Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all other characters and locations belong to J. K. Rowling.
Chapter One
It was like a form of torture. Slow and painful, each drawled word like a phantom fist to the gut. Lips pressed tightly together, Harry Potter squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his fingers around the quill in his hand. He was vaguely aware of Professor Snape continuing to list potion ingredients from somewhere near the back of the chamber in a bored monotonous drawl. Exhaling slowly, Harry forced himself to return his gaze to the black board and the scrawling script that appeared with every word Snape spat. Still, with teeth grit, he began to copy the day's lesson plan. It was almost with a great sense of pride that he placed the final period after the word 'shredded', straightening in the chair to admire his ink stained parchment and its scrawled contents.
"When you've finished copying the instructions, you may move to the table with your appointed partner and begin assembling the necessary ingredients." Professor Severus Snape accompanied his final command with a wave of his wand, the movement causing a second list to appear on the board that divided the students from Slytherin and Gryffindor into pairs.
Harry didn't need to check the list to know who his partner would be. If nothing else, Snape had proven extremely predictable over the last six years when it came to pairing his beloved Slytherins with their Gryffindor counterparts. It had reached the point that the students didn't even waste their breath whinging or complaining to their housemates about their appointed partner; everyone just packed up their bags and moved to the chair at their partner's table. But not today, Harry thought in resignation. He turned his head and glared at the blond seated at the table diagonally from him, meeting Draco Malfoy's smug sneer with a slow wag of his head. He absolutely was not moving from the seat he'd claimed at the beginning of the year. Not only was he comfortable, but lately standing had sometimes proven to be the difference between whether or not he kept his breakfast securely within his stomach.
"Professor, Potter's refusing to partner me," Malfoy practically sang out. The blond's sneer turned into a triumphant smirk when Snape flew across the room to hover over the dark-haired Gryffindor menacingly.
Staring down his hooked nose at his least favourite student, Snape met Harry's gaze and placed a firm hand on the back of the chair the younger wizard occupied. "Is there a problem, Mister Potter? Or do you simply wish to complete this assignment by yourself later this evening during detention?"
"Why should I always have to move?" Harry demanded in a tone layered with enough insolence to cause a wave of whimpers to rise from the Gryffindor side of the classroom. He ignored Hermione's hissed warning and narrowed his eyes at Snape, slouching deeper in his chair in silent rebellion.
The Potions Master arched a brow and slowly released his grip on the back of the young wizard's chair. "You'll move to Mister Malfoy's table because Miss Parkinson needs your seat to partner Mister Weasley." Without a single word of warning, Snape brandished his wand and gave it a sharp flick, sending Harry and his chair skittering across the floor to the empty spot beside Draco. "Five points from Gryffindor."
Harry lurched sideways in the chair before desperately grabbing the seat with both hands. For a moment, he simply rocked from side to side, and then he leaned unceremoniously forward and spewed his morning oatmeal across Malfoy's books. He would of liked to have managed a smile at that point, or at the very least shoot a triumphant look at the cause of his current predicament, but he was too busy trying not to repeat the humiliating process to bother. With his eyes squeezed tightly closed, he lifted a hand slowly into the air. "Professor Snape? I'd like to be excused, please." Malfoy's overly loud groans of disgust rang in his already aching ears, forcing him to swallow repeatedly while rising unsteadily to his feet.
"Miss Granger, escort Mister Potter to the Hospital Wing," Snape muttered in a subdued voice. "And Mister Potter? Ten points from Gryffindor."
Harry didn't acknowledge the Potions Professor verbally, just gave a dismissive flutter of one hand as he staggered from the room. He managed to pry one eye open when an arm slid around his waist, his bleary gaze meeting that of a concerned Hermione as he teetered down the long dungeon corridor. "I missed the look on his face," he mumbled, trying not to lean too heavily on the witch. "Was he revolted?"
Hermione offered him a stiff smile while glancing anxiously ahead of them, obviously concerned about the steep staircase they were approaching. "Not quite as revolted as Malfoy. I believe you even managed to get those fancy new boots he was prancing about in this morning."
Harry managed a grin at that information, feeling entirely to pleased with himself. "Good," he said quietly. He pretended to be concentrating on every step he took, and not the look his friend was attempting to pin him with.
"Harry-"
"Forget it, Hermione," Harry grumbled, giving a brief shake of his head in hopes the witch would drop the sore topic she'd been poking at for the last month and a half. She wouldn't, though. Hermione had proven as persistent as Snape was predictable; a trait he'd once admired and now was beginning to loathe.
"You need to speak with Dumbledore, Harry, you can't keep going on like this. You're hardly eating and you've started to lose weight. Not to mention your grades have begun to suffer." Hermione stated her observations calmly, escorting her raven-haired Housemate carefully in the direction of the Hospital Wing.
"Dumbledore has more important things to worry about than my case of the flu," Harry argued. He tried to pull away from the witch but found the arm around his waist impossible to escape. With an inaudible sigh, he clamped his lips together and focused on the spiralling stairwell that would take them to Madam Pomfrey's domain. Still, he could understand Hermione's worry. Even he had begun to wonder if his sudden yet lingering illness wasn't the root of something more worrisome. He'd been concerned enough to glance at some of the older healing tomes in the library, but that had been a horrifying mistake. Not that perusing the pages of a book called 'Mysterious Maladies Through the Ages' had probably been the best option. No, Harry was certain he couldn't possibly have chosen a book with more gruesome pictures than the aforementioned text.
"You and I both know you don't have the flu," Hermione scoffed. She loosened her grip on his waist as they entered the bright yet silent Hospital Wing, following the shuffling wizard toward the bed he occupied seemingly more than he did his own. Pushing light brown hair away from her face, she glanced around the room in search of Madam Pomfrey, frowning when the nurse didn't appear at the sound of their voices. "I wonder where she could possibly be."
Dropping down onto one of the cushy cots, Harry slowly sprawled out, nearly groaning in relief at simply laying still. "You should get back to Potions, Hermione," he said as he draped an arm across his face. "I promise to stay right here until Pomfrey gets back." He listened to the witch shift anxiously from boot to boot before releasing a very unladylike snort and practically stomping from the room, leaving him lolling in blissful silence. With no nattering medical witch to break the peace of the chamber, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep.
It seemed like hours later when he sat up abruptly, blinking at both the brightness of the airy chamber and the sight of Dumbledore seated at the foot of the bed. With a steadying breath, he swiped a hand down his face and attempted a smile, the grin fading when the Headmaster frowned at him. "It was Snape's fault," he mumbled, swinging his booted feet to the floor. He nearly rolled his eyes at Dumbledore's sigh, the sound one of extreme disappointment. "Alright, it was mostly my fault - but he started it."
"My boy, when I spoke with you at the start of term, you agreed to stay out of trouble." Dumbledore said in a soft voice. He folded his hands across his abdomen, causing the light blue robes he wore to bunch as he leaned back in the chair. The frown he wore deepened at Harry's huff of annoyance, the sound a blatant dismissal of the Headmaster's obvious concern. "I know Professor Snape can be difficult at times-"
Recognizing the beginnings of what was probably going to be a long lecture which would require nothing more than the occasional look of contrition and head bob on his part, Harry pasted an apologetic look on his face and promptly tuned the Headmaster out. Everything Dumbledore was about to say was most likely something he'd already heard anyway. Since the incident in the Department of Mysteries, he'd received many long talks. He'd received quiet words of wisdom from members of the Order, and solemn suggestions on how to cope with the loss of Sirius. From his closest friends, moments of quiet comfort and jovial reminiscing of time spent with his Godfather at Grimmauld Place. And through all of those friendly chats, he'd sat silently with a small smile on his face and guilt warring within his mind. Of course, all that guilt had been tempered by grief; grief that had eaten away at him all summer.
"Harry?"
Harry jerked his attention back to the Headmaster, widening his eyes in silent query when the frown the old wizard wore deepened. "Sorry, sir. I was just thinking about Sirius," Harry murmured, an excuse that he'd used often enough over the last two months that it leapt readily to his lips. For a moment he thought Dumbledore would launch back into his monologue, but instead the Headmaster simply sat back in his chair and gazed at him thoughtfully. Harry stared back, one hand lifting to fiddle absently at his sternum, the movement drawing Dumbledore's blue eyes downward.
"I'm glad to see you wearing your birthday gift. It would have made Lily very happy, as well." Albus said softly as he pressed to his feet. He paused with one hand resting on the back of the chair he'd occupied, his knowing gaze pinning Harry in place. "Please do try and keep out of trouble, my boy, at least until the end of the semester." With a nod and a smile, Dumbledore turned and wandered from the Hospital wing.
Harry watched the Headmaster vanish out the doorway, his fingers knotting around the engagement ring he wore on a chain around his neck. The small package had arrived on his birthday, carried by a school owl and accompanied by a note from Dumbledore. He'd not kept the scrap of parchment, had glanced at it only long enough to confirm the origins of the gift before tearing into the carefully folded brown paper. The small box had raised an eyebrow, the narrow band of gold studded with a single emerald and inscribed with the message 'L & J forever' enough to reduce him to tears. When he'd recovered from the bout of weeping, he had dug an old chain from the corner of a drawer and threaded it through the band before pulling it over his head. Now, wherever he went, he carried that piece of his parent's love against his heart.
"Drink this, Mister Potter." Madame Pomfrey commanded, appearing at his elbow with a vial of something purple and smelling suspiciously of flowers.
The raven-haired wizard jumped at the nurse's arrival, dropping the ring he'd been rubbing and grasping the vial that was thrust into his hands. He stared doubtfully at the potion, giving it a cautious sniff before shooting a dubious glance at Pomfrey. "I really am feeling much better," Harry announced, attempting to hand the vial back to the witch watching him like an overly hungry owl. When the nurse crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, the Gryffindor responded by heaving a disgusted sigh and quickly downing the contents of the narrow cylinder. He sputtered once before offering Pomfrey a winsome smile and sliding off the cot, thrusting the vial into her hands and scampering from the chamber. Free of the Hospital Wing, he clattered down the stairs, surprised at how well he actually felt. That nap had really done it for him.
Nearly humming out loud, he turned a corner and slid to a stop, emerald orbs landing on the lithe form of Malfoy slinking down the corridor. Without a second thought, he ducked back around the corner and placed his shoulders against the wall, peeping carefully around the heavy stone to watch the Slytherin vanish down a distant hallway. For a moment he hesitated, Dumbledore's most recent lecture ringing in his ears, but then he was quietly trailing after Malfoy. If the blond never saw him, he reasoned, they wouldn't fight. And if they didn't fight, Dumbledore would never know that Harry had deliberately ignored his warning to stay out of trouble, rather that he'd done quite the opposite. Feeling extremely pleased with himself, he continued to follow the other wizard through the maze that was Hogwarts, silently wishing for his invisibility cloak as he ducked around corners and slipped behind statues.
He was surprised when Malfoy drew to a halt outside an unadorned section of wall, his brow furrowing until a pair of doors slowly appeared within the stone. The Room of Requirement, he realized, glancing around the section of hallway he cowered in. He hadn't noticed when they'd entered this area of the castle, to absorbed in following Malfoy to pay attention to their exact whereabouts in Hogwarts. Curiosity heightening, he watched with narrowed eyes as the blond vanished through the doors, his mind churning with the possibilities. The Room of Requirement had an endless number of uses; its interior changing to meet the needs of the person requiring its use at that given moment. Which, again, meant Malfoy could be doing possibly anything within its walls.
Harry really didn't have a chance to ponder whether or not he should follow the Slytherin, as the doors that had appeared so suddenly began to disappear amidst the stone. Chancing one final glance up and down the hallway, he darted the short distance across the corridor and practically flung one of the doors open. He nearly released a triumphant whoop at finding the area just inside the portal empty, though he couldn't say the same about the rest of the room. Piles of broken and discarded chairs formed towers that appeared to sway ever so gently, while stacks of books arced toward the high ceiling of the room. Things were heaped haphazardly about the chamber for as far as he could see, the towers and mountains separated by a series of narrow and winding paths that lead further into the depths of the Room of Requirement. And somewhere, wandering within the piles of forgotten belongings, was Malfoy.
Standing just within the doors, Harry began to wonder if this really was a good idea - if Malfoy happened to murder him, Ron and Hermione might never find his body. Still, he thought as he glanced cautiously around the cluttered area, he'd already come this far, what was a few more steps in the scheme of things? Choosing the path that disappeared around a table stacked with chipped and broken teacups, Harry prowled deeper into the seemingly endless chamber, his boots scuffing lightly upon the dusty stone floor. With the way his luck had been recently, he'd never locate the blond in the tangled labyrinth. Wondering if he should just turn around now and save himself the hassle of having to explain to Hermione where he'd been for the last five hours, he turned a sharp corner and froze. Standing not fifteen feet away from him, and apparently completely absorbed in rifling through the contents scattered across the surface of an old desk, was his nemesis.
Practically holding his breath, the dark-haired wizard took a short step backwards and ducked behind a leaning tower of cauldrons fortified with several tired looking brooms. He stood perfectly still for a moment, waiting for Malfoy to suddenly appear in front of him with his wand in hand, but the blond failed to materialize before him. Smirking triumphantly, Harry eased slowly to the right and peered around the smooth handle of an ancient Cleansweep. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the Slytherin holding an old Snitch within his fingers, the small golden orb frantically flapping its one remaining wing. Frowning in confusion, he continued to stare at Malfoy's back, trying to determine what use the Slytherin could possibly have with a broken snitch. His gaze was drawn back to the golden ball when the waving wing began to slow, its harried flapping fading until the fragile piece of magic and metal dangled listlessly from the sphere.
Harry's stomach chose that moment to cramp. The sharp spasm nearly sent him to his knees, was strong enough to cause him to release a sharp gasp and grab desperately at the wall of cauldrons he hid behind. Unfortunately, his reaching hand brushed the bent bristles of one of the leaning brooms, sending it toppling to the floor. He may as well of knocked the entire tower of cauldrons over, because the clatter of wood on stone echoed loudly in the cavernous chamber. Closing his eyes, Harry cursed inwardly at himself while pressing a hand firmly against his stomach, trying not to repeat his performance from Potions.
"Ah, Potter," Malfoy sneered, "I was hoping to . . . meet up with you later." The implication contained within that short, mildly spoken statement was easily understood.
Prying his eyes open, Harry lifted his chin and met the Slytherin's gaze, not liking the gleam within the silver orbs. "Malfoy," he returned, forcing himself to straighten. "Is this about those boots?" He slid his hand back, fumbling in the folds of his robes for his wand. His fingers had just brushed the length of wood within his pocket when his wrist was seized and yanked free of the cloth, the abrupt movement sending him stumbling back into the stack of cauldrons. For one long second, the tower simply swayed, and then it fell. The ringing of metal on stone sent Harry to his knees, his hands pressed tightly against his ears as the sharp sounds ricochetted about the room. When the ringing finally faded to nothingness, he slowly cracked his eyes open and peered at the mess, finding Malfoy standing well beyond the range of the falling cauldrons.
"Wherever did you get that cheap bauble you're wearing about your neck?" The Slytherin asked abruptly.
Gaze snapping, Harry curled his fingers around his mother's ring and stood. "It belonged to my mum," he hissed, not liking the expression the Slytherin wizard wore. Perhaps now would be a good time to retreat, he thought, taking a shuffling step in what he hoped was the direction of the exit. The sudden appearance of Malfoy's wand had him reaching for his own once again, his fingers curling around the length of wood and slowly easing it from his pocket.
"Give it to me," Malfoy commanded. The blond gave a warning flick of the tip of his wand, lips curled into a sneer.
"Fuck off," Harry returned, leveling his own wand on the Slytherin. They stood like that for a long moment, glaring at each other, waiting for the other to make a move. But in the end, it was Harry who broke first. With a quick flick of his wand, he shouted, "Expelliarmus!" A triumphant smile curved his lips when Malfoy's wand slapped forcefully against his palm, his fingers tightening victoriously around the handle. He was so distracted by his easy defeat of the Slytherin that he failed to notice Malfoy shifting forward, the blond closing the short distance between them in a few long strides. Harry back pedalled frantically to avoid wildly grabbing hands, his heel catching the shaft of a broom, sending him tumbling backwards. The force of his skull connecting with the floor rattled his teeth, the air spilling from his lungs in a noisy huff. As stars danced behind his eyes, he felt cool digits pry his fingers apart and deftly remove his wand from his grasp. The same treatment was received by his left hand, his desperately clenching fingers peeled off the length of wood before being released. When he managed to lift his lids, he found the Slytherin standing over him, Malfoy's attention once again focused on his chest.
"I think I'll be taking this, Potter." The Slytherin purred, hooking his finger beneath the chain Harry wore and slowly lifting it until his fingers reached the golden ring dangling at the apex. "We'll consider it payment for those boots you ruined this morning." A sharp snap filled the air when the blond's long digits closed around the band, the sound heralding a stream of angry swear words as Malfoy shook the sting from his fingers and glared down at the raven-haired Gryffindor. "Your 'mothers' my arse."
Harry, wagging his head in a desperate attempt to clear it, tried to sit up only to have one of the blond's boots land on his sternum. "Fuck off," he bit out for the second time, curling fingers around Malfoy's ankle and shoving. His attempts were futile, the blond having both the upper hand and both of their wands.
Draco ignored the demand, his full attention centered on the chain and ring. With much concentration, the Slytherin leveled his wand on the pendant and murmured a single word. Metal groaned in protest before surrendering, the chain snapping, sending the ring rolling across the floor only to vanish beneath the twisted pile of brooms and cauldrons. The blond seemed slightly put out by the loss of his trophy, a small moue of displeasure crossing his features. That expression underwent a drastic change when his gaze returned to Harry's face, silver eyes widening perceptibly and his mouth dropping open in surprise. Just as quickly, that shocked expression was smoothed away, replaced by one of gleeful delight. "Gullible Gryffindor," he whispered.
Harry stopped jerking at Malfoy's pant leg as his mouth went dry, the look on the Slytherin's face more than worrisome. Nerves thrumming and heart pounding in his ears, he glanced around in search of a weapon, near desperation making him grasp the shaft of the closest broom. He managed one good swing that nearly connected with the blond's cheek only to have the other end seized and ripped from his grasp. "Get off, you stupid prat!" Harry growled, hands returning to Malfoy's ankle.
Draco snorted, glancing back over his shoulder in the direction of the desk and its plethora of contents. Unexpectedly, he removed his foot and quickly danced beyond Harry's reach, leaving the Gryffindor laying in surprised silence on the floor. "As delightful as this has been, Potter, it's time for dinner." The blond began to walk away, halting alongside the desk to carefully lift an object from the clutter.
Harry, gaze on Malfoy's turned back, scrambled to his feet and swatted his robes into place. "My wand, Malfoy," he called across the short distance. He couldn't help but flinch when the blond swung around on the heel of one boot, the motion of the other wizard's arm lifting his hands reflexively. The object that dropped into his open palms wasn't his wand, however, rather it was an old discoloured tiara. He had one second of confusion as he stared at the trinket before pain exploded within his skull. He dropped to his knees as his blood seemed to boil within his veins, bright lights sparking behind his eyes. Gasping for breath, he tried to release the tiara, but his fingers refused to let go. As fireworks exploded within his skull and his heart raced within his chest, he slowly folded over, his forehead dropping to rest against the cool stone. And then it was over.
His fingers loosened, the tiara slipping from his grasp to clunk lightly against the stone. Breathing deeply, Harry slowly eased his eyes open, relieved to find himself alone. Whatever Malfoy had done, he certainly hadn't stuck around to see the consequences of his actions. Carefully, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, casting his gaze around the small clearing. Except for the knot of brooms and cauldrons he was seated among, he was most definitely alone. With a groan, he rose to his feet and began to pick his way back to the path he'd travelled down earlier, stopping every now and then to listen to a soft whisper of movement from the depths of the Room of Requirement. He was surprised at how dark the chamber had become, the fading light of early evening passing through the row of windows lining the uppermost reaches of the walls. He could have wept when he turned a corner and found himself standing in front of the large set of doors that marked the entrance of the room.
"Sodding Slytherin," Harry grumbled to himself. He tossed one final glance over his shoulder before fleeing the chamber. As he stomped back to the Gryffindor Common Room, rubbing his still tingling palms together, he supposed he'd gotten exactly what he deserved. For once, he should have listened to Dumbledore. He should have smiled and nodded at the Headmaster and skipped back to Gryffindor to join Hermione in whatever studious activity she was absorbed in. Yes, he thought with a snort, he'd fucked up royally. When he slipped through the Fat Lady's Portrait, it was to find Hermione and Ron sitting on one of the scarlet sofas, both wearing expressions of extreme concern that vanished at his appearance.
"Finally, we can go to dinner," Ron said, shooting to his feet. The redhead was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of eating, his eagerness earning him a look of disapproval from the still seated witch.
Hermione, arms crossed and lips pursed, glared at the raven-haired wizard. "Where have you been?" She asked, her voice edged with steel.
Harry mentally scrambled for an answer, not liking the knowing gleam in the witch's eyes. He could say the Hospital Wing, but he had a pretty good feeling the pair had probably been there earlier to check up on him. "Dumbledore," he almost yelled, the yelp causing both Ron and Hermione to flinch. "I was speaking with Dumbledore. Another long talk about . . . Sirius."
"Well, you certainly look better," Hermione said approvingly. "You should have gone and seen Madame Pomfrey weeks ago." Opinion given, the bushy-haired witch rose and strode toward the portrait, Ron falling in alongside her like an excited puppy. She paused on the landing outside the portal, arching a single brow at finding Harry still standing in the middle of the Common Room.
"Come on, Harry," Ron called. The redhead was already halfway down the stairs, his expression expectant.
Harry, having been in this exact situation many times before, turned and plodded after the duo. He had grown to hate meal times, especially those at Hogwarts. His suddenly weak stomach had proven a trial, turning most forays into the Great Hall into a test of endurance. Still, he supposed he should try and eat something. Perhaps there would be soup tonight, maybe chicken noodle or pea. His stomach growled in agreement and he lengthened his strides to fall into step beside Hermione, giving the witch what he hoped was a charming smile. "I really am feeling much better."
"I hope so, Harry, because I'd hate to have to drag you back to the Hospital Wing," Hermione said in a soft voice. The witch smiled widely and linked her arm through the wizard's, hauling him closer as they passed into the Great Hall. "And the next time you want to lie to me about where you've been, at least be creative."
Harry swallowed, acknowledging the unspoken threat. "I really did speak with Dumbledore," he muttered before pasting a wide grin on his face as the Gryffindors that had been in Potions that morning erupted into applause. Giving a small wave, he scanned the numerous platters scattered the length of the table as he followed Ron to an open section of table. He should try and eat something, he supposed, ignoring the fact that his mouth was practically watering at the delicious smells wafting from the steaming dishes. In fact, as his stomach gave a heavy growl, he readily admitted he was starving. He found himself reaching for the nearest platter before his arse had even settled on the bench, nearly knocking a pitcher of juice into Ron's lap in the process. He was busily shovelling food into his mouth seconds later, remembering how much he loved mashed potatoes while ignoring the startled looks his housemates were giving him.
That night, as he lay draped across his bed with his hands resting on his overly full stomach, Harry remembered something. Malfoy still had his wand. A groan escaped him and he thumped his head back against his pillow, hating his life – and Malfoy. "Fucking Slytherin," he muttered to himself. At least tomorrow was Saturday; he had all weekend to figure out how to coerce Malfoy into returning his wand to him. With a sigh, the dark-haired wizard rolled over and yanked the crimson duvet over his head, wondering what the chances of regaining his wand without a fight actually were.
A/n: Ladies and gents, the first chapter of my newest baby. I know, maybe a little confusing, and there are probably loads of questions, but it's to early to give the game away.