Chapter 43: Crazy!

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Slightly loosening his ever-tightening grip upon the newspaper, Harry let out a slow breath. 'I wasn't going to do anything.'

'I know, but nonetheless, I thought it was prudent to remind you.' Loki sighed. 'You can never trust the emotions of you hormonal teenagers,' he added mockingly.

Harry snorted. 'Skeeter is still going to die - slowly and painfully.'

'I am not against that,' Loki agreed. 'I just know that it isn't wise to display your emotions in the middle of the Great Hall. Dumbledore would most likely object to you slaughtering his students in a temper tantrum.'

'It also wouldn't be good for us to display our ire at the reporter now. It would bad for us to be implicated in any wrongdoing concerning her.

A laugh escaped Loki. 'Oh, please. We shall have nothing to do with her death. She will simply fall down the stairs, happening to lose all of her fingers to frostbite on the way down before being impaled upon a bed of spikes.' He cackled. 'It will truly be a terrible tragedy.'

With a slight laugh, Harry asked, 'Why do you think she's doing this anyway? She didn't even mention my possible relation to Arthur.' He paused, before adding 'Though that's probably a good thing.'

'I imagine she is being bribed to slander you, probably by one of the supporters of Voldemort who survived after his passing.

A poor attempt at revenge. Perhaps it is the same person who entered you into the tournament,' Loki suggested.

Harry glanced back at the newspaper, skimming over the words proclaiming him a criminal who had threatened to kill Skeeter.

That said, he had been mentally planning to do so, but unless she was such a skilled mind-reader that she had been able to bypass both Harry's and Loki's defences, she wouldn't have known that.

Switching his gaze to the students at the Gryffindor table, he noted the ones reading newspapers were occasionally glancing up at him, different emotions written on each of their faces.

He would need to win them back soon if he didn't want his reputation eternally tarnished, and after spending a bit of the previous day speaking to some Gryffindors, he knew just how to do it.

At precisely the right moment, Harry stood from the Gryffindor table, strolling over to the Great Hall's doors.

He had timed it so that only a few seconds after he left, the boy Ron had told him was named Draco Malfoy followed.

He was a Slytherin, and from Gryffindor's descriptions of him - biased might they be - Harry guessed that not even those within his house genuinely liked him.

Combined with the fact his father supported Voldemort, thus making it nigh-on impossible to ally with him, he made a perfect target for Harry's plan.

As predicted, he only made it a few feet down the corridor before the sound of footsteps reached him, promptly followed by a cry of, "Hey, Potter!"

He turned around to see Malfoy, accompanied by the two dumb-looking henchman who apparently followed him around. "Yes?" he replied inquisitively, looking Malfoy up and down before putting a look of smothered disdain upon his face.

Malfoy might have been good at concealing his emotions, but Harry was better at detecting them, and Loki was an expert.

Both were sent into a fit of telepathic snickering as a flash of indignation and anger passed over his face, briefly struggling for words as he was given a taste of the treatment he gave to others all too frequently.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he finally managed to get out. Taking a step forward, he reached his hand out to shake Harry's hand.

The mild disgust once again crossing his face as Harry studied the boy's hand. A few moments later, he glanced back to his face. "Sorry," he murmured, fighting back a grin, "I'd rather not consort with the inbred." His urge to grin only grew as Malfoy turned red, stammering for words.

"I know, I know. The Malfoys are all ancient and noble, but that doesn't mean you have to follow all the Roman traditions - incest, for example."

As the boy began to reach for his wand, Harry's was already whipping his forward, firing silent stunning spells that instantly felled Malfoy's goons. He then surged at Malfoy, ripping the wand from his grasp and flinging it away. Malfoy had no time to react as he was grabbed by his collar and slammed against the wall.

"Y-you're just as crazy as the papers say," he stuttered, his grey eyes wide and terrified.

A cold smile slowly spreading over his face, Harry nodded. "I am crazy. So absolutely mad, in fact, that the voice in my head is telling me to kill you."

'No, I'm not.'

"And now he's telling me that he wasn't telling me to kill you, but I think I might do it anyway." He hummed thoughtfully. "Do you have an opinion on this matter?"

"I-"

Draco was interrupted as Harry noticed a group of Gryffindors exiting the Great Hall and screamed, "What the hell did you say about my mother?! I'll show you the son of a mudblood!" With that, he threw Malfoy to the floor, letting the boy skid along before gathering his magic and wrapping it around his neck.

Clenching his fist, he wrenched him into the air by his throat and resisted the urge to make Darth Vader noises, insteading deciding to twist his face into an expression of anger.

A few moments later, he dropped Malfoy to the floor, sneering as he choked for breath that wouldn't come. "Don't talk to me again, you filthy Death Eater."

With that, he turned and stormed off down the corridor. If that wouldn't gain him the alliance of the Gryffindors, who knew what would?

"I assume you know why you're here, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses, and if he were a mortal, Harry might have felt intimidated.

Instead of that, however, he was feeling quite amused. But nonetheless, he looked down at the floor, feigning what was expected of him.

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