Chapter[C1] 11: Buried Secrets Left Untold
When Fleur fell, it was as if a spell had been broken. Students were screaming and running for the exits. One girl, who'd obviously been sick on herself, tripped on Harry's robes, but when he tried to help her up, she slapped his hand and crawled away, sobbing, on all fours.
With all the commotion, he was surprised he even noticed, but from the corner of his eye, he saw A.M. run, not away, but toward the front of the room. "I can help!" she yelled, pushing frightened children to the sides of the aisles. Harry, who wanted nothing more but escape from the stench, instead found himself following the blonde.
She was on her knees beside Fleur by the time he got there. "Get away from her, A.M.!" Snape shouted, pulling at her shoulder.
She pushed him aside. "I can help her. Just give me some room. Taking a deep breath, she ripped the girl's blouse open, exposing her deflated, wrinkled chest and a gash along her breastbone that was seeping a disgusting black liquid. The stench was positively atrocious, forcing everyone around to take a step back and A.M. to retch. "Oh, god."
"Is she alright?" Dumbedore asked, stepping forward only slightly.
A.M. shook her head. "She's dead. Has been for days."
Harry felt a shiver down his spine. "But she just walked in here. And talked. I saw it myself."
"Imperius curse," Dumbledore muttered. "It's the only logical explanation."
"But someone has to be alive for that to work, don't they?" Harry could feel his throat tightening, putting him on the edge of hysterics. What kind of powerful, dark magic would someone need to raise the dead?
"She's badly decomposed," A.M. stated. "Look at her coloring. And the flesh here," she pointed to the girl's breasts, "has eroded considerably. When a person dies, the water in their tissue evaporates. That's why she looks so wrinkly." She looked at the body again, gagged, but continued. "The liquid coming out of that gash is rainwater mixed with liquefied tissue. It takes several days for bacteria to break down a body like that. I'd say whoever killed her did so the day she was kidnapped." She paused. "And her heart is missing."
Snape stated evenly, "Obviously He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has grown even more powerful. I know we're all saying it's not possible, but he must have found a way to use the Imperius curse on a corpse."
"I'm feel… ill," A.M. whispered, throwing a hand to her mouth.
"Mr. Potter, could you please escort Ms. Kinter to her dormitory?" Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded and took the shaking girl by the elbow. Anything to escape the disgusting horror in front of him.
"Can you walk alright?" She was weaving a bit, but managed a nod as they rounded the corner. "What made you run up there like that?"
"I don't know. I didn't really plan it out. One second all I could think is that I wanted to get away, the next I was standing by… her." Her freckles stood out against her pale, bloodless skin. "I know a little about medicine, so I guess I thought maybe I could help her."
"Madame Pomfrey's a little better qualified than you, don't you think?"
"You mean the Madame Pomfrey who was passed out in the middle of the aisle? I know it was scary, but no one except McGonagall made a move to help that poor girl."
"Yeah," Harry laughed sarcastically, "I can't think of a single reason for that."
"The girl was under a curse. She couldn't help what she was doing. I'd hope that, were I in need of medical attention, a few scary words wouldn't keep a physician from treating me."
"You've got nerves of steel, Doctor Kinter."
"Oh jeez," she gasped, studying her hands. "I've got that stuff she was leaking all over my fingers." Harry snuck a closer look, only to see the crescents of her nails caked with black grime. "Harry?" she clutched her stomach, doubled over, and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't caught her in his arms.
"A.M., come on, just a couple more flights of stairs and you can lay down."
"No, I'm going to be sick. Uh, I can't get that smell out of my nose."
"It's not that far, really-"
"Harry, I'm going to throw up."
He reluctantly thought of the closest bathroom. "Follow me," he sighed, dragging her behind him. He'd tried to avoid this particular place for the last four years, but he didn't want A.M. making a mess in the middle of the hall and embarrassing herself. He'd never thrown up in public, or even run a fever, but he had snickered at others who had.
The second floor bathroom was damp and cold, just as he remembered it. He led A.M. through the dark stone corridor to the toilets, where she immediately ran into a stall, slamming the door behind her. Earlier Harry had been thinking of asking her to the dance and had even planned to get her alone after dinner so that he could do so, but these weren't the conditions he'd been hoping for.
Last weekend he'd been spotted in the hall with A.M. by an anonymous Gryffindor with a big mouth, and when he returned from Kenchi's, Ron had confronted him. "What about Cho?" he ridiculed.
Harry, having no other choice (except, of course, admitting that he was beginning to fancy Ron's crush and, according to the unwritten rules of male bonding, that wasn't an option), lied. "I was walking down the hall and was trying to ignore her, but she started blathering on and on. I couldn't wait to get rid of her."
Hermione had appeared from nowhere. "Get rid of who?"
"Uh…" Harry knew that Hermione and A.M. were becoming fairly close. Anything he admitted would probably be passed on. However, he didn't have to make the decision: it was made for him.
"He's talking about A.M. again."
"Harry, why can't you just put your differences aside? She's a nice girl, you just won't give her a chance." Hermione sighed loudly, shaking her head. "I don't know why you're acting like this. You're usually so rational."
"Oh please, Hermione," Ron moaned. "It's not like you're Mother Theresa."
"I'm not speaking to you."
"See? That proves my point." He turned to Harry. "At least I don't have to worry about you trying to ask A.M. to the dance before I get to."
Harry hoped that neither friend noticed his nervousness. "Uh… have you been stressing over that?"
"Well, no, but I heard a couple of guys talking about it- I think they were Hufflepuffs."
"Yeah, I have to go," Harry lied, then quickly excused himself. As he walked away Hermione pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and shoved it into Ron's hands. It looked like a letter. "Did write it, you wanker."
Harry had tried to ignore that funny tickle in his stomach when he saw A.M., but after she turned down Ron, he figured the coast was clear to ask her out. Sure, Ron would be upset for awhile, but he had Hermione and nothing was going on between him and A.M. anyway.
"A.M., are you almost done?" Harry asked her impatiently, tapping his foot. He saw the formidable puddles of water on the floor and knew he only had a few minutes to get them both out of there.
"Uh, I think so." Her voice was shaking and he heard commotion in the stall as she tried to stand. "Do you think I could have a minute more?"
"Well-" he was cut off by the sound of her retching and realized they'd be there for awhile longer.
"Harry?" he heard a sniffle. "Is that you?" Moaning Myrtle appeared by one of the sinks, her face blotchy from where she'd been crying. "You said you would visit."
"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" he retorted, annoyed that he'd been unable to avoid this encounter.
"Yes, but it's been such a long time and no one ever comes to see me. No one cares about ugly, old Myrtle."
He tried very hard to hide his contempt. "Myrtle, that simply isn't true. I'm sure lots of people care about you."
About that time A.M. had the misfortune of coming out of the stall, wiping her mouth. "Ugh," she grunted. "I'm sorry, I usually don't get like that around gore, but that was just so gross."
Myrtle narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "Who's she?" she demanded. "Come to visit did you?"
"She's just a friend."
"As if it's not enough that you ignore me for years on end, even after I helped you with the Triwizard clue, then you have to bring your girlfriend in here for an after-dinner snogging? I've never even had a boyfriend, but you have to come by to show off?"
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Yeah, and if it makes you feel better, I've never had a boyfriend either," A.M. added in her most helpful manner.
"That's supposed to make me feel better? At least you're not dead and living in a bathroom."
"Um, I suppose that's true." A.M. stood there, at a loss for words. "Could I use one of the sinks? My mouth tastes awful."
"No one comes in here to see Myrtle. All they want to do is use the toilet and wash their hands. They just ignore me. And at least you can taste things, even if they're gross. You don't know what it's like being dead and never being able to eat anything. "
A.M. pointed out, "Yes, well, I don't think I can empathize, but I'm sorry anyway," and began splashing water on her face and neck.
"Who are you, anyway? I haven't seen you in any of the bathrooms here at school."
"Myrtle," Harry stepped in, "this is A.M. Kinter, A.M., this is Myrtle."
"Pleasure." A.M. extended her hand to shake the other girl's.
"You were right. Your breath is horrid."
"Thank you for your kind words. I think I'll be going now."
"Wait, that still doesn't explain why I haven't seen you in any of the toilets."
"I have a private bathroom."
"You're not a prefect, are you?" Myrtle asked, just as a huge boom of thunder deafened them all.
It was A.M.'s turn to cross her arms and look offended. "No, I'm not a reject, thank you."
"Not reject, I said prefect. The prefects have their own bathroom too, and-"
"I'm not one of those either. I just have a private privy in my room."
"Myrtle," Harry intervened, "A.M.'s feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm going to take her back to her dorm now."
"Yes, everyone that comes by always wants to leave so soon. Apparently I'm so awful they can't even stand me for a full minute. I'd ask what the point of living is, what with such a miserable existence, but I'm not. I'm dead."
"Yes, well… cheers," he replied, then quickly pushed A.M. out the door.
A.M. commented dryly, "Lovely girl," and stumbled down the hallway.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I just have to get my legs. Was that an ex-girlfriend of yours?"
"No, that's Moaning Myrtle. She's the reason why all the teachers tell you to use the third floor bathroom instead of this one."
"I can't think of why. She's positively charming."
He chuckled. "I didn't know you were capable of such harsh words."
"Yeah, well, losing your lunch can do that to a girl." Pressing her forehead against the window, she exhaled loudly. "Finally, something nice and cool. And the rain's stopping." Indeed, the clouds were clearing and the sun peeked over the horizon.
"Yeah, the weather is so strange, the way it's stormy one moment, then sunny the next." With the light shining in, Harry had the chance to admire her slender body, silhouetted by the sky. Her arms and legs were well defined, but she still kept a slight hourglass figure. Petite breasts balanced her small hips, creating a flowing line that drew the eye to her curvier areas. Swallowing, he croaked, "Uh, are you ready to go back?" 'Why, oh why, didn't I ask her to the dance just then?'
"Sounds good." They began walking back silently and, when A.M. tripped slightly on the stairs, Harry told himself the hand he put around her waist was only to steady her, nothing more. However, he didn't remove his arm after she regained her balance. "Thanks," she said, smiling. He just grinned back.
In Gryffindor Tower students were huddled nervously, deep in conversation. They turned in unison as Harry and A.M. arrived. "Harry," Hermione asked, "do you have an atlas?"
"No, why?"
"I can't remember where Alexandria is."
"The city?"
"Yeah," she replied, "the city."
"Uh…" he hesitated. He thought he'd heard it was named after Alexander the Great. "Isn't it in Italy?"
"No, it's in Egypt," A.M. spoke up. "It was named after Alexander the Great. It had some huge library and a big lighthouse: the lighthouse was one of the seven ancient wonders of the world. Scientists say it was so bright you could see it from the moon. But then there was a big earthquake and it fell down and, well, that was the end of that." Everyone simply stared at her. "What?" she squeaked.
"How'd you know all that?" Seamus Finnegan asked.
"I read it in a book." He continued glaring. "You know, binded paper which contains words and sometimes pictures?"
Seamus chewed his lip. "I know what a book is. But Fleur wasn't talking about some book. She was talking about a person. To a person in that room. A person named Alexandria."
"Uh, A.M.?" Hermione fidgeted in her seat. "We were all just wondering, what does A.M. stand for?"
She gasped and dropped her arms to her sides. Harry tried his best to look disinterested, though he was dying to know as well. "So let me see here: just because I happen to have initials instead of a full name, I suddenly become public enemy number one?"
"It was just a question," Pavarti snapped. "Why don't you want to answer it?"
"It's Amanda Muffy, okay? It's about the most embarrassing, preppy name anyone could ever have, and if anyone outside of this room finds out about it, there's going to be big trouble." She crossed her arms and turned away from the staring crowd. "Would you like to finish your interrogation, or may I be excused from the bench?"
"I have a few more questions," Seamus interjected.
"Leave her alone." Harry stepped forward, making himself a physical barrier between A.M. and her interrogators. "She's not feeling well." He had not planned on standing up for her, but once he took that first initial step, he realized it felt good. He liked the idea of A.M. needing him. While she had that act that she was all sugar and spice, she also contained an inner strength, making her impenetrable. To defend her meant breaking down that wall and bringing him closer to what he wanted to find: the inner A.M.
Lavender Brown cleared her throat. "What about Fleur?"
"What about Fleur?" he argued back. "She's dead." A gasp rose in the room. "A.M. and I both saw. She's definitely… dead."
Parvarti stared at them both accusingly. "I saw A.M. run up there to Fleur. She knew Fleur was coming and wouldn't hurt her. She was even trying to help her. She's working for the other side! She's that Alexandria person!"
"Oh please." Don't be so paranoid," Harry huffed. "Fleur was threatening someone named Alexandria. If that was A.M., why would she risk her life running up there? A.M. was just trying to help, which is more than any of you did." Hermione hung her head, embarrassed by her friend's words.
"Here, you vultures," A.M. spat, throwing a wallet on the table.
Hesitantly, Geoffrey Hooper picked it up and flipped through the many ID's and pictures. "You're a girl scout?" he scowled.
"I like to help my community."
"Well, she's who she says she is."
"I'll take that back now," she told him, grabbing the wallet from his hand.
"A.M.," Hermione began quietly. "We're really very sorry for all this. I know you were scared by what happened this evening. It's just that, we were all frightened as well and needed to be sure that, when we go to bed tonight, we'll all be safe."
"Well I assure you, I won't be coming to any of your bedsides this evening." She started to walk away and Harry felt a slight tug on his arm. Though he didn't remember doing so, A.M.'s hand was clasped tightly in his own, leaving him no choice but to follow her.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asked her as they reached the more secluded end of the room.
"I'll be fine. I'm just surprised that trying to do the right thing and help people is a social faux pas here at Hogwart's."
Harry chuckled, but covered his mouth to hide it. "I was actually referring to your stomach. You know, after earlier-"
"Well, I can't really safeguard against communication lapses," she shrugged. "I am feeling quite a bit better, but I'm looking forward to crashing in bed tonight."
As she began up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, Harry found himself unwilling to release her hand. Something had changed, he could feel it. He was completely smitten with A.M., so much he hadn't even thought to look for Gretta since he'd last seen her. While there was something secretive about A.M., he was willing to let down his barriers and wait for her to explain herself when she was ready.
"Harry, can I please have my hand back?" she asked, smiling wearily. Despite her puffy eyes and obvious tiredness, she was absolutely beautiful.
"Oh, certainly. Sorry about that." As he began to let go, he caught sight of her palm- more specifically, the smooth, white scar that stretched diagonally across it. "What did you do?" he frowned. "Did you… do this to yourself?"
"To myself?! No! I fell on the playground when I was little. That's a very old scar."
"A.M.., this cut is perfectly straight. It looks like your hand was purposely sliced. Did- did you do this?"
She yanked back her hand. "I didn't do it. I fell on the playground and cut myself on a piece of glass, okay?"
"Promise?"
Rolling her eyes, she laughed, "Yes, I promise I'm not sitting in my room, playing with knives." Her face grew serious. "Harry, thank you for standing up for me back there. I appreciate that."
He shrugged. "I was just returning the favor."
"Well… goodnight." She hovered at the foot of the stairs, hesitating.
It was the perfect moment to invite A.M. to the dance. But he stopped. Things were moving too quickly, leaving Harry's head spinning. He needed some time to think it over. "Goodnight," he murmured, more to himself than A.M., watching her step quietly upstairs.
Harry started to his dormitory when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hermione?" he asked, turning to face his frizzy-haired friend.
"Does Ron know?" she whispered, leading him back to the couch.
"Know what?"
She let out a bitter chuckle. "Apparently not. Harry, why are we all playing these games? Here I am, pretending I don't know that Ron asked A.M. to the dance before he asked me so that Ron doesn't feel guilty, while A.M. is pretending that he never asked her so as not to upset me. And you're acting like you don't fancy A.M. so Ron doesn't get angry, but really you're only fooling yourself. It's just a big, stupid game."
Harry muttered, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave," and looked around the common room. Apparently everyone had been waiting for A.M.'s ominous arrival, because they had all returned to their rooms to gossip nervously about that night's event.
"The question is, why do we all do it? Everyone's covering up Ron's actions for my benefit, but the truth is, I know. Even you, Harry, my best friend, are playing along."
"Well, he asked me not to say anything-"
She shushed him. "It's all right, I understand. Sure, it rather hurts that I'm only second best, but I can't change that. I'm much better knowing and accepting that than being kept in the dark."
Harry rested his temple on his hand. "Is this your way of saying I should come clean with Ron?"
"No, this is my warning that it's a lot easier to accept the truth from your mouth than overhearing it from someone else."
"How about the idea of him never finding out?" Harry suggested hopefully.
"Ron isn't totally clueless. If you walk around, holding A.M.'s hand like you were earlier, he's eventually going to figure out there's something going on between the two of you."
Something sparked in Harry's brain. He'd been so immersed with his newfound crush, he hadn't even stopped to consider A.M.'s feelings. Sure, she seemed to like him at the beginning of the school year, but that was months ago. He'd spent all that time trying to convince both her and himself that he wasn't interested- the opposite, in fact. Just the other week she'd said she'd fancied another boy for years. What if she was waiting for whoever that guy was? Harry, considering his short relationship with A.M., knew he had some competition in this secret lover. "The two of us? Is there something between the two of us?"
"You mean, does she fancy you?" A glimmer in Hermione's eye betrayed the fact that she was enjoying the power she yielded. She was the most trusted confidant of Harry's crush. If anyone knew whom A.M. liked, it was Hermione.
"Well, yeah. Do you know?"
"Of course I know. But I've been sworn to utmost secrecy."
"But Hermione, we're friends. Friends don't keep secrets."
Her eyebrow arched. "Oh really? Is that why you came running up to me, screaming, 'By the way, Ron asked A.M. to the dance before he asked you!'?"
Squirming, he replied, "Okay, point taken. But even so, this is more important than keeping a secret."
"Prove it."
"What, you want me to plead my case here? Do you need physical evidence?"
"I have all the physical evidence I want. This is easy, Harry. I know you can figure out her feelings on your own, instead of trying to change the subject."
"What subject is that?" Harry asked, annoyed that Hermione expected him, as a man, to perceive a single thought ever born of a woman's mind.
"Ron. How he's going to take all this."
He looked her in the eye. "And how will that be?"
She returned his stare. "Consider how he reacted when he thought you put your name in the goblet of fire. I just hope he wasn't overly serious about A.M." Harry tried to ignore the memory of finding A.M.'s name written over and over on parchment hidden in Ron's sock drawer, the page covered in grungy kiss marks. "Seriously, Harry, just let him know. He may be upset for awhile, but things will only go better if you're honest."
"Okay, I'll talk to him ASAP," he told her, having no intention whatsoever of doing so. Some things friendships couldn't suffer. Perhaps A.M. would be willing to be discreet…
***
It was mere coincidence that A.M. was absent the very day Harry had finally gathered the courage to ask her out. The students were allowed to visit Hogsmeade (Strangely it was the first visit of the year, and Harry had the feeling that they were only granted permission to go because of the close proximity to Christmas.), so Harry decided to catch A.M. as she came down the stairs. However, as he waited at the foot of the dormitory entrance, he saw only five sixth years (two of which were scantily clad in miniskirts, allowing quite a view for those sitting at the bottom of the steps). Hermione, shirking her usual punctuality, was last to arrive. "Harry, you're not waiting for me, are you?"
"Uh…" This was the sort of situation for a white lie, right? "You're one of the people I'm waiting for."
She raised an eyebrow. It was obvious he hadn't been convincing. "Well, I'm the last one down, so I don't know who you're waiting on."
"You mean, there's no one in your room?"
"No, it's empty."
"So… where's A.M.?"
Hermione laughed. "Is that who this is all about? A.M. has her own room. According to Parvarti, it's disgustingly plush, but you know how she over-exaggerates. Anyway, do you want me to go get her?"
"Are you busy?"
"No it'll only take me a second," she clomped back up the stairs and, despite her promise, returned far quicker than he expected. "She's sick," was the announcement.
At first it didn't register. "What do you mean?"
"How many definitions do you need for sick? She's unwell and isn't coming to Hogsmeade."
Harry remembered a time that, in exchange for not talking for a week, the Dursleys promised to take him to the park. He kept his end of the bargain, but when the Dursleys pulled up to the playground, bulldozers were in the process of demolishing it. Harry had been so anxious, but could only feel as if his own excitement was flattened under the giant, yellow CAT. His disappointment over his unintentionally cancelled date was the playground all over again. "Did you see her? Is she all right?"
"We just talked through the door. Can we get going?" Harry reluctantly followed. The rain had finally condensed into snow, freezing the mud the Great Lawn had become in November and covering the brown mess with a cleansing layer of white.
Hogsmeade was much of the same; while Harry selected a few presents for his friends and favorite teachers, he felt no desire to browse in all the old stores. Much to his distaste, after comparing his purchases, he found that A.M.'s gift, an elegant, leather-bound how-to on bettering one's wand work, cost nearly twice as much as any other. To relieve his guilt over the neglect of his other friends, he bought them all slabs of Honeyduke's finest chocolate.
Despite Hermione's warnings, Harry had no desire to tell Ron his true feelings for A.M. Like all adolescents, he had the fondest hope that, by ignoring the situation, it would disappear. However, while sitting round the Three Broomsticks, sipping butterbeers, he received enough kicks under the table to convince him to fess up. His shins couldn't withstand anymore of Hermione's hard-toed jabs.
"I'm getting to it," he hissed at her when Ron left for the restroom.
"Well, get to it faster. Someone's bound to tell him what's going on."
"Who really knows that I like A.M.? I mean, we haven't done anything terribly revealing. No one knows I'm going to ask her to the dance." A sharp jolt to his chair startled him from the conversation.
"Terrible sorry," Draco said, patting Harry's shoulder. "It's quite crowded in here. I didn't mean to bump you." When he received no response from the seated friends, he shrugged and moved on. Harry and Hermione stared at each other in shock, unable to believe what had just happened.
"Let me get this straight," Harry finally stammered. "Did Malfoy just show another human being a little grace and civility?"
"Up is down, black is white, made is unmade…"
"Why do you guys look like you just saw Hagrid lay an egg?" Ron asked, returning from the toilets.
"Draco Malfoy just said a kind word to another person."
Ron gagged on his butterbeer. "Well then," he finally gasped, "That's a bit stranger than Hagrid laying an egg, isn't it?"
***
Despite promises through the door that she would be back, Ron declared "that bitch," missing from History class that Monday.
"Really Ron," Hermione had chastised at lunch, "nothing she could have done merits your foul language." Strangely, he actually listened to the frizzy-haired girl, ending the conversation immediately. This action alone convinced Harry that, not only had Ron's attraction switched completely to his best friend, Hermione made a far better influence on him than A.M. ever could. A.M. needed someone more… independent. Kind of like Harry. Hermione was more domineering, but also had an infinite urge to nurture. A.M. struck him as someone who needed her space, but, when things got really rough, could use support and safety (certainly not words easily applied to Ron).
Harry was quite worried about A.M. and her apparently failing health, but of course could not visit her because of the ward on the girls' dormitory. Certainly she was bored and could use some company, but she had denied Hermione entrance when she'd checked up on her that morning. He'd already decided that, the moment she finally came down those stairs, he'd ask her to the dance. He wasn't taking any more chances.
After lunch he headed to Transfigurations, stopping only to tell Peeves to "shove off," (The poltergeist had picked up a first year by the seat of his trousers and was now waving him around wildly like a centrifuge.). McGonagall's N.E.W.T. class was particularly noisy that day: they were all to be tested for Animagus.
After the mishap that fateful night during third year, all the wizarding schools were asked to create a test administered to sixth years. If a student had the capability to transform, the ministry would be well aware and watching. Many liberal wizards felt this was an invasion of privacy and had protested such a test, but fear and outrage at Sirius' escape easily pushed the test into the academies.
Many students were afraid: after all, while being Animagus was neat, it meant being watched very closely by the government, perhaps for the rest of their lives. Already McGonagall had professed her distaste at the extra attention she was receiving. However, most students were intrigued to see just what kind of animal they would (if possible) become.
Harry went to take his usual seat, but found it taken by a platinum blonde. "Excuse me," he muttered, tapping the figure on the shoulder.
The boy turned, revealing Draco's evil smirk. "Well, hello Potter. I was just talking to your dear friend, Weasley."
"Oh really?" he replied coldly. "And just what the hell would you two have enough in common to talk about? I would think the difference in species would create a slight problem in conversation."
"Quite funny, Mr. Potter. Actually, we were just discussing your… particular relationship with A.M. Kinter."
He looked at Ron's face. He'd never seen so much hope in one person's eyes. "It's not true is it? You're not taking her to the dance, right?"
Harry felt his stomach dropped. "Why did you do that?" he asked Malfoy, ignoring his friend's questions.
"I just thought, as your best friend, Weasley had the right to know about your little conversation at the Three Broomsticks. And about how all the Gryffindors saw you holding hands with a certain someone."
"But it's not true, right Harry?" Ron pleaded.
"Why did you do that?" he inquired again.
"And that the reason A.M. turned him down for the dance is because you two are going together. Not very friendly, now is it?"
"That's not true, you bastard, and you know it. She's not going with anyone to the dance."
Malfoy stood and whispered in Harry's ear. "Not now, but soon."
"Harry, were you trying to get together with A.M.?" Ron finally confronted.
"Ron…I…I didn't want to like her, I promise."
"But everything he said is true?"
"No, not everything." He again turned to Malfoy. One conflict at a time. "You piece of shit. Why the hell would you lie to him like that?"
"Oh, is the great Harry Potter a bit upset now? Maybe someone should have been man enough to tell his friend personally. Fuck off."
Professor McGonagall, who'd just walked in, growled. "I will have none of that talk in my classroom. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, out in the hallway at once."
"With pleasure, Ms. McGonagall," he smiled cockily, then pushed Harry back into a table. "I'd be glad to take this one outside."
"Oh really? No magic? Just you and me?"
"You've got it."
"Boys," McGonagall warned, panicking at the loss of control of the situation, "Behave yourselves." Both ignored her, heading straight for the door.
Harry, his vision streaked with angry red, walked backward into the hall, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he went. "Malfoy, you've had this coming for a long time."
The blonde followed him, slamming the door shut behind him. The crash echoed down the hall and soon heads were peeking out of other classrooms. "I'm gonna kick your ass, Potter."
"Yeah, I'd like to see you try," he taunted, taking a swing. While he felt Draco's jaw beneath his fist, there was no solid connection. The other boy returned with a sock to the gut, knocking the breath from Harry's chest. Coughing, he swiped again with a left hook, but missed.
Harry grabbed for the wall, clinging to any physical support he could find. "One second," he gasped, holding up his hand.
Draco conceded. "Oh, certainly, certainly," then caught him in the jaw with an upper cut. "Give up?"
Harry felt blood rushing down his chin, but refused to wipe it away. He swung his leg around, catching Malfoy's ankles and knocked him to the ground. Climbing on top of his chest, pinning him down, he began pummeling the boy's perfect features. "I don't give up, do you?" He shot through clenched teeth, not even noticing the teachers rushing toward the scuffle.
Draco's face was a bloody mess, but he managed to pull a dirty trick and catch Harry in the groin with a sharp knee. Whimpering, he fell next to blonde and rolled back and forth, writhing in pain. "Dirty cheat," he moaned.
"You should be ashamed of yourselves," McGonagall chastised, leaning over the two fallen figures. "I haven't seen anyone act so childish in years." She pulled them both up by their robe collars. "Mr. Malfoy, go clean yourself up and meet me at Dumbledore's office. Mr. Potter, I want to speak to you personally before the Headmaster decides your punishment."
She banished her own students back to the classroom and pulled Harry to the side of the crowd. "What were you thinking?!"
"I wasn't."
"I understand you are having some personal difficulties, Mr. Potter, but the Ministry is not going to look kindly on offenses like this when choosing graduates for Auror training." She looked down her severe nose, frowning. "It was quite difficult to convince Snape to let you take his N.E.W.T. class, and I would think you would try to show your gratitude in your behavior, since you haven't chosen to do so verbally."
Guilt attacked him from all sides. "I'm sorry, Ms. McGonagall, I should have thanked you earlier for your efforts. I really do appreciate what you did for me. And I'll try really hard not to let Malfoy get to me like that again."
She nodded, showing only the hint of a smile. "Alright, Mr. Potter, you're excused. Go wash your face and come to Dumbledore's office." She paused. "I'll be sure to alert him of the fact that you were not the one who started this nonsense."
Limping, he made his way down the hall; a few students, not quite ready to return to the rigors of class, followed quietly behind. His remorse for his actions had quickly overtaken his anger, leaving him only with the immense pain centered in his lower abdomen. However, it all disappeared when, in the bathroom corridor, he found a crumpled figure.
A.M., her hair fanned messily across her face, was sprawled in front of the boys' toilet. He could hear her whimpering from across the room. "A.M.?" he asked, not sure whether he would get a response.
Her voice, forced past an immense block of pain, was raspy. "Harry…Harry, please help me."
"Oh god, A.M., just tell me what happened!" He was by her side in a second, pull her hair from her tear-streaked cheeks. "Did someone do something to you?"
She shook her head. "It hurts. It hurts so much."
"A.M., please, tell me what happened." He realized how loud he was and felt no surprise at the crowd he saw forming behind him. "Someone go get Madame Pomfrey," he instructed, then turned back to the fallen blonde.
"Harry, you have to help me." Her words were choked between her hiccupping sobs. "Please, help me."
"Okay, okay… let's get you to the nurse's office. Is that all right?" She nodded. "Just give me your arms, put them around my neck."
She willingly gave him her right hand, but when he reached for the left, she yanked away. "It burns," she moaned, shaking her head.
"It's all right, once we get to Madame Pomfrey's you'll feel much better."
"Nothing can make it go away."
Harry grew frustrated. How could he help if she wouldn't let him? "A.M., just put your arm around my neck," he told her, pulling on her wrist. As he stood up, her sleeve slid down, exposing an ebony mark, taking up the entirety of her forearm. "You never told me you had a tattoo," he chatted, hoping small talk would distract her.
It wasn't until he heard her cry as she hit the floor that he realized he had dropped her. He looked down, trying to confirm what he thought he'd just seen. She'd pulled her arm to her face, shielding her eyes from him, but what she truly wanted to hide was clearly visible. The dark mark, its skeletal grin leering in a perverse chiaroscuro cameo, was emblazoned deeply into A.M.'s skin.
[C1]Chapter 11