Expecto... um...

I should know that if I want to be the owner of the Harry Potter series.

But alas...


Draco avoided Potter as though he was the Drought of Living Death. Of course, he couldn't completely avoid him- they had the same classes together. He could avoid looking back into the face that kept its eyes trained on him whenever they could. They asked him questions over and over about things he really just did not want to answer. It was none of Potter's business anyway. Now, as Draco looked back on his stunt in the library, he wished he wouldn't have ever talked about his parents out loud.

"Its Friday, you know," Cezanne said, just loud enough for the dull headache Draco had been sporting to intensify, and the quill in his hand to flinch. The Slytherin looked down and scowled at the now unfinished word with and the scratch of ink that ran through it. Cezanne followed his eyes and looked embarrassed. With a quick flick of her wand, the word itself was completely gone, as was Draco's train of thought. He dropped his quill into its holder, folded his hands in front of his face, and gave her a hard look. Her embarrassment put splotches of pink over her nose.

"Did you hear me," she said, looking up, because they were technically in a study period, with both McGonagall and Professor Somnus watching over all of them. This was a joint seventh and eighth year study period; though the eighth years never really bothered to show up. Draco took advantage of this.

"How could I not hear you," he hissed under his breath. He turned his head away from her, headache making him irritable, and began going over his essay. Maybe he could find where he had left off..?

"That thing's tomorrow," she continued on, as if he was completely interested in whatever she had to say. Suzanne Cezanne was a smart girl who often kept to herself. Having only half the blood of a wizard and being in Slytherin house was a bad combo lately. On the other hand, as soon as Cezanne made friends with someone she could trust, she became a completely different person. Draco knew first hand how pushy and cunning she could be. She said she had learned part of it from watching him. He hadn't known whether to be proud or creeped out.

"Hm," he said, raising an eyebrow as if he was supposed to know what in the bloody hell she was talking about.

"You know," she repeated, "the dueling thing."

Draco looked at her for a half-second longer before he said, "No."

"What? Draco, I didn't even propose anything yet," she said, with that unconvincing tone of voice that he could read like musical notes.

"Haven't proposed," he snorted, "I said, 'No,' Cezanne. That's it."

"But you know it could be bloody fantastic if you went! You and Potter could have a final square off or something; like a friendship-rivalry kind of thing. And by the end you may as well call a truce between yourselves," Cezanne dreamed aloud, and Draco was amused by her because that was just not going to happen. Not only did Draco lack the will to fight, he didn't have the power to.

"Or something better," Cezanne pressed on, and Draco had the feeling he was not going to get her to shut up, "You could have a go at Zabini."

With this, Draco's amusement was all gone, and his headache had intensified. He rubbed his temples and hoped that this headache was just a headache. With a sigh of semi-relief, Draco remembered his greatest save.

"No. Besides," he began his lie, "I've got detention that evening anyway."

"Mr. Malfoy," the Headmistress said, and Draco almost jumped right out of his seat at her proximity. She had not known the woman was that close until that very instant. He glared furiously at Cezanne, who was already back to scratching away absently at her own homework. He cursed her mentally.

"Yes, Professor," he said, standing up and moving closer to her so that he would not cause any more distraction. She waved her hand to beckon him down the hall, and without hesitation, the young man gathered up his things and followed her.

"I have news concerning your detentions. That is, about the one coming up," she started, and just as Draco didn't like the sound of this, his headache intensified again. He bit his tongue to keep from wincing as a steady throb began repeating rhythmically in his head.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Professor Somnus was to be the one in need of your assistance this Sunday evening. However, with only the next week left before Christmas Hols, it is no wonder that he's busy."

"Alright. So I'm to be with another teacher, then," Draco asked, a great hope rising in his chest. There was something about Somnus that Draco just didn't like. Albeit one to never let his instincts drive him in such trivial matters, this one seemed too different.

McGonagall was slow to her point, making dread slowly flow back into Draco in tandem with his headache. She said, "I'm afraid none of the other teachers are in need of help, that evening, not even Filch. It seems the only way to fit in your punishment is on Saturday evening."

Draco didn't like the sound of this, and replied, "Who'll I be with?"

"Your Head of House," which meant Slughorn's prattle all evening, "at the duels."

Cezanne, who must have been listening in at that moment, hissed. Draco could hear the approval and triumph hiding beneath it.

"What," Draco floundered, "Can't I... Can't I help Madame Pomfrey or something? She's bound to need help reorganizing- cleaning- moving something..?"

"Pompfrey has enough trouble to get through without you starting fights with her patients. Especially on a night like that one," the Headmistress admonished, and Draco felt his face heat with humiliation. Sure, he had just argued like a child, but he seriously did not want to go!

"You will report to Professor Slughorn's office at half seven, and you will carry out this detention. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said with a force that Draco couldn't flee from.

"Yes Professor," he said through grit teeth and a pounding headache. Without further adeiu, the young man turned on his heel and flounced from the hall. As quickly as he could, Draco fled back down to the Slytherin common room, knowing that few people, if there were any at all, would be there.

Right as history, the common room was deserted. Draco didn't stop to appreciate it. With long strides he leaped through and down the corridor to the Safe room. He threw the door open and launched himself inside, pulling it behind himself as he went.

"Argh," the suffering Slytherin groaned, his headache intensifying until an image- something with a likeness to lightening- flashed behind his eyes. He grit his teeth and sunk to the floor, hoping against hope that this was just the dregs of his power withering away. He didn't want the visions- obscure, annoying, and always terrible- to return. He remembered being pleased just before he attacked Zabini, and felt horror rise up in him.

He groaned long and low as his headache steadied itself out. Tears began building in the corners of his eyes. He could not tell if it was from pain or his own rabid emotions.

~{harry}~

Harry hadn't realized that it was dread he had been feeling until breakfast on Saturday morning. He was sure he had been staring into his porridge too absently. Hermione and Ginny had both asked him over and over what was the matter with him. He hadn't bothered to answer, and he hadn't even bothered to check the Slytherin table for Malfoy.

Harry was nervous. He felt as though he knew he was about to take a big test that day- the Newts or something- and he hadn't studied beforehand. He wished it was just a bit of jitters; pointlessly trying to make him think less of the upcoming events. The only problem was that he was not in for a test; he was to be facing his peers, most of whom would expect him to duel against another peer.

At first, Harry had tried to soothe himself with thinking that he'd only have to duel against Ron. He'd never hurt any of his friends. That had kept Harry pleased just before he had gone to bed the night before.

Of course, his bloody nightmares didn't make anything better. Harry couldn't even remember the whole thing; just some flashes of images. He had seen Ron's hair; his betrayed look. He had heard something nagging at the back of his head, like a voice telling him what to do, and then the image morphed.

Suddenly it was not Ron's betrayed face he was looking into, but Malfoy's. And the blazing red tangle behind him that shrieked destruction. It swallowed him- both of them.

Harry had been clutching his wand the entire morning to get rid of the emptiness he had felt there. After breakfast, he hadn't known what to do with himself. He had wandered back up to the common room with the rest of the swarm of people, letting their chatter and excitement carry him.

"Hey," Ginny called Harry as she slid down onto the couch next to him. Harry wondered when he had actually sat down.

"'Lo," he replied, trying to sound friendly and not tired. Ginny searched his face and seemed to consider what she was about to say.

"You look tired," she said, finally. He shrugged.

"Had a lot of homework. Didn't want to be stuck doing it on Sunday evening," he replied. Ginny looked impressed and worried for him.

"I was going to ask if you were going to come to Hogsmaed one last time before Winter Hols. I think you could use some rest, though," she said, taking in his pallor. Harry felt guilty and grateful to her for understanding him so well. He shook himself; the world was not going to end.

"No, I'll go," he said, because he'd just spend the day moping otherwise, "I can just crash at the end of the day anyway."

Ginny beamed, "Great..! Well, I mean..."

"I got it," Harry smiled at her, then peeled himself from the couch. If he wanted to go down and catch everyone else there, he would have to grab his cloak as quickly as he could.

"I'll wait here for you," Ginny said as he walked passed her. He felt guilt rear up ferociously and bite at him. He hurried away from her in hopes that his guilt would vanish.

"Ready, mate?"

Harry jumped so high that he might have touched the ceiling. Reflexively he snapped his book shut, and, with great frustration, realized that his pencil had still been in it. Harry took the next few seconds to take his nerves down. He knew it was just Ron behind him. Still, the fear of having someone right there behind him was slow to dissipate. Both of his two closest friends understood, and gave Harry a few moments to adjust.

"Yeah," he croaked, vanishing his book back to his room and standing up. Ron looked excited. Harry couldn't understand how he could even. Harry told himself to calm down; he wasn't going to war with anyone. It was just a duel. Which he might not even need to participate in. Wasn't it all about teaching the younger students practically when it came to charms and spells and partially harmless hexes? There would be teachers watching them all. Nothing was going to go wrong.

Yet Harry had been telling himself these things for the past day and a half, and he was still as jumpy as a chocolate frog.

"Where's Ginny," Hermione asked, and Harry felt guilt well up in him again. He might have said or done something to offend her- like pushed her away when she came on to him and avoided all her comments about themselves becoming a couple again. They had both known that she was being blunt enough for even Harry to understand. By the end of their trip to Hogsmaed, Harry had made her incredibly mad, and himself incredibly guilty. Instead of properly confronting her, like he had promised himself he would do, he had just said, "Give me a little more time Ginny."

"Erm, I don't know," Harry said. He wasn't lying but he might not have been telling the whole truth.

"She'll be down on her own. Or she might already be down there," Ron nodded, obviously ready to do something besides stand still, "If we're any later, they won't let us in."

"Alright, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes but looked amused, "Might as well go before he bursts."

As amusing as Hermione must have found that, as she followed behind Ron through the portrait hole, Harry could not find the same amusement. He really did not hope that Ron would burst as he followed the couple out of the portrait hole. He watched as Hermione looped her fingers through Ron's and started chatting with him quietly.

The secluded young man stopped right there, staring after them. He then turned his eyes up to the castle walls. It was missing its allotment of paintings, and while there were still quite a few, it felt empty to Harry. If he squinted his eyes, he could see flashes of brilliant light against dark streaks of terror. He could hear the sound of screaming and shouting and moving and fighting, and he wished it wasn't real.

"Harry," Hermione called from the staircase, just as it began to move, "Are you alright?"

'No,' he wanted to answer, 'It will never be alright, and I don't know how the two of you can pretend it will be. People died here, I died here, and we're all just back here about to enjoy a bloody fight, for Christ's sake, and our little freedoms... What about everyone else who's lost their families? What do they get to enjoy?'

Harry felt himself shaking with the things he wanted to say and do. But instead of following through, he simply stepped down onto the staircase as it came back round and said, "Yeah sorry. Just a little nervous."

Ron looked a little guilty then, and he put his hand on Harry's shoulder as he stopped in front of them. He said, "You can go back if you want..? I mean, no one will hold it against you or anything."

"He's right Harry. You've been looking peckish lately, too," Hermione added, "You haven't been sleeping properly, have you?"

Harry would have loved to take them up on their offer. In fact, he would have loved to just sit down right there and let out his frustrations to them. He appreciated their worry, he appreciated their encouragement, and he appreciated their understanding. It was always these moments that Harry would have liked to just tell them that he loved them; that they were really like his brother and sister.

Instead, he steeled himself inside and said, "I made a promise, so I'm going to go. Its not like I can't handle this little thing. And if it gets to be too much you'll understand if I have to go..?"

"Of course," Hermione exclaimed, and Ron nodded furiously from right beside her, though he looked happy to have his best friends coming down to the duels with him. Harry grinned at them both, although with effort, and followed them down to the hall.

Much like second year, the great hall had been cleared away. Except this time, there were several large circles whose area were to be used for the duels. In each one, a head of house stood.

"Think McGonagall's here," Ron said, easily looking over the head of the people there. It was nearly half the school. Though Harry was grateful for the half that had decided to stay in their dorms or wherever they were and snog or whatever they were doing, he could not help but feel unappreciative of the slow creeping silence that descended. No, not complete silence, Harry snorted to himself, but whispering silence, as if could not discern the gist of what they were saying.

"No. She's got to have time to get something done," said Harry, who was sure the elder woman was off doing some headmistress like things. Harry thought she was Wonder Woman, really, because she remained the teacher of Transfiguration while taking on a professor's and headmistress's duties. She was a tough biscuit.

"Right," Hermione said, "Sometimes I forget that she's our headmistress now. Sort of still feels like-"

"Yeah," Harry said, even though he did not agree with her one bit. Harry had seen Dumbledore die with his own eyes; nothing at Hogwarts really felt the same at all.

"Malfoy's here," Ron asked himself, looking both annoyed and amused, as if he could gain something out of this. Harry really hoped they weren't about to fight with each other. Panic swelled in him as he recalled bits and pieces of his dream; Ron flailing beneath the dark and swirling Horcrux and Malfoy's pleading eyes as he was engulfed by mountains of flame.

Harry caught sight of the brilliant blonde looking sullen and shaded by Slughorn's side. The rotund man must have been laughing about one of his anecdotes again, and Malfoy couldn't look more disinterested. Or maybe it was the worry written in his body language. His eyes shifted over the crowd constantly, he had an unusually pallid color to himself, and he stood as though his body was cramped. Harry's eyes shifted around the crowd as Malfoy's did, but he couldn't understand what he was looking for.

Without waiting for either Ron or Hermione, Harry hurried forward into a closer vicinity of Slughorn. He watched as Malfoy's eyes searched the crowd of faces once more only to stop dead on his own. Suddenly, Harry felt nervous for completely different reasons. He began reciting, to himself, the thirty most basic potions ingredients over and over, in hopes of pleasing his tutor. Which didn't make sense, because Malfoy wasn't able to read his mind. He wouldn't know until next session, should they have no other encounters.

To the shock of what seemed like the both of them, Malfoy's mouth twitched up, as if he were laughing at Harry's thoughts. Immediately the blonde straightened his stature and looked away from Harry. The hands he had crossed over his arms flew to a position that rested neatly behind his back. It was then that Harry's mind seemed to actually hear the blaring volume of Slughorn's voice.

"-then! Last time we didn't get much demonstration, did we, what with the other lessons being so eye catching," Slughorn laughed, but it seemed nervous, " Shall the older students give a demonstration for the younger ones? Show them how wand work applies, hm?"

Harry could see a number of elder students in the crowd, none of whom volunteered themselves. Were they just as nervous as he himself was? Slughorn obviously was, because he shifted awkwardly back and forth and then turned to look pointedly at Malfoy. The blonde stared pointedly back, eyebrow raised and face in challenge.

With a devious, almost evil smile, Slughorn pulled a wand from his robes and slid it into Malfoy's hands. It suddenly clicked that Malfoy wasn't here by choice; he had a detention with Slughorn, and this was how he was making it up. With a nasty look at the potions professor, Malfoy stepped forward and stood in the center of the circle.

"Wonderful," Slughorn beamed, looking smug, "Now will anyone else volunteer to ah, accept Mr. Malfoy's challenge?"

Harry shifted in his spot. Should he duel Malfoy? Really, he thought they were at least on terms that would incite some sort of boundaries between them. He wasn't sure he could say the same for many of the unpleasant faces around the center. At the same time, he wasn't sure he could properly cast, what with his jitters and the nightmare from the previous night revisiting him in full throttle.

Too late for him to properly decide. Zabini stepped out into the circle just across from Malfoy, looking both smug and angry. Maybe he had earned better marks in DADA? But that really wouldn't matter here, because technically, it all depended on one's instincts and movements.

"Alright," Zabini agreed, taking out his wand and getting into a dueling stance. Harry looked worriedly over at Malfoy, only to find the young man sheathing his wand. Harry immediately felt panic vibrate in him, yet Malfoy looked somewhere between relieved and guarded. What the bloody hell was he thinking?

From behind Malfoy, a small and petite girl, who Harry was sure he had never seen before in his life, hissed in approval. Malfoy shot her a dirty look, and she waved a victory sign at him. This did not seem to ease the heat of his stare.

"Alright well then. Wands at the ready," Slughorn commanded, looking extra pointedly at Malfoy, who did not seem to mind him at all. He simply took a dueling stance almost identical to Zabini's, except his wand arm was held behind his back by the other.

"I only want to see fourth year level spells and below, gentlemen," Slughorn said, though he was obviously trying to goad Malfoy into taking out his wand. Whatever the pudgy older man said seemed to bounce right off of Malfoy's marble exterior.

"Well then," the extremely nervous instructor said, "Begin."

At once, Zabini began firing off shot after shot of spells. His mouth made no movement, and his wand made little more than that. He looked clean, compared to the wildly vibrant shots jetting out of the end of his wand.

On the other side of the room, Malfoy danced. Or at least, that's the only word Harry could use to describe his movements; quick and flowing, like he was practicing the waltz alone. Harry was so mesmerized by him that he didn't realize the intensity and violence of the color of Zabini's spells were increasing until Slughorn shouted, "Careful there, Mr. Zabini! Fourth year incantations!"

"Seemed to have slipped my mind," Zabini snarled, but it didn't seem as though he had forgotten at all. His body began to fall out of the stance he had been holding. His rage egged him further from keeping face and suddenly, Harry was looking at a troll trying to crush a fairy.

"Draw your wand, Malfoy," panted Zabini, and Harry didn't see how he could have, because he honestly hadn't been making that many moves. Was it exhausting to cast spell after spell like that? Harry had never known; he always seemed pressed by adrenaline to go father.

"I don't see the need," Malfoy said, watching him steadily, his breathing slow and deep. He was obviously trying to hide the signs that this was a bit of a workout for him.

"Draw your wand," Zabini said, slowly, as if his words were a threat now. Malfoy didn't seem to mind at all.

"Fine," Zabini said, and there was something wicked in his eyes that Malfoy seemed to heed or at least be wary of. Slowly, with an almost negative hope that Zabini didn't pull any fantastic shite, Harry drew his own wand.

"I know how to deal with people like you," Zabini said spat. He twirled his wand once in his hands, and his face slipped beneath a mask of cool nonchalance. His eyes held only a spark of a hint of something dangerous. If Malfoy had been colorless before, he was absolutely invisible now. He took as step back, watching Zabini's wand and his face at the same time. He looked like a gazelle in danger; ready to leap at any possible second.

"Now, now," Slughorn said uselessly. Zabini had already muttered the incantation, and the air began to crackle with lightening and magic. Malfoy face turned into a scowl, and he quickly drew his wand. It was too late.

Bands of crackling magic whipped from the end of Zabini's wand and wrapped around Malfoy's torso like a visible Incarcerous. For long moments Malfoy struggled, his face growing more red as Zabini laughed at him.

"I told you," exclaimed Zabini triumphantly, "I knew, I knew it!"

"That's enough Zabini. We shall call an end to this duel," called Professor Slughorn, looking terribly worried at Malfoy's state. Zabini's eyes approved of the fact that he was about to be named winner of the duel. He turned back to Malfoy, who continued to struggle wildly and silently upon the floor. Zabini raised his wand and flicked it. Malfoy began screaming. His voice rose so loud that the whole of the hall was filled with only the sounds of his pain and the magic that encompassed him.

"Zabini, stop," Harry heard himself shout, terror filling him up as he remembered what Malfoy looked like in pain and sadness and fear, "Stop the spell!"

"Shut up Potter," Zabini said, but his face was filled with fear as well. His attention was not, however, completely on Malfoy. He was glancing over at Slughorn, who looked at a loss for what to do. Harry watched him flick his wand over and over.

"Look at that," someone shouted, and Harry looked up to find balls of light pulling themselves out of the walls and flying straight at Malfoy. They looked like they were made from the same semi-existent plasma as ghosts. With each orb that smashed into Malfoy's body and dispersed like a cloak around him, his screams got louder.

"Draco," the girl Harry had just seen shouted, "Draco!"

"Expelliarmus," Harry shouted, and Zabini's wand came flying out of his hands and into Harry's own. Unfortunately, the spell hadn't stopped. Instead, Malfoy's screams were being broken by his pants. His face was drenched with sweat and-

"His eyes," someone whispered from right next to Harry's shoulder. If he was in a clear state of mind, he might have thought it was Hermione. He looked up and found that Draco's eyes were gone; instead replaced with an opaque white energy. Harry raised Zabini's wand and hoped that his plan would work.

"Finite Incantatem!"

It did not. Whatever the curse was, it was not going to stop until Malfoy died or lost his voice. Harry, feeling panic, zoomed around the people watching and scrambled up to Slughorn. He should know what to do in this situation.

"Sir, you have to stop this," he said. Slughorn was watching with abject fascination and equal parts horror. Harry called his name again, and the overweight man jumped and looked over at his student. He nodded furiously and cast worried glances at the center of the room.

"Right, right," Slughorn said, "I shall need to take Mr. Zabini's wand."

"I've got it, sir," Harry said, "here."

Slughorn looked even more worried as he asked, "I supposed you've cast Finite Incantatem already..? Right, well, we'll just have to try casting it together. Ready, Mr. Potter. On three..."

Before either of them could cast, the spell disappeared with one bright flash. Harry quickly covered his eyes, hoping that whatever had just happened wasn't an explosion. Slowly, as the flash dissipated, the witnesses lowered their hands and turned back to watch what was going on in the center of the circle.

"Draco," the girl, who was smaller up close, scrambled to the center, followed by another two people. Harry saw another flash of lightening by Malfoy's ear, and scrambled forward to stop them.

"Wai- oof!"

A blast of magic knocked the other students and himself back. Harry thought he saw Zabini go flying somewhere.

"What did you do," Malfoy's voice rose beside the echoes of pain, "What did you do!?"

Shocks of magical lightening periodically highlighted his skin and the air around him.

"Harry," said Hermione breathlessly from right beside him, with Ron right behind her, "we have to stop him before he hurts someone."

"I guessed that. I just don't know how to stop... that," Harry said, flailing an arm uselessly at Malfoy. The blonde was getting to his feet, slowly and unevenly; he stumbled where he stood. Harry thought, for all of the magic that was flowing in the air around him, he looked pretty weak.

"He can't control his magic," Hermione said, "Oh, what did that book say about controlling someone's magic! You could bind it, but that would take too long to teach and to complete."

"Levicorpus," Malfoy shouted, and Zabini flew up by his heels, screaming.

"Hermione," Harry warned.

"Some losses of control are like panic attacks," Hermione recited, "So maybe if you go and talk him through some breathing exercises-"

"Talk!? We'll be electrocuted to death before we can even get close enough," Ron said, incredulous, "Or worse, have our heads disapparated!"

Harry was not listening to Ron, but instead, moving forward before his mind had been truly made up. He had already been helping Malfoy through rehabilitation, through his tears, and suffering. Though Harry figured he wasn't that big of an influence in Malfoy's life, just because of those short two weeks, he would still try to have a go at this.

"Harry mate," Ron said, grabbing his arm. The red head searched his eyes and sighed, "Right then. I'm going with you. Backup."

Harry didn't know if he would need any, but he nodded grimly at his friend anyway. They slowly approached Malfoy, Harry stopping Ron before they could get too close. Harry came as close as he would dare and began speaking, "Er... Malfoy. Malfoy! You've got to stop!"

Malfoy whipped around, a wave of intense magic washing over Harry as he did so. Harry felt his skin tingle, and he could faintly smell cocoa. Vaguely, an image of the house elves making dessert popped into his mind.

"Malfoy-"

"Get away, Potter!"

Malfoy swung his arm, and instinctively, Harry dived into a roll. Nothing happened, and Malfoy looked at Harry as though he were an idiot. Harry felt his face bloom with heat. He repeated, "Erm... You've got to stop."

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Saint Potter," Malfoy growled, and Harry noticed his breaths were heavy and labored. He was clutching his chest.

"Mr. Malfoy," Mcgonagall, who had just arrived, along with another gaggle of professors, "Put Zabini down right this instant."

The blonde spun around dangerously fast, and said in a voice that sounded frighteningly close to an animal's growl, "I don't think I will. We're not finished our duel."

"Draco," the girl and her companions were back again, struggling to get to the middle, "That's enough. Everything is going to be fine!"

"Fine!? Fine, Cezanne," he screamed breathlessly at her, "Everything is ruined! Look at me!"

As his mouth moved around the last word, a crack of lightening smashed into the ground next to him. As it faded, Harry noticed his shaking hands and his failing posture. Without thinking, the brunette conjured a large duvet.

"Harry," Ron hissed from behind him. Harry was quite sure he didn't know what he was doing. He was also sure that he probably had more experience comforting Malfoy than anyone else there. With a deep breath and a false confidence, Harry moved forward.

"Malfoy," Harry said softly, "Take deep breaths."

"Get away from me, Potter, " Malfoy repeated. Harry could see him wavering; almost literally. His legs looked as though they would give at any second. Harry needed to be close enough to catch him.

"Take deep breaths," Harry repeated, "You can't figure this out if you don't calm down."

"I know what happened," Malfoy howled at him, "Zabini-"

"He's not important. He's floating up there, right where you want him. You can get back to him anytime you want. But you're not alright, yeah? The way you were shouting, there's got to be something wrong. Are you in pain? Maybe we should get to Madame Pomfrey," Harry said very quietly, and approached Malfoy just as slowly as he would a hippogriff. This was a tactic Harry would use when Malfoy was convulsing in a corner

"Potter- no- magic... he," Malfoy panted and stuttered, his hands outstretched before him as if he was reaching for Harry hesitantly.

"Deep breaths, Malfoy. In... out. Let me just... Let me just take you back... or let me cover you up... If it hurts you can hold on to me. Just take deep breaths," Harry said in a mantra, finally getting close enough to Malfoy to cover him with the blanket. It seemed to act like a damper, and the crackling magic in the air faded out quickly. Zabini floated back down to the ground, feet first. He fell on his butt, whimpering as McGonagall approached him and ushered him away to be checked by Pomfrey.

Malfoy was grasping his arm tightly. His body was still shaking, and he was practicing his deep breathing. His eyes were still bright masses of energy. Harry worried that Malfoy would not be able to see anything after this.

"It ok, right," Harry assured, "Let me take you back. Pomfrey can help. Take deep breaths... Hold onto me."

"Shut... up, Potter," Malfoy said slowly as he passed out in his arms.


Gosh, this chapter was a mess. Hopefully the next one will be better. I'm so bad at fight scenes.