I've Got Time and No One Near
by NessaNebula
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Harry Potter, all credit goes to J.K. Rowling.
PLEASE READ BEFORE STARTING THE STORY!
Almost all of my ideas come to me as I'm listening to music, so the bulk of the story is heavily influenced by certain songs. For each chapter, I'm going to leave the names and artists of the songs that most inspired the writing in that particular chapter. I would much appreciate if you listened to them prior to, during and/or after you read the chapter. It's not necessary, but I think it lends a certain feel to the chapter that makes it more meaningful, and gives you an idea of my thought process.
The songs for this chapter are:
Little Games by The Colourist
Harlem by New Politics
Lights by Wolfgun
This is my first ever fanfic! I'm a bit nervous, but I think it's going to come along swimmingly.
Please, please PLEASE review! Constructive criticism will be welcomed with open arms. I only want to improve from this point on. CC and ideas are very welcome, even if you just want a chat shoot me a PM! I would love to talk with some other HP writers :) and now for the story! Please enjoy! -NessaNebula
Red.
Harry Potter was slowly exiting Dolores' Umbridge's office, cradling his bleeding hand, and all he could see was red. If Harry had held dislike for the woman before, it had transformed into a seething hatred now.
Harry had to bite his lip to contain the stream of foul names he was longing to turn around and call Umbridge. He could feel her gratified, piggy eyes boring into the back of his head, and he knew he could not give her the satisfaction of letting his composure slip.
He took a deep breath and moved to close the door behind him, when Umbridge's heavily sugared tones rang out behind him.
"I will see you in my office tomorrow at 6 p.m., Mr. Potter, for your next detention. Do be punctual, and have a good evening."
Harry's teeth gripped his bottom lip hard enough to break the skin, and he faintly registered the coppery tang of blood as he breathed, "Yes, Professor Umbridge."
His self control hanging on by a thread, he quickly shut the door, the mewing of the technicolor kittens ceasing at once as the lock clicked, and began trudging towards Gryffindor Tower.
His mind was blank for most of the journey, and it was not until he came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady that he realized he did not know what to tell Ron and Hermione of his evening. The wound was still bleeding too freely to go unnoticed, and he couldn't exactly keep his hand stowed inside his robes the whole night. He may fool Ron, but Hermione was too perceptive, and Harry too exhausted to be more inventive at the moment.
He tried to wrap his shaking hand in his robes and staunch the blood flow, but a gasp left his lips when the rough fabric brushed his raw skin. Abandoning that idea and cursing the pants off Umbridge, he took a deep breath, and after a mumbled "Finto Duri", did a clumsy, one-handed crawl through the portrait hole.
"Harry!"
Harry bit back a groan of exhaustion and annoyance as Ron and Hermione beckoned him over to the circle of overstuffed armchairs they were occupying. He navigated a crowd of chattering first years and sidestepped George Weasley as he brandished a fake wand at him. He forced a quick laugh as it gave a squawk and turned into a floppy rubber chicken. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into the chair next to Ron and looked up to meet their expectant gazes.
"So? How was detention? What did the old toad make you do, Harry?" Ron managed around a mouthful of chocolate frog, a few bits spraying out on his mostly blank Potions essay. Harry and Hermione shared a grimace, unnoticed by Ron.
"Uh," Harry started, trying to think fast, but Hermione gasped and leaned towards him.
"Harry, your hand is bleeding! What did you do?" She reached for him, but he hastily shoved his hand under his leg and waved her off. She slowly retreated, her expression bemused.
"Harry? What happened?" Ron had finally swallowed the frog and was looking at him with concern.
"Nothing, just...ah…" Exhaustion was tugging at his psyche, and as he did not possess an affinity for coming up with believable excuses at the drop of a hat, he decided to tell them the truth.
"Umbridge," he muttered, reluctantly extending his hand to Ron and Hermione, "made me do lines."
He closed his eyes as he felt Hermione's cool fingers take his hand, and opened them to see twin expressions of mingled horror and disgust on his friends' faces.
" That evil hag! What on earth…"
Hermione's eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, and Ron, while looking pale and slightly queasy, withdrew a rather worn handkerchief from the breast pocket of his robes. He gently pressed it to the weeping would and jumped when Harry hissed and abruptly yanked his hand away. Harry could feel wetness pricking the corners of his own eyes against his will.
"Sorry," Harry said, through gritted teeth. " It hurts really bad. She...made me write lines with my own blood. I think the cut is pretty deep."
Hermione reached for his hand again, and after a pause, he gently placed it in both of hers.
"Obviously we can stop the bleeding with a bandage, but that isn't going to clean the wound and set it to healing. Harry, you should go to Madam Pom-, oh fine," she huffed, as Harry vehemently shook his head. "We need to get it treated, though. The only remedy I can think of off the top of my head is mertlap essence."
"Right, where can I find mertlap essence?"
Hermione pursed her lips, looking thoughtful, but to their joint surprise, Ron answered.
"Prefect's bathroom! Purple tap, straight across from the portrait of the giggly mermaid."
Ron beamed as the other two goggled slightly at him.
"Very specific, Ronald," Hermione said, hiding a smirk.
"It keeps the zits away," Ron muttered.
Harry flexed his fingers, stiff from keeping his hand held aloft.
"That's good and all, but I'm not a prefect," Harry began, but Ron cut him off, the tips of his ears still tinged pink.
"Mate, since when have you cared about the rules? The password is Vadalamo, and it's by the dungeons, behind that painting of the Giant Squid. Go soak your hand and we'll figure out what to do with Umbridge."
Harry opened his mouth to tell them Umbridge wasn't their problem to solve, but Hermione shooed him away, and with a murmured thanks, he discreetly fished his Invisibility Cloak out of his messenger bag, stuffed it inside his robes, and headed back out.
After a glance down the corridor, he pulled out the cloak and shook it out, the fabric casting a shimmer as he ducked under it. He headed towards the dungeons, his tired brain slowly supplying him the directions from his use of the bathroom the previous year.
The halls were mostly deserted. Dinner was long over and curfew not far off. He passed a couple of young Hufflepuffs, who were giggling over some of the Weasley twins' merchandise. He heard a Decoy Detonator whizzing on the floor after him, and quickly descended a sluggishly revolving staircase, giving a sigh of relief when the painting of the Giant Squid loomed at the end of the corridor.
To his dismay, Professor Snape billowed around the corner, making a beeline straight for him. He closed his eyes and pressed himself flat against the wall, ignoring the indignant squawk from the portrait he was slightly squashing. Snape strode past him, and Harry could see a muscle working in his jaw. He looked annoyed, but when had Harry ever seen him wearing a pleasant expression? The git always looked as if he'd just been goosed by a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
Harry let out an involuntary snort, and then froze as Snape abruptly turned on his heel and stared at the spot where Harry stood, unseen.
Harry felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple as Snape approached, but he was looking through Harry at the picture he was leaning on. Harry could hear the inhabitants shouting at the invisible force pressing on them, but it quickly became background noise as Snape leaned towards him, his eyes narrowing, his lips parting…
"Severus!"
Snape jerked upright and looked to the end of the corridor Harry had entered from. Harry felt mingled relief and horror as Dolores Umbridge approached, lips stretched in a false smile.
"Severus, I requested your presence in my office after my detention with the Potter boy ended. You are fifteen minutes late."
Snape's eyes were fixed on Umbridge's pallid face. Harry noticed the muscle in the man's cheek had begun to twitch with even more fervor.
"Yes, Dolores, my apologies. I'm afraid I was held up-"
"Yes, well, do come along then," Umbridge overrode him, turning on the spot and moving back down the corridor, not sparing a glance to see if Snape was following.
Snape's face was blotchy with anger at the interruption. He took a final, lingering glance at the spot Harry was rooted to, with eyes too perceptive for Harry's liking, and set off down the hall after the pink blob.
Harry's eyes stayed glued to the retreating figures, and he let out a quavering breath as the hem of Snape's dark robes whipped around the corner. He peeled himself off the wall and looked at the painting he had been flattening. The scene looked upon a round table with several knights situated around it. They looked to have been enjoying a feast before Harry's arrival, but now there were chairs upturned and the knights were on their feet, shouting and shaking their fists. One of them brandished a turkey leg at him.
With a careful look down both ends of the corridor, Harry made his way to the portrait of the Giant Squid, whose tentacles waved at him as he approached.
"Vadalamo," he whispered, and the waving tentacles disappeared as the painting transfigured into a door. Harry gripped the cool, brassy handle and pulled it, the door smoothly sliding open to reveal a dark, slightly steamy hall.
Harry moved into the hallway, the door silently swinging shut behind him. The hallway was short, and he made quick work of it, emerging into a large room with vaulted ceilings. Stretching out in front of him was the enormous bath that had reminded him of an Olympic swimming pool on his last trip here. He realized that the awe of the huge pool had kept him from taking in the other amenities the bathroom offered. There were jacuzzi-esque baths that were sized to fit two, four and more occupants. Shelves lined every inch of the walls, stocked with plush towels and neatly folded bathrobes.
An impatient throb in his hand made him start, and he remembered his purpose for seeking out the room. He approached the edge of the pool, and gently slipped the cloak off. He prodded a bottle green tap, and soapy water began to gush into the tub at once, the heat rising and steaming his glasses.
Harry disrobed and folded his clothes, placing his glasses and cloak on top of the pile. The bath had filled quickly, and he slipped in, the water already level with his armpits. He let out a shaky groan as the warm water rocked gently against him, and he could feel the knots in his back protesting before relaxing under the hot water, the tension from his evening with Umbridge melting away.
After submerging and shaking his soaked hair out of his eyes, he spotted the purple tap parallel to the excitable mermaid. One quick breaststroke later, he was turning the spiral tap and a creamy, pale yellow liquid was flowing out. He ran the tap until the mertlap essence had been diluted by the foamy bath water, and the tub was filled with the stuff, pale as sunshine on a cold winter's day. He gingerly lowered the wound into the water, and sighed as the throbbing ebbed away and the skin felt pleasantly tingly.
Harry raised his hand from the water and examined it. The caked blood had fallen away with the aid of the mertlap, and the wound seemed clean, the skin slowly knitting back together. 'Only to be sliced back open tomorrow,' Harry thought, a wave of bitterness and hatred washing over him. He didn't know how, but he was going to make Umbridge pay.
Harry closed his eyes, and replaced his hand under the tide. He sank down until the water came to just below his nose, and his mind became blissfully blank.
A torrent of water suddenly crashed over his head, and he spluttered and choked on the bubbles he'd inhaled. He hastily rubbed his eyes and opened them to see Draco Malfoy, reclining on the other side of the pool, not a single strand of platinum hair out of place. He examined the floundering Harry, looking quite unruffled.
"Malfoy, what the hell was that for!" Harry swore, his throat burning from the soap he'd gulped down.
"It wasn't me," Malfoy said, stretching his arms out on either side of him along the tile. "Moaning Myrtle was getting her fill of a naked Boy Who Lived, if you must know. I scared her off."
"Oh." Harry felt quite squirmy knowing that the teenage ghost had been spying on him. His hands unconsciously moved to cover himself, but he doubted the other boy could see anything considering the distance between them. "I didn't know Myrtle was into voyeurism. Kinky."
To his surprise, the blond teenage laughed, a deep but short burst that echoed off the high ceiling. Harry watched the pale lips part, revealing white teeth. He was feeling thoroughly out of sorts, unsure of how himself and Draco Malfoy had come to be in the same room, alone...in a bathtub to boot. How had they not cursed each other to bits yet?
The last echoes of Malfoy's laughter faded away, and Harry became aware of Malfoy's silvery eyes fixed on him. Unwavering.
"Malfoy," Harry muttered, scrubbing the back of his neck. Why the hell was the blond staring at him like that?
"Why are you here?" Malfoy said abruptly. "You realize this bathroom is for prefects only."
Harry tensed, his fingers unconsciously curling into fists.
"It's none of your business, Malfoy. What are you going to do? Report me?" Harry gave a laugh that was more shaky, not quite the scathing tone he was hoping for. He shut his trap as the corner of Malfoy's mouth quirked.
"No, Potter. I'm not going to report you. I really don't give a damn. Just curious."
Malfoy suddenly swam towards him, and Harry's fingers, which had started to relax, curled back so rapidly he could feel his wound re-opening.
Malfoy glanced at him dismissively, and Harry had the feeling the blond knew exactly what had just flitted through his mind. Harry's tension only mounted as a pale hand reached for him. He raised his fist.
"Jesus Christ, Potter," Malfoy looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. He reached over Harry's shoulder, and with a twist of his slender fingers, brought a tap behind Harry's back to life. Harry blinked, fist still suspended in midair, feeling like a fool.
"Sorry," Harry managed, rubbing his eyes. He could vaguely make out the throbbing of his hand returning at full force.
"What's that?"
Harry's eyes popped open as he felt fingers curl around his wrist, and before he could react, Malfoy was examining the back of his hand, eyes narrowed to make out the words through the steam.
"Who did this, Potter? 'I must not tell lies'. What the hell?"
Harry snatched his hand back and swam a few feet away, his eyes on Malfoy, who didn't look surprised at Harry's reaction.
"Why do you care? What are you playing at?"
"I don't know what you mean," Malfoy said, without missing a beat.
"Why are you talking to me like this? Why haven't you cursed me, or something?"
Malfoy considered him for a moment. He had a funny look on his face. It almost looked like pity.
"Potter," he said quietly, " are we going to fight like school children forever? I'm tired of the rivalry. Can you honestly tell me you enjoy it?"
Harry, who hadn't been expecting this response, gaped at Malfoy. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "But you're Malfoy, you're evil."
Harry expected a darkness to pass over Malfoy's face, for Malfoy to storm away, the iridescent bubbles from the tap Malfoy had turned flying every which way. He had expected his words to coax Malfoy's signature sneer out. Instead, for the second time that evening, Malfoy's laugh rang out, deep and carefree. Despite himself, Harry felt his lips twitch.
"Potter," Malfoy said, the traces of his laughter dissipating but a smile lingering on his face. "You're impossible. Hold up a moment."
Harry watched as Malfoy waded through the water to his own pile of clothing, the bubbles dancing happily as the surface of the water rippled. Malfoy reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. Harry gave a start, but with a murmur, an object shot from Malfoy's wand tip and he snatched it from the air. He swam back towards Harry and came to a halt a couple feet in front of him. With a hint of mischief in his eyes, he brought the object out from behind his back, and waved a small white flag before Harry's disbelieving eyes.
"What do you say, Potter? Would you like to make a truce with me?"
"You're off your rocker," Harry muttered, as the flag continued to dance in from of his nose.
"No more fighting. No cursing my friends and I'll leave off yours, too."
Harry didn't say anything. The silence stretched for several minutes, until Malfoy shook the flag so violently at him the tip caught him in the eye.
"Sorry! Sorry, Potter," drawled Malfoy, not sounding apologetic in the slightest as Harry gasped and covered his eye, a string of curses flying from his lips.
"Fine, fine! Just let me keep my other eye, will you?"
Smiling broadly, Malfoy stuck out his hand, and Harry begrudgingly shook it, wondering what the hell he'd just agreed to.