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Lesson Nine
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Draco Malfoy was furious.
And too buzzed to care.
Someone, Draco guessed it was Weasley, had supplied this early celebration with a superfluous amount of liquor, leading to the Slytherin's current state of inebriation. He muttered darkly to himself as he watched Potter get mobbed by the grateful throng of witches and wizards, the dark head of hair barely visible over the masses.
"Lovers' spat?" Davies asked lightly from Draco's side, causing the boy to startle slightly, spilling some of his drink to the floor. Draco turned to glare at Davies, who merely smiled in return.
"You already know the answer to your idiotic insinuation, Davies, so don't waste my time by asking it." Davies chuckled at Draco's growl, raising his glass of water in agreement.
"Well, I suppose you're right, Malfoy. I just wanted to know if your sour mood could be attributed to anything other than Potter's arrival." Draco narrowed his eyes at the Ravenclaw, who was gazing in the Saviour's direction. "And I think I have my answer." Davies' grin took an odd twist. "I suppose some things never change. Good morning, Malfoy," Davies nodded once before turning away, leaving Draco to his secluded corner.
It took two more sips of scalding alcohol and five more overheard squeals from Potter's fans before Draco made his huffy exit from the hall. He didn't have a destination in mind as he stomped through the echoing hallways, but he found himself outside of the entryway to the Slytherin common room, the once-secret entrance now gaping and crumbling from mould and decay.
He stumbled through the cavernous and empty room, making his way to the stairwell that led up to the boys' dorms. He ignored the large patches of moss and debris that had yet to be cleared away as he continued to climb.
The door creaked loudly as Draco pushed it open, revealing his old room. He stepped inside, walking to the window and staring out over the surface of the lake, visible only in the uppermost rooms of the dungeons.
Rage welled up in his chest as he gazed at the murky, dark depths of water. "Fucking Potter," he seethed as he turned to plop down on his old bed, the wooden frame groaning beneath his weight. How dare he just show up here, without any sort of reason? He's been fucking missing for weeks – even the public knows now, for Merlin's sake. He better have a fucking good excuse for this shit, Draco thought heatedly as he scraped his fingernails against the bare mattress, remembering the awful weeks Potter had been gone.
Oh, please. You're just relieved he's back where you can watch him, that traitorous voice muttered dryly in his mind, causing Draco's expression to twist into something bitter.
But he didn't deny it.
o
Draco strode through the fifth floor hallway, wondering how he was going to avoid Potter for however long he was going to be in the bloody castle when he heard voices coming from the Prefects' bathroom. He peaked into the open entranceway, finding Wood and Flint working on the broken windows and walls.
"Oh, Malfoy," Flint nodded in greeting as he stretched his tired limbs.
"Why are you two working? Shouldn't you be celebrating 'Harry Potter Day' like the rest of the masses?" Draco tried not to sneer, but failed. Flint raised an amused eyebrow, while Wood simply shrugged.
"I think I'll survive without hearing Potter's glory days recounted for the thousandth time," Marcus grunted, causing Draco's mouth to twitch into a smile. Merlin, he'd missed Slytherins.
"So," Wood spoke up. "You gonna lend a hand?" He gestured at the fissures running through the elaborately decorated bathroom. Draco paused for only a moment before nodding, climbing down into the pool-like tub in the floor, nearing the daunting crack that split the stone.
He closed his eyes, the tense lines fading from the corners of his thin lips as he kneeled. He lightly ran his first two fingers against the sharp cut in the marble, his mild smile growing as he greeted the iridescent, infinite force that he'd come to feel whenever the castle responded, that brilliant intelligence pushing all other thoughts from his mind.
Taking a deep breath, he began the now-familiar steps to establish the bond, and he watched as the edges began to connect.
"Fucking hell, Malfoy," Wood wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stood on the edge of the bathtub, turning a dry smirk onto Draco as he watched. "How do you do this so fucking quickly?"
Draco shrugged, feeling satisfied as he let Hogwarts feed at his magic.
But then something was wrong.
Draco felt it in his core first, the amount of power he was sharing with Hogwarts suddenly fluctuating, as though Hogwarts had, in a quick moment, lost a large source of energy. And then a sharp stab of what Draco could only register as rage came through the link.
Then the rumbling began, an ominous, irate grating that began deep under Draco's feet. Draco opened his eyes, his mind blanking when the crack beneath his hand began to widen, a dark, never-ending hole opening in front of his eyes.
"Malfoy!" Marcus hollered from the entranceway, shouting some sort of muddled spell that sent Draco shooting out of the bathtub and into one of the walls, a dull, flat pain dominating his senses as he fell to the floor, his leg crumbled beneath him.
Marcus and Wood were shouting something as the pool's floor turned into nothingness, and cracks began to spider up the sides of the walls. "-out of here, now!" Wood shouted over the sound of destruction, running over to Draco's side and heaving him onto his side. Marcus gestured wildly from the door, nearing his two teammates to help their escape.
They'd only just made it out of the entrance when it snapped shut behind them, allowing the three men to make it a few more feet into the corridor before they collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily.
"Shit!" Wood cursed loudly, hitting his fist against the unforgiving stone. Marcus grunted in agreement as Draco grasped at his ankle, breathing heavily.
"Malfoy? Y'alright?" Marcus asked suspiciously as he sat up, looking at the fellow Slytherin with thought.
"No," Draco hissed, scorching pinpricks of pain climbing up his leg as the adrenaline began to cool in his veins. "I need to see Madame Pomfrey. Now," he emphasized as his ankle swelled as he watched, and angry, purple veins climbed up his skin as he lifted his trousers.
"No Madame Pomfrey here, mate. All we've got is Angelina," Wood said as he kneeled on Draco's left, Marcus on his right as the two men shrugged Draco's body between them, casting a quick spell to make his body a bit lighter. "She was training to be a Mediwizard at Mungo's before George talked her into helping here." But Draco wasn't listening, his nausea rising with each bump of the stairs against his foot.
"I don't think he's hearing a word you're saying."
Dull, throbbing pain.
"Nah, I guess not. That leg looks pretty messed up."
Sharp knives of scalding heat.
"Yeah. Where did you say Johnson was?"
Rough grinds of nausea in his gut.
"Uh, I dunno."
They stopped. Draco groaned.
"Figure we should just go to the Hall? Potter's party is probably still going on. Johnson might be there."
"No!" Draco panted as his two handlers began down the last set of stairs to the Hall. "Not Potter!"
Draco saw Marcus and Wood exchange a perplexed look. Wood turned slightly concerned eyes to Draco. "Malfoy, someone needs to fix your leg. Soon," he emphasized, still moving towards the celebrations.
Draco groaned again, resigning himself to his unfortunate fate. "Fucking Potter," he breathed as the odd trio stepped into the Hall.
The group of twenty or so witches and wizards fell silent as Marcus and Wood gingerly sat Draco down on the corner of one of the unused tables on the edge of the room. "Angelina?" Wood called the woman over, with Weasley following behind.
Johnson frowned at Draco, clearly having some sort of moral debate if she was going to help him or not. But she finally sighed, kneeling and pulling out her wand. "What did you do to him?" she asked Marcus coldly, who glared in response.
"I was trying to save him from the bloody bathroom, that's what I did," Marcus replied with a sneer.
"You saved him…from a bathroom." Draco squirmed as Johnson lightly tapped her wand against his ankle, causing a numbing sensation to run up his leg.
Wood spoke up. "We were in the Prefects' bathroom, doing the typical repairs, when everything when to shit."
"Like the library?" Someone from the gathered crowd asked. Draco stifled his grunt of pain as Johnson sharply prodded his injury, but the throbbing almost immediately began to recede. He was finally coherent enough to pay attention to the conversation, and the faces around him. He resented the part of him that was disappointed to not see Potter amongst the group.
Wood nodded. "Exactly. We're lucky we got out of there at all," he said grimly.
"Someone's going to need to tell McGonagall about this," Weasley pointed out.
Wood and Marcus shared a glance. "I'll tell her," Wood decided. "Anyone know where the Headmistress went?"
"She took Potter on a tour of our renovations. I think she said they were going to start with the new shields," O'Donnell piped up, pushing her glasses up her nose. Wood nodded, sharing one last pointed look with Johnson before he strode from the room.
That seemed to be the cue for the rest of the group to disperse, most mumbling about checking their previous projects to ensure future safety or some nonsense. Draco rolled his eyes; like any of these plebeians can stop Hogwarts when it gets angry.
"Alright, Malfoy, you should be fine now," Johnson said as she stood, brushing dust from the knees of her robes. Draco nodded his thanks, not willing to mutter the words. The Gryffindor frowned and turned away, Weasley following her after tossing a sneer in Draco's direction.
Draco soon sat in the empty Hall, unconsciously running his fingertips over the thin skin on his ankle as he balanced his body on the edge of the long table. He watched the grey, indistinguishable blobs of clouds condense on the infinite ceiling above him, suffocating the last, weak rays of sunlight.
The hall was dark. And quiet.
"Draco."
The Slytherin startled, tipping off of his precarious perch and falling to the floor in a painful heap of pale limbs. Fuckingshitcuntbastardsonofabitch, he fumed as he turned his head to peer over the top of the table he'd only just been seated on, knowing that voice too well.
Harry Potter stared back at him, eyebrows raised in an odd mixture of concern, amusement, and consternation.
o
"Are you alright?"
"…"
"…Are you going to say anything?"
"…"
"Do you need help getting up?"
"…"
"Draco?"
"Stop calling me that, Potter," Draco finally hissed, standing with his chin held high. Potter stared into his eyes with an intensity Draco had forgotten.
"…Fine," Potter said simply, his unblinking gaze still focused on Draco. The two men stood there, a world of distance between them.
"Well, Potter, as riveting as this conversation has been," Draco smiled acidly as his sarcasm echoed into the rafters, "I have more important things to do than share silence with the Boy Wonder." Potter's face remained expressionless as Draco began to walk his way, knowing that he'd have to pass Potter to get through the entrance.
He couldn't help but hold his breath as he stepped past Potter's stiff body, close enough to catch a hint of the smell and heat of the tan man's skin. He had huffed out a sigh of relief and…dissatisfaction as he continued a metre past Potter when an iron-like grip clamped down on his left wrist, bringing his body to a jarring halt.
"What the fuck, Potter?" He snarled as he turned to face the man, trying to free his arm. Potter didn't reply at first, digging his blunt fingernails into the pale flesh of Draco's forelimb.
"I need to explain, Draco," the words were serious, those green eyes so unnervingly earnest that Draco stopped struggling for a brief moment.
But then the fire of resentment he'd been tending all those weeks flared up in his gut.
"And why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction of giving your pithy excuses? You fucking vanished for weeks, leaving me to deal with the shit-storm caused by those fucking articles." Draco sneered, his mouth twisted into a cruel grin as he confidently returned Potter's stare. "There isn't an excuse good enough in the entire fucking world to make us anything other than enemies, Potter."
"I don't want to give excuses, Malfoy – I just want you to know why," Potter glared, but loosened his grip, allowing Draco to tear his arm away.
"How clear to I have to make this, Scarhead?" Draco hissed, angry irrationality keeping reason from his mind. "I don't give a fuck about what you've been doing this whole fucking time – so leave me alone!"
He didn't give Potter time to respond as he pivoted on his heel and stomped away, his mind blank with rage.
o
Minutes or maybe hours later, Draco found himself on the seventh floor, his footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted corridors he'd known so well back in sixth year. His breath was still coming out in odd, broken pants, but his heart-rate gradually slowed, allowing him to actually think about his encounter with Potter.
His eyes traced the fading half-crescents on his skin where Potter's fingers had been mere minutes before. His feet stopped, and a deep sigh expelled from his chest. He reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Why exactly did I rebuff Potter so thoroughly? Didn't I want to hear his excuses?
"…Fuck," he mumbled finally, sulkily stowing his hands in the pockets of his robes as he began walking mindlessly again. He stopped when he came to an eerily familiar expanse of wall, the hideous tapestry of dancing trolls gone, no doubt destroyed during the war.
I need a place to be alone.
I need a place to be alone.
I need a place to be alone.
The wall remained blank, unresponsive. Draco's eyes narrowed as he repeated his desire, and walked three times in front of the Room of Requirement.
Nothing.
Draco huffed out an angry breath, frustration bleeding through him. "Fine, dammit!" He hissed, kicking the barrier, stubbing his toe painfully and scuffing his last pair of expensive loafers.
He turned and stormed away, wondering if this day could get any fucking worse.
o
He was in the Great Hall again, Potter's painfully tight grip on his forearm, those emerald eyes piercing his own with an unreadable emotion. "I need to explain, Draco," the words floated through the air, feeling distorted to Draco's ears.
"And why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction of giving your pithy excuses?" The biting remark seared itself on Draco's tongue.
Potter's mouth twitched into an odd smile, throwing Draco off-guard.
"Because I left for you." Draco felt his brow wrinkle in confusion, his heart speeding up.
"…'For me'?" He repeated warily – but Potter wasn't listening, those green eyes and those pink lips leaning into his space.
And then they were kissing.
A war of emotions ripped through Draco's chest as Potter firmly grasped the back of his neck, that rough thumb rubbing against the joint in Draco's jaw, forcing it to open to Potter's tongue.
Confusion.
Anger.
Shame.
Lust.
Desperation.
He kissed back.
Draco opened his eyes.
He stared at the dark nothingness of the ceiling.
The darkness laughed noiselessly at him.
He scrambled out of his sweat-soaked sheets, feeling unable to breathe. He sat on the edge of his mattress, panting as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the windows, the dappled light from thousands of stars dotting his skin.
Heart still racing, he stood on stiff legs, pulling on a jumper over his thin shirt before stepping through his darkened rooms into the hallway.
He walked, his bare feet turning icy on the cool stone.
Moonlight danced around him, on him, through him.
The halls were silent as the bare few other inhabitants of the castle slept in their rooms, unaware of Draco's night-time stroll. He focused on his breaths, on the steading thump, thump of his heartbeat. The disquiet, the anxiety seemed to lurk behind him, kept at bay by his concentration.
Draco stopped, registering his surroundings as somewhere on the sixth floor. He sighed, an echo of a memory in his ears. He stared out the window, watching the glistening mystery of the lake, his mind entertaining the idea of submerging himself in the waters and never having to come back up.
"-cus!"
Draco turned his head in the direction of the hastily muffled mutter, his heart suddenly pounding. His footsteps were a mere whisper of a sound as he neared the nearby abandoned classroom a few metres away, his body curling into a smaller curve as he approached the small sliver of light coming from the crack in the doorway. He leaned in minutely, silently peering into the classroom.
He raised his pale hand to cover his sharp breath.
His first thought was that Wood and Marcus were fighting physically, but his face heated when he realized they were merely snogging violently, with Wood sitting on the edge of one of the desks while Marcus stood in between his legs.
Warmth climbed up Draco's spine as he heard the slick noises from the men's clashing mouths and the choked groans as Marcus reached down to undo the front of Wood's trousers. Wood laughed throatily as Marcus murmured something in his ear, too quiet for Draco to hear from his crouched position at the door.
"I know, you bastard," Wood replied with a drowsy smile before wrapping his arms around Marcus' shoulders and pulling him back onto the desk with a dull thud! and more chuckles from the two men.
Draco pulled back from the view, breathing deeply as he thunk-ed his head against the stone wall. He couldn't help but notice the front of his tented pyjama bottoms and remember the dream he'd been trying to outrun. Merlin, if I'd stayed asleep longer, would Potter and I be doing…that?
He didn't even try to smother the part of him that answered I hope so.
ooOoo
Draco hadn't fallen back to sleep, so he rose early to dress and head down to the kitchens. He'd had to learn many secrets of Hogwarts back in his school days, and the secret entrance to the kitchens was only one of several he'd discovered.
The painting swung open, revealing the bustling heart of the castle. He caught the attention of a passing group of house-elves and procured an apple and some toast before he headed back out, feeling in desperate need of some fresh air.
The grounds were wet with dew, and sparkled invitingly in the early morning light. Draco began making his way towards the lake, munching on his apple, when a dark figure caught his eyes.
"Prof– Headmistress?" Draco quickly corrected, surprised at seeing the older woman up at such an hour.
McGonagall watched Draco over her spectacles. "Good morning, Mister Malfoy. Would you care to join me on my morning walk around the lake?" Draco nodded, stepping alongside the headmistress as they continued along her well-worn path around the silent waters.
"I heard about what transpired in the Prefects' washroom yesterday," McGonagall stated after a few minutes, causing Draco to turn and meet her gaze. "Is your leg healed?" Draco nodded, swallowing his final bite of apple before Vanishing the core with a flick of his fingers.
"Yes; Johnson did a fine job." McGonagall nodded, looking deep in thought.
"I don't quite know what to make of these events, Mister Malfoy. It seems as though Hogwarts is trying to defend itself from something, but is confusing us with its attackers." McGonagall sighed. "Hundreds of children are due to arrive here in three weeks, yet I cannot even assure the safety of the group of volunteers that are here presently. If only…" She trailed off, staring at something in the surrounding hills that Draco couldn't see.
"Headmistress?" McGonagall blinked, seemingly breaking from her thoughts.
"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"
Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm not sure if this is relevant information, but I believe Hogwarts must be spending a large amount of its magical energy on something internal, something that isn't going away, causing a constant lack of magic for the castle to repair itself."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Please explain."
"Well, Hogwarts is similar to one of us, a living witch or wizard with a magical core that can withstand a certain amount of use before it needs time to recover – like any other muscle in the body." McGonagall nodded. "I think this core is what the volunteers are tapping into every time we help the castle repair itself – we are giving it a tiny bit more magic to fill up a mostly empty supply."
"But why is Hogwarts' magic stock so low?"
Draco's mouth turned into an odd smile. "Well, that is the question, isn't it? If we can find what Hogwarts is constantly having to spend all of its magic destroying or neutralizing, we can stop it, allowing Hogwarts to naturally replenish itself and complete the repairs as expected."
McGonagall nodded, pondering. "Now, why did you say you believe the threat is internal?"
"That simply makes the most sense. After all, like you theorized before, Hogwarts seems to be confusing us with whatever it is trying to destroy when it uses up its large bouts of energy inside itself – I actually felt that surge when I was helping repairs in the Prefects' bathroom."
"You could feel the surge? How?"
"Well, I no longer use a wand for my spells, as my magic was too unstable after…everything in the war. In wandless magic, I have to channel energy straight from my core and modify it into whatever spell I need; I suppose I could feel more intimate changes in Hogwarts because our cores were directly connected, with no wand as a barrier."
"Fascinating," McGonagall noted with an interested grin. "Your hypothesis sounds logically sound, Mister Malfoy. I believe I will write to a few of my contacts and ask their thoughts on the matter. I thank you for sharing this with me. Now, please excuse me."
Draco smiled politely, watching her turn and begin the walk to the castle. He sighed, feeling oddly happy in his chest, as though he'd contributed to the cause. His grin turned more natural as he continued his circuitous walk, kicking at the loose rocks on the shores.
Harry Potter watched from the tree-line, a calculating glint in his eyes.
ooOoo
To be Continued…
ooOoo
606's Note: S'up! So, here's the chapter, a little late like I predicted. Anyways, I hope to post the next on next Friday like usual, so see you then!
(But, Merlin, do these things get harder and harder to write with each lesson – even with an outline, it's like pulling teeth!)
(Oh, and did you notice that there still hasn't been any Drarry smut? Man, I said slow-burn, but it's been around 33000 words and there's been some UST, some interrupted masturbation, and now some voyeurism. But no real smut. Hahaha.)
