Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, and I stake no claim in her work.
Chapter Two
'Toil and Trouble'
Draco Malfoy was never a peaceful sleeper. During his childhood, he was under the watchful eye of his overbearing father 24/7, which caused an influx of anxiety that had kept him up at night. At the height of the war, when Voldemort had taken up permanent residence in his home, this anxiety expanded to an all-encompassing fear. As such, most of Draco's nights involved experiencing an unconscious demonstration of one of his many inner fears. So it was no surprise that night that he once again experienced the recurring dream that had plagued his nights since the defeat of Voldemort.
A vast expanse of water spread out before him, the surface of the ocean violently interrupted by the perpetual crash of waves against the cliff he stood atop. Dark grey clouds above him signalled an imminent storm, rain threatening to burst from the heavens at any moment.
He stood facing the ocean until he came to the conclusion that there was no escape. No boat to take him away; no reprieve from the thrashing waves below.
As he did every night, he slowly turned, his gut twisting as he prepared himself for the vision of what was behind him. A tall, seemingly endless expanse of dark stone wall spread out in every direction, interrupted about thirty feet to his right by a large arched doorway. Draco recognised the place immediately. He had only been there once before in his fifth year, but the feeling of the place was enough to burn it into his memory forever.
Azkaban prison, a place surrounded completely by a body of water that stretched for miles away from the island on which the stone building was situated. A place that Draco knew he was unable to escape from.
Panicked, Draco whirled on the spot, staring wide-eyed around him, desperately seeking reprieve from the overbearing institution and the increasingly savage waves below him. The water edged further up the cliff face with each pulse, accelerating in pace until finally -
Draco was jerked from his sleep by a loud crash on his right and he blinked groggily as he peered into the dark room that he recognised to be the hospital wing. Ignoring his own confusion at his surroundings, he jumped from his bed and ran towards the source of the noise. A couple of beds over he found someone - Potter? - doubled over on his mattress, hyperventilating. Careful to avoids shards of glass on the floor belonging to a wayward vase that Potter must have knocked to the floor in his panicked state, Draco moved forwards and tentatively touched Potter's shoulder.
Potter jerked backwards at the touch, scrambling for his wand before obviously realising the blurry form in front of him to be Draco. Wide, green eyes stared back at the blond, who found his own anxiety levels rising at the state of the boy in front of him.
It took a second for Draco to realise that Potter was mouthing something to him and was glancing from Draco to somewhere within the darkness of the hospital wing. Realisation dawned on Draco, who promptly left the boy's side and bounded across the floor to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. Pounding on the door, Draco called out for the healer, who was at the door in an instant.
He cut her off before she could speak, "It's Potter, he's awake and having some kind of panic attack."
Without asking questions, Pomfrey pushed past Draco, towards Potter, stopping to collect a potion from a cabinet along the way. Draco followed her to her position beside the bed, wringing his hands uselessly. Without hesitation, she tipped the boy's head back an forced him to drink the concoction, soothing him with soft words as she did so.
Within moments, Potter was sinking back into his mattress with hooded eyelids, slowly falling into a peaceful slumber once again. Satisfied that he was fully asleep, Pomfrey began to perform spells to check his vitals, Draco watching as his nerves too began to ease.
Without looking up, Pomfrey spoke, more to herself than to Draco, "We didn't expect him to wake up so soon, must have given him a right shock, I'd say. He should be out until morning now."
A few minutes passed before she acknowledged her other charge, "You'd better go back to sleep too. Thank you for your quick thinking."
"What was happening to him?"
"Everything will be explained in the morning. To both of you."
"But-"
"In the morning." She responded firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Draco sighed and nodded. He headed back to his own bed, eyeing the prone form of the sleeping boy along the way. Satisfied that the students would be okay until morning, Pomfrey made her way to her quarters, replacing the empty potions vial on the cupboard shelf.
Try as he might to fall back to sleep, Draco found himself lying awake for awhile after that, only falling asleep to the soothing pulse of his roommate's breathing. Even with the reprieve that sleep wrought, his jangled nerves wouldn't calm down. He never was a very peaceful sleeper.
When Harry awoke the next day, he felt considerably better than he had in the middle of the night. The pain that had greeted him before had softened into a dull ache and the soft winter morning light made him exponentially more relaxed. Remembering the realisation that had caused his panic attack in the middle of the night, his stomach jolted before a soft voice interrupted his train of thought.
"Morning." Hermione sat by his bedside perusing a thick, leather-bound book in her hands. Harry felt his burgeoning tension ebb away at the sight of his best friend and he drank in her calming presence.
"Don't worry," she began when he opened his mouth to reply, only to remember that he couldn't, "McGonagall and Slughorn will be hear soon to explain everything."
Harry nodded, not quite reassured, and gave a questioning look towards the book in her lap.
Looking down, Hermione seemed to understand his query and responded, "I've been up all night looking for an answer to your… problem. I haven't been able to find anything."
She sighed, exasperated, and Harry laid a comforting hand on her arm. He looked around him and, finding a piece of parchment and quill on the table beside his bed clearly meant for this purpose, wrote her a message.
Thank you. But now who's the one that's worrying? I'm sure Slughorn will sort this out, whatever…this is. Hermione read the note and bit her lip uncomfortably, which confused Harry. Nonetheless, she smiled warmly back at her friend before turning back to her book.
They sat like this for a while, a comfortable silence between them, Harry's forced upon him. Suddenly remembering who had came to his aid the night before, Harry looked around the room, only to find all of the other beds in the infirmary to be empty. Harry was about to question Hermione on Malfoy's whereabouts when the oak doors of the hospital wing were swept open, admitting Professors McGonagall and Slughorn, with Madam Pomfrey and Ron in tow behind them.
They ambled over to Harry's bed, the normally jovial Potions master looking uncharacteristically grim. Ron glanced at Hermione and frowned slightly, who in turn looked at Harry with a defeated look in her eyes.
Harry's attention shifted away from his friends as Slughorn began to speak.
"Well, Harry, m'boy," he began, with none of his usual pep, "as I'm sure you've realised by now, the potion which you and Mr. Malfoy were brewing reacted badly with the introduction of one or more of the ingredients. Now, I've already questioned Mr. Malfoy and he tells me that the ingredient chosen to replicate the effects of the silencing spell was Doxy eggs. While this ingredient should have adequately met the requirements of the task, it appears that something occurred in the brewing process to produce unwanted effects."
Confused, Harry picked up his parchment and began to write a message. Despite his own anxiety the previous night, which he now recognised as an overreaction due to the unexpectedness of his state, he didn't understand the somber tone that had overtaken the room. If the spell did what it was supposed to, then why am I here? What were the unexpected effects?
The occupants of the room shifted uncomfortably and Slughorn seemed to take a moment to find the right words to respond.
"The potion's effects are intended to be temporary, unlike some of the spells that they replicate that depend upon the instruction of the caster to cancel them. The base potion that all of the students began with was never intended to last for more than a few hours at most. Some - such as Miss Parkinson's Bat-Bogey Hex - lasted longer than others, but they nonetheless wore off eventually. In your case, the potion's effects have yet to fade after almost twenty-four hours."
Suppressing his surprise at how long he had been out, Harry latched onto another part of Slughorn's explanation. And Malfoy? Is he still affected?
Slughorn's eyebrows furrowed as he responded, "Mr. Malfoy… has not exhibited the effects of the potion. Which is most unusual, of course, as he was hit by almost as much of the potion as you were."
Harry's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Malfoy was unaffected?
"I am conducting tests on what remains of the potion, of course, to determine what has caused this anomaly, and why you were the sole victim of its intended effect."
And where is he now?
"Where is… who - Mr. Malfoy? He stayed here in the infirmary overnight to be treated for his burns, after which he was released. I will be working with the both of you to examine the potion, so that we can resolve your condition. It is likely that the answer lies in contact and intention of the potion maker. As we've discussed in class, your individual magical signatures often determine the specific outcome of a potion. We will first have to determine which of you played part in each aspect of the potion."
What do you need from me?
McGonagall spoke up for the first time, answering his question, "For the moment, you need to rest so that we can perform more tests. Madam Pomfrey thinks that you shall be adequately healed by tomorrow so that we can begin. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger will help you with your school duties and your teachers have been informed of your condition. Upon your dismissal from the infirmary, we will have to work around your condition. Should it not wear off within the next few days, of course." She finished uncertainly.
Harry cast his eyes downwards and stared at his hands, linked together in his lap.
"Do not fear, Mr. Potter," she said with a small smile. "You have certainly faced worse than this."
The next few hours passed by in a blur, as the adults dispersed and Harry was left with his friends. His mood picked up considerably as he watched them bicker about some inane thing that couples bicker about, the somber tone of the meeting made way for a reluctant acceptance of his fate for the time being. In fact, with the comfort of his company, Harry began to think that the situation maybe wasn't so bad. For the moment, it seemed to be temporary, albeit indefinitely so. And if he were forced to admit it, Harry would relent that not having to speak, to answer to the constant barrage of adulation that followed him constantly might even be a relaxing change of pace.
By the time his friends had left, and night had fallen, Harry found himself feeling at ease once again, the knowledge of his condition no longer causing him any anxiety. He settled into his bed, and despite the large amount of sleep he had had, the excitement of the past few days finally got to him and he drifted into a soft slumber.
'…potion…something wrong…Potter…'
The voice was barely a whisper, but it nonetheless pierced through the stillness of the night. Harry's eyes jerked open and he looked around the room, illuminated in a soft yellow glow by the dying candle on his bedside that he had failed to extinguish.
'…failed…try again…'
Harry's search of the infirmary came up empty, but Harry already knew why. The voice wasn't coming from the shadows of the hospital wing. It originated from the corners of his mind.
AN: I know it's pretty short, but chapters should get longer as we go along. Also, I may be taking a few liberties with potion details but they are necessary! Thanks for reading, B.