Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual
relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU
HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Disclaimer----------------all characters (except for Morgaine) belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
and if I tell you
(lover alone without love)
what will happen
(lover alone without love)
will you listen?
(lover alone without love)
- frou frou
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
We sit in the hospital and sip hot chocolate. Pomfrey has left us in one of the many empty rooms as she speaks in low murmurs to Dumbledore outside. Harry's head is drooping towards his chest, and it occurs to me that neither of us have slept for almost twenty four hours.
Eventually Dumbledore enters quietly, apparently unperturbed that it is two am in the morning. He pulls a visitors' chair to the middle of the room and lowers himself carefully.
"Madam Pomfrey has given her allowance for both of you to spend the night here. Will either of you be needing anything?"
We both shake our heads. Pajamas seem an unnecessary luxury when all I really want is to sleep.
"Draco, I have organised for the house-elves to pack your belongings. Your luggage will be waiting with Madam Pomfrey by the time you are ready to leave tomorrow morning."
I nod, relieved I do not have to go anywhere near my dorm again.
"As such, I will leave you to finally get some sleep. I wish you a good journey tomorrow, Mr Malfoy. Goodnight."
It does not seem rude not to reply. I can barely summon the energy to form words. As the door closes behind him, leaving us in soft lamplight, I wonder that he did not ask what Harry was doing with me in the first place. Stupid old fool, probably forgot we are even in different Houses.
I look over to Harry. He is already stretched out on the other bed, eyes closed. Placing my mug on the small table, I move to the edge of his bed and lean down to unlace my boots. I jump slightly as his hand settles on my back.
"I thought you were asleep." I turn off the lamp before settling down with my back to him. His arm snakes around my chest and pulls me closer.
"Who do you think it was?" he whispers.
How do I answer that? Someone inside Hogwarts. Someone with their eye on me. Someone who knew of my hastily constructed plan. He waits for a reply before breaking the silence himself.
"No one deserves what they did to that creature. Not anyone."
Long after his breathing has deepened with sleep, I lie awake and tense, trying to shake the familiarity of those words. In my mind's eye I can see Weasley's bloodied and smashed face, Morgaine's skinned corpse, Snape's marked arm, and Weasley again, glaring at me across the Hall. The images dance through their sequence again and again and I squeeze my eyes shut just to block them out.
Oh Merlin, what is happening to me? The paranoia is so fierce I will jump on any suggestion of treachery. Weasley is nothing but an annoying git of a muggle-lover. What could he possibly have to do with any of this?
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I am woken a few hours later by voices outside the castle. Gently disentangling myself from Harry's arms, I move to the frosty window and peer down. In the courtyard below, by the steps to the Entrance Hall, the horseless carriages are gathering. Already students are carrying their luggage down the steps and boarding the small coaches.
I turn back to Harry reluctantly. His head is buried into the pillow, black hair spread across the linen, arms askew. His glasses and wand are both lying unceremoniously on the floor. I place them on the table beside the mugs before leaning over the sleeping boy. As I smooth the hair back from his face, he groans in his sleep and rolls from his stomach to his side. Deciding not to wake him, I brush my lips across his cheek. This time he does not stir.
I pull on my boots and leave the room, trying not to look at him.
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I am surprised by the number of students leaving Hogwarts. Common sense would suggest that the school would be a safer residence for most right now, but the train station is crowded with droves of them, at least three quarters of the student body.
I am fighting my way through a mass of second years when I spot the tall silhouette of Snape entering the last carriage. Now I understand; he cleared his office because he was expecting to leave. I think of the empty shelves -- maybe he wasn't planning on coming back?
On the train I find an empty compartment and slide my bags onto the rack. I settle down into the seat, pulling my legs up and leaning my head against the window. I have watched the scenery on this trip for the last five years; what I need now is sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
When I step off the train bleary-eyed that night, a tall blonde woman is standing behind the crowd, arms folded across her chest. She looks even more detached than usual, like the people they admit to psychiatric hospitals, and I feel a pang of guilt for wishing she was somebody else's mother. I am sad for this woman, the way people feel sad for stray animals without really wanting to touch them.
I'm also frightened to see her, because it means I really am going home.
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END OF PART ONE
keep reviewing, people, so PART TWO can spread its wings and fly! -- suggestions are especially welcome
Disclaimer----------------all characters (except for Morgaine) belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
and if I tell you
(lover alone without love)
what will happen
(lover alone without love)
will you listen?
(lover alone without love)
- frou frou
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
We sit in the hospital and sip hot chocolate. Pomfrey has left us in one of the many empty rooms as she speaks in low murmurs to Dumbledore outside. Harry's head is drooping towards his chest, and it occurs to me that neither of us have slept for almost twenty four hours.
Eventually Dumbledore enters quietly, apparently unperturbed that it is two am in the morning. He pulls a visitors' chair to the middle of the room and lowers himself carefully.
"Madam Pomfrey has given her allowance for both of you to spend the night here. Will either of you be needing anything?"
We both shake our heads. Pajamas seem an unnecessary luxury when all I really want is to sleep.
"Draco, I have organised for the house-elves to pack your belongings. Your luggage will be waiting with Madam Pomfrey by the time you are ready to leave tomorrow morning."
I nod, relieved I do not have to go anywhere near my dorm again.
"As such, I will leave you to finally get some sleep. I wish you a good journey tomorrow, Mr Malfoy. Goodnight."
It does not seem rude not to reply. I can barely summon the energy to form words. As the door closes behind him, leaving us in soft lamplight, I wonder that he did not ask what Harry was doing with me in the first place. Stupid old fool, probably forgot we are even in different Houses.
I look over to Harry. He is already stretched out on the other bed, eyes closed. Placing my mug on the small table, I move to the edge of his bed and lean down to unlace my boots. I jump slightly as his hand settles on my back.
"I thought you were asleep." I turn off the lamp before settling down with my back to him. His arm snakes around my chest and pulls me closer.
"Who do you think it was?" he whispers.
How do I answer that? Someone inside Hogwarts. Someone with their eye on me. Someone who knew of my hastily constructed plan. He waits for a reply before breaking the silence himself.
"No one deserves what they did to that creature. Not anyone."
Long after his breathing has deepened with sleep, I lie awake and tense, trying to shake the familiarity of those words. In my mind's eye I can see Weasley's bloodied and smashed face, Morgaine's skinned corpse, Snape's marked arm, and Weasley again, glaring at me across the Hall. The images dance through their sequence again and again and I squeeze my eyes shut just to block them out.
Oh Merlin, what is happening to me? The paranoia is so fierce I will jump on any suggestion of treachery. Weasley is nothing but an annoying git of a muggle-lover. What could he possibly have to do with any of this?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I am woken a few hours later by voices outside the castle. Gently disentangling myself from Harry's arms, I move to the frosty window and peer down. In the courtyard below, by the steps to the Entrance Hall, the horseless carriages are gathering. Already students are carrying their luggage down the steps and boarding the small coaches.
I turn back to Harry reluctantly. His head is buried into the pillow, black hair spread across the linen, arms askew. His glasses and wand are both lying unceremoniously on the floor. I place them on the table beside the mugs before leaning over the sleeping boy. As I smooth the hair back from his face, he groans in his sleep and rolls from his stomach to his side. Deciding not to wake him, I brush my lips across his cheek. This time he does not stir.
I pull on my boots and leave the room, trying not to look at him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I am surprised by the number of students leaving Hogwarts. Common sense would suggest that the school would be a safer residence for most right now, but the train station is crowded with droves of them, at least three quarters of the student body.
I am fighting my way through a mass of second years when I spot the tall silhouette of Snape entering the last carriage. Now I understand; he cleared his office because he was expecting to leave. I think of the empty shelves -- maybe he wasn't planning on coming back?
On the train I find an empty compartment and slide my bags onto the rack. I settle down into the seat, pulling my legs up and leaning my head against the window. I have watched the scenery on this trip for the last five years; what I need now is sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
When I step off the train bleary-eyed that night, a tall blonde woman is standing behind the crowd, arms folded across her chest. She looks even more detached than usual, like the people they admit to psychiatric hospitals, and I feel a pang of guilt for wishing she was somebody else's mother. I am sad for this woman, the way people feel sad for stray animals without really wanting to touch them.
I'm also frightened to see her, because it means I really am going home.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
END OF PART ONE
keep reviewing, people, so PART TWO can spread its wings and fly! -- suggestions are especially welcome