Finally, it was the end of another Potion's class. The persistent smell of fumes still hung heavy in the air as Harry made his way out into the hall. He could see Ron and Hermione lingering near the staircase as if waiting for him. Ron motioned for him to come over, but he slowly shook his head at him. He knew they wanted him to go to the Gryffindor quidditch practice, but he wasn't interested.
Quidditch just wasn't important to him anymore. After failing to show up to the first three practices this season, Oliver had finally gotten the hint that he didn't care if he was on the team or not and had begun searching for a replacement. Harry remembered hearing that one of the Gryffindor fourth years had taken his position as seeker. Now, the team was participating in their final practice before the first match of the season against Slytherin, and many members of the house were attending to support them. Harry did not want to be one of them.
He assumed that with everyone gone, the common room would be empty, and he could go and sit by the fire in silence. He was perfectly content to spend his time in solitude staring into the flames instead of watching children on brooms flying back and forth for hours and being surrounded by dozens of screaming supporters. Then, once the students had returned, he could head to his mandatory meal in the Great Hall, pretend to be asleep in his dorm, and then sneak outside after dark.
Outside he could meet up with the big, shaggy, black dog that had become his confidante. He enjoyed his time by the edge of the lake, ranting about his day to an animal that couldn't use the information against him. It felt good letting some of his thoughts and anger out. It was almost freeing to get some of it off his chest without being judged. The friendly mutt only cuddled against his side and offered sympathetic whines.
He had begun to think of the dog as his own pet, and he felt responsible for him. He made sure to smuggle some food out during meal times that he could give to the dog. Every night, the animal would happily trot over to him and scarf down every morsel. Harry wished that he could give the dog all of his food, but that wasn't allowed.
Just as she had promised, Madame Pomfrey scheduled appointments for him to go to. He'd just been to his fourth check up last night, and the Mediwitch had gushed about the progress he'd made. She truly believed that he was getting better, but he still had to take his nutrient potions. He couldn't wait for her to declare him cured so that he could have control over his life again, but he knew that he needed to fool her for a bit longer.
So, he did what he had to do. He went to all his meals and all his classes. He took all of his potions and put on a fake smile whenever he was around a teacher. Well, except Snape. Snape didn't believe his stories anyway, so Harry figured it wasn't worth the effort to try and convince him. Snape could read him like a book, and he found it ironic that the man who had always accused him of being an arrogant, spoiled brat had been so wrong about his character but so right about his secrets. He was just glad that the class with the git was over and he didn't have to sit under the man's questioning gaze any longer.
Harry headed off in the opposite direction of the large crowd of students. Deciding to wait to head back to the tower when the halls were less crowded, he detoured into the boy's bathroom. He stood silently in the stall, counted to 300, and then moved to exit the empty restroom. Hoping that he had waited long enough that he wouldn't have to see anyone on his way to the tower, he opened the door. The hall was clear, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.
The young Gryffindor shuffled up the bare staircase slowly, enjoying the silence. He reached the next floor and whipped his head to the side when he heard laughter approaching from the around the corner. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were heading toward him, seeming in an unusually good mood. Though Harry tried to get out of their line of sight, he wasn't quick enough, and he was soon surrounded by the Slytherin boys.
"Hey, Potter. What were you still doing down there? Did you get scared by a suit of armor and pass out or something?" Malfoy chuckled, swaggering closer to him, and his cohorts followed closely behind.
Harry stared blankly at them. He knew what they wanted. They wanted to break him down. They wanted him to be embarrassed. They wanted him to hurt. Little did they know, he already did.
"Are you deaf, scar-head? Or are you just too stupid to respond? It's what everyone's saying you know. They all think you're completely mental. Even Snape thinks you're too pathetic to berate!" He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Maybe Sirius Black will get his hands on pitiful Potter soon, and we all won't have to look at him anymore."
Crabbe and Goyle nodded in affirmation. Goyle murmured something back that Harry couldn't quite make out. It was obvious that whatever he'd said Malfoy found hilarious though, and he laughed for several seconds before turning back to Harry.
"Did you hear that, Potter? If you see Sirius Black, just let him kill you! You would be doing a favor to everyone!"
When Harry turned without responding, Malfoy grabbed him by the shoulder. His long, hook-like fingers curled around Harry's scapula and dug into his flesh, causing Harry to let out a yelp of surprise.
"I heard that you quit the quidditch team. Worried that I would beat you this year, Potter?" Malfoy jeered.
"Leave me alone, Malfoy." Harry told him, swatting the Slytherin's hand from his shoulder.
"So, it speaks," Draco proclaimed, grinning more broadly when Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly from beside him. "And don't ever touch me Potter. Pathetic pieces of filth like you shouldn't defile the skin of proper, pureblood wizards." He said, his voice taking on a more dangerous tone. "I suggest you apologize."
Harry decided not to respond to him and turned to escape again. No hands grabbed for him this time. Instead, he heard a faint whisper, followed by a stab of pain that erupted across his left arm. Harry was sure that it had been a cutting curse, and he felt blood springing to the surface of his skin. His bag slid from his limp arm and dropped to the floor as he turned to face his attackers. He didn't raise his wand to them.
Harry didn't move. He only stared.
The three larger boys stared at him for a moment, as if anticipating some reaction from the Gryffindor, but Harry only looked back with eyes that were empty. Then another curse was thrown at him. This one struck him in the torso, ripping a hole in his robes.
"Come on Potter! Are you too cowardly to fight back? Do something!" Malfoy shouted.
Harry didn't move. He only stared.
Crabbe and Goyle joined in with Malfoy, sending several stinging hexes flying toward him. They seemed to be growing angrier by his lack of response. The spells came at him more frequently and aggressively, growing more severe in nature. He was bombarded by a myriad of unknown spells that left blood droplets on the floor and caused new bruises to bloom on his pale skin.
Then, suddenly all the spells stopped. Malfoy leaned over and whispered something to Crabbe, who then passed the message to Goyle. The two troll-like figures smirked with amusement, and Draco's grey eyes gleamed with malice as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Potter, I'm going to give you one more chance." He told him, speaking slowly. "You didn't respond when I addressed you. You refused to duel with me. If you don't respond now, you will regret it."
Harry refused to budge. While the spells inflicted by the three Slytherins had caused him pain, he found that he didn't mind. The sharp stings seemed to offer a break from the monotony, leaving him with a few brief moments of clarity in which he finally felt alive. He was sure that whatever Malfoy had planned would not be nearly as unpleasant as the Slytherin hoped it would be.
Draco positioned himself directly in front of Harry, paused one moment as if waiting for Harry to surrender, raised his wand, and then clearly and loudly spoke one word: "Flipendo."
Harry recognized it as the knockback jinx. It was the same spell he'd used on Draco at the dueling club performance last year. Instantly, he realized what Draco had planned for him. Several feet behind him lay the stairs. He knew that as soon as the spell struck him, he would be propelled several feet backward to slam into the wall, and then he'd tumble down the remaining steps and smash his skull into the solid dungeon floor. He could be seriously, even fatally, injured.
Harry didn't move. He only stared.
Then he was airborne.
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