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Lesson Eleven
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"Headmistress? You called for me?" Draco asked as he stepped through the door. McGonagall peered over her spectacles, setting down a bushel of papers.
"Ah, yes. Mister Malfoy, please take a seat," she waved her wand, calling forth a kettle from somewhere in the alcoves behind her. Draco sat in the leftmost chair, noting how there were more seats in the office than normal. "We are expecting a few more guests," McGonagall confirmed as she poured herself a cup of tea, wordlessly asking if Draco cared for one, which he declined.
The door creaked open, and Draco resisted the urge to turn around and see who it was. Merlin, please don't let it be Potter, he prayed, that kiss from mere hours ago still haunting him.
"Miss Granger, Miss Hobby and Mister Zabini, please join us." Draco's shoulders loosened with relief as he turned to weakly smile at Blaise, who raised a questioning eyebrow at him, no doubt wondering where Draco had disappeared to all day.
"Now we are merely waiting for Mister Potter," McGonagall said simply as she offered Granger and Blaise a drink. Draco's heart lurched uncomfortably.
"And we're here to talk about what, exactly?" Blaise asked smoothly, expressionless.
"You, Mister Zabini, and Miss Granger here are the only two wandless magic authorities I could get here on such short notice, and both of your researches have sparked a renaissance of magical theory and study throughout the world. Miss Hobby happens to be one of Britain's leading historians on famous magical establishments, with an emphasis on Hogwarts." McGonagall sighed, seeming drained. "We are all here because Hogwarts is falling apart, and we now know why. Mister Malfoy's thoughts and wandless abilities will most likely be vital in whatever plan we enact, as he seems to be able to connect with Hogwarts' core the fastest. I can only presume that Mister Potter will have similar success."
There was a sharp knocking on the door, and Draco resisted the urge to groan as the other three turned to watch Potter slouch into the room, mumbling some sort of apology to McGonagall, who simply nodded at the remaining seat in between Granger and Hobby. Draco's neck prickled uncomfortably, and he could feel Potter's gaze burning into him.
"So, now that everyone is present, we can begin. Mister Potter came to me a short time ago and shared that he and Mister Malfoy had realized that Fiendfyre is apparently still burning inside of the Room of Requirement, which, for those who might not know, is a mystical, secret room in Hogwarts that can cater to the whims of those inside it at any given moment. During the Battle of Hogwarts, Mister Potter explained, there was a skirmish in one of the Room's many faces, the Room of Hidden Things. The late Mister Crabbe cast the Fiendfyre, and Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, and Mister Goyle all managed to escape with their lives."
Draco swallowed, his fingernails pressing into his palm. He could still remember Crabbe's funeral, a pitifully small, almost secret affair, considering the uprising of protests at Death Eater burials. Crabbe's mother had sobbed quietly, standing alone, as her husband was already in Azkaban. Draco could recall the dank mist that had hovered over the graveyard, blurring the silhouettes of Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Greg, who looked lost without his closest friend. A stab of guilt struck Draco – when was the last time he'd even spoken to Greg?
"-ister Malfoy?" McGonagall repeated, an unimpressed eyebrow cocked over her spectacles.
"I'm sorry?" Draco blinked, refusing to flush when everyone stared at him. The headmistress' eyes seemed to spark with amusement for a moment.
"I was asking if you had any thoughts to add to the conversation before we begin discussing ways to quench the fire."
"Oh, no; I don't believe so."
"Very well then. Miss Granger, you have something to add?" McGonagall asked, watching Granger, who seemed confused on whether she should raise her hand in this environment or not.
"Yes. I've been studying some old texts about Fiendfyre since Harry told me a couple of hours ago, and I've found some ways that won't work at defeating the flames."
"How could not knowing how to kill it possibly help?" Blaise asked dryly.
Granger narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I find it's easier to find solutions to solve a problem if you first eliminate extraneous ideas." Blaise shrugged, gesturing a hand for her to continue. Granger cleared her throat, pulling out a scrap of paper from her robes. "Well, Fiendfyre is cursed fire, so merely using water will not work. Also, trying to build some sort of barrier to contain the flames won't work, considering the flames can burn through nearly anything. Now, I think that Hogwarts is using up that energy trying to continuously create new shields for the fire to burn through, so that it can't reach the real walls of the castle and spread."
"So we can't use water and we can't contain it indefinitely, or at least not without using up copious amounts of magic. What can we do?" Blaise summarized.
Silence filled the room.
McGonagall sighed. "I see. Well, I want all of you to think of some ideas on how to stop this thing; let's meet back here after dinner and find a solution. Now, I'm sure all of you have groups you are supposed to be aiding around the castle." The five stood, Hobby heading out the door first, followed by Blaise and Draco, who purposefully ignored Potter's presence behind him.
The group stepped down the winding staircase from the office, walking into a cavernous corridor. Hobby turned left and was gone. "So, I think Pans and Theo are a part of the team finishing up the dungeons – want to head there?" Blaise asked Draco.
He was in the middle of shrugging in agreement when Granger cleared her throat behind them. "Actually, Zabini, I was wondering if I could share some thoughts with you regarding your wandless magic theories. I read your article in The Sorcerer's Scribe and was intrigued by some of your points." Blaise blinked down at the serious woman. Draco glanced at Potter, who was watching Draco from Granger's right side. That emerald gaze made Draco's chest feel as though it was filled with sand.
"Sure thing, Granger. Let's walk," Blaise said, gesturing down the corridor before winking at Draco, Granger stealing a glance at the blonde before following Blaise with a smile on her lips. Their footsteps were loud in the echoing hallway as they stepped out of sight.
Tension settled against Draco's skin, pressing into his temples, his eardrums as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the shadows where Blaise and Granger had turned.
"Hi," Potter mumbled.
The greeting sliced into Draco's stoicism, but he kept his face as indifferent as possible. Grey, unhappy light seeped in through the windows across from them, and the air still held the heaviness of the rain that left clamminess on Draco's skin.
He took a deep breath, stealing himself. You'll have to face Potter sometime, his thoughts whispered. He turned, finally meeting Potter entirely. "Hello, Potter," he said icily. Potter's face was pale, hesitant uncertainty looking foreign on those features, ones Draco was so used to seeing covered with arrogance and self-confidence.
Potter opened his mouth to say something, but closed it without any words being released into the air. Draco couldn't help but watch those lips, their hard, warm press still murmuring against his mind.
"Dra-Malfoy, can we talk?" Potter asked quietly, doing that thing where he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. It was tempting, for a moment, to believe in the fantasy that he would agree and that Potter would confess his love, and that they'd kiss and everything would end in roses and smiles and bouts of incredible sex, like in those romance novels Pansy read during fifth year.
"Unless it's about fixing Hogwarts, Potter, we don't have anything to talk about," Draco said simply, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he supressed the part of himself that desperately wished he was a different person, the one who could fall into Potter's arms and weep for a requited love.
Potter's gaze hardened, and the expressionless mask that Draco recognized from months before reappeared. "Fine. Let's talk about Hogwarts, then. Care to discuss it while we walk to the Great Hall?" Draco was surprised by Potter's easy ability to compartmentalize, but was grateful for the change in conversation. If only Potter would let him leave and never have to face those piercing eyes again.
"Fine, Potter." The two men began down the hall, that tension still pressing into Draco's back. "So, any plans on how to be the saviour of the day once again?" He asked flippantly, watching Potter's cold expression out of the corner of his eye.
"I thought you were our resident expert on magical theory," Potter stated passively. "And we both know you have plenty of experience with the Room of Hidden Things." That stung, the angry tint to Potter's words causing Draco's shoulders to stiffen.
"I'm hardly an expert on cursed fire, Potter," Draco sneered, trying to remain civil.
Potter scoffed. "Your crony, Crabbe, sure was. I thought he must've gotten that knowledge from you," he sneered. The image of Crabbe's mother, crying softly at her son's funeral, snapped into Draco's mind, and something in him cracked.
He stopped, turning to shove Potter against the stone wall, shaking with anger. Potter glared at him, surprised into inaction. "Don't you dare say a word about Crabbe," he snarled, his fingernails digging into Potter's shoulders. "I don't mention any of the people you lost in the war, so don't fucking talk about the ones I –," his voice broke embarrassingly, and he stared at his feet as blood pounded beneath his skin.
The two men breathed heavily.
"I'm sorry," Potter finally whispered, causing Draco to look up from the floor. "You're right – that was outta line." Potter's hands reached out, those rough fingers pressing themselves into Draco's hips as soft lines around Potter's eyes creased with sincerity.
And then it was like a spell – the sudden, magnetizing need Draco felt pull him into the muscled, angular heat of Potter's chest. He closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to Potter's in an aching, desperate kiss, feeling dizzy when Potter immediately responded, sliding his grip to Draco's arse, pulling Draco's hardening erection against his thigh.
Draco bit off the whine that threatened to escape, clawing at Potter's shoulders and neck as he rode his thigh, painfully arousing friction sending heat all through his body. Potter suddenly pushed Draco backwards, turning them so that Draco's back hit the cold wall before Potter's thigh was once again grinding against Draco's confined cock, causing Draco to groan brokenly into the soft skin of Potter's neck.
Potter pressed small, chaste kisses onto Draco's hairline, the cool clink! of those glasses against Draco's skin keeping him grounded against the onslaught of pleasure. "Potter," he groaned, his head falling against the stone wall as Potter sucked love bites onto his jugular.
"What?" He asked between soft kisses to Draco's jaw.
"Stop that, or I'm go-oh!-ing to –" But then one of Potter's hands was trailing down his front, cupping the straining bulge on the front of Draco's trousers.
"Going to… what?" Potter leaned his forehead against Draco's, a dark glint in his eyes as he grinned crookedly in the way that Draco couldn't help but find incredibly attractive. He pressed the words against Draco's lips, tasting of smiles and confidence and teasing.
"I'm going to come, you wanker," Draco panted, trying to be irritated, but failing unequivocally as he tightened his hold around Potter's shoulders, crying out as Potter twisted his grip just right, sending Draco over the edge.
The white static finally began to fade from the edges of his view as he quivered from aftershocks, feeling the dampness in his pants already beginning to stick and dry to his skin. Potter was watching him, high, bright spots of colour on his cheeks as he rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles on the skin exposed by Draco's rucked-up shirt.
Draco could feel Potter's erection against his hip, and was feeling fuzzy and warm from his own orgasm as he reached up to tug at Potter's ridiculously-messy hair, pulling him in for a lazy, wet kiss as he skimmed his fingers across the top of Potter's jeans.
"Merlin's bollocks," a voice cursed to Draco's left.
His eyes sprung open as he shoved Potter away from him, and his gaze fell upon a shocked Theo, who stared at the pair with wide brown eyes, his mouth agape.
Those brown eyes flicked to Draco's and Harry's rumpled clothes, the bruises kissed onto Draco's pale skin, Potter's obvious erection, and the damp spot on Draco's crotch that the blonde spelled away wandlessly.
"Theo, we were just –" Draco futilely wracked his mind for some sort of excuse, for once drawing a complete blank. Theo snapped his mouth shut, an amused expression coming over his face.
"No need to explain to me, Draco." He grinned mercilessly. "However, I suggest finding a more private place to shag – pretty sure I just saw Davies walking around here a moment ago. Well, good luck, you two," he beamed as he turned back the way he came, waving lazily over his shoulder before stepping out of sight.
Draco could feel his entire face bloom into a burning, crimson blush. Potter shuffled his feet awkwardly, drawing Draco's attention to him. "Did that 'never happen' either?" The Gryffindor asked quietly, sullenness glinting in his eye.
That dark, desperate thing that clawed at the inside of Draco's chest whined in agony, begging for Draco to do something, anything that could bring that attractive grin back to Potter's expression.
Merlin, he was just so tired of it all.
He sighed, crumbling in on himself. "What do you want me to say, Potter?" He tried to keep the helplessness from his tone, but could still hear it in his broken words. Potter's mouth tightened unhappily, and he bent his head.
"I don't know, Malfoy." He looked up, those lips twisted into a rueful grin. "This is fucked up."
Draco stared at him.
And then he laughed a horrible, breathless laugh that reminded him of his father.
"Of course it's fucked up, Potter. It's us. The mere idea of the two us being intimate is fucking ridiculous." Draco returned Potter's fading grin, knowing his flash of teeth looked more like a grimace. "So let's finally be clear about this – no shagging, or kissing, or friendly conversation, even. We're enemies-turned-peers, Potter."
Potter's expression was stony. "Then why did you kiss me just now?"
Draco felt as though the air had suddenly been sucked out of his lungs.
"Why did you kiss me this morning?" The words burned his tongue, making his entire being feel tight with the need with which he wanted Potter's answer.
His pulse rocketed as Potter opened his mouth, finally – BOOM!
The two men jumped at the rumbling, louder than any thunder they'd ever heard. "What the fuck was that?" Potter asked, only to be interrupted by another equally loud ripping noise. Silver eyes met emerald in confused nervousness.
McGonagall's voice suddenly reverberated through the hallway, magically projected around the school. "All report to the seventh floor immediately!"
Draco and Potter shared one last look before they were running down the corridor.
o
There was a budding crowd forming around the Room of Requirement when they finally made their way up to the seventh floor. The sea of witches and wizards seemed to part before Potter, who made his way to McGonagall's side. Draco stayed on the fringe of the group, watching the scene with Blaise and Pansy at his side.
Draco couldn't pick up what Potter and the headmistress were discussing, but the anxious wrinkle that formed between Potter's brows was not a good sign. McGonagall nodded shortly at something that Granger said to her, then pointed her wand at the aging, transparent skin on her throat.
"Thank you all for your speed – we have a crisis here. For those who haven't heard – there is Fiendfyre trapped in the Room of Requirement, and it is siphoning Hogwarts' magic. Apparently, the castle has started to run out of energy.
"I ask all of you to look at the walls around you, and observe any abnormalities." Draco, along with the rest of the group, frowned and turned his head, staring at the familiar expanses of the walls around them. The stone seemed normal; the torches were shining regularly; the portraits –
"Why are all of the portraits empty?" Draco asked in the suddenly quiet hallway. McGonagall nodded sombrely.
"Exactly, Mister Malfoy. Hogwarts has apparently started to siphon magic from any objects in the immediate vicinity of the Room. In this case, the portraits' innate supply of magic that is infused in their paintings has been absorbed in Hogwarts' desperation to keep the Fiendfyre from breaking out into the rest of the castle." Confused, worried mumblings buzzed through the air like a swarm of insects.
"What can we do, Headmistress?" A voice asked loudly. McGonagall frowned, looking incredibly weary.
"That is the question. Fiendfyre is cursed fire, and has very few weaknesses, if any. I am open to all suggestions and ideas, considering Hogwarts will continue to consume its own magic the longer we wait. Any solutions can be brought to me, Mister Potter, or Miss Granger at any time. Until then, we can only continue our repairs in the hope that Hogwarts doesn't burn from the inside out in the next few days." McGonagall raised her wand again, quieting her voice.
"Fucking hell," Blaise breathed, honest worry on his handsome features. Pansy nodded, biting her thumbnail in a habit from her younger years.
Draco stood silently, feeling Hogwarts' distress shoot through his core.
o
Dinner was a subdued affair, with murmured conversations that held the heaviness of apprehension and failure.
"Do you have any thoughts about what to do?" Theo asked quietly, picking at the stew. Draco sighed, shaking his head as he took a bite of tasteless bread. He was grateful that his drama with Potter was side-lined by Hogwarts' crisis – another scandal was the last thing Draco or Potter needed at this moment.
"No. Even if we did have a spell, there's no way to access the flames. The entranceway to the Room is sealed off, probably by the castle itself."
"Well, let's say that there was a way to get to the fire – what spell would we even use?" Pansy asked primly, her eyes on the head of the table, where Potter, Weasley, and Granger sat in a concentrated huddle.
"We know water doesn't work," Theo began.
"And we can't use finite incantatem," Blaise continued.
Oliver cleared his throat as he and Marcus joined the group of younger Slytherins. "I think you are looking at this all wrong – Fiendfyre is still fire, after all. And there are some things that fire has to have, otherwise it'll burn out."
"Care to elaborate, Wood?"
"Well, it has to have fuel, which we think Hogwarts is accidently supplying by creating more shields; space is also a requirement, but only because fire has to have oxygen."
Draco choked on his bit of apple. "Gods, Wood, that might be it." The other five stared at him, at the brightness that burned in his eyes. We don't have to destroy the Fiendfyre itself, just shrink the Room until it runs out of air, Draco thought gleefully, opening his mouth to share his thought –
CRASH!
The Hall's inhabitants collectively jumped, all dreading whatever Hogwarts had done now. But the sound didn't stop, instead the chattering of dozens of voices filled the Entrance Hall, the sounds bleeding through the Great Hall's grand entryway. Theo and Draco shared an apprehensive look.
The huge doors burst open, revealing a pack of excited men and women, all with cameras hanging around their necks, quills clutched in their hands. Rita Skeeter beamed oily from the front of the crowd.
"Harry, we finally found you," she said delightedly.
Draco whipped his head around to stare at Potter, who seemed to be having the same thought Draco was.
Oh, shit.
ooOoo
To be Continued…
ooOoo
606's Note: Well, look at this. I say that I'm officially changing the day I'm going to post, and then I post early. Whatever. Well, I don't think I have anything else to say besides how much I appreciate all of you guys who review and follow and favourite – it really means a lot! Thank you, and see you in two weeks!