Chapter Four
Harry stared blankly down at the very old newspaper he was reading. It was completely boring, and had absolutely nothing to do with his condition, however; the name Celeste Mikesell was in it, so therefore he was stuck reading it. He sighed and set the paper down on the table that he was sitting at. It seemed so pointless, the article was about Celeste's garden that had won an award for the best kept in wizarding Britain, which Harry was sure would help him none in finding out what was happening to him. "Hermione" hissed Harry, across the table, where Hermione was examining an old Hogwarts record book. Her head snapped up as she heard her name.
"Harry, what is it?" she said, sounding annoyed at his interruption.
"This is rubbish." Harry said simply.
Hermione sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Harry, I'm trying. If you don't feel like reading, then will you make yourself useful somehow, please? I'm trying to help you."
Harry looked at her blankly. "What do you want me to do?"
Hermione shot him a look of irritation. "Write down how you feel when that thing is inside of you. And write down everything we know so far about Celeste Mikesell, while you're at it, just so we have some notes to base our research on."
Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and dutifully wrote down everything Hermione had told him to. It didn't take very long. He looked at what he had written. Maybe he just wasn't good at studying, even if it was to save his soul. He placed the parchment in his book and headed up to bed.
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Harry woke up in the middle of the night, sweating profusely. He knew what was happening before he even knew he was awake. It was back. Fear crawled through his brain, numbing him. He felt his soul twinge and writhe, trying to hide from its attacker. He dug his fingernails into his arm, trying to keep from crying out. He felt tears burn his eyes, which he had squeezed shut. He braced himself for the shock of pain that he was sure he was going to experience. He lay there for what could have been hours, and when the pain never came, he drifted slowly back to sleep, too afraid to wonder why it hadn't hurt him.
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"I hate you, Potter." Spat Malfoy, the next day in Potions. Harry was sitting directly across from him, a caldron in between them. Harry traced the paragraph he was reading with his finger, not even bothering to look up. Malfoy waited a few seconds for him to reply, and when Harry didn't he continued with a revolting string of insults.
"Precious Potter with his precious scar, too noble to answer when Draco Malfoy speaks to him. Don't ever think I'm below you Potter, you half-blooded scum." Malfoy whispered menacingly. Harry felt his gaze burning holes into his skull. "You just wait until the Dark Lord gets you. You'll get what you deserve, and you will finally see your filthy, mudblood mother again."
Harry's head snapped up. His eyes met Malfoy's, whose face was twisted in a mocking grin. "Shut up about my mother, Malfoy." he muttered.
"I can say whatever I please about your mother, Potter. She was a dirty slag, and a nasty muggle." Malfoy smirked at his own comment. Harry slammed his book shut, and put it on top of his stack of schoolbooks.
"I can't work with you." he said. "It looks like we will just fail then, because I don't suppose you have the brains to do this project without me."
"Ahh, but that's where you're wrong, Potter. Who has the highest marks in the year? It most definitely is not you."
"Nor is it you. That would be Hermione."
"I wasn't counting mudbloods, as they shouldn't be here anyways."
Harry leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He would have liked nothing better than to pummel Malfoy, but 6 years of friendship with Hermione had taught him to restrain himself. He took a deep breath and tried to let go of his anger, when the drawling voice broke through his concentration once again. "Let me use your book, Potter. I'm going to do this myself."
Harry nodded towards the stack of books, not opening his eyes. He put his hands behind his head, trying to forget that he was in this classroom, that he was Harry Potter, that he even alive. He wished he could get out of this life, and leave all the stress behind. He hadn't really been happy since that day at the lake. Was it really only two days ago? It seemed like ages ago. Harry sat there, so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice when the bell rang. He was shaken out of them by Hermione, who grabbed his shoulder, and told him to get up.
"What? Oh, sorry, I kind of drifted off."
"Shall we go then?" Hermione asked, smiling slightly. Harry nodded, and they headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry had walked halfway there, before he realized that Malfoy still had his book.
"Oh shit! Malfoy has my stuff!" Harry cursed loudly, angry with himself for forgetting. "I'll be right back, let me go get them back." He pivoted on the spot, and went back down the dungeons.
He found Malfoy walking with a group of Slytherins, none of which he liked, and none of which he very much fancied the idea of being alone in a hallway with. "Malfoy...I need my…" he started, but was cut off by Malfoy saying, "We need to talk." He ushered away his friends, and nodded at Harry, beckoning him over.
He retrieved a piece of parchment from his pocket, and unwrinkled it slowly. Harry recognized it to be the paper he had written down his symptoms on, and his face flushed. "I know what's wrong with you." He said quietly.
"What are you talking about" asked Harry, suspiciously.
"Why you keep vomiting and having fits all over the place. I can help you."
Harry looked at him, not trusting him, but intrigued. "Why would you want to help me?"
Malfoy looked at him like he was crazy. "Because no one deserves what you're going through. Not even you, Potter."
Harry nodded, still not exactly sure if he should trust him. "So, how can you help me then?"
Malfoy looked him in the eyes. "Meet me down by the lake at 7. And kindly don't bring your friends, because I don't need their prejudiced accusations directed at me, while I'm trying to help you."
Harry nodded slowly. "I'll be there."
Malfoy handed him the paper, and began to walk away. "Malfoy!" called Harry, remembering why he was looking for him in the first place. "I need my books still!"
Malfoy turned and smiled. "Meet me at the lake." And he walked away, leaving Harry to stand alone, wondering what in the world just happened.
A/N-REVIEWING IS A GOOD THING!