DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. 'Sides, you'd get more blood out of a turnip then you would money out of me! HA!
AUTHORS NOTE: For those of you who miss it in this chapter, the fic will be a bit angsty.
SUMMARY: Harry feels like he's in hell, Draco's living through a nightmare. Can they help each other before it's too late to save either one?
FROM THE LAST CH. Harry was shocked. He hadn't expected this at all. Yes, he'd known life debts were magical, but it'd never occurred to him that any were owed. He said the first thing that came to mind. "There is no debt, Malfoy." The blonde smirked and rolled his eyes. / "You are such a Gryffindor, Potter. Only one of those thoughtless self-sacrificing gits could say something like that." He shook his head and exited the infirmary followed by his friends, leaving behind a very baffled Harry.
Tainting the Innocent
Chapter Eight
McGonagall walked Harry back to Gryffindor Tower and he could tell she was dying to know his version of things. Finally, she gave in to the urge. "Potter, what exactly-"
"It was just as Pansy said; they wouldn't tell me what had happened before I arrived. Said it was Malfoy's business, not their place to share it."
McGonagall ignored the interruption. "Curious."
"Very."
They arrived at the Fat Lady, spoke the password, and stepped through the portal. Hermione was the first to see her friend being escorted in by their Head of House and couldn't hold back her dismay. "Oh, Harry! What did you do now!" He was slightly insulted that she automatically assumed he was in trouble.
"Absolutely nothing, Miss Granger; Harry was involved in an incident with several students from another house." She had begun speaking loud enough for the others to hear. "He was on his way to detention with Professor Snape and encountered Draco Malfoy and his friends." She paused and gave a loaded glare when Ron muttered something about snobby gits. "As I was saying, Mr. Malfoy and his friends were in an argument, resulting in his magic going wild. The others were in danger and Harry, being the good Gryffindor he is, saved them despite his personal feelings for those involved. Now, I want no questions asked of Harry tonight; he has earned a good rest. You may all mob him later. Do not wake him tomorrow morning for classes either, unless he requests it, because the Headmaster has excused him. Goodnight students." They all chorused a goodnight and she left. Typical McGonagall; go in, explain, and get out again in three minutes or less. You had to admire the old girl for that.
"Well, do we wake you up or not, mate," Ron asked. Harry thought about it for a moment.
"If I'm already awake then I'll go to class but if not, no thank you."
"'Kay then. Were you going to bed now?"
"Yes!" He nodded his head enthusiastically. He was exhausted. After saying goodnight to his housemates, he headed up stairs to his comfortable bed.
At lunch the next day Harry was extremely drowsy. After getting ready and slipping into bed, he couldn't seem to clear his mind for sleep. One thought kept popping up: When had Malfoy become so powerful? The magic pouring out of him had almost been suffocating. This conundrum had kept him up until well after his entire dorm left for class. It seemed that he had just fallen asleep when Ron shook him awake.
There were four more classes to make it through, Astronomy not until eleven tonight, and then he would be free to crash until Quidditch practice tomorrow. Hermione passed him notes from the first half of the day; she had gathered and copied these from fellow braniacs in Harry's classes. Really, she was too good to both of her friends, but it wouldn't have mattered much if the notes weren't available. Friday classes simply reviewed lessons from over the week.
Barely picking at his food, Harry was glad when it was time to head for Herbology. Professor Sprout was as warm an individual as her hot houses. No matter how boring or repulsive the lesson, she made everything seem heaps better with her grandmotherly aura, chasing away most blues within one class. Today, they were learning the proper way to care for Eraydian roses; darkly beautiful blossoms the size of dinner plates with blue-black petals and silvery stems. The students had to wear facemasks because the pollen from these roses caused severe hallucinations and erratic behavior, usually of the amorous sort. In fact, the muggle belief that roses were the flowers of love came from these little doozies.
Caring for the Eraydians was complicated, made even more so by the fact that Sprout was quizzing the class on their properties the entire time. They were poisonous when ingested, poisonous when pricked by the thorns, and a vital ingredient for the Sleepless Dreaming draught used by Seers to attempt initiating visions. The essential oil, thinly diluted, was an aphrodisiac when rubbed into the pulse points…there were many other tidbits to make this an interesting study, but Neville Longbottom was the only one to know them all. Once Hermione dropped all classes extraneous to Muggle Relations, Neville had his chance to shine in this one class. If he had spoken up more during previous years, he may have even given her stiff competition. Class finished with Sprout trying to keep some of the more troublesome students from stealing the smaller buds to use for pulling a Weasley later on.
Late in the night-having endured Trelawney, ravenous bergdoia memblos (immortal birdlike lizards that used to eat the flesh of dead Saxon kings), and his housemates-Harry was glad to stumble up to bed. He was now free to sleep until after noon since Quidditch practice did not begin until after lunch, and intended to use every second.
There was tension between the three friends when Harry came down to lunch the next day. Over the summer, they became used to him being quick to anger and then disappearing for hours-sometimes days-at a time, but that did not mean they were happy about it. He was safer at Hogwarts than anywhere else, but as his best friends they felt responsible for his safety. At first, Hermione had tried fussing at him, but that only succeeded in Harry storming out of the Burrow and not coming back for three days. Now, everyone just sat there staring at each other for several moments before Ron asked the other boy to pass the potatoes. Harry couldn't help but laugh; good ol' Ron and his insistent, reliable stomach.
Ron now stood at the front of the locker room to give his pre-practice speech. The Gryffindors had elected him captain after Angelina's graduation because of his marvelous tactical skills. He couldn't wait to get to the air; the sky was clear, the breeze was brisk, and Hagrid's flower bushes scented to whole grounds. As his friend droned on, it was the same speech he had practiced all summer, Harry's thoughts began drifting to last night. He had wondered when the others would get around to asking about the Malfoy incident, and wasn't kept waiting for long; they practically jumped him after dinner. He explained the events as best he could but became angry when Ron kept insisting he should have left them all there to rot. Everyone seemed to share his sentiments and refused to understand why Harry couldn't have done that. He became furious with their pettiness and stormed out of the Tower.
A portkey fashioned into a Snitch necklace transported him to the vaulted room where he'd stood against Voldemort for the first time. He'd come here frequently since second year and had turned it into a safe haven. The necklace was used to combat a phobia he'd developed after fourth year. He no longer suffered from extreme nausea and anxiety attacks, but didn't think true security with porting would ever be achieved.
Using his own resourcefulness and Dobby's loyalty, he had decorated his space with an eclectic mix of comfort and style that would have made Mrs. Weasley proud. Drapes hung between the pillars and spicy scented moss carpeted the stone floor. Overstuffed armchairs changed color periodically and flanked a Roman oil lamp. Tall shelves circled the sitting area, filled with the books and doodads he had sent Dobby to purchase. The helpful house elf had figured out how the ceiling in the Great Hall had been enchanted, and did the same to this one. When here, he would sit back and stare at the night sky for hours, taking comfort from their permanence. It might be considered morbid to make a refuge of the place where you killed a man but he found it fitting, considering what he'll be forced to do one day for the survival of the Wizarding world.
Reality began to slip as thoughts of Voldemort merged with memories of Sirius and the Department of Mysteries. Don't! Don't think of that! God, anything but that…Harry paled, forcing the memories back into the recesses of his mind. Voices called out to him as he stared into space. Sometimes they were a woman's voice screaming before she died in a flash of green light or a hissing voice shouting, "Kill the spare!" Sirius had just pushed aside the curtains of the Veil and began shaking him by the shoulders…no, that wasn't right; his godfather was dead. Sirius began to morph into Ron, and finally Harry could hear his teammates' panicked voices.
"Harry, snap out of it mate; come back, please!" Ron shook him so hard his neck began to ache. He whimpered pitiably and slumped his head forward.
"Harry," Ginny called out in fear, moving beside Ron and their friend.
"Oh my gosh!" Hilda Bergenstein-a fourth year transfer student from Germany and new beater for the team-seemed to be in shock. She stared at Harry in horrified fascination. "W-what's happening to him?"
"Ron, what do we do?"
"Nothing," Ron snarled to his sister. "The lot of you stay put and keep your bloody mouths shut!" He crouched in front of the other boy and began chaffing his arms. "Harry," he said gently. "Come on, tell me what's wrong."
"M-m," he tried to force the words out, but they wouldn't come. It felt as if he were swimming in a sea of cotton balls. The fluffy orbs shoved themselves into his mouth, ears, nose, and eyes to crowd out his brains. Falling forward into Ron's arms, his last thought was how much he wished it were the Veil instead.
He woke up in the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey hovering near by clucking over her stock of potions. "Good, you're awake," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "Here, drink this." She shoved something frothy, black, and utterly revolting into his mouth, tipping the vial back to make sure he got every drop. Harry's stomach almost rebelled at the taste, but managed at the last moment to spare Pomfrey's robes. "Now, let me check you over to see if you'll need more." Harry was determined to be the healthiest person in the world if it meant never having to taste that again. She grabbed his chin, cast Lumos on her wand, and flicked the light from one eye to the other; she poked, prodded, and forced him to cough for several more minutes. Wonderful nurse, Poppy Pomfrey, but her bedside manner left a bit to be desired.
"Poppy, I trust the lack of urgency means young Mr. Potter will be fine?" Both nurse and boy started at the unexpected voice of the Headmaster. Madame Pomfrey stood straight and turned towards him.
"Yes, Headmaster. I'm not sure what caused his episode, but there seems to be no lingering side effects and I don't believe it to be contagious."
"Good, good. Mr. Weasley, you may come in now," Dumbledore called over his shoulder and then shuffled away to converse with the nurse in private.
Ron burst into the room, Hermione and the Quidditch team fast on his heels. He dropped onto the bed next to Harry's and looked him over with concern. Ginny impulsively hugged him then blushed scarlet. He had time to reassure the anxieties of his teammates before Ron interrupted, unable to hold onto his curiosity a moment longer. "Blimey, mate, what happened?"
"Don't know," Harry said despondently. But oh, how he wished he knew. "Madame Pomfrey said I'm fine now though and that it's not contagious, so the rest of you are safe."
"Harry, did this have something to do with V-" Hermione had been about to say Voldemort, but then remembered to presence of the team. "Never mind, we'll discuss it later. Do you need help getting to the Tower? I've asked Dobby to bring our dinner up to the common room so that you can have some peace before facing the entire school." He felt a warm glow at his friend's thoughtfulness, constantly surprised by how wonderful it felt to have people who cared.
"You ask a house elf to do something?" He turned to everyone with a look of absolute horror on his face. "Quick, someone, look out the window and check if the world's ending!" She sent him a deadly glare, looking more dangerous than Voldemort ever had.
"I have never had a problem soliciting the aid of free and employed house elves, just those too brainwashed to know they are enslaved by a cruel and uncaring establishment."
"Free and employed house elves," Ron mimicked. "Yeah, all of two."
Harry decided to interrupt before things got ugly, but her words finally sank in. "Wait, dinner! How long was I out?"
"Since practice yesterday," Collin Creevy volunteered.
"What! But-but…how," he finished lamely. He couldn't help but wonder if all these traumas that caused him to be unconscious for days were damaging his brain.
"Don't know, but I'm mighty glad you're awake now," Ron said. "So's Hilda, I'd imagine; you scared her right out of her knickers! Seems things like this don't happen at Tor Grütravon." The others looked solemn, thinking of other things that had happened over the years that would scare poor Hilda out of more than her underpants.
"But we're used to it, aren't we guys," Ginny asked with that broad Weasley grin. For a moment, the others stared at her incredulously, but then began to chuckle. Harry was grateful to her for turning the situation into a joke. He looked around for Hilda, intending to reassure her that things weren't always so "exciting" at Hogwarts, but couldn't find her among the others.
"Huh, wonder where she is."
"Oh, the poor dear," said Katie Bell. "She saw you acting strangely but thought it was a secret Quidditch ritual to get your mind into the game or something. She feels just dreadful about not realizing the emergency and blames herself for all of this. Right now, she's too embarrassed to face you."
"But that's just silly; it's no more her fault than…than Nearly Headless Nick's!"
"We tried explaining that, but you know the Jewish; very big on guilt, they are," Ron said authoritatively. He shrank a bit, however, when he had to defend himself against Hermione, who was shouting about uneducated prejudice and the prevalence of anti-Semitism among Britain's youth.
Harry was laughing at the two of them so hard he couldn't breathe when Dumbledore came back. "Is everyone ready to go back to Gryffindor? Yes? Well, let's be off then after Harry changes his clothing. I've come to understand that a considerable feast awaits you, courtesy of a certain gainfully employed house elf."
"What? Dobby!" Harry smacked himself in the head, chagrined at the little guy's actions. Every time he was given a task to complete for "The Great, and Generous, and Powerful, and Just Plain Perfect Mr. Harry Potter" he went overboard. The birthday party Mrs. Weasley let him plan turned into a fiasco with winged tigers, circus clowns, harem dancers, trained elephants, and animated ice sculptures of Harry proudly brandishing various weapons. One with a jeweled sword almost took off the head of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. At least the food had been good.
The three of them sat in their favorite chairs before the fireplace. They had impatiently waited for everyone else to go to bed, not wanting to chance anyone overhearing what they had to discuss. Finally, the last seventh year tottered off to bed and Ron released a sigh of relief. "I thought he'd never leave!" The other two nodded their agreement and Harry settled into his chair more comfortably.
"So, um…Harry," Hermione started; she seemed reluctant to continue.
"I don't understand what happened. I was listening to Ron's speech and then…wasn't." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and held his head in trembling hands. "These jumbled images kept flashing by. Then I heard my mum screaming and Voldemort ordering Wormwood to kill Cedric." He paused struggling to remember something important, Hermione and Ron held spellbound by his account. "I-I thought someone was shaking me like crazy, but then it was just Ron. For the life of me, though, I can't remember who!" He tossed himself back in the seat, angry at his faulty memory.
"Do you think-" Hermione started to ask, but Harry interrupted her with a brisk shake of the head.
"No. My scar didn't hurt once through the whole thing. Voldemort had nothing to do with it."
"Are you sure, Harry," she asked, wringing her hands in the skirt of her nightgown. "If he's learned to control your link to do something like this, then you could be in severe danger!"
"I have a delusional homicidal maniac out for my blood, Hermione," he snapped. "I'm always in severe danger. I've also got enough trouble without going to look for more when there's no evidence it exists. Just leave it be and hope this was an isolated incident."
"Harry," Ron said gently, finally speaking up. "W-when you…what I mean to say is…why did you keep calling out for Sirius?"
His face went blank and his eyes cold. "I don't want to talk about it," he stated in a robotic voice, sounding as if he'd repeated it a thousand times. In truth, he had; Harry refused to discuss Sirius or his death with anyone. He'd withdrawn into himself after arriving at Grimauld House early in the holiday, bits of himself emerging infrequently. It seemed as though he went through life on autopilot, refusing to speak, barely eating, and never smiling. Everyone watched Harry forcing himself through the pain alone, and those who loved the boy despaired of ever reaching him again.
Then one day he seemed to have woken up and decided to be his old self again, the transformation was that quick. He laughed, played, ate enthusiastically, and even bloody well whistled in the shower. It was as if he'd become a different person all over again, or forgotten that there was a reason to be upset in the first place.
2ND AUTHORS NOTE: Ooooooo, is Harry snapping? I can't promise that all chapters will be this long, but I'll sure as heck try. I noticed that I was beginning one chapter where the other had left off and it takes FOREVER to complete stories that way. So, I'm going to try to wrap up everything in a chapter and start with something fresh each time. I may still have to do some of them the other way-would you really want to sit through a twenty-page chapter?-but it will be only when necessary. Many of you may find it silly to worry about this so much, but I find stories that are made up entirely of day-to-day accounts annoying and refuse to write one. Thank you.
