Melody

By Trinity Tzen

Chapter Three

            Harry's recovery was going slowly, but everyone was pleased that he was alert, chatting with them as if nothing had happen.  Ron and Harry still talked about Quidditch, as Hermione prodded them about their upcoming NEWTS. 

            "Hermione!  The NEWTS are not till the end of the year," Ron exasperated.  "We have plenty of time."

            "I can just see it now.  You AND Harry begging me for help by the year's end," she huffed in return, her light brown hair flouncing angrily.  "Well, not this time!  I'm not helping at all!  Not for the NEWTS, and not for any assignments, EVER!"  Ron paled, as Harry hid a nervous laughter.  When Hermione got angry, it was pretty damn intimidating.  The argument continued between the two, until Ginny had the sense to tell them to leave the room.  They happily agreed, and she could still hear them shouting loudly through the closed door.  Secretly, Ginny knew that they loved to argue- some sort of odd turn-on, but she really didn't want to think about that.  All in all, they had one dysfunctional relationship.

            Dropping the thought, she turned her attention back to Harry.  He had grown stronger in the past few days since he woke.  No longer bed-ridden, he freely walked about the room whenever the healers were absent.  They still frowned on any activity- the source of his illness was unknown, and remained such.  But that didn't matter to Harry, Ginny could tell he was getting antsy.

            "I would do anything to be on a broom right now," Harry said as he paced the room.  He had gotten tall in the past year, reaching six feet- a little bit taller than her.  He constantly ran his fingers through his black hair, causing it to stick up all over.  Reaching over, she patted his hair down and smiled.  Harry grabbed her hand, and held it- his green eyes searching her brown ones.  "You know, Ginny," he started slowly.  "You saved my life."

            Ginny blushed, shaking her head.  "No I didn't.  I didn't do anything."  He shushed her, and wrapped his arms around her. 

            "No, you did."  Ginny froze; she didn't know what to do.  Awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around his back.  For being cooped up in a hospital for over week, Harry still smelled of summer.  A musty scent of grass and dirt.  If this was a few years ago, him holding her like this would have made her knees go weak.  Hell, it was making her knees go weak anyway.  Ginny felt a small tug at her heart, before smothering it.  He's just a friend- this means nothing, she warned herself.  But, damn, did it feel so right.  

            He rested his chin on her head, "You did.  It was your voice.  I followed it-" He faltered.  Pulling away slightly, "I didn't tell anyone this- yet- but, there was something in that darkness.  I was aware of everything.  For the first time I understood everything."

            "What do you mean?"  Before he could answer, the door flew open.  Harry stepped away from Ginny quickly.  Harry gave her a hard look that read he would finish talking to her later.  Hermione eyes jumped suspiciously from Harry to Ginny, but Ron didn't seem to notice anything.   

            "Good news, old boy," Ron grinned, slapping Harry on the back- a bit too forcefully.  "They're letting you go!"

            "Perfect timing too," Hermione cut in.  "We are going back to school tomorrow.  Don't worry about your books, Ron and I already picked them up the other day at Diagon Alley."

            There were slaps on the back, laughing- and soon everything was forgotten.  They were going back to Hogwarts!

***

            Draco had long since left the hospital.  He didn't care for the small unfurnished room, with its dingy white walls, and short green carpet.  He blanched.  To have his father send his to a place so- destitute was amazing in itself.  He couldn't understand why he wasn't brought home immediately after the ritual.  For Merlin's sake, he was Lord freakin' Voldemort.  Draco gritted his teeth.  After a week being prisoner to his own bed, he had time to think.  Was it so bad that he was Voldemort- in some way?  The power, he could use it to smite his enemies.  Potter, Draco smirked.  Potter wouldn't even see this coming. 

            Chuckling to himself, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his father's cane.  Draco frowned; the cane had once brought discipline to the Malfoy's household in the most grotesque form.  He still had the marks on his back from all the beatings, for not being 'good' enough- for not meeting his father's expectations.  But now, he needed it more than ever.

            Something was wrong with his right leg.  He noticed it the day he awoke- at first he felt nothing, the leg was numb.  Eventually, the leg gained some strength back, but not enough for him to walk around without any help.  Sighing loudly, he grabbed at the cane.  I guess this means no more Quidditch, he looked forlornly at his right leg.

            "Draco, darling," his mother breathed as she ran into the room.  Her gray eyes were wide in shock as he attempted to get off of the bed.  "What in heavens do you think you are doing?"  Draco winced as her voice went a couple octaves higher.  There was another thing- it seemed as if his five senses had become extremely sensitive to his surroundings.  He shrugged it off as being one of Voldemort's "gifts." 

            "You shouldn't be out of bed."  Narcissca moved toward him, intending to force him back into bed, if she needed to. 

            Sadly enough, she probably could.  Draco wasn't ignorant of how weak he was.  He had great difficulties doing the simplest everyday things- but he wasn't going to make it public knowledge, nor was he going to ask for any help.

            "Mother," he stressed.  "I need to get ready.  I'm going back to school."  He saw her bite her lip in indecision. 

            "You don't have to, Draco."  He rolled his eyes.  She's been trying to talk him out of returning to Hogwarts every moment he was awake.  He needed to go back- staying home for a long period of time was driving him insane.

            "I'm going back," he replied with such finality that Narcissca looked up in surprise. 

            "Your father wouldn't approve," she whispered, sitting by his side.  Her fingers brushed the hair off his brow, he pulled away.  "You are very special to him."  Draco snorted.

            "Perhaps, now I am.  I'm not going to pretend that there was never any love-lost between father and me," he paused, then continued in a whisper.  "He would never do this, if he loved me."  Narcissca pursed her lips, but didn't try to comfort him- if she did; anything she said would have been a lie.  Instead, she stood, patting her son on the head, and taking her leave. 

            Draco stood, and then winced as a pain shot through his right leg.  He grasped the cane tightly, until his knuckles turned white. 

            Was this all worth it?  The question flashed through his mind, as it has done everyday, every second he was alone.  What had he done?

***End of Chapter Three***