The Link

The pressure squeezing my head from all sides vanishes. My head literally stops throbbing mid thud. The silence is glorious, I could fall into it.

But my arm hasn't changed. I wait for anything to happen for five more seconds before glaring at Potter.

"It doesn't cure what already has turned dark," he mutters, looking away from my arm quickly.

"Then what does it do?" I growl. He just shakes his head.

"Do you feel any different?"

"My head's not trying to blow itself off." He nods.

"Yeah, I noticed you finally let go of it. That's probably a sign it's the right potion." I whirl back to the counter and start chopping up the roots. The instructions clearly said "mince" and whatever Potter had done was entirely incompetent.

"You want another one?" Potter asks.

"For my father, you dunce. You did promise." I look up at him, hoping I can rely on that Gryffindor honor thing. He's not looking at me, but at the floor.

"Actually… His Mark doesn't seem to be affected."

Excuse me!?

"Explain," I say through gritted teeth as I slam down my knife on the roots.

"Well, you were kind of delirious after… and I had to stun you. Lucius and your mum were there. I showed them your arm and… Lucius didn't have it."

"I attacked them?" I breathe out.

"No! No, it was just shielding charms. You were trying to protect them from something you thought was chasing you." I wince, hoping to move on. Hearing about a moment of utter loss of control is not something I needed from Harry Potter, the savior of the world, destroyer of evil.

But how could only my Dark Mark- oh. Oh. His voice reverberates in my head "I have something very special in store for traitors."

For the first time I rub my hand over my left arm, trying to get rid of the feeling of Voldemort's nail-like finger burning into my skin. It's hardly skin anymore. It feels like charred wood, only leathery. I quickly pull my hand away, as though burned.

"So you lied to me," I say in a flat tone. He shrugs, still looking away.

"Had to get you to drink that potion. If your dad was the only inspiration—"

"Father," I correct, grimacing. Tricked by a Gryffindor. I understand the powers in the Wizarding World just shifted, but seriously? What is the world coming to?

He's still not looking at me, though I'm glaring holes into his head. Something's off. He shuffles his feet awkwardly. Then it clicks.

I swing my arm sharply, knocking the goblet off the counter. It clatters and spins on the floor, echoing in the stone room. I grip the edge of the counter, leaning over it and trying to breathe regularly.

"You never did say it would cure, just that it would help… There is no cure, is there?" I say in a much quieter voice. I feel incredibly stupid for believing it would be such an easy fix. Voldemort himself designed this curse. I suppose I had let myself think that The-Boy-With-All-the-Luck would have one more trick up his sleeve. For me, yeah right.

"We'll figure it out."

I barely register what he said and when I do I can only scoff in morbid amusement. I take a step closer to him, willing him to look up and see the threat I am.

"Snape killed Dumbledore. I was there that night, right on the tower. If Snape served Dumbledore, he wouldn't have killed him. Unless he was already dying some BLOODY PAINFUL DEATH!" I hiss.

Shocked at my own revelation, I stumble back, remembering that night clearly in my head. The way Dumbledore looked. Tired, ready. The way his head tilted just so when he said please. Little did I know he wasn't asking to live. He was begging to die.

"I saw him. I looked right into his eyes. He was obviously sick and weak. I disarmed him. I was supposed to kill him myself but-." I hit the cabinet behind me and hear potion bottles rattle. I stop blabbing and my voice hardens, "Now explain this to me, Potter. How do you expect to cure a curse that the greatest fucking wizard of all time plus his potion's master couldn't cure."

"What, are you giving up, Malfoy?" Potter says tauntingly, attempting a stupid sneer-like expression. I should give him lessons; that was pathetic. "We just won the battle, defeated Voldemort. We have all the time on our hands to cure a stupid curse."

"We?" I snarl, "You are the Savior! I had nothing to do with it." My eyes drill into his green ones and before I know it, I'm in his head. I can feel the loneliness that the idea of being the "lone victor" inspires in him. His shoulders slump and I quickly look away, leaving his mind before he realizes I was ever in it.

"You had everything to do with it! You were the link! I killed Voldemort with your wand." He reaches in his pocket and tosses me my familiar hawthorn wand. I catch it and feel my magic leap for joy within me. I turn it over in awe. This wand, my wand had served to kill the Dark Lord.

"If you hadn't disarmed Dumbledore, the Elder Wand would never have been yours. If you had just told Lucius and Bellatrix it was me at Malfoy Manor… it would have been over long ago. If I didn't disarm you, I wouldn't have mastered the Elder Wand. If I hadn't saved your life, your mum wouldn't have saved mine. You fought Greyback- "

"What? My mother saved your life?"

"In the forest, she told Voldemort I was dead after he sent a killing curse at me. She said thanks, so I'm guessing for saving your life in the Room of Requirement. So, Malfoy, the point is, there really is a lot I owe you for."

My stomach churns at the ridiculousness of what he's saying. Owes me?! He saved my life twice, if not again with the treatment for my arm! What is he even doing here? He has friends to comfort, people to lead, people to worship him.

Instead he's with me, trying to help me, me who went out of his way to make his life miserable. Me who tortured people. Who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Who is branded with the Dark Mark. Me who felt nothing for the past year.

Suddenly I find this whole brave hero complex nauseating.

"You don't know who I am," I say, pushing past him and climbing up the stairs and through the open living room of Snape's quarters to the bathroom.

"Lumos," I whisper. I bend down under the sink and dig roughly around in a first aid kit and pull out some potions.

"Were you planning on healing your head, Potter?" I say to the boy standing in the doorway, "Or do I have to?"

"My head?" he asks idiotically running a hand over his forehead to the cut still leaking blood just a centimeter away from the lightning bolt scar. He feels the blood and steps inside to look at it in the mirror. He points his wand at it but misses, his reflection throwing him hilariously off. I snort, and he turns to glare at me.

"Sit," I command, pointing to the toilet, "You have to disinfect it before using magic, idiot. Merlin, how have you possibly lived this long?" He sits, looking even more drained after seeing the blood. I hand him a rag with antiseptic potion on it.

"Right, cause you're a picture of perfection yourself," he snaps, snatching the rag and dabbing blindly. He's hitting all the wrong places.

He's right. I look down and discover I'm still covered in blood. My shoulder wounds seem to have been healed in a hurry, but scars remain, since they are from werewolf claws. Thank the Whomping Willow it wasn't teeth. I don't think I could deal with being a werewolf, especially on top of a curse. I quickly scourgify myself.

"Who healed me?" I ask. My face and arms (arm and a half) still looks like the Whomping Willow threw a dance party on it. It will take forever to heal magically.

"Your mum," he gasps out as he accidently jabs his cut open wider.

"Freak, just let me do it, wouldn't want people to think I mangled the Savior," I say exasperated, ripping the cloth away from him. He was just spreading blood and germs everywhere, the moron.

I clean the blood around the wound first. My hand is so close to that scar. My finger, Merlin knows why, is itching to trace it, to see what it feels like. I hurriedly reach for the bottle of healing potion.

He's staring at the arm I have holding his head still. I quickly shove it in my left robe pocket.

"We just need to find out what type of curse it is," he says. Enough with the 'we'!

I slam the potion in his cut a little harder than necessary watching him wince.

"Ferula" I say and bandages appear, covering the wound. He reaches up to feel it.

"Just let it be for now. It will heal while you sleep," I say, softer than I intended. "And you won't tell anyone about this curse thing," I grind out threateningly, making up for it.

I throw the stuff back and grab a sleeping potion from the cabinet, and stalk out. He follows.

"How am I supposed to explain to my friends-?"

"Explain what?"

"Why I'm spending so much time with you," he says as though we discussed this a thousand times already.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, your mum asked me to do what I can to cure you. I promised I would."

"WHAT?!"

"Your mum—"

"Don't say it again!"

"Well, expecting it will take longer than a trip to the library to solve your—"

"I'm not going to spend whatever time I have left with YOU!"

"Why, you have a bucket list or something?" he says giving me the narrow-eyed glare he'd perfected over the years. His glasses causing a reflection that made it look even more malicious.

"No… I want to help fix Hogwarts." I blink, utterly surprised. Where did THAT come from?

"Ah, atonement. I get it. I think I know you pretty well after all, Malfoy. First healing me, now wanting to help. It's almost like you switched to the good side. Oh wait, you did."

I glower at him, willing his glasses to burst.

"Well, I want to help too. But this is probably a bit more… demanding," he says sarcastically.

"I'm staying here at Hogwarts until it's rebuilt. I don't need to explain myself to you. And you won't tell anyone about the curse." I say it in a tone mocked directly from the imperious curse, as if questions and choices don't exist.

"Then, if I were you, I would hope it doesn't take that long," he said solemnly, "Fine, I won't tell, but after Hogwarts is ready for the next school year, you will work with me to find a cure. We just need to find out what the potion is, then we'll know what it's for and then we'll know what to look for—"

"The last person who made a promise to my mother was Snape. He made the Unbreakable Vow. Look where he ended up." I say it with too much emotion. Fuck, I must be tired.

He ignores me. "Deal or not?"

"Whatever, Potter." And I fall to the couch, taking a long swig of the dreamless sleep drought.