Disclaimer: No, not mine. Nada, zilch, nothing. I am scum before JK
Rowling's alter of filthy richness.
Note: A list of common effects of being struck by lightening can be found at:
Ch.9: A Proposal in the Infirmary
Harry lazily blinked awake, and it only took him a moment to recognize the white ceiling of the Infirmary. Then his hearing kicked in and he recognized the sound of nearby activity.
"What will their condition be when they wake up?" And that was definitely Snape, sounding grumpy, but uncharacteristically worried.
"Well, the most common side effects are attention deficit, memory deficit, sleep disturbance, irritability, dizziness, numbness caused by nerve damage, joint stiffness, and light phobia." Clearly Mme Pomfrey. "Most of which it could be argued Malfoy is already suffering from. Potter was subjected to the electricity for an even shorter period of time, so his side effects should be much less severe. Malfoy should be considered lucky. It's a miracle that Miss Granger was able to revive him and get his beating again. Tell me, dear, wherever did you learn your technique?"
"It's a muggle procedure called CPR – uh, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation that is. I learned it when I took an emergency survival class when I was a kid." Harry had difficultly hearing Hermione's proud yet respectfully low explanation, so he tried to sit up. His arms were weak, and dizziness hit, causing him to grunt with the effort and thereby draw attention to himself.
"Harry!," Ron and Hermione cried in unison, rushing towards him and carelessly throwing their arms around him.
"Uh. Please," Harry croaked. "Not so loud. I feel like I'm suffering from the world's worst hang over."
The two immediately pulled away with almost identical expressions of concern on their face. Behind them, Mme Pomfrey was approaching with a kindly smile on her face, and behind her, at the far end of the room, Professor Snape could be seen turning towards the Infirmary's other occupied bed.
"How are feeling, Harry?," Pomfrey asked gently.
Like shit. "Like I just stuck my finger in the worlds biggest electrical socket."
"Which you pretty much did," Hermione inserted.
"Well, Harry, it could have been a lot worse. You have some mild nerve damage responsible for any numbness you feel, but we've got you on a potion that should allow regeneration within a few weeks. Other than that, you should be fine, once you've rested up. . . That was a really brave thing you did, though a little foolish. Anyone who has grown up amongst muggles should know that electricity is easily conducted between living matter."
Harry gave a pained smile. "I know, ma'am. I wasn't thinking really, I just reacted." And it was the truth – his body had known immediately what to do before his mind had even realized what was happening to Malfoy.
"Well, Malfoy is lucky for that too. Even a second or two longer with that level of energy running through him, and he would certainly have died."
"Is he. . . okay?," Harry asked, a little embarrassed and surprised by his own unexpected concern. Indeed, Ron was looking at him with a fair amount of skepticism, and even Hermione had her curious expression on.
Pomfrey just smiled though. "He will be, thanks to you. His body took quite a beating, but if there is one thing that can be said about that boy, it's that he's resilient." Her expression was fond, and Harry remembered how she had cared for them both just over a week ago when they had been in the Infirmary after the Quidditch match. "Anyway, young man, you should really get some rest and let your body recover. I will get you something to ease the pain, and you two" – eying Ron and Hermione – "can come back tomorrow morning to either visit or escort him back to his dorm room if he is feeling up to it."
Pomfrey bumbled off, leaving the three Gryffindors to say their goodbyes.
"That was awful brave today," Hermione gushed. "I'm so proud of you!"
It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "I just can't believe your in here again because of that crazy git."
There was another group hug, then Ron and Hermione left with smiles on their faces and affectionate farewells. Harry turned his attention to Snape and the bed on the other side of the room, but his focus was a little blurry and he could make out little beyond platinum hair and white bed sheets. There was a pang of disappointment, and faint desire to see for himself if Malfoy was alright; then Pomfrey returned with a warm drink of something mixed with chocolate. Snape passed by Harry's bed as he faded back asleep.
"Well done, Potter, I have to say. You may be insufferable, but I'd still rather suffer you than not. . . And don't think this excuses you from. . . Remedial Potions." It may have been the sleep, but the Professor almost sounded human.
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Harry woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the faint sound of moaning. He was a bit groggy from the potion and it took him a long moment to place himself and realize the source of the noise. He struggled to sit up, testing his health – his body was still weak and stiff, his skin still tender, and his coordination felt off, but all of it was bearable. He carefully slid off the bed, fought off some mild dizziness, carefully picked up his wand for the side table, then carefully made his way across the room by moonlight.
Even in the soft light Malfoy looked terrible, though probably better than should have been expected from one who had been subjected to as much electricity as he had. His face was slightly scrunched in pain, his eyes were moving quickly under his eyelids, and he was tense even in his sleep. His pallid skin was finely spotted red by a blanket of broken capillaries and glazed with a layer of sweat, and his hands and feet were both bandaged. His once lovely hair was dull and, well, fried. Strangely enough, it was this last detail that provoked Harry's sympathy, and he hesitantly reached a hand forward to stroke the brittle strands. A muffled whimper escaped, but the Slytherin slept on.
Poor Malfoy. His father dead, his mother in St. Mungo's; ostracized by his house, picked on by much of the school; his magic out of control, his academics in the toilets.
Harry frowned and withdrew his hand sharply. Similar things had happened to him, and yet he hadn't turned into a raving nutjob. He leaned closer and intently studied the delicate features, as though looking for clues. He felt like he was inspecting a disaster area, or maybe a corpse, and when his eyes found themselves resting on the scar that split a blond eyebrow, he murmured to himself, "Merlin, Malfoy, what happened here?"
After a couple of moments, Harry began feeling tired on his feet and was tempted to return to bed, but the subtle muscle movements in Malfoy's face, feet, and hands, and the slight pickup in his rate of breathing signaled that he was waking up, and Harry knew how unfun it is to wake up alone and hurting in the middle of the night. He pulled up a chair, took Malfoy's bandaged hand, and tried valiantly to keep awake, but he was dozing off ten minutes later when Malfoy finally came to.
"Potter," came the raspy croak, causing Harry to jerk awake. Malfoy was blinking at him somewhat pathetically from an expression rigid with pain. His entire body ached, his skin stinging and his insides throbbed horribly and incomparably.
"Malfoy. How are you feeling?," Harry asked sleepily (and a little stupidly).
Malfoy managed a slight glare of annoyance despite the fact that even the slightest movement hurt. Without hardly opening his mouth, he forced out, "Wat-er."
Harry nodded and reached for the flask lying on the table stand, and took a quick sniff. "Smells like Pomfrey added a potion or two. Should probably help with the pain."
Malfoy grunted unattractively and Harry cautiously got to his feet to tilt his companion's head up and gently pour the liquid through his chapped lips. Malfoy swallowed and swallowed and drunk the whole flask.
"Wow. Thirsty much? Want me to get Pomfrey?"
Malfoy managed a "no" that sounded much more human than his previous attempts and his face had relaxed perceptively, though there was a thoughtful dent in his forehead and he looked physically exhausted even as he lay on the bed. Harry struggled briefly for something to say before Malfoy offered a temporary solution. "I. . . can't feel. . . my fingers. . . or toes."
He didn't sound particularly concerned, but Harry explained anyway. "There is some nerve damage, but Mme Pomfrey said that the potions should allow the nerves to regenerate given time."
Malfoy turned his face towards Harry, allowing wakeful eyes to impassively study the Gryffindor before him. The look was somewhat unnerving and Harry felt the need to fill the silence by launching into, "That was quite a stunt you pulled, Malfoy. I can, uh, remember you blowing up the carriage on our first day back, but you almost killed yourself this time, and me. How did you even do it? Was it wandless magic? I mean, you can't get your wand to work properly, but you can bring down the wrath of the gods if you yell loud enough?"
Malfoy's lips quirked ever so slightly. There was just something so. . . inoffensive and accessible – so human – about Potter. "Wha. . .what happened?," Malfoy asked with some effort. "Did I. . . bring down. . . the wrath of gods?" It soothed his beaten ego to think he had been capable of something like that, whatever the consequences to his physical well-being, and Malfoy savored the rare positive reinforcement of his determination to be more than a wreck of a human being. And Harry was more than willing to indulge him for the time being.
Harry's mind flicked back to massive, ominous clouds billowing in and invading the sky at breathtaking speeds; to rain that fell so fat and cold that it hurt and obstructed sight; and to lightening that lit up dark land and charged the air with electricity and echoed loudly through the atmosphere. . . And Malfoy, writhing in pain and power, like something beyond human.
"You just brought in every cloud in the greater UK area! And then when everyone was drenched and running for the castle, you had the gall to get struck by the biggest fucker of a lightening bolt ever to strike Europe! It was definitely the most impressive single instance of magic I have ever seen, and that is saying a lot," Harry blathered with a mixture of amusement, reprimand, and excitement; but ending more calmly with, "Really, Malfoy, it was. . . wow."
Malfoy almost looked pleased at his words, and even made a try at humor. "Harry Potter. . . impressed by me. . . That is a. . . first."
This was easily the longest and most civil conversation Harry and Malfoy had had since the day at Madam Malkins', and it made Harry feel uncharacteristically generous and sympathetic towards the debilitated blond. "You were always impressive Malfoy. An impressive pain in the ass maybe, but you've always had potential."
Malfoy sighed. "That wasn't me. . . This. . . this was me." His eyes went distant, his brow creased faintly, and he turned his face towards the ceiling. "I thought. . . I was going to die."
"You almost did," Harry responded factually, watchfully, gauging the blond's reaction.
Malfoy's eyes focused sharply on Harry, and Harry could almost see his brain putting the pieces together – the most incriminating puzzle piece being, of course, Harry's very presence in the Infirmary. Suddenly Malfoy looked distinctly unhappy, despite the pain-induced virtual paralysis of his face. "You. . . fucking. . . saved me. . . Didn't you. . . Potter?, " he forced out between clenched teeth.
Harry's eyes narrowed and he felt his own swell of anger. So this is how his sympathy and actions were being welcomed? It was obvious that Malfoy was still a the biggest prat known to man, crazy or not. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did! Merlin knows why, you certainly don't appreciate anything done for you! You keep on claiming not to be who you were, but your still the same asshole! Maybe I should have let you fry!"
Harry angrily (and wobbily) got to his feet to go back to his bed.
"Yes. . . you should have." Traces of anger and accusation, held in check only by pain and fatigue.
Harry froze. It had not been the response he had expected, and his mind grasped to understand the implications of that statement: fear, for Malfoy, for another living being. And fear made Harry's mind sharp, perceptive, and controlled; he had always operated well under such circumstances, and now was no exception. He gave the still figure another searching look, then leaned down so that he could closely inspect the enigmatic face from the distance of only a few centimeters. "Are those tears, Malfoy? Are you actually capable of some emotion other than hate?," he asked coldly, without emotion, without empathy, without pity. "Do you wish you had died? Do you despair?"
An accusing Potter, an angry Potter, pitying Potter – Malfoy could not have answered with anything but rage; but callous and inhuman Potter drained Malfoy's emotions and left him empty. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and as dead as his companion's had been. "Yes, Potter. . . I despair."
Potter straightened himself and, leaning heavily on Malfoy's mattress, sat back down. His mind raced haphazardly: he didn't want to lose this connection, however tenuous, with Malfoy; he didn't want Mafloy and him to continue on as they had since 6th year, with Malfoy not even noticing him, not even noticing anything or anyone that wasn't antagonizing him. He didn't like seeing his old rival so down and out of sorts, and his instincts made a decision without even consulting his mind.
"Then I am going to help you. And don't you dare object, because this is not pity. This is a deal, if you agree. You have power that I have never seen. Ever. Not in Voldemort, and not even in you before this year began. I want to learn to develop power like yours. And if I can't, then I want to use you as a weapon against Voldemort. In return, I will be the friend that you most desperately need right now. I will help you keep out of trouble, I will help you get control of yourself, and I will help you pull up your grades. Basically, I will help you get your life together and figure out how to harness your power. In return, you will fight beside me."
There was a long, still silence in which both parties replayed Harry's words over in their heads. Harry himself couldn't believe what had come out of his mouth in a moment of pressure, and was even more impressed to see in retrospect that there was even a degree of logic to his suggestion – even though he had no idea how he intended to make either side of the bargain work. Fix Malfoy's problems? Learn Malfoy's power? What had he been thinking? He didn't even know what Malfoy's problem or power was. . .
Malfoy had, apparently, been thinking along the same lines. "Believe me . . .it's not even possible. . . for you to . . . fuck yourself up enough . . . to be this fucked up." His voice was tired and resigned, and his eyes had closed.
"So what, your just going to give up?," Harry challenged forcefully, but without anger.
"Could you just. . . leave me alone?" It wasn't quite begging, but it was definitely pathetic.
Harry looked at Malfoy's delicate face – his pointy nose, his thin lips, his splotchy skin, the dark smudges under his eyes – and he took pity. "Sure, Malfoy. But I seem to remember you leaving me in the Infirmary with some advice just over a week ago, so let me return the favor: I, the great fucking Harry Potter, would have died many times over it wasn't for the help of my family, my friends, and, hell, even strangers."
! # $ % &
I have been very good, posted very quickly (oh, the greatness of unemployment); so, please review! I deserve it! Reviews are my payment for slaving away!
Poll Question: Should HP fall for DM before or after finding out the what happened to him?
Note: A list of common effects of being struck by lightening can be found at:
Ch.9: A Proposal in the Infirmary
Harry lazily blinked awake, and it only took him a moment to recognize the white ceiling of the Infirmary. Then his hearing kicked in and he recognized the sound of nearby activity.
"What will their condition be when they wake up?" And that was definitely Snape, sounding grumpy, but uncharacteristically worried.
"Well, the most common side effects are attention deficit, memory deficit, sleep disturbance, irritability, dizziness, numbness caused by nerve damage, joint stiffness, and light phobia." Clearly Mme Pomfrey. "Most of which it could be argued Malfoy is already suffering from. Potter was subjected to the electricity for an even shorter period of time, so his side effects should be much less severe. Malfoy should be considered lucky. It's a miracle that Miss Granger was able to revive him and get his beating again. Tell me, dear, wherever did you learn your technique?"
"It's a muggle procedure called CPR – uh, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation that is. I learned it when I took an emergency survival class when I was a kid." Harry had difficultly hearing Hermione's proud yet respectfully low explanation, so he tried to sit up. His arms were weak, and dizziness hit, causing him to grunt with the effort and thereby draw attention to himself.
"Harry!," Ron and Hermione cried in unison, rushing towards him and carelessly throwing their arms around him.
"Uh. Please," Harry croaked. "Not so loud. I feel like I'm suffering from the world's worst hang over."
The two immediately pulled away with almost identical expressions of concern on their face. Behind them, Mme Pomfrey was approaching with a kindly smile on her face, and behind her, at the far end of the room, Professor Snape could be seen turning towards the Infirmary's other occupied bed.
"How are feeling, Harry?," Pomfrey asked gently.
Like shit. "Like I just stuck my finger in the worlds biggest electrical socket."
"Which you pretty much did," Hermione inserted.
"Well, Harry, it could have been a lot worse. You have some mild nerve damage responsible for any numbness you feel, but we've got you on a potion that should allow regeneration within a few weeks. Other than that, you should be fine, once you've rested up. . . That was a really brave thing you did, though a little foolish. Anyone who has grown up amongst muggles should know that electricity is easily conducted between living matter."
Harry gave a pained smile. "I know, ma'am. I wasn't thinking really, I just reacted." And it was the truth – his body had known immediately what to do before his mind had even realized what was happening to Malfoy.
"Well, Malfoy is lucky for that too. Even a second or two longer with that level of energy running through him, and he would certainly have died."
"Is he. . . okay?," Harry asked, a little embarrassed and surprised by his own unexpected concern. Indeed, Ron was looking at him with a fair amount of skepticism, and even Hermione had her curious expression on.
Pomfrey just smiled though. "He will be, thanks to you. His body took quite a beating, but if there is one thing that can be said about that boy, it's that he's resilient." Her expression was fond, and Harry remembered how she had cared for them both just over a week ago when they had been in the Infirmary after the Quidditch match. "Anyway, young man, you should really get some rest and let your body recover. I will get you something to ease the pain, and you two" – eying Ron and Hermione – "can come back tomorrow morning to either visit or escort him back to his dorm room if he is feeling up to it."
Pomfrey bumbled off, leaving the three Gryffindors to say their goodbyes.
"That was awful brave today," Hermione gushed. "I'm so proud of you!"
It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "I just can't believe your in here again because of that crazy git."
There was another group hug, then Ron and Hermione left with smiles on their faces and affectionate farewells. Harry turned his attention to Snape and the bed on the other side of the room, but his focus was a little blurry and he could make out little beyond platinum hair and white bed sheets. There was a pang of disappointment, and faint desire to see for himself if Malfoy was alright; then Pomfrey returned with a warm drink of something mixed with chocolate. Snape passed by Harry's bed as he faded back asleep.
"Well done, Potter, I have to say. You may be insufferable, but I'd still rather suffer you than not. . . And don't think this excuses you from. . . Remedial Potions." It may have been the sleep, but the Professor almost sounded human.
! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Harry woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the faint sound of moaning. He was a bit groggy from the potion and it took him a long moment to place himself and realize the source of the noise. He struggled to sit up, testing his health – his body was still weak and stiff, his skin still tender, and his coordination felt off, but all of it was bearable. He carefully slid off the bed, fought off some mild dizziness, carefully picked up his wand for the side table, then carefully made his way across the room by moonlight.
Even in the soft light Malfoy looked terrible, though probably better than should have been expected from one who had been subjected to as much electricity as he had. His face was slightly scrunched in pain, his eyes were moving quickly under his eyelids, and he was tense even in his sleep. His pallid skin was finely spotted red by a blanket of broken capillaries and glazed with a layer of sweat, and his hands and feet were both bandaged. His once lovely hair was dull and, well, fried. Strangely enough, it was this last detail that provoked Harry's sympathy, and he hesitantly reached a hand forward to stroke the brittle strands. A muffled whimper escaped, but the Slytherin slept on.
Poor Malfoy. His father dead, his mother in St. Mungo's; ostracized by his house, picked on by much of the school; his magic out of control, his academics in the toilets.
Harry frowned and withdrew his hand sharply. Similar things had happened to him, and yet he hadn't turned into a raving nutjob. He leaned closer and intently studied the delicate features, as though looking for clues. He felt like he was inspecting a disaster area, or maybe a corpse, and when his eyes found themselves resting on the scar that split a blond eyebrow, he murmured to himself, "Merlin, Malfoy, what happened here?"
After a couple of moments, Harry began feeling tired on his feet and was tempted to return to bed, but the subtle muscle movements in Malfoy's face, feet, and hands, and the slight pickup in his rate of breathing signaled that he was waking up, and Harry knew how unfun it is to wake up alone and hurting in the middle of the night. He pulled up a chair, took Malfoy's bandaged hand, and tried valiantly to keep awake, but he was dozing off ten minutes later when Malfoy finally came to.
"Potter," came the raspy croak, causing Harry to jerk awake. Malfoy was blinking at him somewhat pathetically from an expression rigid with pain. His entire body ached, his skin stinging and his insides throbbed horribly and incomparably.
"Malfoy. How are you feeling?," Harry asked sleepily (and a little stupidly).
Malfoy managed a slight glare of annoyance despite the fact that even the slightest movement hurt. Without hardly opening his mouth, he forced out, "Wat-er."
Harry nodded and reached for the flask lying on the table stand, and took a quick sniff. "Smells like Pomfrey added a potion or two. Should probably help with the pain."
Malfoy grunted unattractively and Harry cautiously got to his feet to tilt his companion's head up and gently pour the liquid through his chapped lips. Malfoy swallowed and swallowed and drunk the whole flask.
"Wow. Thirsty much? Want me to get Pomfrey?"
Malfoy managed a "no" that sounded much more human than his previous attempts and his face had relaxed perceptively, though there was a thoughtful dent in his forehead and he looked physically exhausted even as he lay on the bed. Harry struggled briefly for something to say before Malfoy offered a temporary solution. "I. . . can't feel. . . my fingers. . . or toes."
He didn't sound particularly concerned, but Harry explained anyway. "There is some nerve damage, but Mme Pomfrey said that the potions should allow the nerves to regenerate given time."
Malfoy turned his face towards Harry, allowing wakeful eyes to impassively study the Gryffindor before him. The look was somewhat unnerving and Harry felt the need to fill the silence by launching into, "That was quite a stunt you pulled, Malfoy. I can, uh, remember you blowing up the carriage on our first day back, but you almost killed yourself this time, and me. How did you even do it? Was it wandless magic? I mean, you can't get your wand to work properly, but you can bring down the wrath of the gods if you yell loud enough?"
Malfoy's lips quirked ever so slightly. There was just something so. . . inoffensive and accessible – so human – about Potter. "Wha. . .what happened?," Malfoy asked with some effort. "Did I. . . bring down. . . the wrath of gods?" It soothed his beaten ego to think he had been capable of something like that, whatever the consequences to his physical well-being, and Malfoy savored the rare positive reinforcement of his determination to be more than a wreck of a human being. And Harry was more than willing to indulge him for the time being.
Harry's mind flicked back to massive, ominous clouds billowing in and invading the sky at breathtaking speeds; to rain that fell so fat and cold that it hurt and obstructed sight; and to lightening that lit up dark land and charged the air with electricity and echoed loudly through the atmosphere. . . And Malfoy, writhing in pain and power, like something beyond human.
"You just brought in every cloud in the greater UK area! And then when everyone was drenched and running for the castle, you had the gall to get struck by the biggest fucker of a lightening bolt ever to strike Europe! It was definitely the most impressive single instance of magic I have ever seen, and that is saying a lot," Harry blathered with a mixture of amusement, reprimand, and excitement; but ending more calmly with, "Really, Malfoy, it was. . . wow."
Malfoy almost looked pleased at his words, and even made a try at humor. "Harry Potter. . . impressed by me. . . That is a. . . first."
This was easily the longest and most civil conversation Harry and Malfoy had had since the day at Madam Malkins', and it made Harry feel uncharacteristically generous and sympathetic towards the debilitated blond. "You were always impressive Malfoy. An impressive pain in the ass maybe, but you've always had potential."
Malfoy sighed. "That wasn't me. . . This. . . this was me." His eyes went distant, his brow creased faintly, and he turned his face towards the ceiling. "I thought. . . I was going to die."
"You almost did," Harry responded factually, watchfully, gauging the blond's reaction.
Malfoy's eyes focused sharply on Harry, and Harry could almost see his brain putting the pieces together – the most incriminating puzzle piece being, of course, Harry's very presence in the Infirmary. Suddenly Malfoy looked distinctly unhappy, despite the pain-induced virtual paralysis of his face. "You. . . fucking. . . saved me. . . Didn't you. . . Potter?, " he forced out between clenched teeth.
Harry's eyes narrowed and he felt his own swell of anger. So this is how his sympathy and actions were being welcomed? It was obvious that Malfoy was still a the biggest prat known to man, crazy or not. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did! Merlin knows why, you certainly don't appreciate anything done for you! You keep on claiming not to be who you were, but your still the same asshole! Maybe I should have let you fry!"
Harry angrily (and wobbily) got to his feet to go back to his bed.
"Yes. . . you should have." Traces of anger and accusation, held in check only by pain and fatigue.
Harry froze. It had not been the response he had expected, and his mind grasped to understand the implications of that statement: fear, for Malfoy, for another living being. And fear made Harry's mind sharp, perceptive, and controlled; he had always operated well under such circumstances, and now was no exception. He gave the still figure another searching look, then leaned down so that he could closely inspect the enigmatic face from the distance of only a few centimeters. "Are those tears, Malfoy? Are you actually capable of some emotion other than hate?," he asked coldly, without emotion, without empathy, without pity. "Do you wish you had died? Do you despair?"
An accusing Potter, an angry Potter, pitying Potter – Malfoy could not have answered with anything but rage; but callous and inhuman Potter drained Malfoy's emotions and left him empty. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and as dead as his companion's had been. "Yes, Potter. . . I despair."
Potter straightened himself and, leaning heavily on Malfoy's mattress, sat back down. His mind raced haphazardly: he didn't want to lose this connection, however tenuous, with Malfoy; he didn't want Mafloy and him to continue on as they had since 6th year, with Malfoy not even noticing him, not even noticing anything or anyone that wasn't antagonizing him. He didn't like seeing his old rival so down and out of sorts, and his instincts made a decision without even consulting his mind.
"Then I am going to help you. And don't you dare object, because this is not pity. This is a deal, if you agree. You have power that I have never seen. Ever. Not in Voldemort, and not even in you before this year began. I want to learn to develop power like yours. And if I can't, then I want to use you as a weapon against Voldemort. In return, I will be the friend that you most desperately need right now. I will help you keep out of trouble, I will help you get control of yourself, and I will help you pull up your grades. Basically, I will help you get your life together and figure out how to harness your power. In return, you will fight beside me."
There was a long, still silence in which both parties replayed Harry's words over in their heads. Harry himself couldn't believe what had come out of his mouth in a moment of pressure, and was even more impressed to see in retrospect that there was even a degree of logic to his suggestion – even though he had no idea how he intended to make either side of the bargain work. Fix Malfoy's problems? Learn Malfoy's power? What had he been thinking? He didn't even know what Malfoy's problem or power was. . .
Malfoy had, apparently, been thinking along the same lines. "Believe me . . .it's not even possible. . . for you to . . . fuck yourself up enough . . . to be this fucked up." His voice was tired and resigned, and his eyes had closed.
"So what, your just going to give up?," Harry challenged forcefully, but without anger.
"Could you just. . . leave me alone?" It wasn't quite begging, but it was definitely pathetic.
Harry looked at Malfoy's delicate face – his pointy nose, his thin lips, his splotchy skin, the dark smudges under his eyes – and he took pity. "Sure, Malfoy. But I seem to remember you leaving me in the Infirmary with some advice just over a week ago, so let me return the favor: I, the great fucking Harry Potter, would have died many times over it wasn't for the help of my family, my friends, and, hell, even strangers."
! # $ % &
I have been very good, posted very quickly (oh, the greatness of unemployment); so, please review! I deserve it! Reviews are my payment for slaving away!
Poll Question: Should HP fall for DM before or after finding out the what happened to him?
