did. His face was blotched red with fury and he was breathing heavier than a normal human would breathe.

He spoke up first.

"I can't believe you've let a kid come here, Yorick! I CAN'T!"

The woman laughed. The sound of the laugh made Harry cringe with displeasure. It sounded almost like the fairy-tale witches Harry read about when he was younger and able to hide away from Aunt Petunia's eagle-like patrol. The cackle resounded throughout the caverns, even after the woman was done with it continued to echo to edge of the room.

"I say we should've kept quiet and let him dive into the pools," she piped up wickedly. Her voice accommodated her laugh, higher than Umbridge's, and more disgusting.

"No, Lucia!" Yorick boomed warningly to the squat woman, who closed her mouth obediently. "This boy will not have the fate of so many others we know!"

"I think you STILL need to answer another question!" the man who looked just like Yorick said.
"Why'd you BRING him here?"

"Aw, c'mon, Garrett!" the blond-haired man with the goatee said bemusedly. "You know why! ‘Cause it's the Potter kid-"

"-which is precisely WHY he shouldn't be here!" Garrett fumed smacking his knee violently with his fist. "The Ministry'll come and try and rescue him. They'll find our hideout! They'll steal all our secrets and-"

"Garret, you're sounding as paranoid as them!" Yorick laughed loudly, the blond-haired man chortling along with him, clutching his side after a few seconds.

Garrett didn't find it amusing; he turned away from the group of them and stomped toward the other end of the enormous cavern and out a different doorway. Lucia, the squat woman edged closer to Harry, her pale eyes crinkling up, her lips still pursed tightly as if she was having severe intestinal difficulties.

"Hm," she murmured to herself, "hm. Well, it appears it is the Potter boy. I see the scar."

At the precise moment, Harry's forehead burst with an intense pain, almost as bad as the episode the other day at the Dursleys..., which seemed like ages ago now....

"What the devil's the matter with him?" the blond-haired man said concernedly. Lucia took a few steps away from Harry now, who was on his knees once again, one hand clutched over his scar, the other over his stomach.

"It's just his scar, Bilks," Yorick said with high composure. "You all right there, Harry?"

Harry nodded and took his hand away from his forehead, which still stung madly.

"Jesus, this is getting a touch weird," Bilks said as he helped Yorick pull Harry to his feet. "Don't do that again, I wouldn't want to go to cardiac arrest at my age."

"Your age!" Lucia snapped in her high-pitched voice. "Ha! I'd bet you'd be in heart-attack city if you hadn't have had-"

"I think what Harry needs is some rest," Yorick interrupted harshly.

"Aren't you going to introduce him to us then first, dear?" Lucia said with white-hot venom flowing throughout her shrill words.

"My apologies!" Yorick said, ignoring Lucia's bitter tone. "Potter, this is Lucia Clamores. She used to be in the Department of Mysteries as well. All three of the people you saw here just now used to. This is Benny Bilks."

"But call me Bilks, if you don't mind," Bilks quickly added, with a wink and a smile.

"He's always hated his first name. Don't know why; I'd rather be Benny than Yorick."

Harry grinned slightly at the jovial conversation that was taking place. But after a few seconds, he remembered the man who had walked away.

"What about the guy who looks like you?" he asked.

"Oh, that's Garrett Malumius," Yorick said with a touch of bitterness in his voice. "He's been very busy and somewhat stressed lately; he's one of our more active workers here. Used to be terribly active at the Department of Mysteries before we all rebelled against the Ministry. It seems he has the largest vendetta against the Ministry out of all of us. He curses each and every member daily throughout the halls of this place, very hostile to anything associated with it."

"One of his brothers was thought to be a Death Eater, you see," Bilks added.

"Oh, that has nothing to do with it!" Lucia snarled viciously. "You know full well that Garrett's main grudge was against Crouch!"

"Why was he mad with Crouch?" Harry asked.

Yorick looked down at Harry and sighed.

"Well, to put it bluntly, Potter, Barty Crouch Sr. was quite the hothead, a fanatic when it came to punishing Dark wizards. There is much even the Ministry doesn't know about. Crouch punished more than just a few twenty or so wizards during Voldemort's rise to power. He actually executed some himself. To hell with Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement! He basically ended quite a few of those he suspected to be with the Death Eaters."

"He almost killed Yorick here, you know," Bilks said grimly.

"What?"

"Yes, Potter," Yorick said not smiling. "He tried to have me executed. Unsuccessfully I might add. He was a touch mad about that. But he also killed Garrett's brother Dwayne, a man I still find to this day innocent. But this isn't really of much importance right now. You can ask any further questions you want tomorrow. It's getting a touch late."

"I'll give him some food and then show him his bed if you like," Bilks said with extreme enthusiasm.

"Be my guest," Yorick said. "I have to talk with Lucia about the current situation with my project... as well as the event from last week...."

"Excellent!" Bilks smiled warmly. He led Harry out of the caverns through a small doorway and into a narrow hallway with a circular ceiling. Lanterns lined the right-hand side of the wall, providing a shadowy glow overhead as they passed down the corridor. Alcoves on the left side of the hallway led to wooden doors. They stopped by one of the alcoves and turned down it.

Bilks took out his wand from within his overcoat pocket and pointed it at the keyhole. Without words there came a click and the door creaked slowly open. Within was a small room with a mahogany bed, an oak desk, a long dustless table, a two-paned window, and another door on the left hand wall.

As Harry walked to the center of the room, warmth spread all around him. It felt as if the room was heated, but Harry did not know where the heat was coming from. Some ventilation system... or was this more magic...?

He looked out the window, where he saw rolling hills, snow-covered and unaltered. A few pine trees smothered with the blinding snow stood in this almost picturesque snapshot.

"That's not real, is it...?" Harry said with an edge to his voice. He didn't know if he would enjoy himself here....

"It is," Bilks said knowledgeably. "We're in the depths of these caves. We try to make it as comfortable as possible. This is one of the ‘winter rooms.'"

"I see," Harry looked around.

"I'm sure you want food; you're probably famished!" Harry didn't disagree with Bilks's comment. "Well, when you sit at the table, food will appear. Oh and that door to the left leads to the bathroom and shower. You have your own. And don't worry," he added merrily, "the water's fine. The Lethe streams and water cannot be contained in pipes. And why would you want that anyway? We've been able to control our water charms so that it can be eternally created through a special form of plumbing that Garrett was able to configure. He's the smartest of our lot...."

"That magic seems real advanced compared to the regular kind," Harry said with awe. "I mean, normal wizards still use plumbing and such."

"It's sad," Bilks said nonchalantly. "We've been hard at work here, you know. Our advancements haven't reached the real world. You'll be living in the lap of luxury tonight. Just try and forget all the stuff that's happened today. No good fretting all about it right now....

"Well, good night!" he waved and departed, leaving Harry by himself in the room.

He immediately sat down at the table. Food magically appeared all around the table as if house elves were working the floor below him, like Hogwarts, ready to cook whatever food they could. There were myriad kinds of food: baked chicken, succulent slabs of beef and pork chops, mashed potatoes, stewed carrots, corn, treacle tart, puddings, breads, even pumpkin juice and butterbeer!

Without a second thought, he dove into a ravenous feast that did not stop for a good forty minutes. Harry ate until he couldn't force anything else down. The moment he set his empty plate down on the table and pushed it away, everything on the table disappeared, the top of it immaculate, ready for the next round of feasting.

Harry stood up and walked over to his bed and sat down upon it. The food did something to him he didn't expect; it made him tired, ready to sleep without a care in the world. He didn't care where he was, why he was there, or who really had kidnapped him. All that dared not enter his head. Gorging on the food made him forget everything like the Lethe pools would.

Harry laid his head on the pillow... on his soft, warm feather pillow... closing his drowsy eyes slowly, sloooowly, until darkness was all Harry could see. Harry thought of nothing... nothing but sleep... deep, deeeep refreshing long sleep.... Sleep without any worries... without any apprehension... or fears... at all....

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