It took only a matter of minutes for the stands to empty out onto the Pitch below, the noise level spiking and then slowly tapering off as some students went back inside and others grouped together in discussion. Draco was caught up by his team the moment he landed, each player congratulating him. He could tell, though, they all felt as empty about the victory as he had. The teachers were next to approach him; Snape giving a silent nod, Hooch and Dumbledore engaging him in conversation.
Blaise and Pansy retreated to the warmth of the castle directly after the game to help set up for the victory party in the dungeons, leaving Harry alone to search the Pitch for Draco. His progress was slowed considerably by the wet slush still covering the ground, but at last he spotted Draco in the distance, talking to Professor Dumbledore. With a burst of warmth and a blooming smile he set off towards his target, feet squishing wetly through the churned up, muddy snow. He was halfway to his destination when his name was called in a questioning, too-familiar voice, stopping him in his tracks. Despite himself, Harry felt his shoulders begin to tense.
"Harry? What are you doing here? I didn't see you in the stands during the game."
Harry turned to see Ron standing there, looking irritable and red as ever, though from anger at losing the game, or him, he couldn't be sure.
"Oh- of course I was here, Ron. I wouldn't miss it. I was a few minutes late, though, and I couldn't find Hermione or the others in the stands so I sat with Luna and a couple of Ravenclaws."
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Luna and Ravenclaws? Then what the bloody hell is this?"
Ron reached out with faster reflexes than he'd ever displayed at Quidditch, ripping a tiny Slytherin flag from where Harry had thought he'd hidden it inside his robes.
"Slytherin, Harry? You were sitting with the fucking SLYTHERINS! On top of all the crazy shit you've already pulled, you chose them over us? You traitor!"
"Ron, no! It's not like that. I was cheering for you both-"
"Yeah right, Harry! You were cheering for Malfoy all the way, weren't you? Weren't you! You filthy little rat, you're no better than Pettigrew, are you? Turning on your loving friends and playing with the Death Eaters."
"RON!" Harry stumbled back a step as Ron advanced, too shocked to even process what his ears were hearing.
"Some hero you are, Harry." He spat, grabbing Harry's left arm and wrenching him forward, pushing up the sleeve. "To think of all the sacrifices we've made for you! The things we've all done for you. I bet you've got the Mark and everything, don't you?"
"No Ron, let go! I don't have any Mark, and neither does Draco!" Sure enough, Harry's arm was bare as ever when Ron finally got the cloth bunched up, but this did not seem to deter him.
"Not yet, anyway. I've been watching you though, Harry. I've figured out what's going on," Ron pulled him in close, whispering in his ear. "I know about you and Malfoy." Harry pulled back, horror etched in every feature.
"No, Ron, you're wrong." He tried to squirm away, but pale, freckled fingers tightened painfully on his arm, digging deep enough to leave vicious marks of their own. "It isn't like that…"
"How is he, Harry?" Ron whispered, his voice taking on a dangerous edge Harry had never heard before. "I bet he makes you scream, doesn't he? Makes you beg like the filthy slut you are. You like spreading your legs for Death Eater scum, huh, Harry?"
Hot tears of shame were burning Harry's eyes, clouding his vision. He wanted to run, but found himself rooted to the spot by Ron's painful grip, which tightened further with every breath until Harry thought his arm might well snap in half under the pressure. Harry tried to worm away, but the fingers simply squeezed harder, shifting to ensure Harry was well and truly trapped. Looking up at Ron's sneering face through damp, heavy lashes, Harry whispered, voice almost inaudible, "Death Eater scum or not, Ron, Draco is more of a man than you could ever dream of being."
The words had barely left his mouth before a fist connected with his right eye, a sickening crunch reverberating through Harry's skull as shards of his broken glasses pierced his skin, burrowing deep and sending pain lancing through him. The momentum of the punch sent him tumbling backwards, vision darkening and blurring as dizziness overwhelmed him. Harry landed dully, sinking into the cold, muddy slush. Suddenly, a green blur seemed to come out of nowhere, zooming by overhead at an alarming speed. As it did, Harry found himself overwhelmed by a sudden surge of raw emotion, pairing with the pain throbbing in his head to send him into a panting, motionless ball on the ground.
Draco had been talking to Dumbledore when he felt a veritable explosion take place in his chest, shock waves of fear, anger and pain rippling through him so hard they left him breathless, his blood burning hot as it pounded through his veins. The conversation was instantly forgotten and he spun around, eyes honing instantly on Harry as the dark haired boy crumpled to the ground at Ronald Weasely's feet. Unadulterated rage bloomed in Draco's chest and he was on his broom before he even knew what he was doing, closing the distance and gaining momentum by the second, flinging himself forward and tackling the sneering Gryffindor to the ground. The heavy haze of fury clouding Draco's mind made him numb to the pain as Ron got in one decent punch, fueling him on as he pinned the Weasel to the ground and proceeded to beat him absolutely senseless. Fists flew, connecting again and again anywhere Draco could find, the world around them fading until his only focus was the sound of ribs cracking and a nose breaking, the way the blood was dripping onto the snow, and the fact that through it all, Ron was insulting Harry. The gasped fragments of "filthy slut" and "deserves what he got" fueled Draco to heights of violence he'd never known, his fingers gripping that blasphemous throat and squeezing harder and harder, desperate to halt the string of heretical filth pouring forth. Eventually the words stopped, but even as the Weasel went silent they echoed through Draco's mind, haunting him even after he was forcibly ripped from the bloody mass on the ground. Draco struggled to break free, realizing momentarily it was Crabbe who was restraining him as teachers poured over the scene.
Things like "is he breathing?" and "someone get him to Poppy" made it through the haze, bringing reality crashing back around him with nauseating clarity.
"Let me go, I'm okay." Draco panted and was hesitantly released, Crabbe stepping to the side as Draco took advantage of the teachers' distracted state to sink to the ground beside Harry.
"Uhh… Draco?" Harry looked disoriented and very much in pain. Draco winced to look at him. Already Harry's right eye was swollen almost entirely shut, his glasses shattered, several large, glistening shards easily visible sticking straight out of his cheek, blood covering the entire side of his face. Draco felt ready to pass out, but put on a brave face and stroked the mess of dark hair nonetheless.
"It's okay, just hang tight there." Draco smiled, opening his mouth to say something further when a firm hand on his shoulder caught his attention. He gave Harry one last weak smile before getting shakily to his feet and following the elderly Headmaster several paces away.
"Mr. Malfoy. I believe you will be owing quite an explanation for this. I might also add that it would be pertinent to profusely thank your friend, Mr. Crabbe, for having the good sense to stop you when he did, or we might not be able to enjoy the indulgence of explanations." Dumbledore's tone was low and sharp and quick.
Draco winced.
"I'm sorry, sir. I never meant it to go so far. He… he hurt Harry, sir, and then when we were fighting, he kept saying terrible things about the… thing that happened to Harry." Dumbledore's brow furrowed.
"The rape, you mean?"
"Don't say that word!" Draco hissed, casting a hasty glance backwards. Luckily, Harry was too busy trying to sit up to have heard. When he looked back at the elderly Headmaster, wise blue eyes were boring into him, understanding blooming in their depths.
"I see. What exactly was said?" By then, Harry had stumbled to his feet. Hastily, Draco leaned in, whispering, "He called Harry a slut, and a Death Eater, and said that he deserved what he got and that… and that he probably… probably liked it. He said Harry was a traitor, that it would have been better if Harry had… died. He just… kept saying such terrible things, I can't even remember it all." Dumbledore's eyes were wide behind his spectacles.
"I see. That is… very interesting." Dumbledore watched in silence as Harry stumbled forward, still obviously dizzy. With a sigh, and a thoughtful frown Dumbledore continued. "I do admit your reaction was understandable given the extreme circumstances. However, I fear I cannot simply dismiss this matter. This is the second time this school year that blood has been spilt on this ground as a result of fights between Mr. Weasley and yourself. And, given the nature of the actions and words from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, I feel it suitable that one hundred points be deducted from each house. Subsequently, since Quidditch seems to insight such actions, I also hereby disqualify both houses from playing any further games this school year."
Draco tensed, words of protest automatically rushing to his mouth, but Harry's hand found his at his side, the firm, warm grip silencing and steadying him.
"Yes, sir."
"And, finally, in order to dissuade the both of you from any further displays of violence, neither of you will be permitted to visit Poppy, or use magic to prematurely heal these wounds."
"WHAT! But Harry-"
"Will live, Mr. Malfoy. I wish to keep it as fresh in your mind as possible that fighting, regardless of the reasons, is strictly prohibited here at Hogwarts. Any further incidents and I fear I may have to take more drastic measures. Now, I believe my presence will be required in the hospital." Dumbledore sounded uncharacteristically exasperated as he turned and began to walk back to the castle. Draco's mouth opened once more to protest, but Harry tugged his hand.
"Draco, leave it. He's right, I'll be fine. Besides, neither of us are anywhere near as bad off as Ron was. I saw them levitate him inside." Draco's heart sank.
"But Harry-"
"Come on, let's go in. I'm freezing."
XxX
"Blaise, for Merlin's sake, be careful!" Draco whined, a wave of nausea washing over him. If he hadn't already been sitting on the floor, he felt that he probably would have fainted. Harry's grip on his hand tightened painfully. "Blaise!"
"Shove it, Draco, before Pansy has to sedate you. Or worse, make you wait outside."
Another piece of glass clinked into the metal bowl. Harry's grip relaxed. Draco sighed.
The mood in the Common Room had been a somber one when they arrived, the news of the fight preceding them courtesy of Vincent Crabbe and the other members of the team. Upon learning of the new Quidditch ban the younger years had erupted into mayhem, predictably blaming Harry for their predicament. Apparently it escaped their little ears that Gryffindor had been banned as well. Draco did not bother trying to stop them, though; he had more important things to worry about. Instead, he motioned for Pansy and Blaise to follow and lead Harry up to the dormitories, pulling them into his room and locking the door behind them. Draco had quickly found himself sitting on the floor beside his bed, alternately ready to throw up and pass out as Blaise and Pansy rushed around, gathering what they could and transfiguring what they couldn't. Harry had been situated in a pile of towels on Draco's bed, arm dangling over the side, their fingers meshed. Every few minutes those fingers would grip Draco's clammy hand reflexively, the second-hand wave of pain making Draco queasy, faint and increasingly verbal about it. Unlike the pale, sweating Slytherin on the floor, Harry remained absolutely silent through the whole ordeal, face hardly twitching as Blaise removed each individual piece of glass with a pair of tweezers. It seemed Dumbledore had somehow fixed it so that spells would not work on their wounds, leaving them to Muggle methods and the most basic healing ointments. From the look of things, it seemed Harry was to have a new scar. Another shard of glass was plucked free, Harry's hand gripping his own furiously.
"Can't we at least use a numbing charm?" Draco chanced a glance over his shoulder, paling further. Merlin, there was blood everywhere.
" Draco. Shut. Up." Harry bit out between clenched teeth as Blaise ran a tender finger over the wound, finding yet another sliver of deeply embedded glass.
"Draco," Pansy sighed, settling onto the floor beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Try to breathe, alright? It's almost over." Draco nodded miserably.
"I think I've got it all. Can you feel anything else in there?" Blaise sat back, wiping his hands on a towel. Harry opened and closed his mouth, scrunching his nose and setting his jaw.
"Yeah… there's still something in there." With careful fingers, Harry probed until he found it; a long, slender shard deep under the skin of his cheek. "Here." He lay back down and Blaise felt around to determine how best to get it out.
"Bloody hell. Alright, umm… just… hold still and try to breathe. This isn't going to feel very pleasant." Slowly, carefully, Blaise used the blunt side of the tweezers and his fingers to work the sliver back through Harry's cheek towards the open wound beneath his eye. Draco worried for a moment that his fingers might break under Harry's grip, but still the dark haired boy remained silent, his face frozen. When the tip pierced through the skin prematurely, Harry's breath hitched and caught in his throat, trembling head to foot from repressed tension.
"Shit. Pansy, get some water and a blanket, I think he's going into shock."
"I'm… fine…" Harry panted, a soft groan finally tearing its way past his lips as the inch long sliver was plucked free in one smooth tug. It clinked into the bowl with the rest of the pieces.
"I know. I meant Draco." Blaise smirked at him as he sat about wiping his hands again. Harry peered over the side of the bed and sure enough, Draco was flat on his back, staring glassy eyed at the ceiling, chest heaving. Harry released his hand, wincing as it landed limply on the floor with a thud.
"Will he be alright?" Harry lay back down and Blaise began to wash the wound with warm, soapy water. "Yeah, don't worry about him. He's tough enough, but with this much blood it was only a matter of time." Harry winced a little as the soap stung terribly, but the healing salve moments later blessedly numbed the ripped up flesh a bit. Harry watched as Pansy propped Draco up with a pillow, wrapping the trembling boy in a blanket and helping him sip from a glass of water.
"I knew he was a bit squeamish, but I never imagined it was this bad," Harry mused as Blaise taped a square bandage across his cheek before handing Harry his freshly repaired glasses. "Thanks, by the way."
"No problem. You took it really well; you're tougher than you look." Harry smiled, feeling more at ease. He knew how to spot a Slytherin compliment when it came his way. A soft groan from the floor interrupted any further conversation, though.
"Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes. Pansy, dear, I do believe this is our invitation to leave." Blaise stood, grabbing up the bloody towels and bowl of glass shards, heading towards the door with them before Draco could catch sight and pass out again. Pansy stood as well, casting Draco a worried glance before following Blaise to the door.
"Thanks again. For just now, and back at the game." Harry smiled, and, to his surprise and delight, they smiled back.
"No worries, Harry. Just don't go all sappy-Gryffindor on us." Pansy joked, sending Draco one last worried look before letting Blaise lead her out of the room with an arm around her back. Harry had to bite back a laugh.
"Ugh… I feel wretched," Draco grumbled as the door shut, eyes still closed as he crawled up onto the bed. "Why do I feel so wretched?" Draco peeked one eye open, examining Harry's face as the Gryffindor drew him into a hug. "Nice shiner, by the way."
Harry snorted, nudging Draco onto his back and taking advantage of the expanse of robe-clad chest as a pillow. "You've got a matching one, if you hadn't noticed." Draco scrunched up his nose, wincing a little as he realized his left eye was, in fact, a little sore.
"So it would seem," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Though I imagine yours is by far more impressive." Another snort. Harry tensed, seemingly aware of the coming words before they were even spoken.
"Harry," -"I don't want to talk about it."- "about what Weasley said-"
Harry snapped the moment Draco started talking, defenses instantly rearing up.
"We're not going to talk about it," Draco tightened his arms around Harry's middle when the bristling Gryffindor tried to pull away. "I just want to take a moment to vocalize the fact that we both know every single word of it was utter, disgusting rubbish." Harry opened his mouth. "No. What we did on Valentine's day does not make you a slut. That was a beautiful, physical expression of feeling between two equals that care about each other very much. Never let anyone convince you otherwise." Draco whispered fiercely, tilting Harry's chin up so their eyes met. Harry was fleetingly surprised how quickly the Slytherin could go from fainting to overprotective.
A brief flicker of pain passed across Harry's face as bit the inside of his cheek, the movement pulling muscles that would have preferred to be left alone. A rush of annoyance washed over him, but with a sigh of resignation Harry relented, a noncommittal grunt escaping as he let his head fall back to Draco's chest. Harry's heart still felt heavy, but Draco knew that it was not the right time to prod further. He was simply glad that at least Harry was comfortable enough with him to not shy away from, or be embarrassed by physical contact. Instead, the dark head pressed closer, face buried against the arch of smooth, white throat, their arms around each other tightening. For a very long time they lay there in silence, curled beneath the blanket Draco had salvaged from the floor, arms and legs intimately entwined. No words made it past the warmth suffusing them; feelings and whispered sighs and stolen kisses all they needed. They were content to simply tangle themselves together as tightly as possible, each drawing strength and comfort from the warmth the other exuded, letting it carry them into a world all their own. Eventually Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle came in and prepared for bed, but none dared to intrude upon their sanctuary. The room remained completely silent, save for the slight shuffling of pajamas being located and taps running in the bathroom. More time passed, and the sounds were eventually replaced by soft snoring around the room, darkness cocooning them in an intimate world. It was well after midnight and Draco had been dozing slowly off to sleep when Harry's whispered voice broke through the spell.
"Draco, you know I have to go back to my own dorm." Despite the words, they both tightened the embrace imperceptibly.
"No. No, you don't. You can stay here." Harry shook his head, carefully disentangling his lethargic limbs.
"I can't, Draco. The longer I'm away, the harder things will be to patch up." Even in the dark, Harry could tell Draco was opening his mouth to protest. "I have to. No matter what, I'm still a Gryffindor, and no matter how much I enjoy laying here curled up with you, sooner or later I'll have to go back. I'd rather get it over with."
The bed creaked its protest as Harry stood, toeing on his discarded shoes and groping around for his glasses in the dark. Draco followed suit, carefully unfolding the wire frames settled beside his head on the pillow and placing them on Harry's bandaged face. Even in the dark he could see Harry's pained expression as his fingers bumped the taped-on square. "Sorry…" He whispered. Hands brushed and tangled in the dark as they padded down the stairs and into the Common Room, thankful for the cover of darkness against any who might have intruded upon them.
"Can I at least go with you?" Draco asked, worry wrenching his heart once more as he caught a good look at Harry's battered face in the firelight. As he feared, Harry shook his head.
"No. I've got to go by myself." Draco sighed.
"Be careful. I… I love you." Harry tensed, looking up at him longingly as he opened his mouth to reply, but the only sound that managed to immerge after a moment was a breathy, deflated sigh. Green eyes darkened and fell, brow furrowed as his jaw clicked shut. Harry looked hastily away, head dipping to stare at a nonexistent spot on Draco's shoulder. "It's alright. I know." Draco whispered reassuringly, careful fingers settling on Harry's chest, splayed over his heart. Harry nodded, resting his forehead wearily on Draco's shoulder, pulling the other boy into a tight hug. They clung together for several more long minutes before Harry pulled away, stepping towards the door. "I'll see you later," he whispered before promptly disappearing into the blackness. The only sign of his departure was a soft click as the portrait slid shut. Draco all but collapsed, thankful there was a sofa not too far behind him.
The trek to Gryffindor tower seemed to stretch on indefinitely, longer and more tiring than Harry ever recalled it being before. In the darkness, he was hyperaware of his surroundings, easily dodging cat and teacher alike. Each step on his inexorable journey seemed to wear on him, dragging him lower and leaving him more exhausted than the last. Finally, Harry found himself on the seventh floor, staring at the snoring portrait of the Fat Lady. Fear and adrenaline welled up inside him, sending his blood pounding hot and loud in his ears and making his palms sweat. He stood there for several minutes, poised on the threshold of what he had once considered his true home, feeling the darkness around him steadily encroaching, suffocating him until he could stand there no longer. Whispering the password to the dozing Fat Lady, Harry held his breath as the portrait swung slowly and silently open, beckoning him into the foreboding darkness of Gryffindor Tower.
