Summary: In 6th year Draco feels his life going out of control. The only thing he can trust is the logic in numbers. He is calmed when he finds something new to count, Muggles call them 'calories'
Warnings: Self stavation, Blood, Mentions of torture,
Draco Malfoy looked around. Even if he was Glamoured with his best spell in the middle of Muggle London, he was still afraid to be caught out with the big, paper bag in his clutching hands. The text on the bag told everyone who could read that "Books are soul food".
He had been at his wits end when he finally swallowed his pride and sneaked away from his first Hogsmeade visit for London. That morning he had received a letter from his mother urging him to get on with his tasks for the Dark Lord. She said nothing of the sort of course, but he had noticed the panic in between the lines. His father's place at Voldemort's side became more rickety for each day that passed.
Draco had realised that he had emptied all his magical recourses. The cabinet in the Room of Lost Things, housed in the Room of Requirement, was eluding his every move, ignoring his frustration, and stubbornly stealing his energy, both magical, physical and mental. And his other mission… Draco did not want to think about that. He was only sixteen years old for Merlin's sake!
The only thing cheering him up these days was Arithmancy. He loved the perfection and dependency of numbers and logic. Draco had finished all his schoolbooks on the subject, even the ones that were for the seventh year. He could control numbers; they did what they were told.
The school library had not helped him, but it had set him on to the idea of the Muggle bookstore. One late night he had crept though the shadows from the dungeons to the library, and to the Muggle section. There he had found a book about arts and crafts. In the back of the book there had been pictures of other books in the same series. One was about building furniture. Maybe the problem was not in the cabinet's magic, but in its build. Draco had to know more.
He had gotten lost in the huge bookstore. The place had three stories. It sold coffee, strange music-things, clothes, toys and silly trinkets as well. Draco felt dizzy and confused. Muggles liked put half-naked persons on the covers of their books. He had trouble realising this at first since the pictures did not move. Then he became a little embarrassed and then curious. One of the books in his paper bag was called The Nude Male Body; it was full of not moving photographs. The clerk had not even batted an eyelash.
The other books in his bag were: three about mathematics, two about furniture carpeting, one children's book about Muggle magical tricks and one about food. The food one was interesting. Apparently all food had a numeric value according to its weight. Calories, it was called. Draco had found that fascinating. With those numbers Draco could control his food as well, and Draco hungered for control. He wanted the order, he wanted the purity, and he, yes, wanted the logic.
He was back at his dorm before his friends even had returned from Hogsmeade. Sitting in his bed with the curtains closed, he painstakingly transfigured every book cover to look like homework. The food book he turned into a notebook where he could write and count his food. It said that he should eat three thousand calories a day. He tore out that page; he wanted to be in control, not the book.
It was three weeks later and the Slytherin table was full of food; none of it had a good number. Draco had perfected a spell that told him the weight of the food he pointed to. He knew most of the numbers in his note book by heart. He jotted down a line for a cup of coffee and left the table to get a few minutes with the cabinet before first class. The carpentry books had helped him only to see that the cabinet was not structurally damaged.
He had burned the books behind the greenhouses and spread the ashes over the roses, so that no one would find them. He had no use for them anymore. Draco was not a carpenter.
He had found use for The Nude Male Body, though, but that was between him and his hand. Anyway, it did not help him to solve his problems, only to distract him from them for a short while, as did the mathematics books, but they were not as challenging as Arithmancy, and he soon got bored.
Draco's best friend was now his food book, where he noted down everything he did not eat and why. Mostly it was because of the wrongness of the numbers. He did not like to go over three hundred for breakfast. On Mondays it was wrong to get an uneven number, so he just did not eat that day. Water was good though, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. It kept him going when he stopped eating on Wednesdays too.
Wednesdays was the day Dumbledore made his weekly breakfast announcements in the Great Hall. After hearing the old man's voice, Draco lost all will for food the rest of the day. Recently Dumbledore had been looking ill, and Draco had begun to hope that time would at least solve one of his problems. But would time be on his side? Not bloody likely… He pushed of his plate to Vince who devoured the food on it with disgusting relish. Draco had to leave the hall after that.
Harry Potter was following him. Draco mixed his tarot cards for a card trick he learned from the Muggle children's magic book. He was sitting in the library staring out in to space, almost feeling Potter's looks penetrate his back. The Gryffindor was sitting with his friends. Granger was writing something very long and Weasley was sleeping with his face in a book. Potter was staring at Draco.
"Take a card," said Draco to Pansy and held out the deck.
She looked up from her homework and rolled her eyes. She had been impressed by the trick the first week, now it was just annoying – especially since Draco never told her how he did it. She pulled a card and looked at it.
"Potter is staring at you," she said and gave the card back.
"I know," Draco shuffled the deck again.
He was feeling tired, and he had gotten a new letter from his mother this morning. Lucius had suffered some nerve damage from being repeatedly being hit by the Crucicatus-curse. Draco had been informed that Snape was brewing something to help with that, but some damage was irreparable even with potions.
Speaking of Snape; the man was increasingly more in Draco's way lately…
"It's creepy," Pansy said. "It's like he's obsessed with you or something."
"Snape?" Draco awoke from his thoughts.
"Potter," she tilted his head. "What about Snape?"
"Nothing," he needed to sleep. "Is this your card?"
"Yes," muttered Pansy looking back to her books.
Draco looked at the picture of the Knave of Wands in his hand. Yes, Potter was going to be a problem.
He had stopped eating on Fridays. That was the day Dumbledore took to visit random classes around the school. Draco had begun to write down the Headmaster's habits and appearance. Though the cabinet stole most of his attention, he still hoped for Dumbledore just to drop dead by natural causes in a corridor somewhere. Just anything, so that Draco did not have to…
Draco also had cut down on the coffee since hands had stared shaking – tea was a better option. Draco felt sick of the sight of breakfast and opted for long sleep-ins instead of going to the Great Hall in the morning. In that way he did not have to suffer from Potter's suspicious looks when he left the table for the Room of Requirement.
It irked him that he was not the only one using the room. Potter's stupid vigilante group was also there. He did not like it that Potter knew about the Room. The snooping git had probably already found The Room of Lost Things. Draco only hoped that the clatter in the room prevented Potter from finding anything. He was very careful never to leave a trail or anything conspicuous by the cabinet.
He of course found traces of Potter in the room, the idiot did not even bother to hide is tracks.
It was The Weasel's fault. It was always The Weasel's fault. Everything is The Weasel's fault!
Draco was standing, with his Slytherin- and some Gryffindor year-mates, waiting by the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for Snape to open the door. He was in a hopeful mood since his Mother had written him to tell that Lucius was getting better. Dumbledore had also excused himself from breakfast, looking a bit nauseous, clasping a rather ugly looking hand to his chest.
To celebrate Draco conceded to take one Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans from the box Blaise was offering him. It tasted like cinnamon. He had always loved cinnamon; it reminded him of more happy Christmases as a child. So when Potter and his cohorts appeared Draco could not resist.
"Walking your pets, Potter?" Draco stepped forward.
"Move your fat arse, Malfoy!" The Weasel pushed him out of Potter's way.
Draco was stunned. He did not really notice how Vince and Greg were about to jump The Weasel, but were stopped by Snape opening the door to the classroom. He looked down at his hips. His trousers were a little tighter. He was not as muscular that he used to be. Draco felt his belly, it was a little round, but he thought that was just the coffee, he had to quit all coffee from now on. Fat Arse, he thought and felt his arse. It was quite soft.
Merlin Fuck It! Draco Malfoy was fat!
"Are you standing there all day, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape's voice was drawling.
"N…no, sir…" Draco said weakly, feeling sick and terrible that he just had eaten candy, the cinnamon taste still in his mouth. He had a fat arse.
"Are you all right, Draco?" asked the professor in a surprisingly kind voice. "Do you need help?"
"No, sir," Draco looked defiantly into the dark eyes.
"Very well," Snape harrumphed and motioned to the door. "Inside."
Draco starred at his bare chest in the mirror, his eyes wide with horror. He was a young, blond, miniature Slughorn.
"Do you think I'm fat?" he asked Blaise, who was lying on his bed reading his potions book.
"What kind of girly question is that?" Blaise turned a leaf without looking at Draco. "You should work out more."
"Yes," Draco smiled at the mirror which cooed back at him. "Work out…"
Why had he not thought of that? He should go flying; maybe bat a few bludgers around… Potter's stupid fight club was in the Room of Requirement tonight, so he could not work on the cabinet.
Happy with this new idea Draco pulled on a shirt and went to get his broom. He would not return until over four hours later, falling into bed with a sweaty and painful thud, still dressed.
It had been two months since Draco had gone to London to look for Muggle books, and warm water was better than tea. He had also stopped eating on Sundays. Sundays were for sleeping and not moving one of his painful muscles. Tuesdays and Thursdays were for food, well… he winced and felt sick at the sight of broccoli-pie on the table. He had a glass of orange juice for dinner instead.
Draco had completed his food book with notes about training. With an elegant wisp of his quill he drew up a training schedule for his work outs. He jotted down the hours he spent on the pitch and his brisk walks around the castle. The roundness of his body had begun to recede, but he was still too fat for his liking. A stricter schedule was going to fix this.
The cabinet had killed the total of seven small birds, five mice and two rats. All of the animals were transfigured from inanimate objects. Draco still felt their tiny deaths on his conscience, though, and buried them all at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
It was strange, thought Draco, that he cared so for the little critters when he knew that if, when, he succeeded with his task human lives would be lost. (He didn't dare to think of Dumbledore when he thought like this.) None of those lives would be his parents though. Was it worth it? Draco sighed and returned to the cabinet, pouring out spells until his throat was sore and his Magical Core actually ached from the strain.'
Draco was dizzy. He decided to hide in an alcove until it passed. He had gotten these dizzy spells more often lately. Carefully he picked up his glass water bottle from his schoolbag. He took a mouthful and held it there without swallowing; rinsing it a little between his teeth to get away the taste of blood that often followed the dizziness. It could only be expected, he thought. His magic was exhausted from the work with the cabinet and spying on Dumbledore. And being followed by Potter…
He swallowed the water in slow trickles and thought about his mother. Her weekly letter had not arrived. Instead it was her sister Bellatrix who had written him. She had put a stinging hex on the paper, it also caught fire and brunt his fingers. The sentence was clear though. This is your last chance.
The shuffle of feet was heard and Draco pulled back in the shadows. It was the Golden Boy and his followers. He pressed even closer to the wall.
"I'm sure he came this way."
"Harry, lay off it," grumbled The Weasel. "Malfoy is nothing. A daddy's boy…"
"He is up to something!" interrupted Potter. "I know it. He writes in that book of his all the time! He sneaks away. He is not at breakfast, hardly at any meal. And he is doing something in the Room of Lost Things…. And haven't you seen how thin he has become?"
"Harry," Granger sighed. "You are not thinking straight when it comes to Malfoy…" There was a gwarf coming from The Weasel. "Shut up, Ron! You know what I mean! Now, we have homework…"
"But 'Mione…" whined Harry.
Draco could not hear more of the conversation as the Gryffindors moved away. He put the stopper back on his water bottle. Stupid Weasel. Draco would rather be a Daddy's boy than a boy without a daddy – like Potter. Potter thought he was thin; Draco smiled for the first time in weeks.
The letter that changed everything arrived at breakfast one Thursday when Draco made a rare appearance in the Great Hall. Pansy had physically dragged him there (the girl was surprisingly strong). She had then resolutely put an apple before him and ordered him to eat it. They would not leave until he did, even if they missed class. Draco scowled, feeling disgusted, but his friend pressed her red lips together in a face that told him "Do as I say or suffer the consequences". She had been like this all last week, un-relentless and breaking his rigorous schedule.
Draco was currently investigating how thin slices he could cut from the apple with his potions knife without breaking the perfectly round shape of the slice. He was sucking slowly on one of these paper-thin slices when his Father's Eagle owl landed on the table with The Letter.
He was chilled to the bone when the writing inside was not of his parents nor his aunt. The narrow scribblings winding like snakes over the parchment could only come from one person. Waiting for news. Ice-cold magic surged though his fingers, giving him visions of his father's torture. He would have fainted if not the owl had done so first, crashing down, pushing Draco's apple on the floor.
Draco blinked. Pansy gasped. All of the Hufflepuffs screamed.
In the commotion that followed, including Hagrid running from the High Table to help the bird, Draco suddenly died inside. He was not going to make it. He was not going to mend the cabinet. Dumbledore was not going to die of natural causes. His parents would be killed, all because of him. What had he been doing? Focusing on food, working out and Potter instead of saving his parents lives. And he was going to cry in the middle of the Great Hall.
He slipped away, pretending to follow Hagrid who was carrying the bird. Pansy said nothing. Apple forgotten. Outside the Hall, he broke off for the forth floor girls' bathroom. He had used it before, it was broken and haunted, and nobody went there.
Except from Potter who had followed him.
"Get away from me!" snarled Draco through his tears.
"Malfoy, please…" Potter closed in. "I think you are in trouble, let me help you…"
"You don't know fuck!" Draco screamed and hurled a stinging hex towards the Gryffindor.
Potter winced, not quick enough to protect himself.
"Malfoy…"
"Go away!" he cast a strong pushing spell that made Potter stagger. "Leave me alone!"
"Please…" Potter was still approaching him and something broke inside Draco.
"For fuck's sake, Crucio!"
"Sectumsempra!"
Pain. Blood. Screaming. Crying. Snape. More pain. More Blood. Potter. Darkness.
As consciousness slowly returned to him, Draco heard voices. He was not sure what they were about or even who they belonged to. His chest hurt. A throbbing pain, a pain that wanted to take him over and eat him alive.
"He is too weak," said a female voice. "Not much more than skin and bones. I can't give him all the potions or spells that he needs."
"I can soften some of them up," a stern male voice answered. "But his magical core is drained; he can't react properly to them."
"I tried to help him," that crying voice was Pansy's – that much he knew. "I… I… only noticed a couple of days ago…" she sniffed. "According to his notebook he's been doing it for months…"
"Let me se that!" the stern voice again. "Stupid boy!"
"Oh my!" another voice, male, much older, tired. "Dear boy," a soft hand moved over Draco's forehead, he could feel a magical surge and the pain lessened a little.
"What is he doing here?" demanded Pansy's shrieking voice.
"I… I…" Potter, Draco mused. "Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't… I didn't know… I'm sorry…"
Eloquent as ever. Draco shifted and tried to open his eyes. His eyes hurt.
"He is awake," the female voice, Madame Pomfrey. "Mr. Malfoy, can you hear me? Don't try to speak. I'll get you a nutrition potion."
Draco's mind raced. Nutrition potion, one average beaker, five hundred millilitres, one thousand three hundred and sixty five calories. He felt smooth glass against his lips. He wanted to cry again. Desperately he turned his face away.
"Don't fight, dear."
With strength that he did not knew he possessed, Draco wandlessly pushed the beaker out of the medi-witch's hand. It crashed on the floor. Pain filled his being as it seemed like his chest was cut open once again. He screamed. The voices around him did as well. Then it was dark again.
The next time he woke up he was lying with his cheek against a naked chest. It felt strange, but not bad. Actually, it reminded him about the chests he had seen in The Nude Male Body. He had not had strength or lust to look at that book for over two weeks. Now, so close to the real thing, Draco felt something stir inside him.
"He is awake!" The chest was vibrating with the voice of Potter.
"Don't let him move," urged the near panicked voice of Madame Pomfrey. "Mr. Malfoy, don't move. You are too weak for us to immobilize. Mr. Potter is lending you his Magical Core so you can heal."
"Draco?"
Potter's voice was above him. Draco was lying on Potter's naked chest; his belly was on Potter's trousered hip. Arms were holding him firmly in place. Draco took a breath and inhaled the smell of skin.
"I'm so sorry," Potter hugged him closer. "I know that this is disgusting to you… But please, let me help you… I'm sorry," he repeated. "I did not know what the spell would do. I can't…"
"Shut up, Potter," murmured Draco to the soft skin. "It hurts when you talk."
"I'm sorry…"
"Drink some water, dear," Madame Pomfrey held a glass straw to Draco's lips. "It's just water, I promise."
Draco swallowed a mouthful and then spat out the straw. He took a breath of Potter's smell again. Silently he fell back into sleep.
He woke up from a nightmare. When his eyes opened he could not remember it, the only thing indicating that he had had it was the cramping grip he hand on Potter's arm. Draco glanced up at the face of the boy above him. It was dark in the infirmity ward but he could see that Potter looked curiously down at him.
"Sorry," Draco murmured and unclenched his grip.
"No worries," Potter smiled. "You are not strong enough for it to hurt."
Draco smirked and then remembered that he was using Potter as a pillow and as part of a mattress. He could feel magic slowly flow to him through Potter. Draco was a parasite; he was a leach feeding off the Golden Boy. He was no better than the Dark Lord feeding on Professor Quirrel in first year. Draco shivered by that comparison. Potter shifted.
"Madame Pomfrey left this," he held up a vial of potion. "She told me to make you drink it."
Draco turned his head away and buried his nose in Potter's chest before he knew what he was doing. Potter laughed.
"I tell you what, Malfoy. I'll share it with you."
Draco looked up, his chin against on the soft, warm skin. He crooked an eyebrow.
"It's only fair," said Potter, sipping the potion. "Since you are taking my magic I should have at least half your food. Hmm, tastes like Dumbledore's candy…" He smacked his lips. "Here."
Potter gently pressed the vial to Draco's lips. Reluctantly Draco opened up and dipped the top of his tongue in the potion. It did taste like sweet lemon drops. Potter took back the vial and sipped it again.
"You realise…" he said with a chuckle as he placed the glass to Draco's mouth once more, "…our lips are touching."
Draco only hesitated for a moment before he opened up to let a few drops pour down on his tongue from the vial. The sweet lemon taste filled his mouth. Potter's lips tasted nice, he decided. Draco was still a leach though.
They shared the potion between them, Potter having about three quarters of it – he said he needed his strength. Draco almost laughed at this. He lay silent in the darkness until he felt Potter's breath slow down. He inhaled the smell of skin and Potter, and decided that, as far as leaches go, he had a good host.
Slowly Draco began to talk. He did not care if Potter was awake to hear or not. He spoke about his missions, about his parents, his father's torture, the cabinet, Dumbledore, the books, the food and the counting. He spoke of his fears, about Snape's worry for him, his own worries and the small graves by the side of the forest… Draco was probably still murmuring his innermost secrets as he fell asleep. It was probably just his imagination, but he thought he felt Potter's arms tighten around him.
The next time he woke up, the room was light. Potter's chest was vibrating with magic, anger and heavy breath.
"Stupid boy…" muttered Snape's voice beside the bed.
"Stop saying that!" growled Potter, stiffening his hold on Draco.
Draco opened his eyes and saw his Head of House leaf though his precious food book. Snape had a scowl on his face that outdid all other scowls. Draco shifted uneasily, placing a hand on Potter's smooth hip under the covers. He didn't know why, perhaps he needed to feel the closeness of his host…
"Draco?" Potter ran a hand though Draco's hair, it was not right that Draco wanted to curl up to the boy while weak as a kitten. "Are you awake?"
Snape met Draco's eyes and sneered. Probably there was another 'Stupid boy' on his tongue, but he made an effort to hold it in.
"Draco," Snape's voice sounded almost soft. "Potter told me about the cabinet…"
Draco flinched and was about to run form the room, his weakness be damned. Idiotic stupid, stupid Potter! Strong arms held him down. To Draco's dismay he began to cry.
"…I only knew about your plans regarding Dumbledore," continued Snape in a sad tone. "That was suicide enough… But this…" he held up the book. "Draco…"
"He is a Death Eater," rasped Draco panicked, clawing at Potter. "He's going to kill us both!
"He is with us," Potter winced; apparently Draco's nails were not as weak as the rest of him. "It's fine, Draco. We can trust him."
Draco was too upset to be surprised. Later he would think back and be shocked at the sudden upturn. For now, he accepted it. He gave a slight nod to the professor.
"You are quite safe, my boy," Dumbledore's gentle voice came from beside Snape. "No one is going to hurt you."
Draco moved his eyes to meet Dumbledore's tired blue. Again, Draco cried into Potter's chest. Why? He had gone years without crying and now he could not stop. And on top of it all, Potter pulled him closer and caressed his head. This was so wrong. And why was his body reacting to the touch? Stupid fat body. He shifted so that Potter would not feel what was about to happen, no such luck – Draco was in some kind of death grip. He just had to fight to keep everything down.
"I looked at the cabinet," sad Snape. "You are close, very close. One more day and you would have done it."
Draco looked up at this. He would have done it?
"You should have let me help you," scowled Snape. "Damn that Malfoy pride of yours… You are just like your father…"
"Father…" Draco gasped and struggled against Potter's arms again to no avail. "Mother…"
"I think I have a way to get them out," Snape exchanged a look with Dumbledore. "But it is risky, and we need your cooperation."
"Anything," whispered Draco in his most determined voice. "I would do anything."
"Yes, my boy," Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. "I believe you would."
Harry, because Potter was Harry now, was taken from him after lunch. Draco's Magical Core needed to work by itself, he was strong enough now. He and Harry had shared two more nutrition potions. It was strange how fast Draco got used to Harry's presence. He guessed it was because he was filled with Harry's magic. As soon as Draco had made some magic of his own, his attachment to the Boy-who-lived would wear of.
Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Vince and Greg sat by his bedside, glaring evilly at Harry who knelt beside Draco as he fed him another potion. The Weasel and Granger sat on the other side, keeping a weary eye on Harry. Strangely enough, Harry only seemed to have eyes for Draco. Draco found that he liked the undivided attention.
Draco hugged his book that had been returned to him. He had yet to fill in the potions, since he had not been alone to do so, but he had memorized every one. He was a little upset that he missed his work outs, and his body ached to move.
"Why can't I do that?" Pansy spat and crossed her arms. "I can feed Draco just as well as this murderer!"
The Weasel growled at her, an actual growl.
"I'm not a murderer," Harry looked up at her with narrowed eyes. "It was an accident! And I'm trying to make up for it!"
"Make up for it by leaving him alone!" shrieked the girl, her friends muttering consent.
"Like you did?" Harry's vice was cold. "When you left him alone to starve himself to death? Did you even notice? What where you waiting for? Him to become a skeleton?"
"Fuck off, Potter," muttered Blaise.
"This is not a fucking Halloween costume!" Harry got to his feet and roughly pulled the covers off Draco's body.
Draco curled around his book as he saw the horrified looks on his friend's faces. He was only wearing pants and the bandage around his torso. He has not worked out in days, and must look horrible.
"Cold," he did not mean it to sound like a whimper, but it did.
"I tried…" Pansy got down on her knees, "I tried…"
"And where were you?" Blaise pointed to Harry's face. "You stalked him ever since the Welcome feast! Why did not you save him, if he now is so precious to you? How come when you finally confront him, you gut him?"
"It was an accident!" Harry roared, there was a rush of magic rushing though the room, shattering some glass bottles. "I spend all my days training and all my nights in nightmares! He threw a Crucio at me! I reacted! He's your friend!"
Draco shivered and was surprised that it was the Weasel that stepped forward.
"For Merlin's sake Harry," Weasley pulled on the bed sheet in Harry's grip. "Give the poor man his covers back. He's shaking."
"Fuck," Harry hurried to comply and then threw a heating spell. "I'm sorry…"
"What is going on here!" Madame Pomfrey came out from her office, wand drawn and an angry expression on her face. "Everybody out! You too, Mr. Potter! I'll call for you if you are needed. Now out!"
Theo bent down to help Pansy on her feet. Draco watched as they all left, leaving him alone and available to write in his book.
Potter was needed about three hours later. Draco could not understand why he insisted to be feed like a baby, by Harry no less. Maybe it was because Harry drank down half the potion himself before giving the rest to Draco. Madame Pomfrey did not look happy about this, but she allowed it.
As he was fed, Dumbledore and Snape entered the hospital wing. Dumbledore had his hand on Snape's arm and was clearly being supported.
"Mr. Malfoy," the old man smiled his tired smile as he sat down next to Draco's bed. "Professor Snape and I have been looking over the cabinet. Don't worry," he raised his hand as Draco gasped. "We did not use any magic on it. It will only be your signature there. That is why…" he trailed off looking at Snape.
"We have a plan to bring your parents here," Snape took his queue. "But we need your help, your magic and…" he nodded at the vial in Harry's hand "…your strength."
"Father…" Draco began, but was interrupted by Dumbledore.
"Lucius will be held accountable for all his crimes, but his sentence will be softened if he agrees to co-operate with us. The same goes for your mother."
"I'll do it," whispered Draco and was grateful to feel Harry's hand on his shoulder.
"Good," smiled Dumbledore and gestured to Snape who conjured up a quill and parchment. "You will write and tell that your tasks are soon to be done."
"My… tasks…?" Draco stammered, darting his eyes between the Headmaster, Snape and Harry.
Harry had big tears in his eyes and Snape looked very solemn.
"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore smiled kindly at him, eyes twinkling sadly. "I'm one hundred and twelve years old. I'm badly cursed…" he held up his darkened hand, it looked dead. "After we leave here, Harry and I are going to travel to a place from where I doubt I will return alive…" he looked at Harry who was crying openly now. "If I do return alive, Professor Snape has promised to end my sufferings… as he swore to your mother he'd do."
Draco did not know what to say. He did not have much strength to move, but he raised his hand (why did it suddenly look so weak and thin?) and held it out to Dumbledore. The old man took it gently in his healthy, winkled, hand.
"Don't you worry, Draco. I am quite ready to die. Who knows…" again his blue eyes darted to Harry "…I might still be of service, even after when my time here has passed. For the organized mind death is only the next step."
With these cryptic words he rose from his seat and gave Harry a small nod. Harry made a move to follow.
"Po… Harry…" Draco's voice sounded so weak, but Harry turned to him. "Be careful."
"I will," he smiled, and before Draco knew what had happened Harry had leaned in and given him a kiss on his forehead. "You too."
Draco watched as Harry, Harry and Dumbledore left. Then he turned his gaze back to Snape, who looked somewhere between disgusted and tearful.
"Thank you, sir," whispered Draco. "And sorry."
"Don't mention it," Snape picked some invisible lint of his robe. "Now, I need to leave too. The Aurors and Potter's little friends will be here shortly to collect you. I suggest you write your letter and then rest."
In a swirl of robes the Potions master left his side. Draco did notice the small smile on his face, though.
Draco was awakened about two hours later. He looked up at Granger's solemn face. The Weasel stood behind her looking sour, refusing to look at Draco. Further back in the room he could make out a woman that would look just like his aunt Andromeda, if his aunt was twenty years younger an had pink hair. The woman was nervously looking at a Time-keeper.
"Can you get up?" asked Granger. "I have some Pepper-up Potion for you and Madame Pomfrey said that I could use an Energy-charm on you."
"Just the charm," said Draco slowly pushing the covers of his legs.
Granger gasped. He looked down; there were bruises and scabs on his skin, his almost gray skin. When had his legs become that thin? They did not even look like his legs anymore. They reminded him of broom handles. Draco bit his lip and could feel the skin break under his teeth. He was careful not to swallow any blood.
"Oh," Granger looked a little panicked as she pulled up a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed to his lip. "Don't worry… They said…" She cleared her throat to steady her voice. "They said your body is recovering, it always looks worse before it gets better. Harry's magic is pushing your illness from the inside out."
Draco held up his pale hands, seeing the flagging skin and fragile nails. His illness? What illness? He was in the infirmary for the curse Harry had thrown at him, wasn't he? Sure, they seemed more concerned with him being too thin than of the sometimes gaping wound in his chest, but that was surly not an illness. Was it?
He looked over his gray scabbed skin again. It did look ill. He was glad that he could not see his hair, it was probably like string. He felt like crying, but that would just take too much of him. Draco doubted he could produce tears anyway. Maybe he was ill. He whimpered.
"It's only skin deep," reassured Granger, cleaning the blood of her handkerchief with a spell. "You'll be back to your nasty old self in no time."
"We have to hurry," said the pink haired woman, who Draco now had now identified as his cousin Nymphadora Tonks.
"Yes," Granger pulled on the Weasel's arm. "Ron!"
"Fine!" muttered the redhead and came up to the bed. "If you tell anyone about this, Ferret, I'll kill you."
With that he picked Draco up, one hand under his knees and one hand around his back. As they left the infirmary Granger arranged Draco's arms so that they where looped around the Weasel's neck. She also cast some heating charms over him, that made him feel cosy, and made the Weasel sweat like a ginger pig. If Draco told anyone about this, he would have to kill himself.
"Careful with his bandages," reminded Granger as they came to the stairs, the Weasel just grunted.
The halls were empty. Draco guessed that it was suppertime and everyone was in the Great Hall. Or the students where all locked away for their own safety. This was confirmed as they passed the Entrance Hall and he could see a powerful confinement spell on the doors of the Great Hall. He suddenly felt a little hungry. He would not mind touching Harry's lips via a potions vial once again, or Harry's real lips… Draco frowned; he must be more affected by the transferred magic than he thought.
They were joined by about ten other Aurors and some of Harry's vigilantes group on the way. There were now about two dozen people staring at him as they walked. Draco was concerned that he could here them whisper about his appearance. The words poor boy, thin and awful had been heard more than once.
Inside the Room of Lost Things, the Weasel sat him down on the floor beside the cabinet and backed away. Nymphadora handed him his wand with a sad and pitying smile. Her hair was now light sky blue, Draco's favourite colour. With a sigh he placed his ear against the cabinet. There was a faint sound of voices from its twin. Excitement suddenly filled him: he had been close, so close!
The Aurors, Granger, the Weasel and the other students backed away as far as they could, not to taint his magic. Slowly Draco placed his hand and wand on the cabinet in front of his face. It was difficult to hold his arm up, so he rearranged himself so that he could rest his elbow on his knee for support. He knew the incantation by heart and could listen to the voices on the other side.
"I highly doubt that the brat has succeeded." It was Snape's voice. "I have seen the graves of his trials."
"You are right, Severus…" McNair. "I'm not putting my life in the hands of a schoolchild!"
"Draco is…"
"Shut up, Narcissa!" Bellatrix shrieked.
"Don't you talk to my wife like that!" Father…
"It has taken him far too long to do this," said Snape interrupting Bella's angry yells. "He has been under pressure from your letters and has probably done a shady work of it."
There was some grumbling. Draco suddenly felt the connection clear. He had done it! The relief and the drain were so large that he fell in a heap on the floor. Some of the onlookers gasped.
"Look!" snarled Greyback's voice from the cabinet. (Oh shit, was he there as well?)
"Put the Malfoys through first!" Snape said. "Let them gamble their lives on their son's abilities."
"Yes!" Bella shouted joyfully. "Let's do that!"
Draco suddenly sobbed; he could feel the wound in his chest slowly and painfully open up from the stress and the loss of so much magic. He wanted Harry. He could no longer deny it as he felt his slipping life colour his bandages red. He wanted Harry.
Nobody moved as the cabinet suddenly began to shake. Then as one, all the onlookers raised their wands and aimed them at the door. Draco closed his eyes.
"Draco!" screamed his mother's voice in pure panic.
Then there was a crack as something broke. Draco hoped to Merlin that it was not him as darkness took him over.
"… can't believe it's a fake!" The Weasel's sad voice came to Draco's foggy mind. "Dumbledore died for nothing…"
"Not nothing, Ron…" Harry's voice was sore as if it was torn apart by too many tears and screams. "He died for everything." Draco could hear that voice vibrate through his head in time with the soft skin against his cheek.
"Still… Who the fuck is this RAB anyway?
"Quiet, he is awake!" Harry shifted; hands were caressing Draco's back. "Draco?"
"Mother?" was the only word that would come out of his dry mouth in response.
"She is talking to Professor McGonagall in… in… Dumbledore's office," Harry held him closer and a stream of magic engulfed him. "Your father is sleeping in a private room under Auror-guard. He would not let me near you when I came back…" Harry sounded a little touched by this. "He insisted on giving you of his own magic until he passed out."
"Mmmm…" acknowledged Draco and breathed in Harry's warm scent, hinted with salt from tears.
He was happy as Harry's arms seemed to tighten around him. The Weasel huffed, and Draco thought he heard the git murmur quietly under his breath 'Harry likes him, Harry likes him…', but he was not sure. He liked the sentence though.
"The cabinet was destroyed," informed Granger from her seat next to the bed. "Snape says that the other Death Eaters think your parents are dead. It won't last long though – he has to go back soon and tell Voldemort they survived and defected."
Draco shivered as he heard the name, and he could feel Harry throwing a wordless warming spell.
"The Dark Lord will suspect him…" whispered Draco worriedly as he literally leached the warmth inside his own body.
"Snape has the memory of himself killing Dumbledore…" Harry's voice cracked a little more. "…he'll be safe, for now."
"Rest now," Granger patted Draco's arm very, very hesitantly. "Oh!"
Draco looked down to where Granger had touched him. Her hand had dusted away some of the gray, scabbed, skin and left a small area of pink flesh. He frowned at his thin arm, it felt like waking up from a strange dream. He felt hungry.
"You finished the whole bottle by yourself this time," smiled Harry, putting away said item on the side table.
"I did not get to touch your lips though," smiled Draco back.
"You are such a glutton," Harry leaned down and kissed him.
Draco decided to throw out The Nude Male Body when he got back to his dorm; he had a feeling that he would not need it anymore.
And besides, with that camping trip Harry was planning there was no room for unnecessary books….
The End