A hitching gasp released his lungs, sending a sharp spasm racing through his chest; doing nothing but increasing the pain he already felt. His entire body felt like it was on fire. It was most intense on his arm, as if thousands of pins were being repeatedly stabbed into him. He groaned, not ready to move for fear of increasing the pain.
As he tried to remember what exactly had happened, he forced his eyes open. It was night, and the moonlight filtered through vaguely shuttered windows, the wide sweeping windows of the Infirmary. When had he gone to the Infirmary?
The events leading up to his fainting came back slowly, almost reluctantly. The pain had started again, and he had been driven to the forest for solitude in his torture. He had been screaming... he had tried to stop, but the pain was too great. He remembered someone crashing through bushes trying to get to him...
A moan caused him to stiffen, as soon as he realized it wasn't his. He lifted his head painfully, and saw the most disturbing sight of his young teenage life. A shock of black hair framed a delicate, world-weary face and drifted down slowly around a pair of crooked glasses and a lightning bolt tattoo. Harry Potter was asleep, his cheek resting on his arm as the mattress sank under the weight of his head. What in Merlin's name was he doing here!?
It was then that he remembered who had crashed through bushes in the Forbidden Forest to get to him. That someone had owned a head of black hair, and a face as pale as ice. It had been Potter, and as soon as he realized it, Draco had bit his lip hard, in a vain attempt to stop screaming. Seeing Potter was bad enough, having Potter see him in pain was unspeakable, it was weakness, and intolerable. Yet, even as he bit his lip, another bout of pain had racked him hard enough to loose his tongue before he sunk into blackness.
Draco lay back, trying to focus amidst a swirl of thoughts running in his head. Should he wake the boy and demand he leave? Should he start a fight with the Boy Who Lived?
Sinking further into the pillows, he decided to let the other be. Much as he hated to admit it- would die before saying it aloud- he was frightened. Death was not something he would stare in the face as readily as the hero at his side, and it scared him. Someone, anyone, watching over him was a comfort, even if he was a rival.
Secure with that thought, and too exhausted to think anything else, Draco allowed his eyes to slide shut.
......
Harry wasn't completely awake when rough hands grabbed his shoulders hard and shook him. He was aware that he was very stiff from the night before, and figured he had somehow fallen out of bed, as he was sitting on the floor. He was pulled rather barbarically away from sheets that had been warmed by his cheek, and flipped around so that his back was to the bed. Glaring him in the face was a pair of blue eyes surrounded by fiery red hair, "Harry!?"
The boy blinked wearily, "Hey Ron..."
"What in Merlin's beard are you doing here!?" Ron hissed, shaking his friend hard.
Harry tried to pry his eyes open to take in his surroundings. White walls assailed his eyes, stunning him. What was he doing in the Infirmary? When had he gotten here!? "Sleeping, I think..." he murmured finally.
"Sleeping!?" Ron's voice was laced with incredulity, "Sleeping!?"
"Is there a law against sleeping?" Harry barked, his voice rising dangerously. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Madame Pomfrey flinging open the curtains surrounding Malfoy's bed. Several things happened simultaneously. Harry quickly kicked the Invisibility Cloak under the bed, hoping she wouldn't notice it. Malfoy's eyes flashed open to watch the scene before him, as Madame Pomfrey turned red in anger.
"What in Merlin's beard are you doing in here!?"
Ron cringed, forcing out a lie that was as distasteful to him as spinach, "We came to see Malfoy."
"I don't think seeing him involves yelling and screaming," Madame Pomfrey hissed, her eyes flicking to Malfoy to notice he was awake, "Now that you've woken him, I'm sure you'll find yourself on your way." When neither Harry nor Ron moved, the nurse added, "Or points will be taken."
Without giving him time to think, Ron hefted Harry to his feet by his lapels and jerked him bodily out of the room. The door wasn't even shut behind them before Ron pushed Harry against a wall and held him there, fury lining his every feature. "Do you know who the hell that was?" Ron growled, "Why were you at Malfoy's bed!?"
Harry narrowed his eyes, ready to retort something painful. And then, suddenly, he recalled everything that had happened the day before, from the Forbidden Forest to the night at the Infirmary. His mouth fell open slightly, and he stared at Ron.
"Well?" the redhead pressed, gripping Harry's shoulders tightly, "Do you have an explanation? Or am I supposed to accept that my best friend is sleeping beside a Slytherin!?"
At the indiscrete wording, Harry flushed brightly, "What!?"
"You spent the entire night here, Harry!" Ron nearly yelled, his face just as red in anger as Harry's was in embarrassment, "What where you doing!? It's Malfoy!"
"It doesn't matter what I did!" Harry suddenly yelled, feeling somewhat trapped by Ron's subtle accusations, "Nothing happened! In fact, he doesn't even know I was there!"
"Then why did you go down!? Is it more comfortable to sleep on the floor? We have floors in the dorm!"
"I don't have to explain myself to you!" Harry spat, "You're not my keeper, I'm a free person to go where I want when I want. You don't need to watch me every hour!" If he knew... If he knew what had gone on inside the Boy Who Lived's head back in the Forest... Ron would be disgusted. What would the boy think about his friend if he realized that Harry was not who he thought?
Some of the anger left Ron's face, "Harry, you left without telling anyone! I looked all over the castle for you! I was... I was just worried about you..."
Ron may have not been angry anymore, but Harry was just getting started, "You were worried? Well that's just great, does that mean I have to tell you when I'm going to the bathroom from now on? Does that give you license to pry into my life!? Does this mean that I have to be under your supervision for the rest of the year!?"
"Harry..."
"No! Don't 'Harry' me like Hermione used-" he froze, and Ron's hands slid from his shirt. The redhead wore a stoic mask, but disappointment and pain were clear under it.
"Fine, Harry, you're right. I don't have to watch your every move." And with that he walked away, leaving Harry gripping the small diamond at his throat. The Boy Who Lived watched as his best friend's back grew smaller and smaller down the hall, wondering if he should run after the other and beg forgiveness. It was too late- Ron had turned a corner and disappeared.
Harry slid down the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them tight to his body. If he could make himself smaller and shrink into the wall, he would have. But he didn't have the energy or his wand.
He rested his forehead on his knees, closing his eyes against a sudden pounding headache. Ron didn't understand. He hadn't been there in the Forest, he hadn't seen the pain Malfoy had been in. He hadn't seen Harry hesitate, hadn't heard that voice, "He deserves it. He deserves every minute of it."
Gripping his knees almost painfully, Harry felt a shudder rip through him as he tried desperately to refute that point. Nobody deserved pain, nobody. He had seen enough pain, suffering, and death. Nobody deserved pain, not even Malfoy.
......
Inside the Infirmary, Draco lay in bed, eyes wide against flushed cheeks. Potter and Weasel had been decently loud, enough for the sound of every word to carry through the doors. He had heard the entire conversation, and was now very, very confused. Since when did the Dynamic Duo start fighting? And what had happened to the Third Stooge to make Potter freeze up like that?
Potter didn't think he had been caught by Draco, and who was he to destroy that illusion? Still, he bristled at the thought of Weasel's insinuation. He and Potter, sleeping together!? The very thought was appalling.
He was struggling into a sitting position when Madame Pomfrey returned to the Infirmary to check up on him. She grinned tersely when she saw he was awake, and moved to fluff his pillow. "How are you feeling, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.
"Chipper, thanks," he replied curtly, "I think I'll just be leaving now." He made to swing his legs to the side of the bed, but Madame Pomfrey would not let him.
"Mr. Malfoy," she crossed her arms over her chest, "We need to talk."
He didn't like the sound of that.
"You are aware," she started, "that you are under a curse."
"I think you are mistaken," Draco had been prepared for this, "Passing out is a symptom of a curse, but also of bad food, bad potion, fright, anything almost."
She clenched her jaw, "And do the effects of bad food usually include screaming before passing out?"
Draco bit his lip, and nearly yelped in pain. It was still raw from the day before, and started bleeding again. Well, now would be a good time to break his lip-biting habit...
The nurse sat down on the edge of the bed, "I have seen this before, in those who were to be punished. More than one student from Slytherin has come through with this exact same curse, although I must admit, you seem to have it the worst." She took a deep breath, "It is called the Obietus Curse. I believe you know what it is supposed to do, I do not think you know just how deep the curse goes."
The boy grit his teeth, shocked that she would know so much about the curse. He knew well what it was supposed to do. It was meant to break him, and inflict as much pain as possible to turn him into the perfect killing machine- no emotion, no loyalties, no relations. Directed solely by the Dark Lord, a mindless zombie with no will of his own.
"Mr. Malfoy," her sharp tone brought him back from his mind, and he stared at her blankly, "This is not some class that you can drift off in. This is your physical safety, and you will do well to listen. You are in the mere incubation stage of the curse, the imprinting of the Mark." As she spoke, she put wards around the privacy curtains to forestall any first year eavesdroppers.
This shocked him, "This is just the first part?"
She nodded sadly, her eyes holding sympathy, "It will get worse. You will begin to feel cold, and soon you will lose all sense of warmth. You will continue to have these small attacks of pain, depending on how much you resist. The line between good and evil will become blurred, although for you, I see that there was no line to begin with..." She smiled almost affectionately, but Draco dismissed it as a trick of light as she continued softly, "You may even find that speaking will be painful. You will undoubtedly have visions of the Dark Lord, and they will be more than dreams, for they will hurt. There is the possibility of blindness. You will find yourself more intolerable than ever before, to the dismay, I'm sure, of your classmates. Cranky, snappy, basically just not fun to be around."
Draco lifted his eyebrows, "You're telling me this curse makes me PMS?"
Wrong answer.
Madame Pomfrey jerked into a standing position, slamming her hands onto her hips, "Mr. Malfoy, you do not realize the danger that you are in! You could possibly die of this, I do hope you realize."
He sunk back into the pillows, knowing that she would not understand that he really didn't care anymore. Hearing the full effects of the curse had made him more than slightly nauseous, and now he just needed to be alone to think.
"Young Malfoy!" Madame Pomfrey was bright red by now; he had drifted off again in the middle of the conversation. He snapped to attention, eyeing her distastefully. "I said, Professor Snape is working on an inhibitor for you until we can determine the means of a cure. You should see him the first chance you get." He nodded slowly, wondering if he should or shouldn't. Anyone who tried to help him would get in the Dark Lord's way, and would undoubtedly die. Then again, Snape seemed to have a talent for irking Voldemort.
......
It had been a day since their fight, and still Ron refused to talk to Harry. Sure they stood next to each other now, but Ron was conspicuously looking in the opposite direction, chatting merrily with Seamus as Harry stood moodily in relished silence. Harry vaguely wondered how long this would go on, and didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. He deserved a bit of privacy. Ron had no right to pry into his life as if he was Harry's mother.
Malfoy was back and looking as surly as ever under the shade of a tree. He had cringed in the sunlight as if it hurt his eyes, and had ducked under the tree when Hagrid had arrived late for the start of class. The half-giant stood now, giving what sounded suspiciously like a lecture on the tributes of tree nymphs, while herding the class closer to Malfoy's tree.
Jostled from behind and both sides, Harry found himself suddenly squeezed between Malfoy and Ron, a position he did not find at all comfortable. The Slytherin scowled and hissed as Harry touched his arm accidentally, "Get off, Potter. I do believe that is termed personal space."
"I do believe that is termed 'shove off you stupid git, there's not enough room'," shot Ron from Harry's other side. Suddenly, Harry felt a stab of relief. Ron wasn't mad enough to stop defending him against Malfoy- they still had something in common.
It was then that Malfoy noticed the glittering jewel at Ron's throat. In the bustle to move under the branches, it had been jarred from its normal resting place underneath his shirt and now caught sunlight beautifully through the leaves of the tree above them. "How did you get that, Weasel?" Malfoy used his wand to lift the diamond by its chain from his chest, "Did you sell your sister?"
Even the Slytherins knew something had gone horribly wrong. The entire class froze as one, as heat rushed to both Ron's and Harry's faces. "You stupid, bloody basta-" With all eyes on them alone, Ron drew back his fist but was bested by Harry who was closer. Harry leapt on Malfoy, dragging him to the ground on his back and landing a square punch to the ferret's jaw. The blonde head snapped back, cracking against a tree root, and Malfoy raised his hands in self-defense, grasping Harry's arms in an attempt to throw the other off.
Malfoy kicked at Harry hard, managing to catch his stomach. Harry gasped as air was forced from his lungs, but held on to Malfoy's shirt as tightly as he could, intent on making the Slytherin feel just as much pain as he was feeling now- inside and out.
"Harry, Harry!" a gruff voice echoed desperately amidst the pounding of blood in his ears, but Harry wasn't ready to listen yet. All he could hear was Hermione's last words, the icy touch of her skin as they sat on that godforsaken mountain and sobbed over her dead body. He lifted Malfoy's head and slammed it hard against the ground again, enough to make the Slytherin see stars.
"You bloody bastard!" Harry yelled, heedless of the many hands trying to force him away, "You bloody, stupid bastard I hope you burn in hell!" Finally, Hagrid managed to reach the scuffling boys and he lifted Harry gently, as a mother lifts a toddler.
"Harry, calm down," Hagrid urged gently, patting the boy's back as he continued to struggle.
"The bastard!" Harry yelled, "I'll kill him!" The class was staring with wide eyes at the Boy Who Lived, and Malfoy was looking up from the ground through a black eye and bloody lip.
"Class dismissed," Hagrid roared, startling the students into motion. They walked speedily away, with whispers trickling through the crowd of disbelief and fright. Ron stayed behind, pale and concerned for Harry, who had calmed a bit by now. "Ron you head on back," Hagrid urged, putting a large hand on Harry's shoulder, "They need to go to the Infirmary." It was then that Harry realized he had multiple bruises on his arms from where Malfoy had grabbed him, and his stomach hurt from the kick and from nausea.
"Hagrid..." Harry swayed uneasily, holding his stomach. "I don't feel..." he dropped to his knees and was violently sick on the ground, choking and gasping horribly as Malfoy watched in amazement. Hagrid rubbed the poor boy's back soothingly, large tears falling into the mess of hair he called a beard. Harry retched again, the motion raking his body with shudders when nothing came up.
"It's all right, Harry, you're okay," Hagrid murmured. He lifted the boy easily, and cast a hateful glare at Malfoy, who had been too stunned to move from the ground, "You. To the Infirmary with ya." Malfoy normally would have protested, groaning about how he would not be ordered around by some half-breed, but at this particular moment he felt as if he had pressed his luck. He stood as best he could with the world tilting dangerously, and followed the professor to the hospital wing.
Madame Pomfrey looked absolutely mortified at what Hagrid brought her. Harry was merely exhausted, and needed rest. Draco, on the other hand, would have scars for the rest of his life on his face where Harry had drawn blood if something wasn't done quickly. She put the boys in beds directly next to each other, the ones usually saved for close friends who were injured (Harry, Hermione, and Ron most of the times), beds that shared a privacy curtain.
Harry fell right asleep, weary from the fight and the effects. Madame Pomfrey attended to Draco, reducing the swelling in his eye, and fixing his lip. "You," she glared at him with almost as much ferocity as Hagrid had, "This is below low for you. You know very well that Miss Granger was killed last year-"
In actuality, Draco had not known, and his face must have shown, because the nurse stepped back, "You did know that, did you not? Professor Dumbledore announced it at the opening ceremonies this year."
The Slytherin shook his head, "I wasn't here for the ceremonies."
"Surely you noticed the three were missing one."
"I try not to make it a habit of staring at Potter and his posse."
"Hermione Granger was killed last year by Voldemort, during the raid of the Leaky Cauldron. Those diamonds that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasely wear so faithfully are her ashes, compressed and Transfigured. I cannot believe you would be so heartless, Mr. Malfoy, when you yourself suffer from Voldemort's oppression," Madame Pomfrey's voice shook. Whether from anger or sorrow it was hard to tell, as she spun and drew the curtains shut around them. "Sleep," called her voice from the other side, and almost immediately Draco felt his eyes grow heavy.