Title: Of Flesh and Blood
Author: Patris Vox and Nicole7137
Rating: PG 13 (Because I said so! Meh…here comes the bloody dagger!!)
Pairings: Draco/Harry (later on I swear it!)
Disclaimer: We are not JK Rowling, therefore, we do not own any of the characters…Though we wouldn't mind owning Draco ;D
Warning: Harry is stupid…Draco is haat…therefore! This is a Draco/Harry slash! If you don't like the idea of two guys going at each other, then why the hell did you click on this story anyway?
Thanks:
Betty – You are our savior! Don't know what we would do without you…well, I can think of one thing; make a poorly written story. You changed all of the sentences I hated and now I love them and I love you!
Kate – You still rock. You know that ^-^ and I'm glad your wisdom teeth are all better now. Remember, pills are our friends. Yay! Go fangirl go! Thanks for being loyal and still willing to talk to me 0.0 and trying to help me with my questions. Funny, you'd think I would run out of questions that are so difficult and yet so stupid, but oh no, they just keep on coming don't they?
*~*~*
Chapter Three: Empathy
Bleed out my blood
Skin off my skin
Solder the wire
Transformation
Take my body and
Release me from this cage
Papa Roach
"Singular Indestructible Droid"
"Sir…exactly what kind of potion are we going to take?" Harry questioned anxiously.
The boy glanced at the other, curious to know if his worries were justified. As Draco's calculating eyes focused on Dumbledore warily, Harry knew they were.
Dumbledore drew a breath before speaking, "The potion is complex, but the idea is very basic. It will cause you to be completely open, allowing you to fully understand one another. An empathy potion if you will. Subconsciously, you will allow the other to enter your mind; they will know every thing about you because your lives will be joined. I believe that misinterpretation is the basis of your feud. The effects of the potion will last as long as necessary."
Harry hung his head in resignation. He knew he deserved this retribution; so many years had passed since their quarrel began, and they were not even close to finding a resolution themselves. Their fights now felt half-hearted, like they fought because they were supposed to. Harry secretly welcomed a truce.
The boys concentrated on each word, as the old man continued, "Now neither of you are allowed to speak a word of this to other students. All teachers will be aware of your, impending condition."
"Why can't we tell anyone?" Harry immediately thought of Ron and Hermione. Even if he was being distant with them, he knew he could not keep such a thing like this secret for very long.
"Well Harry, they could inadvertently alter the potion's outcome, prolonging it, or even worse."
"My father will hear about this atrocity!" Malfoy fumed, still resting on the trunk.
"He has every right to know what new predicament you've gotten yourself into this time, Mr. Malfoy." The blond boy pierced Dumbledore with an offending stare, recalling his father's threats of what would happen if he got in trouble one more time. Draco huffed.
"Both of you will report to my office before dinner tonight. I must stress the importance of keeping this venture quiet," Dumbledore pulled out a gold watch, glancing at it, "I believe there is still some time left for you to attend class. I will see you later tonight in my office then."
The man's words soaked into Harry as he followed Draco and Dumbledore out of the room. It finally hit the boy, dawning on him that now, no matter what; he would be bound to the Slytherin. The arrogant prick would know him through and through. Harry swallowed hard.
This is going to be one long year…
*~*~*
"Today class, we're going to be learning hands on how to care for the Torn Lover. This plant is very rare and grows only in one area of England. There's quite an interesting myth behind it. Harry? What's your excuse this time?"
"I…had a talk with Professor Dumbledore," Harry walked into the greenhouse, taking his spot next to Ron.
"Anyway, as I was saying about the myth, supposedly, a witch that lived in the seventeenth century fell in love with one of the Muggles of her village. They spent years together in secrecy; a forbidden love blossomed between the two. One day, the Muggle betrayed her to the rest of his world, proclaiming she was a witch. She was judged and convicted of witchcraft. She could easily have escaped with her life, but was so crushed by what he did, she allowed herself to be burned at the stake. From her ashes grew the first generation of this plant. One can identify the plant easily, because its leaves and blooms are completely black."
"Isn't there some significance to it being black?" Neville questioned.
"Very good Neville! Five points to Gryffindor. Well, the woman was in so much despair, that her soul died and the colour of the plant is said to represent this. The water that trickles down from the hearts symbolize her sorrow, the plants have never stopped crying," the professor sighed heavily.
"When they first sprout, there is only one heart in the centre of the plant. As it matures, the colour turns from a pale green to the colour you see now, an incredibly rich black. If you look closer at each of the specimens, you will find that the colour does another trick as well. All the light that hits any part of the leaves is devoured. So, the plant does not actually reflect any light. There's only a few known species of plants that are able to do such a thing, they're located in the Caligaceae family. I suggest you commit that to memory," she was interrupted briefly with the scribbling of quills on parchment, "Now, where was I? Oh yes, when the Torn Lover is in full growth, the heart splits into two. This symbolizes the end of the relationship in the myth. Neither flower mends itself; they remain broken. Now, this plant is highly sought after because of its magical properties. Love seems to be the answer for almost everything. The Torn Lover is used in a variety of potions, however, never in a healing mixture. Each potion needs a different strength of the properties for them to work, so if one were to brew it properly, they would take special note of the plant's physical being before adding it in. That is to say, they would pay attention to minor details, like if the heart was ripped unevenly to such a point the jagged edges would be razor sharp, or how much the plant weeps. If one were to concoct a mood lifting potion, they would only need the slightest of dew that forms around the edges of the hearts on particular plants, anymore than that would cause the potion to react terribly wrong; the person would suffer from the purest form of despair. The Torn Lover is highly complex and has yet to be replicated at this moment, a pity really. Each specimen has been grown in the exact spot where the first Torn Lover sprang up so many years ago."
Professor Sprout stepped up to the table, now ready to instruct her students on the day's work, "Picture this plant as your best mate for the rest of class. A best mate that just has just gone through a horrible experience. Now, you will need to give any and all of your attention to your Torn Lover. Do anything you would if one of your true friends were in this exact position, soft-spoken words, physical affection, and baby talk if you so desire. Off you go!"
Ron and Hermione looked at each other briefly, before plunging into much needed questioning.
"What did Professor Dumbledore say Harry? I certainly hope you didn't lose anymore points from Gryffindor," Hermione said.
"He just looked disappointed, and no, no points were taken away," Harry said impassively.
"Well, that's rather fortunate! You'd think they'd let me get away with hexing Malfoy too? …Yes, you're a pretty little thing aren't you?" Ron tended to his wilting plant.
"Don't be absurd Ron!" Hermione smiled, playfully punching Ron's shoulder. "Anyways, wasn't that story absolutely fascinating? I mean, a love so powerful that it would make someone give up their own life. Wow. I wonder why he betrayed her like that…"
"Good plant, nice plant," Harry patted the plants leaves, blatantly ignoring Hermione.
Ron tapped his foot twice before deciding to congratulate Neville for his point-winning question, already bored of tending to his Torn Lover. The smaller boy stood there idly, his hand caressing the damp leaves. Before Harry's own eyes, the plant changed. His eyes glazed over in shock, and darted across the room momentarily with his mouth slacked open in disbelief before they rested back on the plant.
I don't believe this…
The tears had fully stopped and it seemed that the black leaves had lightened up slightly. Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head from side to side.
It always has to be me, doesn't it?
The boy dropped his hand from the leaves, hitting the table. Craning his neck for a full view of the room, Harry was delighted to find that the only two not preoccupied with their plant were Ron and Neville. Seeing that he could be caught with this slightly different Torn Lover at any moment, he ran through the few options he had to get rid of the plant. He knew he could not afford being known as The Boy Who Lived And Changed Plants By A Mere Touch. Biting his lip, Harry could not devise a better plan on such short notice, and resorted to trading Ron's plant for his. He paid close attention to what his hands brushed against; one tainted plant was more than enough. He nervously looked around; making sure no one had seen what he had done.
"I'll be right back, I ,uhm, gottagodosomethingrealquick," Harry excused himself from the near disaster, high tailing it to the other end of the greenhouse.
Ron headed back, returning to pretend that he cared the slightest for the weeping plant, "What the…? Hermione, what do you make of this? C'mon, how can I mess up a plant?"
"…I don't think you messed it up, Ron. PROFESSOR SPROUT!" Hermione scanned the room for the teacher.
"What is it? Merlin! What did you do Ron?"
"I was just…you know…just, just turning my back to it for a second asking Neville how to care for the plant properly and then I turned around and it was just…just weird looking," Ron tried explaining the situation, failing miserably.
"What's going on here? Whoa Ron!" Harry came back to the table, pointing his finger at the altered Torn Lover, his voice resounded with fake bewilderment, "What did you do to, uhh, your plant?"
Ron shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know!" he placed his hand around his mouth, cupping it away from the plant; his voice fell to a hushed whisper, "I think it's just a sensitive plant."
Harry smiled at Ron's remark. He felt somewhat guilty for forcing the plant onto Ron, but it faded, as the redhead became the centre of attention. The rest of the students in Herbology were now commenting on how much healthier it looked; the leaves appeared to had taken on a lighter shade of black. A faint blaze formed around the two heart-shaped flowers.
Professor Sprout, puzzled on how the plant was able to change from its known appearance to this new specimen that laid before her, took the pot from Ron and set it aside on a desk that rested near the door; mentally noting to take it to the headmaster after classes.
Hermione studied Harry for the remainder of Herbology out of the corner of her eye. She sensed something perplexing in the boy's response to Ron's plant. Harry caught on to her suspicions. She was not passing off her glares as meaningless as she had done in the past. The boy tried harder to look as if he had nothing to do with "Ron's" plant, making sure he still did not touch his new Torn Lover. Ron's face beamed with pride; new praises were bestowed upon him endlessly.
Harry turned to his friend; his mind finally came up with an idea to shake off Hermione, "Hey Ron, anything interesting happen when Snape took me out of the room?"
"Oh! Thanks for reminding me! I was going to tell you earlier, but well, you know what happened. Anyway, you shoulda seen it Harry! All hell broke loose!"
"It was most distressing, chaos everywhere. Insane to say the least," Hermione piped in.
"Bloody hell! Not as insane as Snape looked after being hit with those curses! I could have sworn he was going to perform all three Unforgivable Curses on you two! Anyway, that's beside the point. Well, it all started with Crabbe and Goyle grabbing Dean, they were too hungry to wait for dinner, I'm guessin'. Seamus was just being Seamus and you know how crazy that can get. He came to the rescue for Dean with Neville lagging behind him. Let's just say, even Neville is better with a wand than those two slimy Slytherin gits. It went downhill from there though. The Slytherins instigated the huge fight and what kind of Gryffindor would turn down the perfect opportunity to hex them?" Ron smiled mischievously, pausing to catch a breath before continuing, "Gryffindor would've won o' course, but luck would have it, Snape barged in at the crucial turning point, deducting points from Gryffindor right and left."
Hermione sighed at the thought of all those points lost and turned to Harry. "It was horrible. Luckily, no one was expelled," her gaze shifted onto Seamus and shook her head in disgrace in sync with the roll of her eyes.
"I missed all that to be stuck in a room with Malfoy?"
A few minutes later, Professor Sprout dismissed their class. As they headed out of the greenhouse, Harry excused himself, saying he needed to go to the bathroom alone. Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion about the emphasis of "alone," but explained that she needed to do some research in the library for Transfiguration, and that she would meet them for dinner as usual. Ron shrugged off their absences, the remaining Herbology students formed a tight circle around him as he walked, asking him to retell the story of changing the plant with a mere touch of his hand.
*~*~*
Snape stood peering down his enormous cauldron. His hand twirled the laden spoon counter clockwise. Adding a bit of Jobberknoll feathers to the concoction, he turned around to grab a few more ingredients. Snape set down the bicorn horn powder and dragon's heart carefully. Furious that he was spending his free time making a potion for Potter, he threw down the book. Upon impact, vials shuttered, some fell off the table. Groaning, Snape bent over to cram the fallen ingredients back into their designated bottles.
A jar tipped over, spilling its contents. The last of Snape's stash of frozen Ashwinder eggs rolled precariously close to the edge of a shelf above the cauldron. The eggs went over the side, and plopped furtively into the animated cauldron. Snape stood up and proceeded with the potion, adding the bicorn horn powder, unaware of what had happened.
Snape had never made this specific potion before, but as he introduced the final component of the potion, it looked thicker than described in the book. He figured that it was just another misprint on the book's behalf.
"Stupid book," the Potions Master mumbled.
*~*~*
"Welcome gentlemen," Dumbledore acknowledged the two figures entering with a slight smile.
He strode out from behind his desk to greet the approaching students. Draco came in first, his eyes darting wildly, betraying his cool exterior and making him look like a bewildered child. Pictures of old headmasters and headmistresses covered the room's walls; most were sleeping relentlessly, but some walked from painting to painting mumbling incoherently. A spiral staircase rose to the ceiling and, undeniably, a secret room. Snape stood behind the stairs with his right foot pressed against the wall. With his arms folded across his chest, he peered through the greasy strands of hair covering his face. Snape's hooked nose curved just above his pursed, chapped lips.
The blond noticed two wooden chairs that stood before the desk; he took the one on the left, the furthest away from Dumbledore. Harry came in and smiled softly; the room had not changed since the first time he saw it, as if immune to time. He sat reluctantly next to Malfoy. Harry sighed heavily, edging away from the other boy. Fawkes' golden claws ripped into the corner of the wood. His feathers spread out across the surface and a few rested on two bejeweled goblets. The Phoenix squawked softly, gaining the boys' attention; their gaze lay upon the two cups. Draco, tense about the potion, swallowed hard, triggering Harry to take notice of him. The blond gripped the armrests, sitting rigid in his chair; his hands were whiter than usual. Glaring at Harry threateningly, he pried his right hand away from the chair and ran it through his hair hastily.
"Well, now, I don't think there's any point in drawing this out, so let's get down to business, shall we?" Dumbledore pointed towards the two glasses filled with the empathy potion, "Now the first part is a tad macabre, so let's get it over with."
Dumbledore revealed a silver-handled dagger from his cloak. "The potion requires a few drops of each of your blood. To bind yourselves, you must draw blood from the other and drink it mixed with your potion."
Harry and Draco kept eye contact with each other, daring the other to look away.
"Uhhhhhhh…right."
"Once you draw the blood, say 'Affligo Omnis Murus'," Harry pushed himself from the chair resolutely, walking over to Dumbledore.
Holding out his right hand, he awaited the knife to fall into his possession. Closing his grip around the handle, he turned, heading towards Malfoy. Harry grabbed for his wrist, but it would not budge from the armrest.
"Don't be difficult, Malfoy!"
"I swear, if you lay another hand on me, I'll make you wish you had never-"
"Draco Malfoy. No threats are allowed in this room. Now, the sooner you comply, the quicker you can leave and have dinner."
Draco deliberated, and then turned his left hand over, exposing his palm. He eyed Harry as the boy's hand grasped his own. To Harry, Malfoy's hand felt cold, almost like ice, but softer than any silk. He ran his thumb up and down the palm, enjoying the feel of the non-calloused skin. Harry eyes tore into Draco's.
"Well, Potter? Stop fondling me and get on with it," Malfoy's anxiety vacated, his harsh words shielded him from sentiment.
Harry lifted the dagger slightly and proceeded to drag it across the delicate skin.
"Affligo Omnis Murus."
The blond drew in a quick breath to hold in any sound of his pain. Harry held the boy's wrist as Dumbledore walked over, handing a goblet to him. The Gryffindor set down the dagger on one of Malfoy's armrests before accepting the cup. Draco's wound filled with blood rapidly and trickled down his wrist, staining Harry's fingers faintly. The blood seeped into the potion, as he ran the rim of the goblet along Malfoy's skin. The color changed from a crystal, luminous blue to a dark crimson, as more blood mixed with the potion.
Draco released his hand from Harry's, closing it tightly into a fist.
"Are you just going to let me bleed to death?" Draco snapped at Dumbledore boldly.
With a flick of his wrist, two small red cloths appeared in the old man's hands. Draco stood up and snatched one of the cloths from Dumbledore's grasp. Hastily wrapping it around his wound, he turned back to Harry.
With his right hand, he seized the dagger. No trace of his blood remained on the blade; it looked as if it had never been used. With his injured, left hand, Malfoy pulled at Harry's wrist. He twisted the boy's arm effortlessly, the palm facing the point of the dagger. Harry's hand shook a little. As if Draco felt the newly induced fear radiating off Harry, his lips parted, exposing a sadistic smile. With their eyes fixed on each other, Draco ran the knife against Harry's flesh. He dug the blade in deeper than needed, which made Harry whimper through clenched teeth.
"Affligo Omnis Murus," he seethed.
Harry's blood erupted profusely from the fresh wound. Malfoy handed the dagger back to Dumbledore and picked up the goblet. He scooped up the blood until his own cup turned the deepest of crimson. The Slytherin withdrew his hand from Harry's wrist, taking a few steps back. The two swirled their cups, mixing any last traces of blood into the concoction. Dumbledore urged the two to drink with a motion of his hand; Harry brushed his lips against the rim, allowing the liquid to fill his mouth.
Inside his mouth, it crept into every crevice. As Harry tried to swallow, he gagged on the disgusting liquid. He had never tasted anything quite as sickening. With his mouth closed tightly, Harry held his breath and attempted once more to take in the potion. A few tears welled up in his eyes; Harry regained the courage to finish his drink, knowing the embarrassment of spitting it out would be worse. The boy sensed the potion coating his throat, eating away at the sides like acid. His heartbeat quickened as the liquid travelled down to his stomach. Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy staring at him.
Draco's goblet rested back on the table, empty; he appeared unaffected, except for a slight shake in his body. Harry peered into his own, and to his revulsion, more of the awful brew remained. He took the last swig, emptying the cup. Shuddering softly as the potion raced through his body, he set the goblet onto the table. His stomach felt frozen, almost numb. Malfoy snickered quietly, to avoid any ramifications.
"I suggest you both have something to eat and get a good night's sleep. The first day is going to be very rough."
Harry took a step forward toward Dumbledore and snatched the remaining cloth from the old man, and wrapped it tightly around his palm. Malfoy headed toward the door, exiting without a sound. Taking the boy's lead he left the office, closing the door behind him.
Dumbledore turned to Snape. "I'm worried that we went about this all wrong, Severus."
"Well, they're not going to do it themselves. They're both too proud. Especially Potter."
"I'm betraying Harry's trust. He has no idea of what the future holds. I've known ever since he was a baby. He should know, but I don't think he is ready. I know it's his destiny, but I wish I could take it all away."
"What about Draco? It's his fate, too."
"Yes. Draco. I just hope they can pull each other through this. I don't want to even think about what will happen if this fails."
Snape bowed his head in contemplation. He knew what was going to happen, what was happening already. The Mark had been calling him for over a year now. No matter how hard he tried to erase his past, his arm would always betray the secrets he buried years ago.
"It has to work." Snape finally concluded.
*~*~*
As Harry entered the Great Hall several steps behind Malfoy, he began to feel the influence of the potion. Wherever the liquid travelled in his body, it froze. His nerves numbed quickly, and felt as if they were about to shatter. Harry's step faltered slightly as he searched for the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione had been waiting for his appearance ever since he told them he was going to the restroom and never came back. Both saw Harry staggering across the hall, scanning the tables, like a small child lost in a large store. They both waved at Harry, motioning for him to come sit down. Harry's vision slightly blurred around the edges, but he managed to walk over successfully to the table. He smiled meekly, hiding his left hand under his robe and attempted to behave normally. Ron and Hermione sat with their backs to the wall, both wondering what Harry had been doing.
"Where have you been? Did you get detention? I knew you would!" Hermione questioned, observing Malfoy sitting down to his table.
"Dumbledore just wanted to talk, again…" Harry muttered, taking his seat and averting the questioning looks.
"Hey, Harry! You missed it today! I totally kicked Crabbe and Goyles' fat arses in Potions! Thanks for getting rid of Snape!" Seamus shouted with a mouthful of food, raising his glass to Harry.
Harry did not hear Seamus' appraisal, only the potion flooding his system. He knew Malfoy's blood was somehow intertwining with his own, connecting them. The boy looked down at the table, closing his eyes to regain poseur. All of a sudden, the room began to spin and he felt light-headed. He gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. The coolness of the wood crept under his skin, and he recoiled from the intense sensitivity. Beads of sweat sprang from his forehead; his body worked overtime to expel the foreign substance. The more his body fought the potion, the more it entangled itself with his blood, his life. A sharp pain shot through his stomach, as he felt his insides constricting; the numbness had dissipated utterly. All was overshadowed by what materialized in his head. Electricity sparked throughout, forming thoughts, feelings, experiences he could not comprehend. Sixteen years flashed before him, condensed into mere minutes with a million different visions dancing in his mind's eye.
In a distant voice, he heard Ron.
"Harry! Are you okay? You look awful!"
Images spun incessantly through his vision, and contorted, melting into his own.
He saw his old cupboard, but inside it was decorated lavishly with maroon drapes hanging elegantly on all the windows that lined up against one wall. The cupboard faded to black, and he saw a boy sitting on a man's lap in a room filled with books, some looking as if they would crumble under the slightest breeze. A book lay before them as a soft, firm voice explained how a mere baby defeated a powerful and highly respected wizard. The boy felt a tinge of hope; dreams of power took root. The man laughed, his long, pale hair wavered against his chest.
"You can be powerful, my son. You just need the right allies."
Another scene played out, forcing the others to fade into the past. His cheeks drown in his own tears; his body shook uncontrollably, fear overpowering everything else. A familiar voice rose up outside the door.
"He's a failure Narcissa and you know it!"
"He's just a child, let him make mistakes."
"No son of mine-"
He felt his hands moving on their own, closing the door from its cracked position, his head unable to withstand anymore. He knew he was a failure, not being able to even remotely measure up to his great father. He felt useless, weak, most of all, alone. It seemed whatever he did, it was never enough to please his father. He knew the school year was just around the corner, there he would prove that he was born into the family for a reason. He would no longer be just a child, but a man, a great man. Greater than his father if he desired, and he truly craved that most of all. He would obtain more power than any man before him; he would wield under his palm wealth beyond even his own dreams. People would obey his command; no one would possibly dare tempt his wrath. All for just one smile to grace the lips of his father. It would always be for him; he knew that is what kind of life his father wanted for him.
Harry's mind came into his power once more. Even so, all the images, tastes, sounds that echoed in his head, still intoxicated his senses. His mind did not have the capacity to sort through this second life that now burdened him. Harry felt himself shutting down; his eyes faded to glazed, lifeless orbs. Unaware of the surroundings, he lifted both hands to his head, avoiding falling over in exhaustion. Harry knew he had to get out of the room as soon as possible. He could not think straight, the slightest shifting of bodies pounded in his ears. Each conversation chimed clearly, tongues slurred words. Bites taken of various meats and pastries and the grinding of all the food forced Harry to disregard any thoughts of eating. Lips smacked together, and each droplet of saliva boomed like canons as they made their descent to the table or floor. Each drop crashing at different times became tidal waves, thrashing relentlessly against the wood. People tapped their feet anxiously. The breaths people took in were as if they were just learning how to breathe. They were ragged and unsteady, some short, others unbearably long. With the intense enhancement of his hearing, Harry was terrified to open his eyes, but reluctantly slid his hands slowly down his face, onto the table. Whatever he had expected, it was nothing compared to what lay before him.
The colours were too vivid for even an artist to portray. The table's mahogany blazed defiantly, suffusing his skin, tinting it to a light shade of tan. A brown set of eyes focused on him. Harry saw the concern and warmth etched into each fracture of colour, most of all; love. He would have smiled, but the message never made it to his lips. The brown eyes shone more alive than before, a haze surrounding them, slowly devouring the rest of the face, then the whole of the body. He realized he had been staring at Hermione, and now, now she seemed to be glowing. The light must have been contagious, the two sitting next to her, turned a shade darker, but still illuminated. Harry watched as the glow travelled down the Gryffindor table, hopped over to Ravenclaw, surged over Hufflepuff, and finally rested as the last Slytherin ignited in his own faint purple mist. Turning back to his friends, Hermione blazed at a higher level than Ron, but she did not have a hint of colour, she simply lit up in a blinding light, much like an angel. Ron's eyes were coated in gold, a duller, but no less intense aura. He seemed older than any age, like his being had been in existence since the dawn of time. His eyes hinted at tales long forgotten, but offered nothing more. Harry's eyes burned, blinded by the intensity of the colours and light. Harry closed them briefly, but the images swirled together in a seemingly endless cavern, that only grew with more visions as the second fell into perpetuity. He felt his reflexes slowing down. His opened his eyes reluctantly; Hermione's mouth moved, but the other sounds seemed to swallow her voice, smothering her.
Feeling like he would pass out any moment, Harry knew he had to make his exit and quick. He managed to pull himself away from the table. His legs seemed to be a separate entity from his body, guiding him to the corridor. They turned towards the stairs, outside the Great Hall. The walls in the corridor expanded and contracted, breathing like a living creature. He heard shaky breathing coming from behind.
"Do you see it as well?" a voice boomed, but in reality, hardly reached a whisper.
Harry's eyes cracked, the tone all too familiar, but the usual condescending attitude was nowhere to be found. Harry turned around slowly to Draco. He blinked; the boy was all but engulfed with a solid haze of crimson, outlined within a faint, coruscate silver. Draco stood rigid; his eyes wide open in disbelief. Harry lit up the entire hallway, light emanated off his body, blinding him. Reds and golds bounced off the walls, as Draco backed away, shielding his vision. Eradicating all eye contact, he retreated down a corridor. Harry's mind raced, all his thoughts jumbled into one. Escape ran through his mind once more; he headed for the Gryffindor Tower.
Harry climbed the stairs slowly but surely, his grasp weakening on the rail with each passing moment. Being away from the Great Hall made no difference, he forgot about the hundreds of paintings that overtook the walls. Their incessant chattering seemed worse as each sound bounded off the sides, oscillating into one another. They hit Harry at all angles; he was safe nowhere. As Harry made his way up the stairs, a familiar short, squat knight came into view.
"HEY! FIGHT ME! FIGHT ME YOU DIRTY ROGUE!"
Sir Cadogan had wandered from his painting like usual and was prodding a sleeping old man with his sword in another. The frame was outlined in gray and yellow; each colour struggled for control. The man opened his eyes briefly from his slumber to find the knight waving his sword around violently. He quickly snapped his eyes closed and pretended to snore loudly, disregarding the man's attempts.
"BATTLE!!!" screamed the little knight, as he charged around the sleeping man.
Two elderly women stood paintings down, gossiping excitedly.
Sir Cadogan grew weary of the sleeping man and turned to the women with a perverted smile.
"HARLOTS! I SHALL SMITE THEE!" He screamed wildly, brandishing his long sword, and ran off down the hallway with a yellow trail chasing him towards the screaming women.
"Errr…" Harry blinked, "Uhmmm…"
He turned around, cupping his ears from the thundering voices, but it was useless. In fact, it only increased the noise, as it allowed him to hear the blood rushing in his veins in sync with the deep rhythmic beating of his heart.
Suddenly, Harry was sprawled on the floor with no recollection how. He felt his body lurching in the direction of his feet. His eyes only perceived a change in direction. It took a few seconds for Harry to fit the pieces together to realize the staircase he had been on was moving.
Harry stumbled in front of a painting, abandoning the swinging, marble staircases. A lady of rather large size was sitting in an elegant dress decorated in all shades of pink imaginable. Her hair styled in tight ringlets around her face and loose curls and waves everywhere else. This painting had an extremely dim glow of rose that barely passed around the edges. The lady's eyes were now downcast, looking at the boy fondly.
"Password my dear?" she urged softly as Harry stood there, looking as if he were about to collapse.
"Oh, uhh…Bardus Oraculum," his voice pounded in his head.
Harry watched as the painting moved aside, unveiling the entrance to the Common room. Somehow he made it up to his room, he felt home; his scent marked ubiquitously. He collapsed face first onto his bed, unable to move a single inch, all his energy now finally spent. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, leaving this enhanced reality for a more favourable, even slightly predictable one. He exhaled, losing all touch with consciousness as his mind began to wander towards a boy whose skin was so pale, that it rivalled that of the moon's, with blonde hair so unnatural and styled to fit against each curve indefinitely. His touch so soft, but iced over with indifference, hands kept in immaculate condition. Whose eyes bore into his own like a summer storm, sharp with electrical energy. The Slytherin, who went by one name, and that name only.
*~*~*
"Well that was weird!" Dean laughed and turned to the other Gryffindors, who sat wide-eyed and dumbfounded.
"Yeah, what happened? Did I miss something?" Ron looked around the Hall to find the source of Harry's distress.
A few moments passed and Ron stood up to leave. Hermione grabbed his forearm.
"I think he needs to be alone, Ron. He looked really sick. He probably just went to bed."
Ron shrugged and nodded, sitting back down to finish his dessert.
Hermione sat quietly for the rest of dinner, worried about Harry. She hoped she had been right when telling Ron that he went to bed. Her hand reached out, picking up a cloth she failed to notice sooner. It felt slightly damp to the touch. As she pulled the cloth away from her hand, her eyes lit up in alarm at her palm, a light red tinted her skin. Hermione tried putting together why Harry would say he needed to go to the bathroom alone, not come back for hours until after dinner started, and then just get up and leave not saying a word, and dropping a red cloth that was coated in something she was unsure of. It did not make sense to her; neither did the memory of Malfoy walking out of the Great Hall in the same daze as Harry just seconds after the Gryffindor. It kept replaying in her head. Something was not clicking, there was something missing. Hermione folded the cloth and pocketed it.
*~*~*
Harry woke with a start; visions of a graveyard plagued his subconscious once more. But this dream was unlike the all the others; Harry had not tried to save Cedric. Instead, a slender boy with sleek blonde hair fell in his place. Harry could still feel the smooth, cold hands in his own, as sharp pains throughout his body restored time. His head pounded, erupting in pain. Running his hand up to his head, gripping his hair, he checked the clock.
The silver hands pointed towards reverie.
Harry stretched, lifting his arms above his head. In response, his mouth fell into a yawn. The Gryffindor's eyes traveled down onto his lap; somehow his sheets had been pulled over him. Scratching his bedraggled hair, he shrugged.
Under the sheets, his body felt clammy; he threw them back. The boy rested his feet out upon the cold flooring. It felt nice against his skin. Harry's eyes flickered; the events during dinner came flooding back in a haze. He tried to recall what had transpired earlier.
Ron snapped him out of his concentration; he had turned over, facing Harry, letting out a satisfied snore.
The Gryffindor peered out into his sleeping quarters, and looked at the other beds. Ron lay on his stomach with his head shoved into his pillow. Dean lay curled up with his favorite stuffed dragon, Bubbles. Neville had pulled his covers completely over his body; a blanketed lump slept in the center of the bed.
An unfamiliar presence resonated throughout the room.
Seamus…
Seamus was sprawled out on his stomach, drooling; his pillow already thrown off the bed like usual. Everything appeared normal, but something was amiss.
"Hello?" he called out softly, wanting to smack himself afterwards for being so slow.
No one replied.
Harry tried to ignore the feeling of being watched, and got off the bed fully, becoming increasingly aware of just how much his head ached. Harry rubbed his eyes, the throbbing only increased. Closing the door, he trotted across the stone with his arms clutching his chest, his feet numbing with each stride.
The door closed behind him as he stepped into the bathroom. Harry looked towards the sinks and the mirror that hung across the wall. Rolling his eyes, his feet padded across the floor. He rested his palms on the countertop and scrutinized his appearance. His face was streaked with stale sweat, and smothered in his black hair that shined with a faint layer of oil. The torches lit up the room, banishing the darkness. He ran his tongue across his teeth. Harry's face fixed itself in a repulsed expression; his tongue lolled precariously. The faint taste of the potion still lingered and coated his mouth. Harry reached for his toothbrush and brushed until his gums were raw.
Now fully awake, Harry's only thought was of a warm shower. Dirt and sweat clung to his clothes and skin, he could smell it as he pulled his shirt over his head. The rest of his garments fell to the floor in quick succession.
Steamy, soothing water rushed from the showerhead; Harry shut the door to enjoy this familiar ambiance. His hair caved under the weight of the stream of water, clinging about his face and neck. As he brushed his wet locks away from his face, a sharp pain shot through his wounded hand. His eyelids opened to a slit; he had no idea where the red cloth he used to cover his cut had gone. It did not matter that much to him anymore though, his sore had closed, forming a red, jagged scab. The rest of his hand was still caked in dried blood. Harry held out his wounded palm under the spray of water to cleanse it. The blood mixed with the current and traveled down his arm, slipping passed his firm, but tender chest. The ensanguined water glided down his skin until it fell soberly onto the tiled floor. The red faded away from Harry's vision as it flowed into the drain.
Anger and pain erupted without warning from his scar, forcing him to the ground. He gasped, inhaling a stifled agony that cast itself over him like a cloud, suffocating him. He was unable to stop it from flooding every part of his mind. His eyes were closed, yet he could still see. He saw shadows looming over a lone desk outlined in darkness; the light from the solitary window did not reach the wood. Instead, the light flooded across the immense bed, the sheets rippled into a cascade of waves; an ocean that splashed against the countless pillows that formed the shore. Harry felt he could be sucked into the waves; drown in the dark, lustrous green that colored the sheets.
The blinding rage faded, but only to be replaced by doubt and insecurity. Every breath wrecked his detached body; all he was able to do under his own will was wrap his arms around his legs, forming a tight ball. Tremors undulated through his body, coaxing him to fall forward. His hands braced his weight as the presence took hold of his mind; words not his own writhed under his skin.
The intensity of the feelings receded back from whence it came. He gasped for air, choking on the overkill of emotions. Feeling asphyxiated, he needed to purge himself of all the sensation that penetrated his very essence. His arms held strong in their locked position, holding his body above the tile. The mysterious presence left him to rid of the livid passion by his own devices. Harry coughed continually, retching. Finally, he could open his eyes again, and he was able to reclaim himself once more. A realization surfaced in Harry's mind; he recognized the presence that had enslaved him. The Gryffindor could not mistake it for anyone else's.
Malfoy…
*~*~*
Author's Note:
Nicole - Alright! Getting down to the good stuff. That chappie is quite intense, so chapter 4 is going to bring it down a little. Highlights include: a very drunk Seamus, mud wrestling, Draco taking his shirt off, and Pansy falling off her broom :D
Sound good? Of course! You know you want some.
Sara - Haha! Seamus! I seriously love our Seamus, he's going to play a bigger role in chapter four, and no, he won't be drunk the whole time. Chapter 4 is almost there, it's about 9,118 words at the moment and we have like one or two more things to do. Then edit between us, change things around. I'm thinking of redoing the beginning, I think it turned out horrible my first time writing it. So I don't think you will see this chapter for over a week, but it'll be worth it! Trust me on this, I mean how can you go wrong with mud wrestling? And of course with topless, pantless Draco? *faints* Oh, if you have any questions about anything in the story, I will more than likely answer it in the next chapter. I am keeping a few things secret though, secrets are fun! :D
Bonuses! If you're the first person to guess where we got "BATTLE!!!" from, I will send you one of the scenes from chapter four…Or! If you can correctly figure out what the colors mean. I want to know what you guys think of that ^-^
So make us happy! Review! Tell us what your favorite scene was, what you loved about this chapter, what you thought we could have done with out, anything. It does boost up our spirits and I get into my writing mood more often and it helps me write the scenes quicker, as I find out more and more on what you people want to read. Oh and people adding us to their favorites list as well ^-^
One last thing, our betas seem to have disappeared or are rather flaky except for the two we have now. We want our betas to be quick, have good ideas on how to change wording, and when they tell us they're going to give it back to us on a certain date, we expect it to be in our mailbox on that date. We waited well over a week for one of our betas to get back to us. I think it was going on two weeks. Or, if you're good at description we can always use your help, like saying which stuff is necessary, what is hard to understand, and basically anything that would help with the writing.
So if you want to help OFAB along email Sara at dracosnoggin@seductive.com and I'll send you chapter four when we feel it's ready to be sent off to the betas (which should be by the end of the week or around there.) We want our betas to be excited about OFAB ^-^ or if you have messengers you can reach Sara on a couple of them…I tend to be on a lot so if you want to be apart of this, go for it! I implore you! And if you do this, tell me that you IMed me because of OFAB, helps sort out the random messages and all.
AIM: corrupted sight
Yahoo: yaydracoharry