A/N: Okay, so, here we go! Please don't hate me. I promise everything will work out. I even reworked the chapter after this one to make it more realistic, and I'm feeling a bit better about the whole thing now.
Please don't kill me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine:
Firewhiskey
"I wish you would at least make an effort to appear as thought you haven't been shagging all morning," Hermione said as Harry and Draco sat down. "You don't see me and Ron coming down to lunch a half hour late with our shirts untucked, fly down, and disastrous hair."
"I find it rather rich that you of all people would complain about other's hair," Draco said, though he did tuck his shirt in, and Harry hurriedly zipped his fly.
"Anyway, where were you? We stopped by the Room of Requirement on the way down and it was empty."
"Please tell me you were at least shagging somewhere interesting," Ron said. "If it's got to be shoved in my face, it might as well be funny."
Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "Well…" Harry stared.
"No," Hermione said firmly. "I don't want to hear about it."
"You probably do, 'Mione," Harry said. "We've been moved, and if you'd like to see us again this year, you'd probably like to hear where to."
"I assume to the little-known East Tower," Hermione said.
Harry stared at her. "How do you even know about that?" he asked. "McGonagall said it's not on any maps, or—"
"Hogwarts, A History," she said loftily. "A rather old edition I found in the library a few years ago. It hasn't been mentioned in the past fifty years or so, maybe more, but it's there, if you know where to look for it. I should think you're in the second room, yes?"
"You—" Harry stammered. "Yeah."
"Is the view as lovely as the book described?" she asked.
"Yeah," Harry repeated. "I still don't—why were you reading a fifty year old copy of that book? It's got to be out of date."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "For this very reason, Harry. For everything added to the book, something has got to be taken out. They haven't infinite pages, you know."
"Would anyone care to tell me what's going on?" Ron asked. "What's this East Tower?"
Harry was about to explain when Hermione did it for him. "The East Tower, entrance located on the seventh floor, contains small apartments, originally intended for married couples, back when students weren't considered too young to wed. As recently as 1920, it was used for non-married couples who nevertheless wanted to live together but weren't from the same house, like you and me. It's not exactly clear why it fell out of use, or even exactly when, nor am I precisely sure how to enter it, but its existence is certainly a stroke of luck for Harry and Draco." She turned to Harry. "How do you get in?"
"There's a portrait of a sphinx, and you've got to give it your full name," Harry said.
"Politely," Draco added. "I daresay, if Harry had been left to his own devices, he'd still be standing in the corridor arguing with the painting as we speak."
"I was polite," Harry muttered. Then, louder, he added, "We've got to spend the rest of the day studying, and we were hoping you'd come with us, see the new place?"
"Of course," Hermione said.
"Yeah, suppose so," Ron said. "As long as that one," he added, indicating Draco, "isn't an utter prat."
"I will be on my best behavior just for you, Ronald Weasley," Draco drawled.
Ron looked at him suspiciously. "I'm not kidding. One wrong word, and 'Mione and I will be out of there."
"Nor was I," Draco replied, and even Harry found this supposed friendliness suspicious. "Nothing but the utmost of respect shall issue from these lips."
Ron continued to stare at him. "Right."
"Draco, don't tease him," Harry said under his breath.
"I meant every word I said, don't be ridiculous," Draco whispered back. "Oh, and a few of my friends might be stopping by, later on," he added, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "I thought you weren't on speaking terms with Slytherin house."
"If I can forgive you, Potty, for being an insufferable prat for seven years, I daresay I can give my closest friends a bit of leniency for a few months of sulking," Draco replied.
"And how do they know about our room, exactly?" Harry asked.
"Sent Pansy a note while you were—" Draco cleared his throat delicately, "—busy."
"Uh huh," Harry said.
"Oh, don't give me that look, Potter," Draco said. "You've got Ron and Hermione to protect you from the big, scary Slytherins."
Harry was about to continue arguing when Neville and Aurora appeared, a bit out of breath, and slightly flushed.
"Oh, good, we haven't missed lunch," Aurora said. "The potion took a bit longer than we expected; Neville, er—"
"Made a mess of it, it's alright, you can say it," Neville said. Harry couldn't help but notice how happy he looked, or that Aurora was still flushed.
"I did say powdered, not chopped," she said gently. "But it's fine, I fixed it right up. And we haven't even missed lunch, so all's well."
"Study session after lunch?" Neville suggested.
"We were going to go see Harry and Draco's new room," Hermione said, and again launched into the explanation, leaving Harry to roll his eyes. It wasn't like it was his room or anything, certainly he had no business telling people about it, clearly that was Hermione's job. But Draco rested a hand on his leg, whispered something obscene in his ear, and then Harry felt considerably better.
They were halfway up the Grand Staircase when Harry noticed they were one short. "Anybody know where Luna is?" he asked. "She should come with us, don't you think?"
"I'm right here," Luna said serenely, nearly startling Harry into falling down the stairs. "I was sitting with my housemates this afternoon, but I left when I saw all of you going at once. Are we going somewhere interesting, then?"
For the third time, Hermione explained about the East Tower, and by the time she finished, they were all standing in front of the portrait of the sphinx.
"A large crowd already?" it asked. "This, Draconius Malfoy, is what I did not want to be acquainted with. Loud parties at all hours of the night, keeping me up."
"Not to worry, we're just here to study," Draco replied. "Draconius Malfoy, Harry James Potter, Hermione—er, what's your middle name, then?"
"Hermione Jean Granger," she said. "And Ronald Bilius Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Aurora Abigail Jones, and Luna Lovegood."
"Indeed," the sphinx replied. "Aurora Abigail Jones, you are not on the Sorting Hat's list, nor do you share lineage with any who are. Explain yourself."
"I'm an exchange student," she said, a bit nervously. "From Barnstable Academy, in Minnesota, though I'm from Wisconsin."
"A small school, but very elite. Would you be in their potions program, then?"
"Yes, most certainly."
The sphinx nodded. "A wise decision. You may all enter, but mark my words—if your study session were to turn into anything louder, I might not be so kind next time."
"You have my personal word it will not," Draco said.
"Very good." The portrait opened, and a moment later they were settling in the living room. Harry and Draco stood at the potions table, Neville and Aurora were on the couch—nearly snuggling, Harry was delighted to see—Ron and Hermione had managed to squeeze into a single chair, though she kept warning Ron about elbowing her while she was writing, and Luna in the remaining chair.
"We may need another couple chairs," Harry said, collecting two tails of rat, a single bat eye and a handful of scarab beetles.
Draco glanced over his shoulder. "Perhaps," he said. "Come on, hurry up with those scarabs, they've got to go in right away."
When they finished with their potion, Ron and Hermione took their place at the counter, and Draco ended up draped gracefully over Harry's lap as they, with some difficulty, wrote essays. Soon after, Hermione conjured an extra chair, and while Harry was certain it was no bigger than the others, somehow Ron and Hermione both fit comfortably, not to mention several textbooks and Hermione's book bag. The light slowly faded from the sky and Draco lit a fire, as well as a handful of candles. Despite McGonagall's warning about a lack of house elves, around dinnertime there was a knock on their door, and when Harry opened it, he found several trays heaped with food. It made for an excellent meal; gathered around the fireplace with his closest friends, in his own apartment that he shared with his love. Draco had been right; if they hadn't returned, no doubt Harry would still be rattling around Grimmauld Place, and this was a far better alternative. Ron took out his chess set and he and Draco began dueling, sitting on the floor so as to not disturb their partners, who were still working. And when there was a second knock on the door, Harry assumed it was house elves waiting to take the trays back down to the kitchens.
He could not have been more wrong. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini stood before him, and when Harry did nothing more than stare vacantly at them, he found himself being pushed aside as they let themselves in. The amicable chatter—and chess-related yells from Ron and Draco—immediately vanished, and Harry found himself glaring angrily at Draco. He knew he had offered to spend time with his friends, but he had thought perhaps at lunch, or maybe in the library; certainly not in his new home, not when everything had been so peaceful.
"Pansy! Blaise!" Draco stood up and walked over to his friends, giving them each a kiss on the cheek, which shouldn't have made Harry nearly as upset as it did. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come."
"We almost didn't," Pansy said, her shrill voice already starting to give Harry a headache. "But Blaise positively insisted. Didn't you, Blaise?"
"Indeed," Blaise replied.
"And that mangy cat almost didn't let us in, can you imagine? Anyway, we thought you might be bored of studying by now—really, Draco, since when do you spend all weekend studying?—and we brought you a housewarming gift," Pansy said, pulling a bottle of Firewhiskey out of her bag.
"No," Harry said. "Absolutely not."
"Don't be so uptight, Potter," Pansy said dismissively. "Come on, Draco, it's been ages. And heaven knows you need to relax, given your father's—predicament. And it can't be easy being forced into such company."
"Get out," Harry said firmly. "You will not stand here insulting my friends, not in my own room. We—Draco included—were having a fine time before you showed up."
Draco gave him a pleading look. "Just this once," he said, taking Harry's hand, entirely missing Blaise's grimace and Pansy's look of pure jealously. Draco moved so he was whispering in Harry's ear. "I've been so good about your friends," he whispered. "Give them a chance, alright? I know Pansy can seem a bit—crass—but really, they're not so bad."
Harry ground his teeth. Draco had been exceedingly good about Harry's friends, far better than Harry had expected, and Harry had offered to get to know Draco's friends… "Fine," he snapped. "But if you say one more word against my friends…"
"Excellent," Pansy said. She collapsed onto the couch next to Neville and Aurora, forcing them closer together; Neville looked somewhere between terrified and furious, and Aurora was clearly feeding off his emotions. "Now come on, let's get this thing open!"
Hermione was glaring at Pansy, then at Harry, then Draco, then back to Pansy. Ron had rejoined her on the chair and had a tight grip on her hands. Harry sat stiffly on his chair, Draco perched on the arm, and Blaise stood behind Pansy, remaining silent and impassive as always. Only Luna seemed unperturbed by the new company, which made Harry more nervous—out of all of them, Luna was most likely to say the wrong thing, to accidentally spill confidential secrets.
Pansy opened the bottle of Firewhiskey, took a sip, and passed it around, though Harry thought that phrase may have been too generous. While the bottle was offered to everyone present, only Draco, Zabini and Pansy drank from it. Harry was not surprised, nor was he when Neville and Aurora suddenly stood.
"We've got our potion," Neville said.
"Right, it needs to be stirred," Aurora said, quickly gathering her things.
"And needs mandrake root."
"So we'll see you later."
"And Ron and I have got that—that thing," Hermione said.
"Er, right, the thing," Ron added. "Luna, why don't you come with us? To our thing?"
"Oh, I don't know, I rather like it here," she said.
"Luna," Hermione hissed. "We need your help with—with this. It's got—numerology."
"Alright, I suppose," she said. "I'll see you later Harry, Draco, and Draco's friends."
"Bye," Ron said, Hermione and Luna on his tail.
Brilliant, Harry thought, watching with disdain as Draco took the empty space on the couch next to Pansy, and Blaise sat in Luna's empty chair.
"Harry, you sure you don't want any?" Draco offered, holding out the bottle. "Pansy's right, we've got to relax. I haven't had a proper night of relaxing all year."
Harry glared furiously at him. "No?" he asked. "None of what we did counted?"
Draco waved his hand, and Harry wondered just exactly how strong this particular bottle was. "Course it did, but this is different. C'mon, Harry, please?"
More to get Draco to shut up than anything else, he grabbed the bottle and took a tiny sip. He immediately started coughing, which sent Pansy into a giggling fit. It was like fire burning down his throat, settling unpleasantly in his stomach, and he could have sworn that even that one, insignificant sip was enough to tilt the world just slightly off its axis. He handed the bottle back to Draco.
"What else is in there?" Harry asked.
"Oh, nothing," Pansy said lightly. "Just, y'know, the usual. Me and Draco's special brew."
Draco's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's what this is?" he asked, and Harry could see him falling back into his Slytherin ways, becoming the person he hated. "That'd explain some things."
Pansy giggled again, taking the bottle and having another drink. "Come on, Potty, you sure you don't want any more?"
Harry gritted his teeth. He barely let Draco call him that, let alone anyone else. "I'm fine," he said and stomped over to the bookcase. What he wanted to do was disappear into the bedroom and lock the door, but there was a voice in the back of his head that warned him against leaving Draco alone with his old friends, and Harry thought listening to it would be awfully wise. Almost randomly, he pulled out the copy of Hogwarts, A History Hermione had given him years ago, returned to his seat and began to read, keeping as close an eye on Draco as he could.
It was rather dull work, actually. Blaise did nothing other than sit silently, which was a little unnerving, but seemed harmless. The process of watching Draco and Pansy get drunker and drunker was stupid and embarrassing but again, seemed rather harmless. Harry was slowly starting to come around to thinking that maybe it would be good for Draco to have a night with his Slytherin friends, to get good and smashed, especially when Harry could make his life a living hell the next morning when he was hung over. And if Pansy was maybe being a little hands-y, well, Harry just held onto his book tighter, turning the pages with nearly enough force to rip them out of the book. He kept a close eye, making sure her hands never dipped below Draco's waist or under his shirt, trying with all his might to be magnanimous, to tell himself that a hand on a shoulder or a stroke of the cheek between friends meant nothing. Eventually Blaise left, muttering something Harry didn't catch, leaving him alone with am increasingly affectionate Pansy and a very, very drunk Draco.
Harry glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven, and he decided that was enough of an excuse. "Alright, Pansy, come on. Draco and I have got to get to sleep. Go on, wouldn't you?"
She frowned at him. "I don't want to," she said petulantly. "Draco, do you want me to leave?"
He seemed to consider it. "Not particularly."
Harry glared at him. "Really, Pansy, it's getting late."
"If you're so tired why don't you just go to bed?" she asked accusingly. "Draco and I don't need to be supervised, do we?"
Another long pause. "No."
Harry was completely and utterly unwilling to leave the two of them alone. He had spent the past hour or two trying to convince himself that he could trust Draco, that he wasn't about to cheat on him, but there was that little, insistent voice in the back of his head telling him to keep an eye on things, and he had long ago learned to trust his instinct.
"Besides," Pansy said. "I haven't got what I came here for yet." She turned to Draco, put her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him full on. Harry was shocked into silence and immobility; all he could do was stand and watch as Draco squeaked with surprise, then began to kiss her back, one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her breast.
Then his paralysis broke. "GET OUT!" Harry yelled, whipping his wand out and pointing it at Pansy.
She pulled away from Draco, smirking. "Or what, Potter? Going to hex me?"
"Slugulus—"
"Protego!" Pansy shouted, cutting the curse off before he could finish. "Really? We're going to duel over Draco? I hardly think it's fair, given that I'm pretty drunk."
"Your fault, not mine," Harry snapped. "Stupefy!"
Pansy dodged it, barely, and the curse it the bookcases, sending several shelves of books clattering to the floor. "Diffindo!"
Harry deflected it, sending the jet of color harmlessly into the fireplace. "Expelliarmus!" Pansy hadn't the reflexes to avoid that one, and her wand flew across the room into Harry's hand. "Now," he said dangerously, pointing both wands at her, "if you want to walk away from this without needing to be brought to the infirmary, I suggest you leave." Pansy chucked the nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey at Harry, and he sent that, too, into the fireplace to shatter against the brick wall. "Are you done yet? Have you got anything else you'd like to throw at me?"
Her expression said she very much did, but there was nothing else at hand, and Harry had her wand. "Fine," she snapped, getting unsteadily to her feet. "But never forget, Harry Potter, that Draco came back to me, not you. He let me into his room, got drunk with me on homemade Firewhiskey he knew was spiked, and kissed me, felt me up." She had made her way to the door, but continued to keep her eyes on Harry's. "When push comes to shove, he'll always chose me."
Harry flicked his wand and the door flew open, hard enough that it bounced off the wall behind it. "Get the fuck out."
Pansy left with no further comment. Harry left the door open, waiting to hear the portrait open and close before uttering a sticking charm on the portrait and a locking spell on their door. Harry turned to Draco, not bothering to attempt to curb his temper, but he needn't have worried—Draco was passed out on the couch, an arm hanging off the side, one leg propped up on the arm of the couch, snoring into the pillow. Harry contemplated cursing him in his sleep before deciding it wouldn't be sporting; besides, he wanted to see Draco's eyes when Harry let him have it. Doing it like this wouldn't be satisfying at all.
Harry stalked into their bedroom, locking that door as well. There must have been an irony in not sharing the bed their first night here, but Harry couldn't see it. He slammed the wands down on his bedside table, stripped, throwing his clothes angrily into the hamper, and climbed into bed, jerking the blankets up to his chin. Not that he thought he could sleep, not when every time he closed his eyes he saw Draco kissing Pansy, feeling her up…
There was a tapping on the window, and Harry jumped out of bed, desperately hoping it was Ron or Hermione or even Neville, somebody he could tell what had happened. Brian flew in and landed next to the wands, not carrying a note.
"What do you want?" Harry grumbled. "Come here so I can owl Ron or Hermione?"
Brian nudged the two wands apart and grasped Pansy's in his claws.
"I'm not sending it back to her," Harry snapped. "Not tonight, when she'd just come up and curse me in my sleep."
Brian tapped the wand on the table, and hooted.
"I told you, I'm not giving it back to her," Harry yelled. "She can just—just—bloody hell, how am I going to get it back to her? I don't know if I can even think about her without cursing someone, let alone give her wand back."
Brian tapped it against the desk again.
"I suppose I could send it to McGonagall," Harry considered, and Brian hooted. Merlin, he was a smart bird. Harry scrawled a short note to McGonagall, saying that Pansy had accidentally left her wand in his room, and attached the note and the wand to Brian's leg. "You're brilliant," Harry said. Brian didn't leave yet, and Harry thought he was waiting for further instruction. "You don't need to come back," Harry said. "If I told Hermione, she'd tell Ron, and they'd have the whole of Gryffindor storm the tower and murder Draco in his sleep. Go on, I'll be fine."
Brian hooted again and flew away.
Harry got back into bed, slightly less violently than before, and stared at the canopy. He shouldn't be surprised, not really. Draco was a Slytherin first and foremost, he always said so, and he had the ever-precious Malfoy name to uphold, a need Harry certainly did not fill. He didn't know how he expected this to last as long as it had, let alone any longer, and wondered idly what McGonagall would say when he asked to be moved back to Gryffindor the very day after reopening the East Tower.
Harry angrily wiped tears away. He hadn't been aware that he was crying, not really, the action was merely a reflex. Merlin's beard, how could he have thought Draco had changed so much in such a short time? All the bullshit he had said about being shunned by his house, dropped from society, how Harry was his only friend. It was all lies, all to get him to—to what, exactly? Testify for Lucius? Was that what this had been about? Or had he just found a new way to embarrass Harry, a long con instead of laughing at his pathetic attempts to pass potions, or calling him and his friends names.
No, Harry realized suddenly, this was not Draco's fault. It was his own, for letting his guard down, for forgiving Draco, for letting him in when all the evidence and logic in the world should have stopped him. And his friends, why hadn't they done anything? Ron had been angry at first, sure, but he had if not exactly warmed up to Draco at least learned to tolerate him, and Hermione had seemed genuinely pleased by their relationship. Why on earth had neither of them put him in a full body bind until he came to his senses?
But there wasn't any point in blaming them, not really. They were just being supportive. Harry had made his bed—literally, he thought bitterly—and he would lie in it. He didn't expect to get any sleep, thought that he was too angry, but eventually he drifted away.
Harry was walking through a garden. There were sunflowers as far as the eye could see, reaching up to the sky, blocking his view. He came to a fork and realized he was in a maze. He went right. Then left, then another right, then choosing directions without thought, until he came to a path blocked by a single flower.
It stood as high as he did, and waved gently in a breeze Harry couldn't feel. The petals were a dark, vibrant purple, fading into black in the middle, and a yellow dot in the center. A plaque stood before it.
Viola tricolor
It said, and beneath that,
Mendax traditurus.
Harry didn't know enough Latin to understand the words.
"I don't understand," he said. The letters on the plaque shifted.
Common Pansy
Liar, Traitor
Harry walked past the sign and reached for his wand. It wasn't there. Instead of hexing the plant, he grabbed it, attempting to pull it out of the ground. When that didn't work he tried shedding the petals, but even though they felt soft and pliant, they wouldn't tear.
"What do you want!" Harry yelled at the plant.
It didn't answer him.
"Tell me how to get rid of you!" Harry demanded.
It didn't answer him.
"At least tell me what the Firewhiskey was spiked with."
Harry walked back over to the plaque.
Luteio sexus.
"I don't understand," Harry said. "I told you, I don't speak Latin."
Dirty sex.
"Dirty sex," Harry said. "Draco knew that, he said he knew what Pansy had put in it. Had he meant it for me, or was she always his intention?"
The plaque said nothing, and the flower continued to sway in its own, private breeze.
Harry walked back over to the flower.
"Why won't you talk to me?" he asked. "Don't tell me to look at the bloody plaque, I want to hear it from you."
The flower split in two, and her voice filled the air, shrieking, so loudly Harry thought his ears would burst. "You took him from us and you turned him into a mudblood-loving bloodtraitor wimp. He was meant for me, meant for much greater things than you, Harry Potter!" The flower fell silent and repaired itself.
"He—he said he loved me," Harry said. "He said he's loved me the whole time."
The flower stayed silent. Harry checked the plaque, but it was blank.
"Tell me if he was telling me the truth," Harry demanded. "Tell me if he meant any of what he said."
Harry turned back to the plaque.
Noli rogare stultus quaestiones.
"Would you stop speaking in Latin!" Harry yelled. "I've told you, I don't understand Latin!"
Don't ask stupid questions.
"I don't know what that means!" Harry yelled. "Stop speaking in riddles!"
The sphinx from the portrait stood next to Harry. "Riddles are the only truth in these gardens," it said. "And if you don't speak Latin, you hardly belong here in the first place."
"What are these gardens?" Harry asked. "They're just sunflowers."
"Hortum veritatis," the sphinx said. "I will not translate for you, Harry Potter. Think. You know what that means."
He raked his brain for any spare bit of Latin lying around. There wasn't any. "Honestly, I—" He cut off. That last word, that sounded almost like Veritaserum. So truth? Or something? And if they were in gardens, that combined with the word horticulture… "Garden of Truth?" Harry asked.
The sphinx smiled. "Very good, Harry Potter."
"Why riddles then?"
"Aenigmata, excitarent cerebrum. Or, to put it in words you would understand, riddles wake the brain."
Harry had a headache. "I need to figure it out for myself, then."
The sphinx's smile widened. "I knew you'd get there eventually, Harry Potter."
Harry stood alone with the plaque and the flower.
"You," he said, addressing the plaque, "are purposefully difficult. And you," he said, addressing the flower, "you are a brainless, ignorant twat. I won't listen to either of you anymore."
Harry turned around. The sunflowers had closed in behind him, making retreat impossible. He turned again. The plaque and the flower were gone.
"Right then. Forward it is."
Harry woke up to tapping. He was halfway to the window before he realized it was coming from the door. "Come in," he said, voice blurry with sleep.
"Door's locked."
Harry's brain suddenly focused, memories from last night flooding back, bringing fury with them. Harry grabbed his glasses and opened the door with a flick of his wand. Draco was leaning against the doorway, head in his hands, looking paler than Harry had ever seen him, as well as like he might throw up at any given moment. Harry turned away and started getting dressed.
"What happened last night?" Draco asked. "Tastes like a Flobberworm died in my mouth."
He didn't remember? He…he didn't remember. Harry found this even more infuriating. "Oh, nothing," he snapped, slamming the drawers open and closed, delighting in every time Draco winced against the noise. "We were studying, all of us, Ron, Hermione, Neville—"
"Yes, yes, I remember that part," Draco said, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. "Pansy and Blaise showed up with Firewhiskey and your friends left, I've got that much. Then what?"
Harry threw a pile of clothes at Draco. "Here. Get dressed."
Draco groaned. "Is it time for class already? It felt earlier than that."
"We're going to have a game of Quidditch first," Harry said firmly. "We haven't played in weeks."
Draco looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. "You really think now, while I'm like this, is a good time for a game?" He squinted. "Harry, have you been crying?"
"I dunno, Draco, can you think of any reason why I might have been?" Harry asked, pulling on his clothes. "Hurry up, we haven't got the field for long. Ron got me a copy of the schedule, and Hufflepuffs have practice at seven."
"It's before seven?" Draco asked, though he did start to get dressed. "I can't believe I'm letting you talk me out of another hour of sleep."
"You owe me," Harry said.
"For what? Did I keep you up late or something?"
Harry's hands balled into fists. "Not exactly. Come on, it's almost six-thirty already." He grabbed Draco by the arm as soon as he was fully clothed, muttered "Alohamora" under his breath, and their door swung open. Draco had gotten himself free by the time they were down the stairs, and Harry unstuck the portrait quietly enough that Draco couldn't hear him. He saw the sphinx start to say something, and Harry glared beseechingly at it. "Not now," he whispered.
The sphinx gave him a look, but stayed silent.
The walk down to the Quidditch pitch was slower than Harry would have liked given the state Draco was in, but soon enough they had their brooms out and Draco released the snitch into the sky, squinting in what Harry supposed was very bright sunlight to him.
"Here," he said, tossing something at Draco. "Think you'll want this."
Draco stared at it blindly for a minute. "A Beater's bat?" he asked. "What—?"
"Let's just say I've got the need to hit a heavy ball around," Harry said, taking his own bat. "Repeatedly. At length. For the rest of the day." Not entirely sure what would happen, Harry unlocked one of the Bludgers. It flew onto the field and circled the perimeter angrily, waiting for the boys to fly within bounds.
"Harry, did I say something last night? Because, really, whatever it was—"
"You didn't say a thing," Harry interrupted. "Let's just leave the stakes that whoever doesn't get their head bashed in wins, yeah?"
"Harry, this really isn't a good idea," Draco said apprehensively. "Even at my best, I'm hardly strong enough—"
"Stop whining and get on your damned broom," Harry snapped. Draco did as he said, perhaps too hung over to argue. "On my count." Harry rocketed onto the field and the Bludger immediately changed course. He slammed it as hard as he could, loving the crack the bat made when it connected. The Bludger careened off, and Harry had a chance to glance at Draco. It seemed flying was finally waking him up, and he steadily sped up until he was at Harry's side.
"What is going on?" he asked, ducking as the Bludger flew towards him. "Really, since when we play with Bludgers?"
"I told you, I feel the inexplicable need to hit something," Harry said lightly. "Can't imagine why." He whirled around and swung at the Bludger just before it slammed into his face, sending it hurtling across the field. He sped away from Draco, keeping an eye out for the snitch, but mostly taking out his anger on the Bludger. No doubt he wouldn't be able to move his shoulder at all by the end of the day, but it was all worth it for that satisfying slam when the Bludger and bat connected. He was actually starting to get good at it, and the next time the Bludger flew by him, he hit it towards Draco, checking himself only at the very last minute.
"Potter!" Draco yelled, swerving to avoid it. He stayed on his broom, but Harry thought he was on the very edge of balance. He was forced into a nosedive to avoid the Bludger before rocketing back up, the iron ball still on his tail. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? If you thought this would be funny—"
"Didn't occur to me once," Harry said. Draco finally managed to hit the Bludger, but he was hardly built to be a Beater, and it only drifted slowly over to where Harry was waiting for it. "I'm playing Quidditch, what does it look like?" He knocked the Bludger back in Draco's direction.
"Well, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to kill me," Draco yelled, this time nearly avoiding a collision with a goal post as the Bludger whistled by his ear before changing direction and nearly slamming into the back of his head. He jerked his bat at it, more trying to avoid impact that to hit it in any specific direction.
"Me, trying to kill you?" Harry asked, almost lazily. He was feeling so much better than this morning and even last night; the wind was in his hair, the snitch was whizzing around somewhere, and he got to hit heavy things in Draco's direction all under the guise of a game. He glided over to the Bludger and almost absentmindedly hit it in Draco's direction. "Why would I be trying to do that?"
"Bloody hell, how should I know?" Draco snapped, spiraling upwards, trying to shake the damned ball. "Seriously, Potter, my head is still pounding, I can hardly see straight, and if you keep forcing me into moves like this, I'm going to throw up."
Harry had to hold back a sneer. "That'd be your problem, Malfoy, not mine." He hovered, waiting for Draco to send the Bludger back in his direction. Almost before he could react it flew towards him; maybe Draco was finally starting to get angry, or maybe he was just trying not to die, Harry didn't know. But it gave him the extra momentum he needed, and this time his shot connected, hitting the side of Draco's head with a dull, dangerous sounding thunk. Draco reached up to his head as if in a daze, gently touching the side of his head and looking at the blood on his fingers.
"Draco?" Harry asked uncertainly. His intention had been to take his anger out on the ball, not on Draco, though he supposed he wouldn't have minded too terribly if Draco had broken an arm, or fallen from his broom, as long as he wasn't too high up. But this was much, much more than that, Harry could see even from this distance. "Are you alright?"
The Bludger, seeming to have decided on an alliance, flew back to Harry and started circling his head, waiting for further instructions. Harry batted it away angrily, getting more and more worried. "Draco!" he called out sharply, flying over to him. "Draco, look at me."
Draco did manage to look at him, but his eyes were unfocused, and they quickly slid past Harry to some point over his shoulder. "Harry," he said, almost dreamily. "Harry, I think I've got to—" His eyes rolled into the back of his head and if it weren't for Harry's Seeker reflexes, he would have fallen from his broom, and this was not the height Harry had been imagining. But he got a hold on the back of his robes and pulled Draco onto his own broom, scooting backwards to allow room for both of them. Harry hovered nervously, trying to plan his next move. Blood was flowing heavily from Draco's head, staining his silvery hair an unpleasant maroon, the Bludger was still circling his head, and Draco's broom was somehow still in the air, floating next to him. There was no way he could carry Draco to the infirmary, he wasn't that strong, nor could he fly into the castle like this.
That left him with only one choice. Trying to figure out where the hospital wing was from the outside, Harry flew around the castle, finally finding Madame Pomfrey sitting at her desk, going over paperwork. He flew as close to the window as he dared before yelling her name. She jumped up, hand going to her chest, and opened the window.
"Potter!" she shrieked. Harry didn't think he had ever heard her so angry. "What in Merlin's beard happened?"
"Bludger accident," Harry said. "I don't know—"
"Clearly, Potter," she snapped. "Go on over to the other window, it's the infirmary, and I'll take it from there." Harry did as she said, staying on his broom as Draco was levitated onto a hospital bed. "Bludger to the head?" she asked.
"Yeah. Also, um, he's probably pretty hung over," Harry said. Now that he said it out loud, he was all too aware of how incredibly stupid his actions seemed.
"Don't just stay there!" Madame Pomfrey yelled. "Get back to the Quidditch field and lock that thing up before it can do anymore damage!"
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, and quickly flew away.
It took quite a while for him to wrestle the Bludger back into the box; once it realized what he was trying to do, any allegiance it felt disappeared, and Harry only barely managed to get it locked away. He put Draco's broom back in his changing rooms and was about to go inside when he remembered the snitch. Cursing loudly, he flew onto the field and, thankfully, saw the snitch nearly immediately. It, too, put up quite a fight, but eventually Harry managed to grab it and put it away. His own broom went back into the Gryffindor rooms, and then he was all but running inside and up to the infirmary.
"Is he okay?" Harry gasped, running into the room, slamming into and knocking over a tray of supplies.
Madame Pomfrey glared at him. "No thanks to you," she said, magicking the supplies back to where they belonged. "What on earth made you think practicing with a Bludger was a good idea, Harry Potter? You know full well they're not permitted to be removed without at least one Beater and the Captain of the team present, and I think it obvious that was not the case this morning."
Harry didn't have an answer for her. His eyes were fixed on Draco, who was as white as the sheets he was lying on. There was gauze wrapped around his head and a dangerous looking bloody spot slowly blooming on one side. "Is he going to be okay?" Harry repeated.
"Yes, he'll be fine," Madame Pomfrey said. "He just needs to sleep it off." She turned back to Harry, hands on her hips. "Of all the times to break the rules, and of all the rules to break, what could have possibly possessed you to play with Bludgers while hung over? I've already sent an owl Headmaster McGonagall explaining what happened, so don't think you'll escape this unscathed." Then her face softened, just slightly, and a chair appeared next to Draco's bed. "You can stay until he wakes up, as long as your urge for bloodlust has been satisfied."
"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said, taking his place by Draco's side.
"I've also owled your professors, warning them not to expect you or Mr. Malfoy."
"Thank you," Harry repeated. He took Draco's hand in both of his, the weight of what he had done finally crashing down on him. Draco may have cheated on him, but he had been drunk, and even if he hadn't been, was a Bludger to the head really an appropriate response? Harry rested his head on their joined hands, wishing desperately for Madame Pomfrey to be right, for Draco to be okay.
