Chapter 09 – Sleeping Beauty

To say that Harry was gloomy was an understatement. Disgruntled, bitter, irritable, peevish; all of these were better words to describe his mood. He was intolerable of absolutely everything the day after he saw Malfoy in the hospital wing. He gave death glares to passing glances, growled at anyone who came too close, bit off the heads of the ones daring enough to talk to him. And if anyone so much as looked at his new tattoo...well, that was when he really blew up.

Hermione and Harry had stayed up the entire night trying everything they could think of to remove or hide the three-tailed serpent. Absolutely nothing had worked.

So, at around seven o'clock, just before the early birds were bound to come down for breakfast, Hermione dug through her book bag for their last resort.

Now Harry sported a silver mermaid curled around his right eye.

It was shoddily done. Hermione was no artist. With a muggle marker she had filled in the gaps between the three tails, drew on a pair of arms, and widened the head into a vaguely humanoid shape. And, if one looked closely, the snake could still be detected beneath the surface of the marker. The original silver was an impossible color to match. Not because it was such a rare hue; only the original image seemed to be in perpetual motion. It sort of shimmered like liquid, or swirled like gas. No marker could duplicate that. Harry thought it might be pretty—if it weren't so goddamn annoying!

And if everyone would stop staring at it.

As Harry entered Transfiguration and took his seat before class, he tried to focus on the tiny silver lining. If Malfoy wasn't in the hospital wing at this moment, things would surely be much worse for him.

Currently, his fellow Gryffindors were shooting covert glances when they thought he wasn't looking. The Slytherins were all whispering and giggling among themselves, occasionally sneering over their shoulders or outright pointing at Harry's face. But Harry was sure that if they had their leader there, he would be doomed to suffer a much more blatant embarrassment.

"Settle down," Professor McGonagall said strictly, sweeping into the room. The Gryffindors fell silent. The Slytherins weren't so malleable.

"Hush!" McGonagall demanded again. She pivoted at the front of the room just in time to see Parkinson jab her thumb at Harry and giggle to her friend. McGonagall's eyes alighted upon Harry and her lips narrowed into a severe line.

"Mr. Potter, what's that you've got on your face?"

Half the classroom erupted into twitters.

Harry's face soured further. "It's a tattoo, Professor," he bit out.

McGonagall crossed the room to inspect it. "And who, pray tell, would give you such a thing?"

"Erm..."

"I gave it to him, Professor," Hermione said boldly, holding her head up.

More whispers, even the Gryffindors this time. Book worm and Head Girl Hermione Granger was a tattoo artist?

McGonagall's eyes widened at this news. "Miss. Granger, I...Well, I suppose you're within your rights to do whatever you please in your free time. However, it is against Hogwarts dress code and so I'm going to have to glamour it, Mr. Potter."

She pulled out her wand and muttered the spell. At the same time, Harry heard a whisper at his side. The classroom fell silent.

"It's a magical tattoo, Professor," Hermione said. "It's impervious to all glamour charms."

Harry noticed her wand hidden under the desk and was grateful for her quick thinking. If she hadn't blocked McGonagall's glamour, the marker would have become invisible while the serpent still showed.

McGonagall's mouth was a white line. "In that case, Mr. Potter, I must ask you to visit the hospital wing immediately and have it removed. And five points from Gryffindor for poor choices."

Hermione's shoulders slumped once McGonagall had turned around. Harry scowled, scooped up his bag, and stormed out of the room. So what if anyone interpreted his anger as a particular attachment to the poncey mermaid on his face?


Harry skipped the remainder of his classes in favor of returning to the library and picking up where Hermione left off in research. He was finally joined by Ron mid-afternoon.

"Lucky you missed potions, really," he said, dropping his bag and looking down at Harry, surrounded by open books. "Snape was a git!"

Harry said nothing, not pausing in his frantic search through every book he could lay his hands on. He was desperate. He felt like a caged animal. Moisture welled beneath his eyes when he realized that was exactly what he had become. He was caged by his own magic, something that had once been his savior.

"Harry?" Ron prodded, sensing Harry's mood.

Dropping his head into the book he was currently reading, Harry moaned in distressed agony. Ron plopped into the seat next to him and patted his back awkwardly.

"All right, Harry?" he said softly, encouragingly.

Harry tilted his head so his voice wouldn't be muffled by the useless pages. "I don't know what to do, Ron. I can't go around with this thing on my face and I can't stay out of sight to keep it hidden. I'm stuck, and the worst part is I don't even know why! I don't know what's happening to me or who I'm becoming!"

Ron's face softened. "It'll be okay, mate. Hermione and I will always be here. We'll figure this out together."

Frazzled, confused, and distraught, Harry said the first biting thought that came to his mind. "Would you still be here if you knew I was gay?" he asked bitterly. "A ponce? Poofer? A bender?"

Ron reeled back as though slapped. "Blimey, Harry," Ron muttered. "What are you saying?"

Harry gave Ron a watery smirk. "How can I be more clear? I snogged Malfoy—and I liked it."

Ron's jaw dropped and he fell utterly silent. He remained this way for so long that Harry turned back to his books, now feeling disgust and sadness more than anger. Ron would never forgive him that. They would never breach this wall together, he was sure.

Finally, Harry snapped his book closed and leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh. He folded his hands behind his neck and shut his eyes, struggling to hold his emotions at bay. Then he felt a light touch on his knee. He cracked one eye to see Ron's hand fluttering over him, unsure where it should rest. He finally brought it down over the table directly in front of Harry, avoiding making contact at all.

"I don't care," Ron said suddenly but with conviction. "I don't give a bleeding rat's arse what you like, Harry. You could fancy house elves for all I care and I'd still...well I wouldn't really support that relationship but I wouldn't abandon you."

Harry saw fire in Ron's eyes as fire flared up his neck and around his ears, red as his hair. It wasn't easy for him, Harry could see that. But he was a true friend.

With a tiny, wavering smile, Harry nudged Ron's shoulder gratefully.

Ron snorted amusedly. "Ah, what the hell," he shrugged, and threw his arms around Harry and knocked him on the back a few times. "I just wish," he said after they'd both sat back awkwardly. "That you'd kiss anyone other than Malfoy."

Together, Harry and Ron sniggered and guffawed their way into hysterics.

"Come on," Ron finally said, sobering. "Let's figure out what kind of freak you're turning into."

An hour later they were joined by Hermione, just out of Arithmancy, and the three worked their way through the rows of books late into the evening until they were kicked out of the library by Madame Pince. They were walking back to the common room, each heaving as many library books as they could manage, when Ron spoke.

"Hey, Harry, did you ever find out what was wrong with Malfoy yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah," grunted Harry, struggling under the weight of his books. "I guess it just looks like a cold or something. He's running a pretty good fever. I mean, if I can tell then he must be hot."

They had discovered that what Harry had been interpreting as everything he touched feeling cooler than usual was actually him, running at a much hotter temperature than usual. After her initial shock last night, Hermione had insisted he visit Madame Pomfrey. Harry had refused. Obviously it was another side effect of whatever was happening to him. He had begun noticing it around the time he'd begun hearing minds.

"I hope he has scrofungulus," mumbled Ron. Hermione giggled but Harry frowned.

"Is a side effect of scrofungulus brain damage?" he asked.

Ron furrowed his brow. "Not that I know of."

"No, it's not," Hermione agreed. "Why, Harry?"

"Well, when I tried to hear Malfoy...I just couldn't. Nothing came through the door except some weird light. I just wondered if maybe it was a cause of his illness."

Immediately, Ron started laughing. Hermione seemed to be thinking hard.

"But at the same time it couldn't be brain damage."

Ron went silent, looking disgruntled.

"Because," continued Harry, ignoring him. "He woke up when I was there. And he spoke. So he must be okay."

"He spoke?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked abashed. "Well, yes. He must have sensed me or something because he kept saying 'I hear you'." He barked a laugh. "What a wanker. I know for a fact I didn't make any noise."

Hermione ignored this. "And you say you could feel that he was running a fever?"

"Yes," Harry agreed warily. "But I could probably feel it if you or Ron were running a fever too. I mean, just because I run a few degrees hotter now doesn't mean I can't feel temperature change."

"How warm was he, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Shockingly warm," he admitted.

Unconsciously, the three had stopped walking. Ron was staring around his stack of books with wide eyes, looking between Harry and Hermione.

"I see where you're going with this," Harry mumbled. "Do you think there was something in that alcove? Maybe a gas or...or...I dunno, something? Something that affected us both?"

Hermione nodded but seemed distracted. "Maybe. Something."

"Let's find out," Harry said eagerly. "It's just around this corner."

He dropped his books, which scattered nosily over Ron's and Hermione's feet, then sprinted up the corridor. He heard the crashes of two more stacks of books and footsteps pounding behind him. When he skidded to a stop outside the tapestry he swung out his arm to stop Ron and Hermione.

"If there's something in there that causes...this. Well, you two shouldn't go in."

Ron looked put out but Hermione nodded sagely.

"Tell me what to do, Hermione," Harry said.

"There's a few spells you can use; revealing charms. Here—" She dug a hand into her robe pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment and quill. Quickly, she scribbled a few spells across it and thrust it into Harry's hand. "Good luck," she whispered.

With a curt nod, Harry pulled back the tapestry and stepped into the alcove.

It was exactly the same as he remembered it; dim, stuffy, and completely empty. There were no paintings on the walls, no statues in the corners, no windows, and no passageways. Contrarily, he slowly felt his way around, groping for what was not there. When this proved fruitless, he moved back to the center and pulled out his wand.

"Specialis Revelio!" he said, reading from Hermione's parchment.

Nothing.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Still nothing.

"Appareo! Aparecium! Dissendium!" And on and on until Harry depleted every spell Hermione had scribbled, including a few of his own.

And yet he remained standing there, looking around him, running his fingers over the blurred image on the back of the tapestry, over the rough stone where he had pinned Malfoy.

He could remember it all so clearly still; the bad...and the good.

The bad—so bad—the burning. It was a pain he couldn't find an equal to. Breaking all the bones in his arm—having them regrown; falling off his broom fifty feet in the air; getting hit repeatedly by the Whomping Willow; the cruccio curse Voldemort himself had cast on him. Nothing had hurt as badly as that burning.

And yet there was good to remember in that evening. Because Malfoy's kiss had somehow, astoundingly been good.

And then it clicked.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, running for the tapestry.

"Harry?!" Hermione called back, frantically.

She ripped open the tapestry just as he reached it, eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay? Did you find anything?"

"No," he brushed off her questions. "There's nothing to be found. It wasn't caused by the alcove. Listen, do you know the legend of Sleeping Beauty?"

"Sleeping who?" asked Ron at the same time Hermione said "of course".

"Sleeping Beauty," explained Harry. "It's a muggle story about a princess cursed to eternal sleep."

"Fancy that, muggles know about the Draught of Living Death," Ron said humorously.

Harry shook his head. "That's not the point. The point is the end of the story. To wake her, she had to be kissed by her true love. The kiss broke the curse."

"Well that's not the Draught of Living Death at all then," mumbled Ron.

Harry ignored him. "What if, like in the story, this curse"—he gestured to himself—"was linked to a kiss. Only, instead of breaking it, the kiss triggered it."

"Are you saying Malfoy cursed you?" asked Ron, scowling. "Because if you think so, I have no problem with murdering the slimy—oy! Where're you going?"

"I've just thought of something!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder, sprinting the rest of the way down the corridor. "Meet me in the common room," she instructed, just before charging through the portrait hole.

"Great," Ron moaned. "That means more books to carry."

Harry stuttered a distracted chuckle, his thoughts on what Hermione might have linked to Sleeping Beauty. Silently, he followed Ron back to where their books lay and helped him gather them into their arms.

They were just setting them on a table in the mostly abandoned common room when Hermione came down her dormitory stairs with yet another book.

"We won't need those," she said, waving a hand dismissively at the library books. Ron scowled.

"I knew I've seen that snake somewhere," she mumbled to herself as she began flipping pages. "I would never have thought to look in my muggle books though, if you hadn't brought up muggle legends, Harry."

"What snake?" asked Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The one on Harry's face, obviously!"

Harry glanced about him as they bickered. The only people still in the common room were safely on the other side of the room, absorbed by their own activities.

"Here!" Hermione said triumphantly. She jabbed her finger at the book and Harry craned his neck to see.

There, printed at the top of the page in big bold letters were the words 'Chapter Seven: Medieval Bestiaries'. And just below it, drawn in silver, was the exact three-tailed serpent tattooed on Harry's face.