This is kinda a short chapter, have massive massive writers block. Hope you enjoy and welcome to 2012!
Harry watched Snape pace the narrow room with narrowed eyes. He looked like a panther, prowling about all snarls and spitting. Finally he stopped, fixing Harry with a glare. The green eyed man held up his hands in innocence, he hadn't done anything to deserve the hostility. Snape grunted and Harry realized that he wasn't actually angry just frustrated. Snape threw himself into a smart little chair and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers propping up his chin. His stare was unnerving and Harry had to fight to keep himself from fidgeting under it.
"Do you have any idea what that thing was?" Snape asked his voice cutting through the pregnant air. It was the same question he had asked thirty minutes ago. And Harry still had no answer.
"No, I told you already, I have no idea what it was, or if it was even real." It flashed into his mind. Pale faced, with eyes that glowed milky white and that mouth. That mouth that seemed like an afterthought, crooked, a slash against the pale rot that was its skin. Teeth shoved up every which way, looking more like a mouthful of glass than anything else. No, Harry didn't know what it was, or how he had escaped it, if it truly existed. Snape hissed from his chair across from him.
"That is no good Potter; I won't risk entering your mind again so soon. And even if I do bring out your lost memories there is no telling that you will truly remember." He broke off and began muttering things to himself. Harry caught the words "ministry" and "fucking" before Snape practically jumped out of the chair and marched out of the room, leaving Harry to wonder if it was revelation that had him up and running, or irritation.
Draco Malfoy was bored. When he had finally caved and brought Granger to dinner he had thought that was it. Surely Blaise didn't need a babysitter for all his dates. He had, however, woefully underestimated the cowardice of Blaise Zabini. Granger, it seemed, scared the bloody hell out of his Italian friend, and Blaise couldn't bear the thought of making a fool out of himself in front of her. And so Draco's presence was required, along with Pansy's; though she enjoyed the idea far more than he did. At the moment Blaise was fidgeting on the sofa next to him pulling at the tassels on one of the cushions, Granger was doing something in the kitchens, though why a house elf could not do the same thing…
Oh yes.
He had almost forgotten her ridiculous obsession with house elves. He looked to Blaise again and saw that he had now progressed to pulling the offending threads out. He reached over and covered his friends hand with his own.
"Blaise, if Severus sees you destroying his precious furniture he'll kill you." Blaise's brown eyes widened and he tugged on his hand to get it back. But Draco was not finished. He clamped down digging his nails in slightly to emphasis the importance of this last point. "Stop. Your. Worrying. She likes you well enough, if she didn't we all wouldn't be on a second 'date'. So quit being such a child about it and find your courage. Since when are you scared of women anyway?" He let go of Blaise's hand a finger at a time and shuffled himself back over into his corner of the couch.
"I know! I can't help it with her. She's just so smart and so beautiful; it's difficult to be around her. Ugh!" He leaned on the arm of the couch, hands covering his eyes. Draco snorted with thinly veiled contempt and Pansy smiled, clicking her tongue. She shook her head, silky black curls sliding around her face.
"Blaise, Blaise, Blaise, of course you are intimidated. Hermione is a wonderful woman, all the things a man might want. It's quite natural to fear the fact that she has somehow chosen you." She would have added more, of that Draco was entirely sure of, but the door to the kitchen was creaking open and Hermione was backing out a large tray piled with tea and biscuits and other small foods balancing rather precariously in her arms. The blond stood from his seat and swept the tray from her hands, sneering at her when she looked at him in gratitude.
"Why is there so much food on this tray? We just ate dinner; did you really think we were still hungry?" She frowned and shook her head, running her palm over her hair.
"No, I was just going to get some tea and a few biscuits together. But the house elves caught me before I could get away." She gave him a rueful look and settled herself back in her seat. Blaise, who had righted himself from his earlier position of shame, was shooting Draco a dark look. Confused Draco set the tray on the small table in front of them and snagged a cucumber sandwich. Hermione smiled at him and proceeded to pour out four cups of tea.
"What is it?" Draco asked, sniffing the cup's contents. It smelt like a delicious mix of peach and cream… and something else. Utterly intoxicating.
"Peach Melba. Some sort of expensive tea." She smiled at him again and Blaise shot him another look. Pansy watched the proceedings one eyebrow raised.
"So, Blaise, I know I should have asked before but, what is it you do?" Hermione turned her gaze on the Italian and he promptly snatched back the hand that had been making rude gestures at Draco.
"I work for a commercial firm. We advertise people's inventions, ideas, things like that." He shrugged.
"Oh, what is it called?"
"Danbury Productions."
"They do muggle commercials!" Hermione blushed a little at her outburst and then continued, "I mean, I've heard of them, they do very nice work. I think my parents actually advertised their business through Danbury."
"Yes, we dabble in a little bit of everything." He looked uncomfortable with continued attention he was receiving and sunk at little into his seat. Hermione, smart as she was, turned and invited to group to discuss their Hogwarts days.
Draco groaned as the girls started chattering on about how much they had hated each other. He would never understand women, why on earth were they happy that they had once been enemies? Blaise, when he looked at him seemed just as confused.
Oh well, Draco decided, at least it broke some of the tension.
The rest of the evening went on fairly well; he had four cups of the delicious Peach Melba tea and two more of the little sandwiches. Conversation had stayed pleasant and Granger had been an excellent host. Seeing as Severus had never come back to be the host. Blaise had given her a kiss on the cheek as they left.
Almost as soon as the door to the manor closed Draco felt himself being shoved.
"What in the bloody hell are you playing at Blaise?" Draco spat.
"What on earth did you think you were pulling in there? Taking the tray from her, and then flirting!" Draco felt his mouth drop; Blaise thought he had been flirting with Granger? They may have called a truce but that did not mean that he was going to pursue her romantically.
"Are you bloody mental?"
"It did look bad for you Draco," Pansy said calmly, "I know you didn't mean to flirt. But it was rather chivalrous to take the tray for her. And such things do make impressions on women." Draco wanted to pull his hair out by the roots.
"Of course I took the damned tray! It was going to fall over if I hadn't, besides it is the gentlemanly thing to do. I'm sorry that Blaise was too busy wallowing in self pity to think of it first. I mean Merlin it was practically a see-saw in her arms!" He flung his arms into the air in exasperation. "Can we just get to the apparation point so I can get away from the nonsense you two are spewing?" Blaise growled and spun around, stomping away, Pansy gave him a measured look and followed him.
Draco muttered a prayer for strength and gave pursuit.
His arms were tired, so tired and heavy. But he couldn't stop, stopping meant George would die. His fingers clawed at the ground, pulling the nails from them. Blood made his hand slick, slippery it was hard to grab at the dead, cracked, ground. His grip on George was weakening, the fabric of his robe shifting out of his grip. A sob tore itself out of his throat as he tried to wrap more and more of the fabric around his hand. He pulled, moving them another inch. The hand that dragged them was now completely without fingernails, and it hurt.
The wet of their clothes pulled on them, adding more weight for Harry to carry. And he already had to carry so much. Another sob, another feeble pull at the earth, another few inches forward. Their progress was slowly, achingly slow and Harry knew they had to go faster if they wanted to escape what was chasing them. He barred his tear, struggling to see through the tears.
Another pull. Another inch.
Another pull.
Another pull.
And then the air broke around them. The unnatural stillness of it shattering against him. He might have been screaming. But if he was it was unconsciously done. He couldn't turn. Didn't want to look, couldn't look. But once again the air stirred with the gentle pop-pop of lips as they tried to form words. Shaking Harry twisted his head around to look.
He was screaming in earnest now, scrabbling back, pulling on George's limp body, fat tears rolling down his face. He pushed against the ground with his legs, forgetting why he hadn't used them before. They were broken; he knew that now because pain was shooting through them. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered only that he had to get away. But the pop-pop was getting closer, leaning over him.
A ruined mouth came into his vision. A slash against pale skin, a mash of rotten teeth inside. And it was opening, wider and wider. It was going to swallow him, eat him.
Another pull, another inch.
It didn't matter how hard he pulled now, inches weren't enough to keep it away. Inches couldn't put distance between Harry and that gentle pop-pop of lips.
Another pull.
George's body pushed him down, but he couldn't let go. Crying, and shrieking Harry kept pulling, his fingers wearing down to bloody nubs.
He felt lips on his shoulder, teeth scraping the skin.
And then it bit down.
Harry woke with a gasp. He was still sitting in the room Snape had left him in. His body curled up uncomfortably on the chair. There was a blanket over him, where there hadn't been one before. He supposed Donald had put it there. He seemed like the type. Sighing Harry peeled the blanket off, it was thick with his sweat, as were his clothes. He needed a shower, desperately. He stood with creaking bones, his limbs still heavy with disuse and wished he was back at his flat.
He hated taking showers at other people's homes. There was something so… awkward about it.
He made it to his rooms without problem. And slipped into the bathroom. The water was warm as it slid down his back in rivers. His hands braced against the wall, keeping him up. He looked at them. All his nails were there. So did that mean that it was only a dream? He shuddered with the thought and turned his hand over. There was no sign of his struggle on them, no scars, nothing. He flipped it so it was palm down and for a moment the image of how his hand had been flashed before him.
Nails pulled off, the skin underneath mashed up into what resembled ground beef. Blood covering it, the skin of his palm scraped off, small bits of debris mixed in with the meat of it. He shook the picture of it out of his mind. When he looked again all he saw was his hand. Slightly pink with the heat, and weathered.
He may not want to admit it. But he needed Snape's help.
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