FINDING HOME
Chapter 6. Accommodating anew (part 2)
The shower did not help much. Cold water provided a little relief, but the nice cooling sensation stayed in effect only as long as the water was running down his skin. As soon as Harry dried himself with a towel, itching returned. It was probably a good thing, Harry pondered, that the water in the students' bathrooms was not warmed up at nights. If he went to the prefects' bathroom, he would have just dove into the pool filled with hot water, and the effect on his skin would have been even less. Ice-cold streams were not as pleasant as a warm bath, but better when it came to distracting from itch.
Harry was not sure if hot water was provided by a spell or if it was a house elves' responsibility to heat it in boilers in the school dungeons. Hopefully it was a spell. If his latter guess were correct, then Hermione would probably make him and Ron take only cold showers, as a protest action against exploitation of house elves. Or maybe she would make Harry an exception, as he was sort of a former house elf?
He did not want to go back to the dorm. A cold shower agitated him, and there was no point in returning to bed only to twist in it for one or two hours, fighting the nervousness and the itch that would undoubtedly resume soon.
And that was how Harry found himself thirty minutes later in the Great Hall. He entered and stopped, raising his head. It was his fifth year at Hogwarts and still he could not get used to seeing sky above his head while staying inside. Grey clouds were sliding in the dark blue sky, not revealing stars. The picture seemed so realistic that Harry almost expected to feel the rush of cold wind on his skin, but the climate in the Great Hall was the same as in the corridor.
Harry perched at the edge of the Gryffindor table. The seat was chosen partially out of habit, partially out of fear that somebody from the Hogwarts staff would enter the hall. Harry never bothered to check the rules, and he did not know if it was prohibited to sit anywhere but at one's house's table. He also had doubts about legitimacy of being in the Great Hall so early in the morning and his strategically chosen position in the corner allowed him not to be too evident. It would probably be safer to stay hidden under the Invisibility Cloak's cover, but Harry took it off because of the itch. Light as the cloak was, it still provided extra pressure on the overly sensitive skin on his shoulders and back.
He unfolded the paper he stumbled across in the corridor, probably forgotten by some student. It was a few days old issue of Daily Prophet, reporting on miraculous rescue of the Elf Boy – oh lovely, another nickname to turn my life in a living hell. But neither Harry, nor Voldemort's demise were the center of the front page article.
Half of the page was occupied by a photograph that made Harry cringe inwardly. It was a shyly smiling young man dressed in a Hogwarts robe. Harry did not even need to read the headline The Story of a Silent Hero to recognize him.
His eyes skittered down the article. Lonely boy… the tragic fate… talented pupil… brilliant mind… never got over the horrible betrayal… stoically enduring all hardships… Harry pushed the paper farther down the table, feeing a little nauseous. What a crap! How could they proclaim him a hero if even his old friends could not repeat his name without a grimace of disgust?
Harry assumed that Wormtail had intended to let him escape and then disappear himself, never facing Voldemort. With a mind of a house elf, Harry would not have tried to put up a fight, he would have run away, and Voldemort would most likely – as well as Harry's friends – never have found out what happened to Harry Potter. Or Pettigrew could have been planning to capture Harry later and present to people as a proof of his loyalty. It was probably for the best that Peter had not survived. Harry had a hard time coping with the fact that Pettigrew had been pronounced a hero post mortem, he doubted he would have been able to cope with a live one.
Dumbledore explained to Harry how he supposed the events had developed, with Peter Pettigrew stunning the Dark Lord – the poor rat must have been maddened with fear to attempt hexing one of the most powerful dark wizards of today – and Harry instinctively using his newly found elvian magic for self-protection.
He did not know and would probably never find out what motivated Pettigrew to try and save him from Voldemort, but it would not be enough to redeem the man. Never. Had it been the last spark of conscience in the corrupted mind, or the pull of the wizard's debt Pettigrew had been carrying with him for over a year, it could not have been a sufficient payment for lives interrupted, for lives ruined. It could easily have been another example of Wormtail's cowardice, the cowardice that had forced him first to betray people who trusted him and then not giving him enough strength to send their son to a grave as well. Or maybe it was a ploy of earning himself points in the public's eyes by saving the hero of the wizarding society. Or…
Harry sat like that for a while, coherent thoughts about Pettigrew gradually transforming into chaotic images his memory procured: Ron protecting his rat from Crookshanks, the black dog chasing the small creature, hate mixed with grief in Sirius' and Professor Lupin's eyes…
Suddenly a soft rustling sound made Harry jerk up his head. The words "Is someone here?" froze on his lips. There indeed was someone, and Harry did not even need a second look to recognize his unwelcome companion. The almost white hair was a dead giveaway. Irritation he would have felt a few months ago about this intrusion – never mind neither of them had a right to reside in the Great Hall at nighttime, it was still an intrusion into Harry's territory – was nothing compared to what Harry felt now. He unwillingly had spent several hours in Lucius Malfoy's company, and it had been all he could have taken of this family. As soon as Malfoy Senior had left the hospital, hundreds of counterarguments have come to Harry's head. He had had no reason to listen to Lucius Malfoy, nodding as a little marionette to his words at press conferences and allowing others to call the bastard his rescuer. He could not even hate the man for exploiting him like this – he practically asked for it, offering no serious resistance to the unconvincing blackmail.
But this was no Lucius bloody Malfoy, this was the annoying rodent who had been poisoning Harry's life at Hogwarts since day one. Harry found himself swiftly approaching the table at which Malfoy was sitting before he even made the choice between a hex and a punch. Maybe he should try both. Two assaults – one punishment. And what was a detention and loss of some points on his second day at Hogwarts compared to the pleasure of finally venting the accumulated rage?
Harry stopped in front of Malfoy, the threatening expression on his face slowly changing into a perplexed one. The boy did not pay the slightest attention to him, continuing to produce the rustling sound that caught Harry's attention in the first place. The sound originated from the piece of parchment on which Draco Malfoy was industriously scribbling something. There was no way Malfoy could not have noticed Harry's approach, yet still he did not raise his head. Meaning that he was deliberately ignoring Harry. This conclusion did nothing to mollify Harry's anger.
"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded in a low voice. He already anticipated the flow of the conversation after this remark: some taunting, some sarcastic responses, a swift exchange of insults climaxing in a full-fledged fight.
He did not expect a calm answer, "Writing a report to my father."
"About…? How many students you insulted in a week or how many Death Eater wannabes you managed to recruit?" Not the best way to conduct a conversation, but Harry wanted a fight.
"Now that would be highly impractical, wouldn't it, Potter?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Why gather followers if there is no one to follow?"
That felt good. A fight with Malfoy was definitely a fine way to start another year at Hogwarts. "Oh, how should I know? Perhaps your father is dreaming about putting himself in charge finally, after so many years spent licking another wizard's boots?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly. 'I'll make sure you will have an opportunity to repeat it in my father's presence. And what are you doing here, Potter? Let me guess: you arrived here first to watch how a breakfast should be properly served and then help your kin to cook our meals? Good idea. Maybe you will finally do something useful for once in your life."
"You…!" Harry spluttered, now feeling sorry that he had not prepared some good insults beforehand instead of rushing here. Then his eyes fell to the parchment, and he decided that actions were better than words.
Harry snatched the paper from the table. He only managed to catch a few phrases: "brought in by McGonagall", "had a dinner", "went to shower after midnight", before Malfoy jerked it out of his hand.
"What the hell is this, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, suddenly getting an uneasy feeling.
"Like I said, this is a report to my father," Malfoy replied serenely.
"About…?"
"About you, naturally."
"WHAT?! You-you are spying on me?!"
"Not spying, Harry. Father was worried about your state of health and asked me to watch you for a while. You should be grateful, really. It's not like you've done anything to deserve such treatment."
"Damn right I do not deserve it! I want my life to be completely Malfoy-free! Nobody gave you or your father the right to spy on me. So get lost, or I will tell the headmaster!"
"Oh really? And what are you going to tell him exactly, Potter?" Malfoy smirked. "That you are stalked by the fellow student who cares about your mental and physical health?"
There was some truth in Malfoy's words, Harry admitted to himself. What could he complain about? If he reported to Dumbledore about Malfoy's activity, he would look incredibly stupid. It was not like Malfoy had done something very incriminating, like breaking into Harry's dorm or stealing his clothes. Although this was probably not very far ahead, Harry mentally added.
"If I ever catch you spying on me again, I will personally hex you, Malfoy," Harry promised.
"By all means, go ahead. It will most certainly simplify my task for a couple of nights. At least I will know for sure where to find you – serving detentions with Snape or Filch."
Malfoy had a point. Again. But it was not in Harry's habit to back off. "I think I will risk a detention for such a pleasure."
The Slytherin shrugged and rose from his seat. He began collecting his belongings, clearly indicating that the conversation was coming to an end. "Whatever, Potter. A more reasonable person would be thankful for being offered help in dealing with seizures, but it's up to you, of course…"
When it registered in Harry's mind that the remark had not been meant as an insult, Draco Malfoy was already at the entrance. "Seizures? What the hell are you talking about? Malfoy? Hey, Malfoy!"
A/N: Well, this is it. A bit longer than usual and I finally managed to hold Harry and Draco in one room for a while. I would do it sooner, but Mr Malfoy forbade me to defile his son like this in the Malfoy Manor. So I had to move to Hogwarts :) If anyone waited for this chapter to come out for too long (not that I received many requests to update, mind you!), I apologize. To compensate you I can offer you my standalone story The Best Friend's Confession. I had written it for Harry/Draco FQF in April and only now posted it here, at ff.net.
As usual, please review if you have a free minute. I would love to know what you think.
