Disclaimer: This universe and its magnificent characters are properties of JK Rowling and all others who hold various copyrights to this very lucrative franchise.
Author's Notes: This was written a long, long, long and I mean long time ago. But it's only very recently that I got the courage to post it here. Be gentle, you guys... HUGE thanks go to Nitya for checking this story out for me. Thanks for putting up with my weird quirks on Y!M. This is dedicated to my undergraduate friends whom I've just had dinner with last Saturday: JC, Joy, Karylle and Marj. PLEASE REVIEW!!! I love knowing what you guys think...
"Mysterious thing, time. Powerful—but when meddled with, dangerous…"
- Michael Gambon as Albus Dumbledore
Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban
04 June 2004
Harry Potter was about to sink his teeth into a chicken leg distractedly when something distinctly odd and disturbing shook him out of his reverie. Draco Malfoy was avidly staring at him from across the Great Hall. Again. With his mouth wide open and teeth poised for the kill, Harry froze and narrowed his eyes. Malfoy didn't seem to have anything better to do lately other than stare at him while he indulged in sustenance, and it had become quite irritating to say the least. The Gryffindor set his piece of chicken down on his plate and shook his head softly. As always, it had just the impact to make him lose his appetite. He furrowed his brows and reached out to grab an éclair from the nearest basket instead of finishing his chicken. Such a waste.
Malfoy averted his gaze from Harry and granted his own plate of spaghetti and meatballs some well-deserved attention. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what Malfoy could possibly be seeing in him nowadays, for the latter to have so obviously ruled out better things to pass the time than stare at him from across the rowdy hall during meals. What Harry found utterly unnerving about the whole staring issue was that he was actually beginning to find it…intriguing and…interesting…
And disturbing, of course.
Harry breathed an enormous sigh and raised his left wrist to look at the time. Seven fifty-seven in the evening. It was still early. He placed the éclair on his half-empty plate and stared at it, not really seeing it, nor having enough appetite to finish it off. Raising his eyes to glance at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, Harry idly started playing with his éclair and thinking of the way his life had turned for the worst.
He looked at the half-empty Gryffindor table and at the people half-heartedly eating their late dinner, shook his head and groaned inwardly. Ron and Hermione were both too busy to wait for him for dinner and had left already to attend to their own problems, which made his evening, if it was even possible, more rotten. First, Malfoy couldn't quit staring at him with those inscrutable gray eyes; his two best friends had become too busy to notice anything about him and the worst would have to be—
A sharp poke jolted him out of his thoughts and he looked around, annoyed. A dark gray eagle owl was precariously balancing on an empty flagon of orange juice and holding out a leg, which contained a hastily-tied scroll. The owl wasn't a stranger. In fact, he had become quite accustomed to this particular owl. He knew who had sent the letter. He wished he didn't though. Unfurling the scroll, he guardedly stole glances to see if anyone had noticed the unusual owl delivery, but, everyone else seemed too oblivious to notice much but their dinners that had long since gone cold.
Harry cast his eyes down and started to read.
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"Do you know why you are here, Potter?" Snape practically puked out Harry's name, obviously disgusted that he had to be the one to try to knock some sense into the boy's thick head. Snape crossed his ankles under the table and clenched his hands on the dark wood table, eyes hard and obsidian with hidden malice and mockery. Harry snorted softly and shifted his weight from one foot to another.
"I suppose this has something to do with my dismal Potions work, sir?"
"Alas, there is nothing that can be done about your horrendous performance in my class. And I prefer not to waste my time. No—this is not about your gruesome incompetence in my subject, rather, this is about Mr. Malfoy," Snape finished.
Harry thought he must have heard it wrong. "Malfoy? What about him?"
"Did I not tell you to regard me with proper respect, Potter?"
"What about the twitchy ferret, sir?"
Snape's lip curled and he snarled menacingly under his breath. Harry, on the other hand, just stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes to keep himself from grabbing his wand and just cursing the bejeebers out of Snape. The professor stood up abruptly and started pacing the room.
The Potions dungeon was a bit cold that night, not to mention damp and foreboding. With the special addition of Snape's hostile manner, it was a room damned to hell. Shelves of jars upon jars of slimy-looking Potions ingredients stood in the far wall of the room; there were no widows, no hint of light other than the burning torch making eerie shadows dance on the uneven stone wall. There were no pieces of comfortable looking furniture, only, Snape's desk, his straight-backed chair and another that looked a lot like an electric chair meant to torture its occupant rather than give even the slightest morsel of comfort. Hence, Harry's preference to stand and shift uncomfortably on the balls of his numb feet.
"The headmaster has informed me that Mr. Malfoy sought him out to volunteer to aid our forces against Voldemort," Snape proclaimed with the smallest hint of admiration for his favorite student's courage. But, Harry knew better. Malfoy would squeal on all of us faster than Snape could say 'ferret'. That little sod is not worth even Fang's trust.
"He'd double-cross us, more like. How sure are you that he'd actually help us? His father is right in Voldemort's inner circle. I don't think Malfoy is capable of such bravery and self-sacrifice when he couldn't even walk along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest without wetting his pants. Dumbledore may have been dense enough to trust you, and I, loath as I am to admit it, am forced to actually do the same, but I draw the line at Malfoy. You may trust him; Dumbledore may trust him, but I don't—I don't think I will ever learn to," Harry said.
"Which is why the headmaster is making you Mr. Malfoy's direct contact."
Harry blinked several times in shock. How could Dumbledore do this to him? He bowed his head and murmured some swear words, disbelieving what he had just heard Snape say. "Why? You're his head of house. It'll be safer and more convenient for him to head directly to you to pass information than to me."
Snape jeered, sat back down on his stiff chair and leered even broader when confronted with Harry's reaction, the appalled look of someone ready to throw up. "That's more dangerous actually as I am a teacher. It'll be too high profile and hard to conceal from the prowling eyes of his housemates."
Slytherins turning against Slytherins—there is justice in this world.
"Headmaster Dumbledore then. Surely it'll be more beneficial for the Order should Draco turn directly to Dumbledore."
"But the Death Eaters are probably watching the headmaster's movements and acquaintances nowadays. Draco must not be put in danger. And should his father find out that Draco seeks Dumbledore's counsel often enough, he would surely be in grave danger," the oily-haired teacher reasoned, liking Harry's aghast look more and more. "You, on the other hand, have the perfect cover. The Slytherins and the Death Eaters would never consider you to be in contact with him. After all, you hate him and he hates you. Your meetings should be kept entirely secret and none would be the wiser that Draco is in contact with the Order through you. You are to head directly to me to report what Draco divulges and we could always disguise those meetings as your Remedial Potions—and heaven knows it's believable enough."
Harry had started to feel warm with anger at what he was being asked to do, somewhere between the mention of Draco's risks and his lack of competence in Potions. "Do you understand me, Potter? Lucius must not suspect. You may not trust Draco, but that is beside the point. Draco is already in grave danger as it is."
Harry scoffed, "Well—considering what you're asking me to do, he's not the only one."
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The first meeting had happened three months ago and since then, it had become a habit for Harry to get letters from the gray eagle owl, to make alibis to feed Ron and Hermione as an explanation for his mysterious and highly confidential trysts, to meet Malfoy in some secret hideaway, to report to Snape—that the newest letter wasn't a source of anything but boredom out of habit. Malfoy would always report of some dark plan or other and he, in turn, would report it to Snape—such grueling monotony that he never asked for, more like shoved up his ass.
The note was hasty. Nine-thirty outside the Slytherin common room. Was the prick crazy, asking Harry, the very personification of an all-good Gryffindor and Voldemort vanquisher, to appear in the Slytherin common room like a courteous guest invited for tea and scones? He was stark raving bonkers, that's what.
Harry stuffed the note in his pocket, stood up, took a last swig of his juice and turned to leave, when Malfoy met his eyes again. What was it with Malfoy and looking at him anyway? It was starting to get mildly disconcerting to find those deep and mystical gray eyes boring into him. Harry swiped his fringe off his eyes and left without a gaze of question or challenge thrown in Malfoy's general direction.
A flutter of something like wonder and curiosity sprouted in the pit of his stomach. What could Malfoy want with him?
Some important news on the current whereabouts of Voldemort or of new recruits? Harry sighed under his breath, cursing the fact that he had to be Malfoy's confidant in such dark matters that he was not even sure he wanted to hear and be privy to. The inside information regarding the workings of both the Order and Voldemort's group was interesting, no doubt, but Harry had always preferred less information since Sirius's death. 'The less you know, the longer your life is' had become Harry's personal principle after finding out his own purpose in the brewing war.
"Harry!" Harry stopped in mid-stride and turned around to find Hermione running after him, beaming in spite of the armful of heavy books she was carrying. "How is Hagrid? I'm really sorry that I wasn't able to go with you. I do hope he's not in danger or anything," she mouthed, catching her breath.
Harry shook his head with a slight smile. "He asked after you and Ron, though. I told him you guys were busy. It's nothing terribly important. He just wanted to catch up on what we've been doing since the start of term since he, himself, has been busy," Harry explained. He started walking again with Hermione at his heels, his hands deep in the pockets of his robes, one of which still had some of Hagrid's famous rock cakes from their meeting before Harry's late dinner.
"Good. Did he tell you about Order activities then?"
Hermione's voice dropped to a whisper and Harry had to lean towards her to hear. Guilt and uneasiness swept through him at being reminded of Malfoy's letter and their forthcoming meeting, which Hermione had no knowledge of. He had been meeting Malfoy for the last three months without his friends' knowledge, for Malfoy's protection, and being reminded of the fact that Hermione didn't know a thing about it suddenly made him squirm. Hermione would probably disapprove of it. Like Harry, she didn't trust Malfoy either.
And do I still believe that? Do I still believe without a shadow of a doubt that Malfoy cannot be trusted? Why am I being obedient for once? Dumbledore's orders and Snape's threats have never stopped me from being honest with my friends before? And Malfoy's safety has never been a concern of mine, so what exactly am I doing? Harry fingered the scroll in his pocket, guardedly. He's seen Malfoy afraid, shocked, beaten to a pulp, angry, hurt, hesitant, secretive, spiteful, careless, suicidal, homicidal, depressed, frustrated, proud, reminiscent and emotionless. There was probably no Malfoy family secret he hadn't heard yet. But were these enough? Was seeing Malfoy's facets or being privy to the skeletons in his closet enough to actually warrant Harry's trust? If I still don't trust him, why am I keeping my silence to protect him? And why, in Merlin's name, do I keep meeting him? I could have gone to Professor Dumbledore after the pretense of the first meeting to beg off from seeing Malfoy and actually 'talking' to the bastard, but I didn't. I kept on meeting him without telling my friends about it.
I do trust him. He's earned my civility.
"—on my final tests on its properties. You ought to have it back in two days, Harry," Hermione babbled on.
The dark-haired boy shook his head and interrupted, "I'm sorry I didn't quite get that. You were saying…?"
"Your invisibility cloak. I'm almost done studying it and trying to create the same effects with another piece of cloth. Its properties proved to be tricky. I wanted to create a cloak with the same properties of invisibility but I thought I'd try it first on a hanky or something. You ought to have it back in two days," said Hermione.
"Right. Have you seen Ron, by any chance?" Harry rubbed off some imaginary lint from his trousers to hide his inattentiveness.
"He was going on and on about your Transfiguration presentation on Friday. You should have started on it weeks ago, you know." Hermione started lecturing about the way both he and Ron shirked duties, getting themselves in detention after detention and prioritizing Quidditch over everything else.
"Well, you know I had to arrange Sirius's estate for most of the past few weeks, and—" The meetings with Malfoy and Snape, of course, had taken up most of the time he wasn't preoccupied with Sirius's assets and where they were supposed to go. "—some detentions here and there. Those weren't my fault, Hermione. And don't even lecture me about them," Harry finished.
"I won't waste my breath. But Harry, do try and keep your nose clean. Don't you have detention with Filch the day after tomorrow and the day after that? You also have Quidditch practice tomorrow. You need to start on the presentation, bad. I suggest you check the common room for Ron. Hmmm, I better go. I have to discuss something with Professor Flitwick on the conclusion of my research work. See you later." And with that, Hermione scuttled away, balancing some fifteen books in her arms to keep the meeting with Flitwick. Harry looked at the time again. Eight thirty-two. Another hour and he would be chatting with Malfoy again about death and the Dark Arts. Some evening he was having.
Harry walked aimlessly through the torch-lit hallways of the school, mindless of the route he was taking, so deep in thought about meeting Malfoy that he already had his nose pressed in the portrait of the Fat Lady by the time he snapped out of it. He whispered the password ('Swan Lake'), entered the common room and plopped down on the nearest and most comfortable armchair in the room.
Grabbing a book from the littered coffee table, he kicked the loafers off his feet and tucked his legs, one crossed against the other. It was some horrid Divination book that Parvati Patil must have left there, but it proved to be quite humorous. At least, it held his attention for some ten or fifteen minutes before his thoughts strayed to Malfoy again. Maybe I should abuse this meeting to ask him why he's been staring at me during mealtimes. Yeah—that'll be convenient. Maybe he's been putting a wandless hex on me by looking at me and it'll be enough reason for Dumbledore to have him report directly to Snape instead of to me…
The last time he and Malfoy had met, they had taken a walk by the lake while Malfoy talked about growing up in Malfoy Manor. It had been comfortably one-sided, but pretty uneventful. It was not irritating or annoying—in fact, as much as Harry loathed to admit it, it had been quite pleasant and peaceful. It showed Harry another side of Malfoy, a side he would have been more comfortable not knowing. It was worth three sleepless nights afterward. Surely, Malfoy should've just concealed that side of himself. It made Harry think of Malfoy as childlike and simple. As fragile and—well—human, with feelings and who hurts. Just like himself. When one discovers something like that about his or her enemy, it tends to alter the universe or something.
It certainly altered Harry's.
"There you are!" Seamus sat down beside Harry and clapped the latter on his back. "Been trying to find you all afternoon. We have to plan the Transfiguration presentation or else McGonagall will be after our blood. Ron's gone to get reinforcements, so how about some Gobstones while we wait?"
Harry nodded half-heartedly and stood up from his comfortable armchair and walked towards Seamus and Dean seated at the far corner of the common room, in front of the huge ornate mirror for a rousing game of Gobstones—goodness knew how much he needed the distraction.
"I hope you don't have anything planned for tonight, Harry because we'll probably be up until about midnight for that Transfiguration thing," Dean welcomed Harry as the latter squatted on the floor and grabbed some Gobstones at random for the game. He remembered the nine-thirty appointment with Malfoy again and cursed under his breath.
He realized then how much he wanted to go and see Malfoy. But trying to get out on his dorm mates would rouse issues, not to mention the fact that the Transfiguration thing had been put off for too long already. He made a quick appraisal of his wristwatch again. Eight fifty-one. Shit.
The second round of Gobstones became more brutal, and Harry became more distracted. Dean had already performed what seemed like three Cleaning Charms on them before Neville came down to join the festivities with an enthusiastic greeting. Nine o'clock was approaching so fast that no matter how much he wanted to slow down time to keep debating with himself whether to meet Malfoy or not, it was futile. The far-off chime of nine o'clock sounded from the huge Hogwarts clock somewhere south of the Gryffindor tower, and Harry was about to lose another round when a faint thud sounded from the unobtrusive armchair that was pressed against the corner across from them. Harry twisted around to see, but there was no one there. The armchair was bathed in darkness. He saw his reflection on the mirror in front of him narrow its eyes.
"I think I don't want to play anymore. Where is Ron anyway?" Harry stood up from the floor and started pacing in front of his friends. Some girls entered the common room and joined a larger group in front of the fire. The room broke into noisy squeals of chatting girls. It was already crowded and noisy and it was grating on Harry's nerves. He was irate that Ron was nowhere to be found; the room was uncomfortably noisy and he was still trying to suppress the strengthening desire to go see Malfoy. At least seeing Malfoy had more potential than a night of studying and brainstorming after a particularly frustrating game of Gobstones and losing what seemed like twelve times to Seamus, the worst Gobstones player of the house.
I can't believe I'm actually wishing I were with Malfoy! Damn!
"He'll be around. Come on, Harry—one more round," Dean cajoled. And Harry, having nothing better to do but glare at the squealing girls agreed for a final round. He looked at his watch again, growing slightly distressed. Five minutes after nine. Another thud, not faint at all, rather, quite loud, sounded from the still unoccupied armchair across from them, and Harry, along with some of the girls from the larger group by the fire, looked at it again, eyes narrowed with curiosity and annoyance. "Did you hear that?"
"What?"
He unfurled his legs and stood up to walk to the chair, obscured in semi-darkness. A faint 'humph' from somewhere behind or within the armchair filled Harry's ears as he got closer. It sounded like it was someone eavesdropping, or spying, or just trying to irritate people. That someone was succeeding in irritating Harry, especially since he knew he was supposed to be somewhere else but couldn't be. He was almost on top of the armchair when Seamus called him, "Come on Harry, you're going to miss your turn!"
The raven-haired boy froze and doubled back to his friends. "I thought I heard something" he said.
"It could be anything with this crowd around" Dean groaned, pointing to the huge group of girls by the fire, blocking the boys' light.
"I don't want to play anymore," Harry said again.
"Maybe we should go upstairs. We could wait for Ron there. These girls are just here because you are here, anyway," Seamus teased Harry with a slight smirk.
It was nine-ten when they made their way up to their dormitory.
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The ticking of Neville's bedside clock started to sound like fingernails against a blackboard, three minutes into their dormitory. Harry excused himself and before anyone could protest, he was halfway down the stone staircase under the pretext of searching for Ron. This was when Hermione bounded up to him, still hugging some thick volumes close to her body. She asked him where he was off to but he just shrugged and replied with a muffled "To find Ron" before too much guilt could find its way into his system. The common room must already be nearly, if not completely, empty since the girls who had been with them earlier left just after they did.
Harry's feet pounded against the stone steps as his feet hurriedly made their way to freedom and to keep a previously set engagement. With Malfoy. Wonder of all wonders—but he suddenly felt the growing urgency to keep his meeting with the Slytherin. He just knew that the odds of salvaging his night would probably lie in the hands of his new found comrade. It wasn't as if he couldn't bear to be with his dorm mates, but he just felt like he really needed to see Malfoy for some unknown reason.
The portrait door was just closing when Harry stepped into the common room. However, he was just in time to see a head of black hair vanish behind the closing portrait and he froze. The common room was already dim and so was the hall outside; the darkness was probably just playing a few tricks on him, but he thought he just saw—
Couldn't be. He was probably just hallucinating.
The fire in the hearth was still faintly smoldering with dull orange residue of burning ash, making the room appear eerie and unfamiliar from the cheery common room of barely seven or eight minutes ago. Harry picked up his feet and left through the portrait hole after the phantom he thought he saw. But the hall was empty and a little dim save for a few torches burning on their holders. He walked slowly, guardedly, watching out for any sign of someone—anyone. The post in the middle of the wide hallway where a solitary torch was burning only showed his disfigured shadow and nothing else. So he walked, as quickly as he could. There was no time to find the Marauder's Map or ask Hermione for the invisibility cloak; it would rouse too many issues. Trying to find them needed time, and time was not a luxury for him any longer. He had a meeting to keep—he took a quick look at his watch—in a little over ten minutes.
The hall ahead of him was uncomfortably bare, but faint scuttling sounded from behind him and started to echo in the empty corridors. He stopped walking and turned around abruptly to try and catch his pursuer, but there was nothing there but dry darkness. Rounding a corner, Harry perked up his ears again to distinguish any audible signs of whoever was tailing him. When he reached the second to the last corridor before the landing that lead to the Entrance Hall, he started running.
They can't catch me… One more corridor and it'll be chicken feed once I reach the Entrance Hall. There would be more pillars and more storage closets to hide in there.
Something crashed loudly in the last hallway he had just passed. He stopped, heart beating furiously, and pressed his back against the nearest and darkest wall to try to hide. Someone, not too far from him, was running. He could hear the hurried pounding of feet and he closed his eyes. He turned to look towards the darker depths of the corridor he was trying to lose himself into and saw a dark figure running towards him. He tore himself away from the wall to run again when he harshly bumped into something. Or someone.
"Harry!" Ron was pale, and his freckles were dark against his visage. "What are you doing out of Gryffindor Tower?"
Harry turned to look at the hallway where he thought he saw a dark figure that was making a beeline for him before Ron showed up, but found nothing but darkness. "I was going to look for you," came his guarded reply. He was so sure someone was following him.
Ron shifted the weight of the books in his arms and took out an old bit of parchment from his robes' pocket. "Why do you have that?" Harry pointed to the parchment. It was the Marauder's Map.
"I borrowed it this morning, remember? I was already planning to go to the library tonight to steal a few books from the Restricted Section for our presentation."
"Oh—yeah. I, uh, forgot," said Harry.
"I was looking at it while pulling out some books from the Restricted Section shelves, on the lookout if Filch was heading my way when I saw something," Ron murmured, catching his breath after running all the way from the library. "Filch was chasing you down the Arithmancy corridor."
Harry's brows narrowed. "That can't be. I wasn't—"
Ron continued, "I ran from there like hell was after me to try to get to you before Filch did, and look at you—you don't even have your invisibility cloak with you. That was a dangerous thing you did, Harry, leaving the common room and in full view of anyone, too!"
"Can I have the map?"
Ron pushed the parchment into Harry's waiting hands. It was blank. "I must have wiped it blank before I left the library."
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no—"
A torch burst into light in the dark corridor where Harry was earlier on, and the two breathed in sharply. Ron dumped the books into Harry's hand before the latter could check the map and tugged at Harry's robes, desperately. "Come on! We cannot be seen standing here with an armful of stolen books from the Restricted Section. Filch might still be after you. We have to go and just keep running. Chances are he won't be able to catch up to us," said Ron.
And they ran.
It was nine twenty-five.
----------==========*****==========----------
It was probably a little over half-past eleven. He just felt too wasted to raise his wrist to his eyes to check. Damn Transfiguration.
The night was not a complete waste in the Transfiguration thing but it almost bored Harry to tears. He had completely missed meeting Malfoy and he just felt rotten about it. Neville's soft snores, along with Ron's whimpering and the occasional nocturnal sounds, filled the room. But Harry couldn't sleep. It was completely unfair! Just when he was actually looking forward to seeing, and talking to Draco, this had to happen. Snape's nastiness tomorrow would probably break all world records because Harry had missed a meeting.
Damn Snape. And damn his desire to see Draco.
Harry sat up and threw the covers off his completely clad body. He hadn't even bothered changing yet. He was just too…depressed over the partial waste of his evening when he could've spent it talking to the blonde Slytherin.
I am going straight to hell. Shit. He stood up from his four-poster, walked to his trunk and flipped it open. He thought he could give Malfoy a peace offering for missing the meeting so his own conscience could be salvaged. If what Malfoy had to say was urgent and terribly important, the least Harry could do was to say sorry for missing the chance. He rummaged through his trunk, dug around in the very bottom and was about to pull his arm out when a cold chain found its way into his palm. He wrapped his fingers around the thin chain and pulled.
It was a small hourglass—like a pendant. And connected to a long dull gold chain that was tarnished with age. It looked like an innocent, harmless necklace, too. Except that, it was not.
It was a Time Turner.
----------==========*****==========----------
"How much for it again?"
The old man squinted through his crooked spectacles and Harry fought the strong urge to blink. "Are you sure you want to purchase it?"
Harry buried his hand in his trousers' back pocket and took out his money satchel. "Sure," he said. "I know it's not Ministry authorized, and it really doesn't matter. For how much are you willing to part with it?"
"Fifteen Galleons," the old man said.
"That's a lot. When it's not even legal. How about you give it to me for ten and when the Ministry discovers it I can conveniently forget where I bought it?" He really knew how to be persuasive when he wanted to.
"That's not much for such a precious thing. But…you have a deal, young man," the old man replied, rubbing his silver goatee with a glint of malice in his cold ice-blue eyes. Harry patted his black fringe over his forehead uncomfortably to hide his scar and merely nodded to the man. He took out ten Galleons and handed the coins to the outstretched palm of the seller. You have to trust Knockturn Alley for such lucrative trade.
He wasn't able to suppress a smile just as he was coming out of the shop, his neck heavier. At last.
--------==========*****==========----------
Harry crept down to the common room again, his neck cold with the dull gold chain of the Time Turner. He'd seen Hermione at it once; surely he could do it even though he had never tried by himself before.
The common room was completely dark and quiet. The cold, he thought, was just probably in his anticipation. He had found the means to keep his meeting with Draco.
Bringing the small hourglass level with his eyes, Harry smiled a naughty smile. He could do it; it would be easy. He'd go back to nine o'clock that evening and be back by midnight.
He looked at his watch for the nth time that night. Five minutes to midnight. He closed a hand over the Time Turner and waited patiently for the chime of midnight, standing in the middle of the empty common room. Three turns—three hours—seeing and talking to Draco like what was originally planned. He ran to the corner of the common room and stuffed himself behind the armchair that was innocently resting against the darkness of the corner. He'd be more inconspicuous here than at the hallway at nine o'clock when people would probably be still mingling about.
Ding-dong. Twelve o'clock. Harry turned the Time Turner once.
Ding-dong. A second time.
Ding-dong. A third time. And the hourglass started spinning in his fingertips.
The portrait hole opened then, and he raised his head. But before he could see the newcomer, the portrait hole snapped shut again. Darkness became light. Silence turned to noise. And Harry watched his wristwatch's hands turn as fast as the mosaic of people coming and going in reverse order.
Colors came alive again. And the light from the night sky spilling from the window moved on the rich red carpet.
"Hey guys!" It was Neville. And then, barely three heartbeats later, the far-off chime of the Hogwarts clock signaled nine o'clock. Harry, who was still seated on his heel and supported by his other knee, crouched low behind the armchair, twisted around suddenly and hit his elbow against the hard side of the furniture that was his cover. He stole a glance from behind his hiding place and saw the reflection of four boys hunched on the floor in the huge ornate mirror hanging on the wall. The reflection of his past self had its eyebrows suspiciously narrowed.
So that's what he heard earlier. Himself! The Harry behind the armchair stifled a laugh.
"I think I don't want to play anymore. Where is Ron anyway?" Harry pressed his back closer to the back of the armchair, eyes still on himself as the other Harry stood up from the floor and started pacing the room. Some girls entered with squeals of glee and Harry turned to look at the newcomers, momentarily having his attention stray from himself.
"He'll be around. Come on, Harry—one more round."
The brutal twist of his body caused him to wobble on his crouched position and he hit his knee on the armchair again in effort to regain balance. And his backside dropped on the floor with a very loud thud. Damn!
"Did you hear that?"
"What?"
The impact of Harry's ass on the floor disturbed some dust gathered by time in that neglected corner, and all of a sudden Harry, whose backside was starting to become sore, covered his mouth with his hands to suppress the urge to sneeze. Bad idea, bad idea! He stole a glance at his other self, who was walking slowly to where he was concealed. No—don't sneeze! Mind over matter, mind over matter… But his throat had become too itchy, and so he sneezed into his hand but stifled it at the same time. A strange 'humph' sound escaped his throat. He knew the other Harry had to be on top of the armchair already, but he stole a look nonetheless.
It was the first time he had ever seen himself from a third person view, and so up close, too. The Harry that was moving stealthily toward the armchair was looking at the headrest and not at the sides and so he didn't see himself looking back. But the hidden Harry got a good view indeed, and it was very different from the view he had to endure every time he looked in the mirror. It was…nice to see himself like that. And he had to admit—he looked rather good. The shoulders were muscled and broad, making him look like a model in his simple sweatshirt and unbuttoned school robes. He had gotten tall and a little otherworldly pale, making his black hair a silky contrast to his skin. And his eyes were…magical.
He just realized, for the first time ever, that he looked really good. He looked just as good as Draco Malfoy. Shit, no! Where did that come from?
"Come on Harry, you're going to miss your turn!" Bless you, Seamus!
"I thought I heard something." The past Harry was beside his friends again after Seamus distracted him from unmasking the phantom behind the thudding armchair. Harry avidly drank in the sight of himself and smiled. Everything was just so cool.
"It could be anything with this crowd around," Dean spoke, quite amused. And Harry breathed another sigh of relief. If he had caught himself crouched behind the armchair, there would have been hell to pay. He clenched his hands over the Time Turner dangling from his neck, outside his robes and licked his lips. He'd be able to keep the nine-thirty meeting. And he had gone back in time for it. Draco will be so amused when he hears of this.
And since when has he been 'Draco' to me? But he heard himself speak again, "I don't want to play anymore."
"Maybe we should go upstairs. We could wait for Ron there. These girls are just here because you are here, anyway."
Seamus could be such a tease, but Harry twisted around to gaze at the four boys just cleaning up and preparing to go up to their chambers and his eyes were caught by himself again.
Then, they left. The girls followed soon, actually expressing their irritation that he, Harry, had to retire early. It was too much to bear and the concealed Harry almost burst out laughing.
In a flash, the common room was empty and dim with the dying fire in the hearth. About time, too! He stood up from the corner and was about to crane his neck to see if there were people going back down, when the portrait hole opened again. He ran to the coffee table and crawled like a wounded crab under it. He must not be seen.
That was a good move, because it was Hermione, tottering a pile of books and obviously too busy to make her way through the dark room to notice that Harry was on his belly under the table. She left the common room and Harry wasted no more time. He knew that his other self would be on his way down now after encountering Hermione on the staircase.
He pulled the portrait door open and walked out just as hurried scuttling began in the room he had just left. Ha! It was also himself he saw leaving the common room earlier that night! How extraordinary! It was too cool.
The other Harry would be bursting into the hallway, so he pressed his back against the post with a burning torch, concealing himself from the portrait hole. And sure enough, the other Harry burst into the hallway, breathing heavily. Harry moved to the left of the pillar as his past self walked past the post, looking around. When he had already given the other Harry a head start, he ran after him, careful to control the pounding of his feet. There was no other way to the Slytherin corridor but through there; he just had to be careful not to be seen by his other self.
Harry again pressed his back against a wall. The other Harry just turned abruptly. That was too close. He took a peek and saw himself walking again, faster. And after a few more heart-stopping moments, the other Harry started to run.
Feet pounded against the floor; breaths came out in gasps; robes swished behind. And Harry was running after himself when he heard another, more audible and closer footsteps also in a run somewhere behind him. He entered a corridor and stuffed himself in a corner where a suit of armor was already in place.
Closing his eyes, he waited. Soon enough, Filch's messy brown tufts appeared; he was cuddling his cat in his arms, and he was breathing heavily. "There is someone out of bed, my sweet and we shall catch the rule-breaker red-handed," Filch cooed to the cat, poised to take the very same path that Harry's past self had taken. Shit! Harry was in a panic and he was also becoming claustrophobic with the suit of armor hogging space that was more than what was reasonable. Bracing both arms on the cold armor, Harry pushed with all his might and the thing crashed loudly as it hit the stone floor. Now, he'll be after you! Nice one, Potter!
Leaving the comfort of the crevasse, Harry started running through the dark corridor, squinting through the thick shadows. He passed a door that was left ajar and realized that he was running through the Arithmancy corridor. It was his future self that Ron had seen in the map. Of course…
Turning right, Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye for Filch. Someone was still running behind him. He knew that this hallway ran parallel to the corridor that his other self was running through. And sure enough, he could see snatches of another Harry running in the other, poorly lighted hallway through the shorter passageways that connect the two. He became thankful then that it was so dark in the route he had taken. The hall reached a dead end and he turned right again. He was close to the dimly lit hallway when he saw a body pressed to the wall at the end of the corridor.
That person was squinting through the dark to make his form out. Harry was looking at himself, and they were so close that it was a miracle that the other one failed to recognize him.
Quick footsteps again and hasty movements. Harry took it as his signal and threw himself into a cramped crevasse in the wall with a sharp intake of breath. There was a sound of two bodies colliding and voices. Harry, who was sheathed in darkness, recognized Ron's alarmed voice instantly. He could risk stealing a glance whether his other self was still avidly watching the dark corridor where he had taken refuge.
Breaths from his slack mouth were still coming in brutishly.
"Why do you have that?" It was the other Harry.
"I borrowed it this morning, remember? I was already planning to go to the library tonight to steal a few books from the Restricted Section for our presentation," said Ron.
"Oh—yeah. I, uh, forgot."
It was the Marauder's Map and something close to panic washed over him. Ron had seen him running through the Arithmancy corridor and if his other self saw the map, he would be able to see a Harry who was talking to Ron and another Harry who was crouched in a gap in the wall. The jig would be up.
"I was looking at it while pulling out some books from the Restricted Section shelves, on the lookout if Filch was heading my way when I saw something." Pause. "Filch was chasing you down the Arithmancy corridor."
"That can't be. I wasn't—"
Think Harry! He couldn't leave because the two were blocking the mouth of the hallway to freedom. "I ran from there like hell was after me to try to get to you before Filch does. And look at you—you don't even have your invisibility cloak with you. That was a dangerous thing you've done, Harry, leaving the common room and in full view of anyone, too!" Ron was speaking again, but Harry's mind had already ceased to function in fear of his looming unmasking. He shifted his weight and considered running through the dark hallway and doubling back at least until his other self returned to Gryffindor tower but he thought of Filch, who might be waiting for him in the dark corridor. What would he choose?
Being caught by himself and probably hexed or being caught by Filch and punished with detentions until kingdom come?
"Can I have the map?"
"I must have wiped it blank before I left the library," said Ron.
Conjure something up, Harry! Right about now! The sound of rustling parchment filled Harry's ears as he let his eyes wander for any kind or form of salvation. His eyes fell upon a derelict torch. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no—"
Harry pointed his wand and whispered, "Incendio!" The torch exploded into light, and he heard Ron and himself breathe in sharply. "Come on! We cannot be seen standing here with an armful of stolen books from the Restricted Section. Filch might still be after you. We have to go and just keep running. Chances are he won't be able to catch up to us."
Footsteps echoed piercingly in the hall—of Ron and his other self running away. Harry left the comfort of his nook and jutted out his head to see two cloaked boys running. As he brought his watch close to his eyes, he saw that it was nine twenty-five. He took one last look at the two figures receding in the hall away from him and ran to meet Draco.
----------==========*****==========----------
Harry just arrived and was catching his breath when Draco Malfoy's head popped out from behind a brick wall. "You came," Draco said, obviously hoping that he'd be greeted by darkness and emptiness rather than Harry's staggering figure.
"Of course," he mouthed, swiping locks of black hair off his eyes.
Draco pushed open the brick wall and stepped back a little. "Come in."
Harry asked, "Are you really sure about this? I mean, what if your housemates catch me or something?"
"Oh so, you'd rather stand there and wait for Filch to come get you and punish you like there's no tomorrow for being out of bed?"
"Right," said Harry and he entered the Slytherin common room, though a little hesitant and apprehensive. "This had better be important, Malfoy," he mouthed.
Draco kept walking wordlessly in front of him, hands in the pockets of his simple black silk pajamas. They walked silently to the corner of the common room where a door was waiting ajar. "Go right in," Draco ushered, standing back to let Harry into the room first.
Harry snickered, "Sure hope this is not some kind of trap," but entered nonetheless.
The room was comfortably dim, with eerie blue-gray light dancing on the bare walls and on the mat that was already luxuriously spread out on the floor. Beside it was a small case that looked like a trunk. The dancing light, Harry later realized, was moonlight dancing within the fingers of water from under the lake. A large window was on the wall displaying, not the night sky, but what was beneath the lake and dancing silver light in silk ripples of the calm water. It was the only window of the room, but it proved to be more than enough to make the room three times more interesting than the Great Hall itself. There were half-empty shelves pushed against the wall along with quite a few punctured cushions and dirty towels. There weren't any fireplaces or burning torches; the lake alone provided the feeble but dramatic light.
"This is quite nice. This window has an even better view than the one in my dormitory," Harry said, sitting down on the mat as there wasn't any other option to take.
Draco plopped down across from him and crossed his legs in front of him. "It's OK, but the occasional grindylow pressing its ugly face in on you ruins whatever beauty the view provides."
Harry fell silent and looked at Draco, expecting the latter to burst into animated story--about the whereabouts of the Death Eaters but none came. "So what exactly did I come here for, Malfoy?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest and tried peering into the downcast eyes of his companion.
"I, uh. Well—you—umm, I just thought that—you know," the blonde mumbled.
Jeez! "I did not go back in time to hear you stutter, Malfoy," Harry whispered more to himself than to the hesitant boy in front of him.
"Pardon me?"
"What?"
"I thought I heard you say something," Draco murmured with a careless toss of his disheveled blonde hair.
Harry replied, "I didn't. But Malfoy, what is this meeting about? About your father? Voldemort? Malfoy Manor?"
Draco pulled the small trunk closer to him and flipped it open. "Want some butterbeer?" He produced two bottles of butterbeer from the case and offered one to Harry. "We have a whole case of it—and some fire whiskey too," he finished.
Harry narrowed his eyes and snorted, "So you wrote me a letter to get me down here and get me drunk, is that it?"
Draco replaced the bottles and closed the case with a shrug. "It's more like I wrote you a letter to get you down here and watch me get drunk."
"What—so I can be the one to snap some sense into you when you start bashing your head against the hardest part of the wall and kissing toilets? No fucking way! Pass the butterbeer," Harry demanded. Draco smiled in spite of himself, flipped the case open again and tossed a bottle to Harry. Malfoy tapped both unopened bottles with his wand and the caps popped off them.
"Start talking," Harry said after taking one long swig of the drink. "Let's stop the charades, Malfoy. You didn't get me down here for free booze and we both know it. Is this about your father?"
"It's about—" Malfoy hesitated and shook his head, "forget it—this is not a good idea. Just—just enjoy the free drinks, Potter."
Harry set the bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Out with it! I didn't go to great lengths to be here just to drink to the point of oblivion, you know. There's obviously something bothering you; you need someone to talk to, and I'm conveniently here—so spill!"
"I just thought that you'd be able to understand. I mean—more than my housemates would, of course," Malfoy whispered, gulping down some butterbeer, all poise and manners forgotten.
"Let's hear it then," Harry motioned.
Draco met Harry's eyes from behind his blonde bangs and a flicker of something like apprehension sprung from the silver-gray orbs. Harry started shivering. "It's about this someone…I—uh—like someone, and I don't know how to let this person know how I feel. I know this—this someone doesn't like me. It's probably an understatement, but—well—this person doesn't like me, but I want to be able to express how I feel. It's all very weird. Forget I said anything," Malfoy grunted.
Harry wanted to laugh—out loud. As loud as is humanly possible. "Let me get this straight. You like someone. You want to let this person know how you feel but you are hesitant because this someone doesn't like you. Am I right?"
The blonde Slytherin nodded.
"You look sober enough and sane enough, so why are you telling me this?"
Draco swallowed then spoke, "Because I know you'll understand. You may laugh at me all you want; I laughed at it myself when I realized. But all that aside, I know you'll understand."
Unreal! Harry took a larger swig of his butterbeer, set the bottle down afterward and stared at Malfoy, incredulously.
"And besides, I know I can trust you," Draco finished. The last statement almost made Harry throw up through the nose. He merely averted his eyes to look at everything else in the room aside from Malfoy.
"I know you don't, trust me I mean. But I do. I never would have told the deepest, darkest secrets of my family if I didn't. And I thought I could trust you with this as well."
Harry was still silent; what could he say?
Draco forged on. "Sometimes I wonder why I trust you so. Because it's obvious from our painfully one-sided meetings that you don't. In every one of them, it had always been me, talking and spilling the darkest secrets of my family and you, listening—and never the other way around. Not that I'm complaining or anything. It's just that sometimes I wonder why it's not enough for you. If it'll ever be enough for you. There's no Malfoy secret that you don't know; you've seen me at my worst and yet they're not enough. For you to trust me. In spite of that, I do trust you, Potter. Whether you'd believe it or not, you've been more of a friend to me in three months than my housemates of six years had ever been. And I've come to value your opinion. As I said, I'm not taking your right to laugh at me—for confiding in you, like this," Draco muttered. It didn't sound like Draco Malfoy at all. The Draco Malfoy that Harry had known for six years was arrogant and pompous. This Draco Malfoy in front of him was modest and honest. And trusting. It had never occurred to Harry that Draco could ever trust anyone apart from himself. Until now.
Harry tensely cleared his throat. "But I do trust you," he murmured. He didn't want to think about what had just come out of his mouth.
The other boy looked up from nursing his nearly empty bottle of butterbeer.
"At least, I'm learning to. I am willing to be educated. I'm not saying I do trust you, like I trust Dumbledore but you do hold a certain level of my trust or else I wouldn't be here tonight. I had to fight tooth and nail to get here, let me tell you. And I wouldn't have gone through it without a morsel of trust." And in a way, it was true. Going back in time was no easy feat and it wouldn't have been undertaken for someone you have no faith in. I do trust him. And I enjoy it when I'm with him…
Draco smiled, a genuine smile.
"So you were saying about this girl you like?" Harry finished off the entire bottle and burped softly. He was glad that the trust issue was out of his chest.
"I didn't say it was a girl," Draco whispered, taking out two fresh bottles of drinks.
Harry coughed nervously. He wasn't exactly ready for this kind of honesty. "Boy, this meeting is getting more and more enlightening," the Gryffindor joked.
"Is that all you can say?" The look on Draco's face was priceless.
"What did you expect me to say?"
"That you think I'm gross or something," said Draco.
"To be honest, I've always had a hunch regarding your preferences. And frankly, it doesn't matter. We're in the twentieth century, Malfoy." Harry took a swig of his newly opened bottle and shrugged.
"So what do you think I should do then?" Draco continued.
"Talk to him," advised Harry.
"Are you kidding? I don't think he likes me!"
"And how did you arrive at that conclusion exactly? Have you tried talking to him and actually telling him that you like him?"
"Well, no," admitted Draco.
"So for all you know, you're making a huge mistake. Speaking from experience, you really ought to try before giving up. If you try talking to him and he ends up punching you then it's not meant to be, but at least you tried. What if the situation actually looks promising? You will never know unless you try. And if you don't, you just might regret it," Harry lectured, took a long swig and almost finished the entire bottle.
"OK, how about we do a little role playing. Suppose you're this guy I like and you find out that I like you, what will you do?" Draco passed him another bottle of butterbeer. Harry had started shivering again.
"At first, I'd be shocked. It's not something one learns everyday. Most of the guys around here have always thought of you as a potential rival anyway. So it'd be quite a shock for the guy to know that you're after him and not his girlfriend. But if it were me, it really wouldn't matter. In fact, if it were me, I'd be extremely proud of myself," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at Draco.
"What?"
"I know—it must be the alcohol talking," the Gryffindor joked.
"Butterbeer is not much."
"Pass the fire whiskey then," Harry insisted.
"Exactly why would you think that?" Draco asked again when he had already placed a shot of fire whiskey in front of Harry.
Harry took the shot with a slight grimace and nodded at Draco, "I can conclude that he must be better-looking than you. You've always bordered on Narcissism. If you suddenly find yourself liking another guy then you must find him more perfect than you are. And if it were me, I'd consider myself a lucky bastard, to be more perfect than you to warrant your admiration," exclaimed Harry.
"I can never understand Gryffindor logic," Draco sniggered.
More shots were exchanged until the fire whiskey was exhausted and they had to go back to the butterbeers. The two boys' conversation ranged from Quidditch to chocolate ice cream, from Muggle movies to the Weird Sisters and that made Harry realize how much he and Malfoy had in common. The conversation was definitely lighter than those of past meetings and Harry was enjoying himself more than he had thought possible given the company.
"Do you remember our first meeting?"asked Draco.
Harry gulped some butterbeer, set the bottle down and started tracing patterns on its cool exterior. "Not all of it, you?"
"Yeah, given that I suffered from a migraine for about a week because you punched me, it was really hard to forget," the blonde said.
"Sorry about that."
"You apologized during the fourth meeting. I didn't really mind. I guess I deserved that," Draco dismissed it. "You do realize that this is the first meeting that is actually light and carefree. Most of the meetings we've had were spent reliving dark memories and divulging information and tactics, not very enjoyable to boot."
"I actually enjoyed the last one. The one when we took a walk by the lake and you told me about growing up in your manor. It was cool." And then it crossed Harry's mind, the real purpose of these meetings, the things that were at stake, the lives hanging in the balance. "Why did you do it?"
Draco asked, "Do what?"
"Risk your life like this, turn away from the life you've always known, to help us."
Draco fell into silence. Droplets glistened against the bottle and blinked in the mysterious blue-silver light of the rippling water. Draco's fingers tightened over the neck of the bottle and he sighed. "Earlier, the reason was simple enough: self-preservation.
You must know by now that the Dark Lord is even more vicious to his followers than to his enemies. If I side with him, I'd be in danger from your forces and from his own wrath. My father wouldn't be able to protect me from either. My father is a fanatic; he'd follow You-Know-Who to hell if he has to, and he'd probably kill his own son if the Dark Lord asks him to. So I chose to side with Dumbledore. I actually have lesser risks as long as no one knows how deeply I've become involved. At least, I knew that he and Snape would protect me.
"The reason was simple before. But now… now that someone else is involved, things have become more complicated. But fighting in my own way, no matter how simple, has achieved new heights, new depths in ways I never thought possible. I'm fighting now not only for myself. And I know no one would probably understand me better than you, Potter," Draco softly exclaimed, boring his inscrutable gray eyes into Harry's green ones.
"I want to tell you that you've picked the winning side. But I can't. Because I don't know how we will fare in this war. We might not succeed; and if we do, chances are we would have died before we could see it. I'm glad though, that at the very least, you've chosen the side that fights for what's right and what's just," Harry scrunched the mat under his palm, unknowingly.
He really was glad that Draco had chosen their side even if it just proved that his image of Draco was grossly mistaken, and it consequently turned all of his objective truths upside-down.
Tense silence.
"It's getting late and you're getting drunk. Maybe you should go," Draco advised.
But Harry was right where he wanted to be. He even went back in time to be right where he was; he wasn't going anywhere. He raised his wrist to his eyes and read the time through eyes already becoming too hazy with booze. Ten minutes to eleven. They'd still be up talking about the Transfiguration presentation at this hour.
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm still having fun talking to you. So what if Ron and Hermione have no friggin' idea that I'm here? I'm right where I want to be. It took me something short of hell to be right where I want to be, but who's asking, right?"
"You know Potter, I don't think your threshold for getting drunk is high," Draco kidded.
"I'm just as drunk as you are," the Gryffindor replied. "And it's Harry, for you. I can't believe you just asked my opinion on your little love problems and still have the nerve to call me Potter. I think that kind of honesty calls for given names, don't you think?"
And Draco grinned in spite of himself.
"So Weasley and Granger actually have no idea that you are here?"
"No," Harry said, "they have no idea that I've been meeting you for the past three months actually. Snape's orders. And don't ask me to work out how that man thinks; that'll take us a good four weeks."
"Armageddon, itself, can't stop you from being open to your sidekicks. Maybe Snape bribed you with additional points in Potions for you to keep your silence," Draco jested, languidly downing his fifth bottle of butterbeer. Harry had had more than five bottles and certainly more fire whiskey. The latter was just starting to get tipsy.
"Snape and Dumbledore aren't the only ones trying to protect you, you know. By keeping my—hic—silence, I contribute as well. If more people know what you're doing for the Order, it becomes more dangerous for you. By protecting you—" Harry burped, "—I protect myself also—from the wrath of your housemates. What will they say if they find out that I know that Crabbe's blankie is named Roderick? Or that Goyle's prick is as big as his pinkie or that Pansy Parkinson doesn't fancy wearing panties?"
Draco snorted and raised his fresh bottle of butterbeer in salute, "hear! Hear! I can't believe you still remember that stuff."
"Yeah, stuff like that is hard to forget. Too bad I can't tell Ron about them or else I may have to tell him where I got the information. Your housemates would skin you alive." Harry paused then said, "Oh yeah, it must be the alcohol talking "
Draco mused and grinned somewhat wistfully.
Harry brought the bottle down from his lips and asked, "What's that look for?"
"Nothing. You can be such an ass, d'you know that?"
Harry brought the bottle to his mouth and took a gulp. Tucking his knees closer to his chest, Harry grinned along with Draco. "I really am enjoying myself. This beats Gobstones and talking about Transfiguration presentations. I don't have to tell Snape about tonight's meeting, right? Or else I may have to tell him that his prized student fancies someone and actually asked Harry Potter for advice about it."
"No—you don't," Draco answered with a smile.
----------==========*****==========----------
"You should have just stayed in your common room. I can walk by myself," Harry hissed.
Draco's arms were firm and supportive around his waist as the two boys staggered through the Grand Staircase up to Gryffindor Tower. "Sure, Filch would have understood your condition and toweled you off until you were sober. You're drunk, Potter. The chances of you making it to Gryffindor Tower by yourself are absolutely zip," Draco grunted and practically hauled Harry's body up more stairs.
"I did tell you to call me Harry, right?"
"Yeah, yeah—whatever. Could you drag your feet less so I don't have to carry you? You're not light, you know," Draco complained.
Harry scrunched a fistful of Draco's pajamas as the former grasped the latter's shoulder, nodded absent-mindedly and continued dragging his feet through the carpet that, thank heavens, actually muffled their heavy feet. "Thanks a lot," Draco heaved.
Harry bowed his neck and gagged, on the verge of puking his lungs out.
"I thought you were going to be the one to snap me out of it when I start kissing toilets; where's your shame, Potter?"
"One more Potter out of you, and I'm going to puke on you, I swear," Harry coughed.
Draco wrapped his arms more firmly around Harry's waist and heaved him up more flights of stairs. "I smell gross. I should've just limited my booze to two bottles of butterbeer or something," Harry moaned. He started hacking like a dying old man on the third set of stairs.
Draco merely cringed at the reverberating echo of the other boy's coughs. "Keep it down, won't you? Don't worry, you don't smell bad."
"What time is it?" Harry's vision was swirling that he couldn't make out the time on the face of his wristwatch.
Draco looked at Harry's wristwatch on his shoulder and muttered, "Five minutes to midnight."
"Ah, just in time," Harry whispered.
The torches on the Gryffindor hallway had long since died. The hall was engulfed in darkness. "One more corridor, Harry. Don't pass out, OK?"
"OK. But you should know that this set-up really sucks. You're not drunk, at all," whined Harry.
"I am drunk, too. But unlike you, I can handle where the liquor hits me," replied Draco.
"I took a direct hit, shit!"
Ding-dong. "It's midnight. We're almost there. A few more paces," Draco walked faster, dragging Harry alongside him. The portrait hall was only a few feet away. Harry had already started humming off-key.
Ding-dong. Draco jerked his head to the side to swipe errant locks of blonde hair. He took hold of Harry's wrist on his shoulder a little tighter. Three more steps and Harry would be free to hurl all he wanted. He'd feel nasty in the morning, probably wouldn't even remember a thing, would probably blame Draco for having a serious hangover. But the blonde didn't really care. He knew—Harry had told him, himself—that the Gryffindor enjoyed that night. "What's the password?"
"Swan Lake. I love that tune; I can hum it for you again—"
Ding-dong. The Fat Lady's portrait just swung inward though the she, herself, was sound asleep. Draco froze.
A misty figure hunched behind an armchair just dissipated into nothing. And the figure looked a lot like—
"What the hell was that?"
Harry raised his head, registered the sight of the dark common room, and launched himself into a dive to land on the stuffed couch in front of the grate, leaving Draco, with his mouth wide open, staring at the apparition he thought he saw in the little gap between the corner wall and a comfortable looking armchair.
"What?" Harry languidly toed his shoes off his leaden feet.
"I thought I saw—"
"You just probably saw me leaving," Harry mouthed, gaining back his sense after the long trek from the Slytherin dungeons.
"But you were right beside me! How could—"
Harry grinned a little sheepishly, pulled out a gold chain from the inside of his robes, yanked the chain off his neck and offered the necklace to Draco. The latter took it, and started scrutinizing it. "This is a—"
"Time Turner. I bought it in Knockturn Alley before term started. I used it to go back to nine o'clock this evening. Otherwise, I couldn't have kept the meeting with you," Harry whispered, though there was no one else in the room to hear him.
Draco looked up from studying the small hourglass necklace in his hand. "You mean to tell me, you did the hours all over again? You used the Time Turner to be right here and with me at the same time? But—but why?"
"Nothing could have stopped me from seeing you tonight. It sounds crazy and out of character—I really don't know why I did it. I really enjoy talking to you and knowing you, though, in a way I never thought I would. Letting you talk in most of our meetings was not because I didn't want to have anything to do with conversing with you but because I was beginning to enjoy listening to you. They were opportunities… to see another side of you, facets of you I never knew existed. I was thinking earlier that I had already seen you angry, hurt, hesitant, reminiscent, brutal, suicidal, homicidal, indifferent…well—now I've seen you drunk as well—not as drunk as I am. But let me tell you, I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Harry, who was already quite sober, held out his hand and Draco clasped it, tucking the necklace back in the palm of its owner.
"I didn't want Hermione and Ron to know about our meetings not only to protect you, but also to know more about you like I've never done before, to discover more about you and appreciate you as the friend I once turned away without even trying. They'd probably think that it's not a good idea and I may have to give all this up if they advise me to, but right now, I'm not yet quite ready for that. I gave up on the chance to try being a friend to you once. And I don't want to give it up so soon now that I've finally tried.
"Don't be like me. Draco. I never gave our friendship a try until it was almost too late. And now—look what I've found, something so beautiful that I could have had six years ago if only I'd given it a try," Harry mused. "It's getting late. You should go back," he went on softly.
The blonde Slytherin just nodded, quietly and smiled the softest of smiles. He was almost at the portrait hole when Harry called to him again. "Remember what I told you? You ought to try telling this person how you feel and you might be surprised."
"I already did tell him," Draco murmured. He turned around to stare into Harry's eyes and slowly his cheeks colored from soft pink to bright crimson. "And I know what he feels. Well—technically, at least. And it's so sweet. He had to go back in time just so he'd be able to tell me all about it."
A soft thud resonated as the delicate Time Turner escaped Harry's nimble fingers and rushed to meet the carpeted floor.
:::End:::