DENIAL AND ITS SIDE EFFECTS

HashtagMC

This story now has a beta-reader! Huge thanks to hes-beauty-hes-jason-grace, who is now proofreading my chapters! Check out her stories and profile!

This chapter is a bit longer than the past ones – I even had to move a planned scene to the next chapter, to my own surprise.

Also, I was told by a reader that Hestia Jones died between The Order of the Phoenix and The Half-Blood Prince – I am sorry to contradict you, but this can't be true, since she escorted the Dursley family to a safe home at the beginning of The Deathly Hallows. Thanks for the hint nonetheless!

Kigen Dawn, I am afraid it'll take a little bit longer until Draco gets a hug and a kiss, but as you can see – and will see in the next chapter –, Harry's 'stalker tendencies' are beginning to show.

Ern Estine 13624, yep, Harry will do something about Draco's problems – or at least, he tries to.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story, added it to their favourites, or simply read it!

— Hashtag

CHAPTER 7 – THE DRUGS DON'T WORK

'Now, as your N.E.W.T.s are approaching, we shall turn to a more sophisticated subject,' Professor McGonagall said.

Stacked on her table were maybe three dozen cotton reels. With a flick of her wand, she moved one of them onto the closest student's desk.

'Today, you will learn to turn these reels into something far more complicated,' McGonagall continued. 'Please watch.' She twisted her wand between her fingers, and in spoke an incantation.

'Mutatio figura!'

Where a moment before the cotton reel had lain, now stood a little figurine – maybe four inches tall, and a perfect miniature of the deceased Professor Dumbledore. After a moment, the puppet began to walk, pacing forth and back on the table, and every now and then stopping to raise an admonitory finger.

'This spell is basically very easy, but requires quite an amount of imagination. You will have to depict the person whom you'll want the figurine to embody in minute detail. If you can imagine them vividly enough, you can also make these figurines perform any activity you want.' While she was speaking, she made a small movement of her wand towards the puppet, and suddenly, the miniature Dumbledore began to dance a Twist.

'Now,' the pile of cotton reels began distributing itself to the students, 'try it yourself, but don't be discouraged if you don't succeed immediately. Magic which fills objects with life usually is the hardest. Nonetheless, I would be very disappointed if at the end of the period, none of you would have mastered the spell.'

Soon, the classroom was filled with 'Mutatio figura'-incantations. Granger, of course, was the fastest, her cotton reel began to resemble a figurine already when Weasley's had only just managed to change its colour. Potter was fumbling with his wand, waving it at the reel in front of him in a completely wrong way. Sneering, Draco rolled up his sleeves before trying to mirror the gesture Professor McGonagall had performed. His first attempts were fruitless, of course, but after the fourth or something time, the reel's shape began to shift, slowly growing something which vaguely resembled limbs.

Imagination, Draco told himself. He had to imagine how the figure should look like. Since he couldn't think of any person he'd like the puppet to stand for, he settled for his own appearance. He should know it well enough for a first try.

Closing his eyes, Draco began to draw a mental picture of himself. He had grown since last year, and was probably one of the tallest in his year by now. Last time he'd checked, his skin was the same pale complexion as always, only graced with a few more scars than before. His white-blond hair was still smoothly falling down and framing his face. His eyes were the same grey colour they'd always been. Regarding clothes, he wore his black school robes with the Slytherin emblem attached to them. Draco made sure to go over every detail in his head before trying to keep the whole picture in mind as he swung his wand again, intonation the spell and focusing on the person he wanted the object to become.

As soon as the last syllable had left his mouth, he watched the cotton reel in front of him transform into what looked more or less similar to him. He clearly needed to work on this, because at the moment, the object looked more like a sloppy piece of work made out of wood, but since he still had more than half the double period to perfect his work, Draco was fairly confident.

'Mutatio figura!'

Across the room, he could see Potter clenching his fists and gnawing on his bottom lip, before the Boy Who Lived swung his wand again; this time transforming the reel into something which, as far as Draco could see through the room, seemed to at least have the correct number of limbs.

Sighing – for no particular reason – Draco returned his attention to the figurine in front of him. After a few more tries, he had gotten the puppet's features right, and when the end of the period was approaching, he had even managed to add a microscopic Slytherin emblem to the figure's robes. Just because he felt like it, he moved his wand a little and conjured a small Death Eater mask for the figure. It probably wasn't the best thing to do, but honestly, that was what people still mistook him for, right?

Draco looked up at the feeling of someone watching him, and caught Weasley glaring at him. Since he was better than doing something as vulgar as flipping the arrogant prat the finger, Draco instead summoned another cotton reel from McGonagall's desk and quickly turned it into a miniature Potter, satisfied to see Weasley's glare intensify. At some point, he had gotten the hang of this spell, and a muttered incantation was all it took him to have both puppets turn towards Weasley and make a definitely rude gesture towards him. Served him right.

Since he had no interest in arguing with Weasley – not today, at least –, Draco made sure to leave the classroom before Potter and his clique did, silently cursing whoever had planned the eight-years timetable. There weren't many eight-years – too many dead students –, therefore, the classes were rather small. Which led to most lessons being attended by at least two houses. Which led to Draco having to spend way too many hours with Gryffindors.

This bloody sucked.

— Denial and its Side Effects —

This evening, Harry had decided earlier today, he was going to spend some time with his friends. He was thinking too much of other things recently, and too less of the people who'd kept him company through everything the past seven years had thrown at him. Nonetheless, he had refused Hermione's offer to study for the next Herbology period as kindly as he could. Right now, she was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, a giant book on her lap, and was watching him and Ron play Exploding Snap. It was, Harry mused, probably the closest thing to 'bonding time' he'd get with her.

But what was at the front of his mind at the moment was that maybe they shouldn't have chosen Weasley's Whizard Wheezes' Self-Shuffling Exploding Snap Cards™ in the 'Bloody Wankers Edition' (said Ron), respectively the 'Spoilsports Edition' (said George), respectively the 'Public Enemies Edition' (said the WWW catalogue). Aside from the fact that those exploded a lot more often than the deck Harry was used to, these showed Dark Wizards instead of Magical Creatures. And while Harry loved nothing more than to tap two matching images of Dolohov or Greyback with his wand and see the cards blow up in Ron's face, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty whenever one of the cards showed Malfoy's face (Jr, not Sr, mind you).

A small explosion in front of him made Harry forget his musings about acquitted Death Eaters, and he quickly jabbed his wand at two cards with an image of Rudolphus Lestrange on them, grinning in satisfaction as the cards exploded and smeared Ron's face with ashes – a make-up usually only sported by Seamus Finnigan.

When Harry walked towards the boys' dormitories, he was actually quite satisfied with the evening. Ron had kicked his ass at Wizard's Chess to get back at Harry for kicking Ron's at Exploding Snap, Dean and Seamus had been curled up on a sofa – Dean testing Seamus' knowledge for the next DADA exam –, Neville had tended to his newest pet plant, and Hermione had watched Harry and Ron while reading a tome with the unlikely title 'A treatise on the various variations of the Mandrake plant, and their use in potions over the course of the 16th century', by Peter Pot-Pruner. So, all in all, the outcome could be counted as a success.

Although, Harry thought with twinge of anger, it would be rather nice if this evening wouldn't have been necessary. It was an act he was playing, and its title was 'I am fine'. He knew that his friends – with enough problems of their own, such as the loss of Ron's brother Fred or the absence of Hermione's parents – wished nothing more but to see him 'normal' again. He was pretending to give them what they wanted, with actions such as this supposedly carefree evening, but having to act as if he was okay took its toll on Harry. It wasn't the support he'd hoped for.

When had been the last time when Harry had done something for the sole purpose of having fun? He hadn't touched his broom this year, whenever he'd spent too much time alone Ron and Hermione had begun to worry about him, and he'd been a bit too occupied with his sleeping issues recently to worry about things such as free time. Maybe he should look for a hobby. Collect Chocolate Frog cards or something similar.

— Denial and its Side Effects —

Why Harry still hurried to get to History of Magic in time, he had no idea. It wasn't as though Professor Binns would notice whether he was there punctually, belatedly, or not at all. The man – ghost, whatever – could lecture a class of three dozen sleeping students about the Giant Wars for two bloody periods without batting an undead eye. Harry wouldn't have chosen the subject in the first place if had he not found himself with no idea as to which other elective subject to choose.

Harry's steps echoed through the empty hallway. He'd taken a shortcut through a wing of the castle which wasn't in use again yet, and except for him, there probably wasn't a living soul around. Or a dead soul, for that matter.

'—you see, we don't like you. Honestly, I don't think anybody likes you, wouldn't you agree?'

The words had come from a classroom whose door was open only a crack, and okay, maybe there was somebody around. And judging by their words, they weren't nice. And a part of Harry – the one which got him in trouble, he suspected – demanded that Harry stepped into the room and found out who was bullying whom in there. It would be the right thing to do. But then again, he was going to get into trouble, as usual, and other people's lives were none of his—

'Lost our ability to speak, didn't we, Draco?'

—business. So this was 'Draco' in there? 'Draco', as in, 'Malfoy'?

Within a second, Harry's previous doubts were gone and forgotten. This was his chance to find out what was wrong with Malfoy, and he was not going to let that slip. Quietly, he pressed himself against the wall next to the door, trying to breathe as silently as possible. He should probably have known that eavesdropping wasn't okay, but for Merlin's sake, this was Malfoy, and two years ago, that would have been reason enough. Now, this was apparently Malfoy being cornered by somebody, and that should justify some eavesdropping, right?

'So, Draco what do you think we should do, hm? You see, we don't want you here. Maybe we could… convince you to leave?' That was another voice than the first.

'Still not going to talk, Draco,' that was the first voice again. 'Diffindo!' Harry flinched when he hard a muffled yelp from inside the classroom.

'I hope,' the second person said in a low, threatening voice, 'that you've learned your lesson, Malfoy. We don't want traitors like you around, so you better stay away from us! Throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower or something like that. Diffindo!'

Harry stiffened until he would have made a board pale when the door flew fully open, and two students left the room. Luckily, they were facing away from Harry, and didn't look back over their shoulders, so they didn't notice him. Not that he wouldn't have been able to defend himself, but that would have definitely counted as 'trouble'.

Once the bullies were gone, Harry emerged from his hiding spot behind the door and stepped into the classroom. As expected, there was Malfoy, sitting on the edge of a table.

Unlike Harry expected, Malfoy was crying. No, sobbing. Like, his whole upper body shook with sobs, tear streaks on his face, and tears freely falling into his lap. The sleeves of his robes were torn, and Harry could see blood dripping from Malfoy's left forearm, right were the Dark Mark was visible through the holes in the sleeve.

Harry must've made some kind of noise, because Malfoy's head snapped up, and teary, bloodshot eyes stared at Harry. If glares could kill, he would have been dead this very second.

'Malfoy.'
'Sod off, Potter.'

Ignoring Malfoy's words, Harry pointed at Malfoy's bloody forearms. 'Who did this?' Malfoy quickly cast a charm to fix his torn sleeves, covering the nasty wounds with fabric. 'Who were those guys?' Harry inquired further. 'Do they do this regularly?'

Malfoy sighed in exasperation. 'You still owe me a favour, right, Potter?' Thrown off track by Malfoy's response, Harry nodded warily.

'Well, that's my repayment: Leave me alone. I'm sure my problems aren't worth your valuable Saviour-time anyway. Find another damsel in distress to satisfy your hero-complex.' With that, he pushed past Harry – effectively tackling him to the ground –, and walked out of the room.

'Fine. I'll leave you alone, Malfoy,' Harry told the blank wall. 'But I'll still find out what's going on.' He sighed. 'And I still owe you a favour,' he added as an afterthought.

Fortunately – Harry was rather fond of his sanity, thank you very much –, the wall didn't respond.

— Denial and its Side Effects —

Ron, Harry decided as he gritted his teeth, was a tactless douche sometimes.

Of course, his best friend couldn't possibly know about the disturbing encounter with Malfoy earlier that day – Harry had wisely chosen not to inform his friends of this, lest they rant about his supposed 'obsession' with Malfoy again –, but still, he had no reason to pick on Malfoy on any occasion there was. Well, Harry had done so, too, in their sixth year for example, but he had been right then, hadn't he? And the way Ron behaved, you would think he was obsessed with Malfoy.

Right now, Ron stood in the Gryffindor common room. He was telling a story about his encounter with the Slytherin's team captain earlier, during which he had informed the sixth-year how gloriously Gryffindor would 'kick their sorry asses' during the next game – followed by the tale of a heroic Ronald Weasley avoiding being hexed into the next year by said Slytherin. From his chair, Harry could see Hermione roll her eyes at her boyfriend's behaviour, but that didn't wipe the smug grin off Ron's face. He enjoyed the rapt attention of a bunch of younger Gryffindors far too much to be bothered by things such as the fact that he had intentionally provoked the other student.

'—and seriously, their seeker is rubbish, and that's what I told him. Well,' he took a sip of what looked suspiciously like butterbeer, 'at least he's not Malfoy. The bloody git had to have his daddy buy him a place on the team.' He sniggered. 'Should've seen his face when 'Mione told him he had bought his position.'

Enough was enough, Harry decided. Tossing aside the newspaper – he'd been staring at the same page for the past fifteen minutes –, Harry stood up from his armchair by the fireplace and approached the small group that was Ron's audience. Bet they only listen 'cause they think he's some kind of hero, Harry thought. Just like when I say something. Nobody would care if we weren't their bloody war heroes.

'—wonder what the git's doing these days,' Ron was saying. 'Probably up to something, as usual. Beware, guys,' he raised a finger, 'never trust a Slytherin.'

'Ron,' Harry said, 'you should go to bed. And stop picking on Malfoy.'
Ron frowned. 'Come again?'

'I said,' Harry repeated, 'stop picking on Malfoy.' He gestured towards the – now quickly dispersing – crowd of second- and third-years. 'What do you think you're doing? Turning them against Slytherins instead of letting them form their own opinions?' He sighed angrily. 'Leave Malfoy alone. He's been an asshole, I know, but in case you haven't noticed, he's changed.' Slowly, Harry's voice was becoming louder. 'Have you seen Malfoy provoke anyone this year? Heard him call anyone "mudblood" yet? No, because he doesn't do this anymore!' He turned to Hermione, who raised her eyebrows at him. 'Mione, say something! Shouldn't you be the first one to preach inter-house unity?'

'Well,' Hermione cautiously began, 'there was a reason they sent the Slytherins out of the castle during the battle, right, Harry?' When Harry frowned, she hurried to add, 'I admit, Malfoy isn't as bad as he used to be, but still… he is a Death Eater, Harry. As are his parents, and the parents of many of his house mates. And remember, Pansy wanted to surrender you to Voldemort.'

Angrily, Harry stomped his feet against the floor. 'So what? He was forced! What would you do if someone held your family – or loved ones,' he added with a glance at Ron, 'at wand point and threatened to kill them if you didn't do what they wanted? It's not like Malfoy got a choice!' He caught his breath and tried to lower the volume of his voice. 'Merlin's pants, I testified for him on his trial! Shouldn't this be enough for you? All this crap about me being the "Saviour" should be good for something, but if even my friends don't believe a word I say –'

'Harry,' Ron slowly said, 'are you defending Malfoy?'

'No!' Harry snapped. 'Fine, yes, I am,' he added after a moment. 'So what? Do you think I saved his life just so you can pick on him whenever you feel like it?'

'Harry,' Hermione said, 'saving Malfoy was surely noble of you –'

'Noble,' Harry spat. 'That's what I'm supposed to be, right? Noble. Well, you should try noble too, some time. Maybe you could begin with giving Malfoy a second chance.' A new thought occurred to him. 'McGonagall trusts Malfoy, otherwise she wouldn't have let him come back here, right? Won't you listen to her?'

'Maybe you should go to sleep,' Ron suggested. 'You're tired. We can talk about this later, when you're not this stressed.'

'That's it,' Harry huffed. 'You're right, I'll go to bed. We can talk if you see reason.' That said, he spun on his heel and stomped off towards the dorms.

But, for obvious reasons, he couldn't sleep. The fight kept bothering him. Right, he'd never thought he'd defend Draco Malfoy, of all people, but then again, he'd never thought he'd see Malfoy of all people being harassed by other Slytherin's. Maybe, the unhelpful voice in his head supplied, you had to see that he has problems, too, like everybody else. You always had a thing for helping people in danger, right?

Harry told the voice to shut up. It sounded an awful lot like Hermione.

He had taken the usual three drops of his sleeping draught, but the potion failed to work. It made him even more tired, and drowsy, but he just couldn't fall asleep. He heard Ron step into the dormitory, together with Dean and Seamus, and he pretended to be asleep when Ron passed by his bed. He could see all of them slip under their blankets and bid each other goodnight, before the sound of a handful of people breathing slowly filled the room.

Harry was still awake by the time Seamus began to cry in his sleep, and he didn't fall asleep after Seamus woke up and quietly slipped into Dean's bed either. Dean half-consciously wrapped an arm around his best friend, and Seamus soon fell asleep, leaving Harry the only one awake again.

A quick charm told Harry that it was well past two in the morning, and still he couldn't sleep. He felt a bit like he was sleepwalking – too tired to be fully awake, but definitely not asleep.

The vial with the sleeping draught glistened temptingly in the moonlight. Harry was definitely not knowledgeable in Potions, but he figured that after roughly six hours, it should be safe to take another drop, right? If he didn't fall asleep soon, he'd be overly tired in the morning. And when Slughorn had said three drops, he'd surely left enough space to take one more drop without reaching a dangerous dose, right? And it wasn't like he intended to do this regularly.

He should most likely not even consider this, Harry thought.
Then he stifled another yawn, and reached for the phial anyway.

As soon as he had poured one drop into his mouth, he felt the tiredness become stronger, and he had put the bottle away and laid down for no longer than ten seconds that his eyes fell shut.