AN: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! But like I said, I'm having to actually write these chapters whereas before I had the story already written so I was just updating. Now I'm writing. But, anyway, I AM SO SORRY AND WILL TRY TO UPDATE MORE QUICKLY IN THE FUTURE. As always, thank you so very much to those who are reviewing/favoriting/following.
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"Spiculum Morsus!" Harry shouts, his voice bleeding in through the darkness. Little rivulets of pain hurl through my nose and there's a peculiar
metallic taste lingering on my tongue. The zest of blood is all too familiar. I groan and blink repeatedly, trying to make sense of the blurry
bright world in front of me. Harry is kneeling over me, his mouth is moving but the words are lost. Gently, the tip of a wand is placed to my
nose and I watch as Harry's blurry lips curve around the letters, forming a spell I can't bother to understand.
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My nose briefly flashes hot and then burns very cold. Moments later my hearing returns with soft words that spill through the air like a tipped
glass. Harry grasps my hand and hauls me to my feet, crushing me in an embrace.
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In front of the Great Hall.
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And I'm the dramatic one.
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"Harry, love," I whisper through gritted teeth. This is not a good place for the Boy-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord to embrace the One-With-The-
Dark-Mark. Most of my irritation is because of Weaselbee, but that little tiny percentage left goes to everyone else in the Great Hall. Maybe if
they stare long enough then we'll burst into flames. Or at least I will.
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"Mr. Potter release Mr. Malfoy and both of you follow me," The sharp voice of Minerva McGonagall leaks from behind me and Harry stiffens just
the slightest bit. His warm breath ghosts across my ear, a sigh. One that promises to discuss this later, along with many other things. I smirk
into Harry's shoulder for a moment before taking a step back.
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The wall across from me explodes with purple light as the first curse of many soars past my head.
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"What happened?" McGonagall asks sternly, folding her hands atop the headmaster's desk. My eyes flit from my knees over to Harry, who
glances up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore (who also looks unusually severe), and then his green eyes return to staring at some fixed
point on the floor, full of anger. I've seen that look often enough, usually through stolen glances in the beginning of the year. There was a
limit, once long ago, but he has passed it. His eyes betray what his mouth cannot, that he is so full of rage that it has actually rendered him
speechless.
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"Weaselbee couldn't stand that his best friend hasn't seen what was in front of his face," I scowl sarcastically at the new Headmistress.
Something inside me seems to have ignited, blazes of vehemence rising violently. I bite my tongue and twist my fingers into the heavy fabric of
my robes. Carefully I arrange my face into a mask of what I know must look like indifference stained with disdain.
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McGonagall frowns, lips quirking down in a severe glower. Uncle's looks of disapproval is much better. Hers alight first years with fear. His
reduce them to ashes. She starts speaking, but I don't register any of the words. I'm torn between worrying over Harry and reciting Golpalotts
Third Law. Repetitively.
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"Weaselbee loves him, whether for the fame or his hair I don't know," I mock. Harry's head whips up angrily, as of right now anything he does
is done in anger. He stares at me intently, with a burning rage that has my inner mind reeling. But outside I am calm. Harry doesn't need to
see my wrath that mirrors his own. In fact I raise an eyebrow. I, Draco Malfoy, have just made a joke and Harry Potter is too upset to realize
it.
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There is one thing that almost breaks through my mask and overcomes my inner boiling hatred. I want to touch him. I want to take my thumb
and smooth it across his lips, tightened into a thin white line. Temptation has never been so strong. I bite my tongue and turn to face
McGonagall who is not laughing. She is severe, like always.
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"I doubt either of you are aware of the gravity of the situation. Mr. Weasley has multiple broken bones, one of which is his skull, alongside
effects of Mr. Potter's curse," She speaks sharply, as if there is broken glass embedded within her words. I meet her stare with one of my own.
If she thinks that after what Weaselbee has done to Harry, that I'm honestly going to give in to anything she tries to say, then she's gone
bloody well mad.
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"He could have died," Her voice drops. I glance at Harry. He's trembling and his eyes never move from his knees.
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At our lack of reaction she scowls. Again, my eyes flit over to Harry. What if that rage is directed towards me? My eyes widen
marginally at the thought. Breathe in. Breathe out. I can't handle that frame of mind at the moment. All of me, already a melodramatic one, is
thrown into the extremes. Surly vehemence for Ron that could rival that of my feelings I harbored towards the Dark Lord, push my mind into a
place I had to claw my way out of.
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"Detention for the both of you. A month with Mr. Filch," McGonagall's voice is a murmur in my head, quieted by the raging eddy of my
own thoughts. The punishment hardly registers in my mind, a mere flicker. My thoughts are on Harry, whose anger I can practically touch,
brushing my fingers against it, like a thick curtain that's soft, but never moves.
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"Are you bloody mad?! After everything we have gone through, you honestly think detention will scare us?" Harry whispers. My eyes
widen, just a fraction. Oh Harry, love, we'll discuss this later. Don't argue with her. She's not worth it. I twist my fingers further into my robe to
keep them still. Careful to keep my indifferent mask plastered cautiously into place, I watch as Harry detonates.
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"Mr. Potter! I am quite aware of the current situation," Her face tightens, flitting through emotions as if she doesn't know what to
say or how to feel, "Be that as it may, I am the headmistress of this school and your actions cannot go unpunished!"
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"Unpunished?" Harry's voice drops, agony bleeding through his words, "What makes you think our lives are easy? Or that we don't
wake up screaming in the middle of the night?" He stares angrily at McGonagall, who has paled considerably, strange when paired with her
still stern eyes.
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"Haven't we gone through enough shit already? What will detention accomplish that a Second Wizarding War hasn't already?" His
voice rises dangerously. This is not what normal Harry would have said. Normal Harry would have nodded his head of black hair and laughed
with me later. Normal Harry has disappeared and dark Harry has slid in, a wet depressing creature that curls up in the blackest corner of his
mind. I've seen this Harry once, at the very beginning of the year when Uncle Snape remarked on the less than excellent state of his potion.
Harry responded cruelly and stalked out of the room, putting my dramatic exits to shame.
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"You are not the only one who has lost someone you loved, you seem to have forgotten that Potter," She answers him in the cool
defeated tone of someone who has endured far more than anyone realizes. She loves all of her students, with the exception of a few and me,
and a great deal died when she couldn't stretch herself thin enough to protect them all. But that's not her fault. I think back to who else she
could mean. Oh. Him. They were together? Little shock waves tumble through my head, attempting to process this new information. I never
saw that coming. I watch her with a sad interest. Tears pool in her eyes. That's the only answer I need.
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Bringing myself to my feet, I brush my fingers across the back of Harry's neck, careful to keep the robe covering my
arm's entirety. Stiffly, he stands, anger and rage fitting him like his cloak. My hand drops to his wrist, pulling him out of the office. The broken
cries of Minerva McGonagall reach our ears just as the door shuts.
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Harry tears his hand from mine only to clutch my wrist tightly enough to make my fingers grown numb. He sprints down the Grand
Staircase, hauling me in tow. Each marble step barely touches my toes before my foot moves on to the one below it. It takes most of my
concentration to keep from tripping over my own feet.
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Before I've even cleared the staircase Harry drags me roughly down the Third Floor corridor, eerily quiet without the bulging masses
of students to fill the air with gossip and hexes. My lungs are actually burning. In fact, I'm quite sure they'll explode if we don't stop soon. I
open my mouth to warn Harry of my impending death when a familiar hump is flung into my view.
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The One-Eyed-Witch in all her stone glory.
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Finally, Harry stops. I take heaving gulps of air as if they were my last, doubling over when my stomach lurches unpleasantly.
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"Dissendium," Harry pants raggedly, the word hardly a gasp, his fingers barely curled around his wand. What the bloody hell is Harry
playing at?! Making me run like that! The One-Eyed-Witch slides open and Harry pulls my wrist, literally yanking me to my knees. It doesn't
take much for me to slide down the short tunnel into the depths of the castle. A grating sound floats through the air above us, the statue
grinding to a close, immersing us in darkness.
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"What a little git!" Harry curses angrily. I can't see my own hand in front of my face. Rough hands press against my shoulders,
slinging me into the nearest wall.
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"Oohmph!" I yell in surprise. Immediately Harry's lips crush my own and I can't stop myself from giving in under his attack. My mind
melts as the blood rushes downwards. I try to untangle my thoughts, yarn in a kitten's playpen. Harry is…angry…that much is quite clear. But
the hardness pressing against my leg tells a different story.
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"Harry," I murmur beneath his lips, unable to do more under his onslaught. He just groans and twists his fingers with mine, pressing
my back further into the wall. A noise of appreciation finds its way from my throat at this. I attempt to gather a thought, having given up on
multiple thoughts. Harry is well and truly pissed off. And, unsure, as to whether the dormitories are honestly empty, he drags me into a secret
passage to…it slips from my mind, trailing off into nothingness as Harry bites my lip none too gently. Harry shifts a bit lower and begins
pressing kisses down to my neck, worrying a bruise there with his teeth. Practically writhing under him, I pull one of my hands free and splay it
on the hot skin under his shirt, clutching at him with desperate fingertips.
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"Shouldn't have hit you," Harry whispers brokenly against my neck, "Stupid, selfish prat."
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I don't have an answer that he would like. Instead, I free my other hand and use them to bring him back up to where I can kiss him.
For once in my life, I'm thankful for the darkness that hides my face. He can leave me, I think painfully as I pull Harry as close as possible. Or he
can hope Weaselbee will get over it. I laugh mentally, harshly.
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Harry pulls away slowly, touching his lips to my nose. Our ragged breathing fills the empty silence surrounding us. I panic, eyes
widening despite knowing Harry is just as blind as I am in this damp darkness under the castle. Has he come to the same conclusion I have? Is
he going to leave? I feel the tears burning in the back of my eyes but pride keeps them from spilling over. I refuse to cry in front of him. I press
myself as far into the wall I can, attempting to put some distance between us, wanting nothing more than to slink out of his reach.
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Harry, with his messy black hair and green eyes, tugs me into an embrace, crushing me to his chest. I breathe carefully, trying at the
same time to breathe in as much of Harry while I can and slowing my fluttering heart.
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"It's going to be hard," Harry murmurs defiantly, a whisper carrying through the dark. My heart lurches to my throat, damn emotions.
He's not leaving. The Boy Who Lived, coming to the rescue again. I chuckle softly and bury my face into his neck. This might work.
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As long as Weaselbee doesn't hit me again. I don't think McGonagall would appreciate any more death on the grounds at my
expense.
AN: I hope you enjoyed! If you recognize it, I don't own it. I just own the plot. I have a feeling that Draco is recently becoming OOC and I am so terribly sorry...*crawls into box of shame*