Rated R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a non-illegal way. :)

Thanks, you guys, for reviewing. I honestly have no idea where I'm going to take this, so your suggestions and comments are awesome. Thank you all!!

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Chapter 8: Into the Fire

Draco opened his eyes. His neck screamed in pain as he moved his head from side to side (however very slightly), trying to make sense of where he was. Sleep fogged his brain. He slowly sat up, wincing, and looked around as his eyes automatically squinted against the glow of the fire.

Ah yes. He must have fallen asleep in the Slytherin common room. Oh, how he ached.

"Never again," he mumbled as he stretched. Those chairs were murder on the back. He really should write to father about this; the level of comfort was atrocious.

The blond boy ran his hands through his hair, giving himself a mental note to shower later. He grinned then, like one who'd suddenly found something very funny, as images from the previous night ran through his mind.

Potter had been quick...

"If you even dare touch Hermione," Harry hissed. "I'll have you - "

"You'll have me what?" Draco whispered, his mouth close to Harry's ear. "Have me bleeding and broken? Oh, I'm scared."

"I don't care," Harry said, his voice shaking with outrage. "I don't care about Quidditch, I don't care about points. You hurt her and I swear I'll kill you."

"You reek of fear," the Slytherin jeered, his blue eyes cold and full of spite. They met emerald green ones. "Your stench is betraying your mask, Potter. And what a good way to get you off the team, too! Maybe we will pay the Mudblood a visit. Kill two birds with one stone, eh, boy?"

"Stop it!"

"Ha!" Malfoy backed away and leaned against the opposite wall, observing the pathetic Gryffindor in front of him. "You are weak, Potter! Wow...honestly, I don't know how Dumbledore can go on about you being strong, being the Golden Boy, being as much as he says you are, when really you're nothing but a sniveling mass of quaking fear. I find this amusing, actually...you'll be much easier to defeat in the end, won't you?"

The Slytherin's laughed.

Draco gave his house members a clear field. Harry's eyes darted back and forth, counting. There were seven of them. Seven against one. The boy thought. If Dumbledore could take out several highly trained Ministry workers at one time, surely he could do away with seven stupid Slytherins. Then he remembered that it was Dumbledore he was thinking of. Dumbledore, whom Voldemort was afraid of. Dumbledore, who possessed power unimaginable. Great.

Draco watched, a hungry look on his face, as he saw the boy slightly panic. Oh, this was bliss beyond his imagination. "HEY!"

He hadn't expected the boy to draw his wand, nor had he expected him to break the rules and fight. Holy shit. The boy was doing things with a wand he hadn't even seen his dear Death Eater father do. The corridor was suddenly filled with light as Harry's wand emitted spell after spell. Shouts and scuffles broke out and Draco couldn't tell who was who. Several Slytherins lay on the floor.

Harry had turned quickly to look Malfoy in the eye. Ha, his one mistake. He hadn't expected the blow that came from behind and the Boy-Who-Lived was soon on the ground. The remaining two Slytherins who were coherent enough to walk did him in. Spectacularly.


Draco shook his head. He should've known to bring more people. He had to admit, Potter was good with a wand. But now he knew that the kid had some issues as well. He could further torment him later. Elsewhere, he had a Mudblood to pester.

This was going to be a good month.

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"Harry."

No response.

"Harry."

Silence.

"Harry, please, talk to me."

A small moan of protest.

Hermione leaned back in defeat and exhaled loudly. "Harry, who did this?"

It was Saturday morning. Ron was attending a Quidditch meeting that Angelina had suddenly called during breakfast. She had been pissed that Harry wouldn't be attending, although neither Ron nor Hermione had known why.

The Hospital Wing was chilly. Surreal. Pale. Hermione sat beside Harry's bed. She had been trying to get him to talk for almost an hour. So far, that little noise was all she had heard out of Harry's mouth.

The poor boy...she had almost burst into tears when Professor McGonagall had called her up. She'd been worried enough when he didn't come back from his detention with Snape, but this was...this was...

He had been found on the third floor. Which was strange, considering his detention had been in the dungeons. Professor McGonagall had been up early, earlier than the students thank goodness, so there would be no talk of this if they were lucky. McGonagall had talked to Hermione in the Hospital Wing about her concerns...how she thought he had been brought to the third floor from where the act had actually occurred. Madame Pomphrey had worked her magic on Harry, but the boy still looked awful. Bruises. Cuts.

And his arms...oh dear god, his arms...

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice weak and shaking. The girl was close to tears. "Please, Harry. I'm your friend, you know I love you. Why didn't you tell me you were sad? Why aren't you talking to me? Are you angry with Ron and me? I am so sorry we didn't pay close enough attention." She placed a small hand on his shoulder.

Harry stirred. He was lying with his back to her, but he slowly turned, hisses of pain escaping from behind his clenched teeth, until he was facing her. His eyes were watery.

"Nobody did this," Harry rasped. "Nobody you need to know about."

"How can you say that?!"

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"Me to get hurt? What are you talking about? Why would I get hurt? Look at you! I'm hurt because you never told me anything! I who am your friend, or at least I thought. Can you not...can you not trust me enough to help you? Harry...I would've wanted to help you!"

"You don't understand," the boy whispered, so quietly that Hermione had to lean in to hear him.

The girl llooked at him helplessly. "Oh god, Harry, why did you do that to yourself?"

Harry fell silent. Closed his eyes. Rolled back over.

Hermione cried. She left her chair and slowly crawled onto Harry's bed where she curled up next to him, careful not to press too much into his body. An arm snaked overtop his waist to let him know she was there.

This would never happen again, she would make sure of that.

Hermione let her tears fall into his messy black hair and she eventually slept, not noticing that Harry was crying too.

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"Ah, Professor Snape."

"Good morning, Minerva." Piss off, ancient wench.

"I trust you have spoken to Albus already?"

"Oh, I have. I would prefer not to have to appear in his office so early on a Saturday morning, but alas..." He took a seat in a high-backed, rickety wooden chair.

McGonagall sipped her coffee and perched herself high in her throne. Snape didn't like her office much, either. Too...prissy. God, the whole school was prissy.

"Good," she said, apparently bypassing what he'd said. "Then you have heard my concerns."

"I have."

"What do you make of them?"

Severus Snape put his fingertips together and surveyed McGonagall through half-closed eyes. It was so early. He'd wanted to have a lie-in this morning, but one could not ignore the presence of Albus Dumbledore in their chambers, no matter how tired they were. His brain wasn't quite fully functional yet. He realized suddenly that he hated the professional air McGonagall had adopted this morning.

"I do agree, the area in which Potter was found in is suspicious," he began slowly, longing for a mug of coffee. And a Firewhisky. "But then again...Potter does have a reputation for waving way the rules and trooping through the school whenever he likes, wherever he likes. You do realize that him being in the third floor corridors could merely have been his way of...blowing off steam?"

"You mean, he might have been going for a little walk," Minerva said, eyebrows raised. She sighed, and her face suddenly drooped. She looked tired, almost as tired as he was. "Yes, his past should come into account, I guess."

Good. Now go transfigure your mouth shut.

"But even if he was simply out walking, where was his Invisibility Cloak? We never found one when Miss Granger and I searched the area afterwards."

"Maybe he didn't feel like using it. I don't know, Minerva, I wasn't there. I was bloody marking essays all night."

"As was I," she retorted. "You are not so hard done by, Professor Snape; I'm sure every teacher in this school can perfectly relate to you on some level. The topic at hand is what happened to Harry last night. I want to see whoever that did this expelled!"

"Do we know who did it? Has he said anything?"

Minerva sighed. "No. He won't talk. Miss Granger is with him now in the Hospital Wing."

Snape fell silent, reflecting. He was still in shock from the night before, and his insides squirmed with guilt. Albus had told him to look in on the boy, and he hadn't done a thing. Of course, his feelings of concern were not for that of the boy (well, maybe a smidgen), but more for himself. He hoped he wouldn't be facing a lecture from McGonagall about this.

"Severus...his arms...Madame Pomphrey said they were self-inflicted."

Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I know," he said, staring at Minerva's coffee mug as though it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "I found out last night."

"What!"

"During his detention, Potter thought it would be all right if he left the dungeons before I gave him leave. So I grabbed his arm to stop him, and a patch of skin on his wrist showed."

McGonagall looked astounded. "And you said nothing to the Headmaster?"

"If I remember correctly," Snape said hotly, his eyes flashing. "Upon my attempt to inform dear Albus of his Golden Boy's troubles, I was told to wait until morning, as he had left the school suddenly on an urgent owl and was in an important meeting in London with the Wizengamot. So I am sorry, Minerva, that I was unable to approach him."

"I am the Deputy Headmistress," she said irritably. "You could have come to me."

"Once again, I apologize." I loathe the word.

"And then this whole fiasco might never have happened."

Snape's eyes grew icy. "Are you implying that this is my fault?"

"No need to get so testy, Severus. You're sure you have no idea who could have done this?"

Snape shook his head moodily. Oh, how he hated this woman right now. "It might have been someone from outside the school, it might have been a jealous schoolmate, I really don't know." I am tired, I am hungry, and I need to visit the goddamned Hospital Wing later on, so let me go.

The woman looked at him a moment later. "Very well. You may go."

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"Hermione?"

"Mmmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Harry rolled over slightly, his breath catching as the pain swept over him afresh. The bruises, on top of the ones from Uncle Vernon, were calling out to him in pain. His head was going to burst. He looked at Hermione sadly and she looked back at him, her eyes red from crying. Harry hated himself for causing her so much grief.

"Don't tell Ron anything."

Hermione looked slightly surprised, then her face changed to an expression of understanding. "I know you and him have been going through some rough patches, Harry. I won't say anything, OK?" She ran a hand through her frizzy hair in an attempt to flatten it. It did absolutely nothing.

Harry relaxed and closed his swollen eyes. "How long have we been out?"

"Oh, an hour and a half at least."

Harry was so tired. He was ashamed and angry. He was so angry.

"Good," he mumbled as sleep overtook him once more.

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