Disclaimer: HP & Co. are property of JK Rowling N Cash, Inc.
THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! Sorry to the reviewer that thought I was going to slow. I will try to speed the story along, but there is only so much control I have over the muse within. Hey, at least I got the next chapter our quickly!
Chapter 24: Day 11, Part II: A New Home
The slop was not quite unappetizing, but those unaccustomed to the Dursleys' scraps clearly had more difficulty choking it down than Harry did. Harry sat at one of four long tables, which quickly filled up with recruits that until recently had been seventh year Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws (the large group of Slytherins managed to fill a table all on their own). Once again, Harry found himself in close proximity to Cho, who sat across from him making faces; it vaguely occurred to him that she was trying to flirt with him, but luckily her attempts were completely foiled by the obnoxious Gryffindor, Will, who insisted on engaging him in a conversation on how exactly he had managed to escape You-Know-Who's clutches each and every time. Cutting off the questions proved impossible as several of the other seventh year recruits began listening with rapt attention, as if any word might possibly hold the clue to their own survival.
Just when he was reluctantly detailing the events at the end of second year, he was saved by the loud and excited entrance of the earlier recruits. Surprised, Harry recognized a handful of Hogwarts graduates, including Oliver Wood. Several people stopped by to introduce themselves to the Boy-Who-Lived, but he forgot all of their names almost instantly. Oliver gave a little wave, but was clearly more concerned with getting his own slop.
Then he heard an unexpected, but unforgettable unison of voices, "Harry!"
For the first time since arriving in the frozen wasteland, Harry grinned: George and Fred Weasley were just what this place needed to make it more. . . bearable. The twins both waved, then Fred made his way to the slop line, while George elbowed through several people, then squeezed in beside Harry.
"Hi-ya, Will," he greeted, then turned to Harry with a grin. "I knew it wouldn't be long before we saw you. You had us mighty worried when you dropped off the face of the earth like that. Wouldn't nobody say what was going on, Daily Prophet didn't know anything, as usual. And then the attack. . ." George's face fell for a moment, but then he started up again at a mile a minute. "That's why we joined. Figured with you gone, wasn't no one else who could protect our li'l Ronnikins."
Harry didn't even mind George's blabbering, it was such a comfort just to hear his familiar cadence. Smiling, he took another spoonful from his nearly empty bowl, and George half-grimaced, half-laughed. "I wouldn't finish all that if I were you, whatever Moody said. He told all of us to eat heartily when we got here, then everyone got severe indigestion when Mackin exercised us to death later."
Harry frowned and pushed the bowl away from him. "They probably thought it was some kind of survival lesson," Fred said with amusement, butting Cho (who appeared to paying rapt attention to the entire exchange) aside and plopping two bowls of slop in front of George and himself.
"So, how are Ginny and the bugger anyway?" Fred continued, concern obvious despite his flippant tone.
"Um, they're both okay. Ron was excited to have been able to fight. He was in the infirmary yesterday morning when I first saw him, but they let him out by afternoon. Besides that, I don't know, I didn't see much of Ginny, and I only woke up from my, um, potions accident yesterday morning."
"Potions accident?" George and Fred asked simultaneously, their gazes so sceptical that Harry knew he would have to give them more than that.
"Lets just say that it involved Malfoy."
"Of course," Fred snorted.
"Speaking of which-" George began.
"We couldn't help but notice-" Fred continued.
"The entirely freakish number of Slytherins over there-"
"Not to mention the ferret wonder himself."
Cho took the opportunity to inject, "Professor Dumbledore decided to allow anyone who needed asylum to fight, regardless of their age. And their loyalties apparently."
The twins glanced at her for a moment as though incredulous of her capacity to speak (she was cute sure, but was she still trying to patch matters up after last year!); Harry had even less of a conception as to how to deal with her. "Yes, well. In the days after the accident, I had to, uh, spend a lot of time with Malfoy. And, you're not going to believe me, but he's really not all that bad." Recalling the Slytherins behaviour just that morning, he added, "Sometimes, anyway."
By this point, the twins wore identical, open-mouthed expressions of disbelief.
"Okay, who are you-" Fred started, mocking poking at Harry with his spoon.
"And what have you done with Harry Potter?"
Harry chuckled, thinking that just a few days ago such a comment would have been quite on target. "Actually, it's funny you should say that. . . But seriously, Malfoy's the reason Dumbledore was able to recruit so many Slytherins to our side. And before you say what I know you're gonna say; no, I don't think they are going to betray us. If they were spies or whatever, they would have come in a smaller, less conspicuous group. I think there are so many of them because their only other choice is to become Death Eaters."
Beside them, Will snorted in disbelief, but the twins both nodded – they had seen more in the months since fleeing Umbridge's Hogwarts than even they could have imagined. It had become obvious to them that You-Know-Who had significantly more followers than could accounted for by wizards and witches that genuinely admired and supported the psychotic megalomaniac. Like every dangerous and powerful man before him, Voldemort had many minions who followed out of fear, not devotion. Even Cho seemed to grasp validity of Harry's argument, and glanced pensively at the Slytherin table.
But it wasn't enough. Harry found himself wanting his friends to like Draco, despite the improbability of such an evolution; and more than that, he just wanted to talk about Draco, however and to whomever that was possible. So Harry continued on somewhat powerlessly. "Draco Malfoy is responsible for getting them to trust, well, me. And only by extension, I think, Dumbledore. If we hadn't been able to come to some agreement, I bet we would be meeting all of them on the battlefield someday."
George pushed away his plate. "Uh, all this talk of Malfoy is putting me off my meal."
Everyone else was quickly put off their meal by Moody roughly ordering them all to the practice fields. The twins shepherded Harry out of the mess tent, through the camp (pointing out their neighbouring tents), some distance past the perimeter, and then gathered around a singular tent, in front of which stood a tall, buff thirty-something that could only be Auror Mackin. He looked agreeable enough, if strong and big enough to break a human in two.
"Welcome, new recruits. I am Auror Mackin, and I will be your drill sergeant." As with all new acquaintances, Mackin's eyes found Harry's and his eyes flashed up where the famous scar that marred his forehead. "That means that I am responsible for turning you weak-bodied, weak-minded, and weak-willed weaklings into strong, sharp, and stubborn fighting machines. Your only responsibility for the time being is to show up on time, not get into any trouble, and follow the orders you are given. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. Those of you who arrived this morning have some catching up to do, so start by giving me five laps around the camp perimeter! The last five will be responsible for cleaning the toilets!"
Harry heard several groans, but paid no attention and instantly set off at a quick pace – an effort hindered by the difficulty of running on snow. Unfortunately for most, the Slytherins had been milling around at the back of the group and were in the best positions to dash back towards camp. Nevertheless, several of them were a long cry from being in prime physical condition, particularly a couple of the girls. Within the first lap, Harry and two other industrious Gryffindors had surpassed all but a handful of the Slytherin, and by the end of the third lap, only Malfoy and Nott were in front of him – many having fallen behind do to debilitating indigestion. But the week and a half of laying bed was taking its toll, and soon both Draco and Harry began falling back. A natural and accomplished runner, Draco took this particularly hard and redoubled his efforts, clearly pushing his limits by the fifth lap. By shear force of will, the blonde managed to finish his laps first, gasping for breath as his shaky legs promptly collapsed underneath him. Coming in somewhere around the middle, Harry arrived in far better physical condition.
Mackin did not look pleased with any of them. "You last four!" he barked at the two Slytherin girls, an overweight Hufflepuff, and a Gryffindor who was gripping his stomach in pain. "You will be cleaning the toilets this evening. As for everyone else, I can see that you ate like pigs at lunch! And you!" He glared at Malfoy. "What's your name?"
Despite breathing heavily and sitting on the icy ground, Malfoy glared back with his usual level of disrespect. "Draco Malfoy. . . sir."
Mackin's eyes narrowed. "Well, Draco Malfoy. Just look at yourself. You came in first, but you're exhausted. Anyone who wanted could easily pick you off and you wouldn't even be able to put up a decent fight. There is a time and place for pushing limits and expending every last reserve of energy, but this is neither. The vast majority of the time, it is wiser to aim lower and conserve your strength for something that actually matters. . . You get cleaning duty with the four stragglers."
Harry was so used to Draco's inappropriate mouthing-off that he was surprised when the Slytherin just gritted his teeth and forced out a "Yes, sir." When Mackin's attention turned away, Draco punched the hard snow, scowling angrily at the ground. If Harry hadn't known better, he might have thought that Draco was mad at himself. Well, maybe he should give Draco the benefit of the doubt after all: Harry still hardly knew him, despite the numerous revealing encounters they had had over the last two weeks. And he looked so delicious, sprawled on the ground with a disappointed pout on his perfect lips and a healthy flush to his skin.
Mackin ordered them into pairs to practice blocking and hexing on the warded training field, and Harry took the opportunity to approach Draco. Unfortunately, it appeared that Pansy had the same idea he had, but Harry did understand the blonde well enough to play this move right –
"Hey, Malfoy. You're not afraid of a little competition are you?" he challenged, but without the once customary hostility.
Indeed, it was exactly the right thing to say and Draco even looked a little relieved by the normalcy. "Not at all, Potter. I'm always up for kicking your arse."
Pansy rolled her eyes (boys), and moved off to find another partner. Harry smiled slightly, and reached out a hand to his so-called nemesis. The symbolism hurt a little, but Draco forced himself to appear indifferent and grabbed Harry's arm without any display of hesitance. Harry hauled him up and pulled him close simultaneously; searching green eyes burning into his, Draco's breath hitched in sudden panic. What was the fool Gryffindor doing? And in public of all places!
Indeed, Harry barely realized what he was doing. He leaned in a little closer, impulsively following desire instead of reason, and took an indulgent whiff of the sweaty Slytherin, his own breath brushing across Draco's neck as he exhaled. Merlin, Harry didn't know how it was possible, but he smelt good, and comforting, and. . . reminded him of his one memory hot sex.
Draco quickly drew back, eying Harry warily, but also clearly embarrassed. Indeed, he was mortified and slightly nauseated to discover his body reacting to the Gryffindor's vicinity and interest; he wasn't supposed to be (nor had ever been) attracted to anyone, especially another man. He found the idea of sex disgusting and gruesome, and his mind tended to reel away from it as though it was a dangerous black hole that would consume and crush him if he got too close. Yes, it would be nice to be able to lead a normal life, and normal meant forming normal relationships and having normal sex, but survival had required he give up on that ambition. The evidence of his psychological scarring was abundant, and years of internal conflict had yielded the conclusion that he had been irreparably damaged by his father. Nothing he had seen in the appalling alternate realities had convinced him otherwise.
Harry had grown hard too, but he was also aware that the object of his lust was on the verge of bolting in the opposite direction. He tried to make Draco stay by the force of his gaze, saying, "I'm sorry, I. . . I need to back off, I know. I just. . . wasn't thinking."
Draco nodded uncertainly, forcing himself to gather his wits. He had dealt with Father's inhuman abuse for years, he had even met the Dark Lord, he could deal with Potter's infantile crush. It was even a little flattering, and would probably pass as the events of their Quaero Tempus adventure faded into distant memory. Potter had clearly not banished them as thoroughly (or even at all) from his mind as Draco had.
"Potter! Malfoy!" Mackin bellowed. "Enough chatting! Start your exercises or I'll have you running another five laps!"
The two teens quickly stepped farther apart, though Draco could tell that Harry wanted to say more. Instead, the Gryffindor offered, "How about I start with the blocking? You can try to hex me, but I doubt you'll manage."
Once more on familiar ground, Draco felt significantly more at ease. "You wish, Potter. I'm gonna hex your balls off!"
Harry smiled to himself, relieved that the moment of awkwardness had passed, and took up a defensive stance. "Give it your best shot!"
! BREAK !
It was no surprise to Harry that Draco proved very adept at hexes and curses, particularly at speed casting, silent casting, and spell diversity. The strength of his spells left something to be desired, but Harry was a tough critic simply because few could match the strength of his own spells. Indeed, Harry himself could afford to work of silent casting and spell diversity.
Defensively, the two also had much to learn from each other. Harry was adept at magically blocking and annulling curses and hexes, while Draco proved remarkably able to roll with the punches, repeatedly getting up from spells that Harry was sure would flatten him. Years of Quidditch had left them both quite capable of dodging, feinting, and other physical manoeuvring, which Mackin praised after watching one exercise.
After a couple exhausting hours, Mackin ordered a change in partners, after which Draco worked with one of the Slytherin fifth years that clearly needed help, while Harry found himself partnered with Cho, who proved that she had learned a lot during the previous year's DA sessions. Finally, at 1600, Mackin ordered the magically exhausted Hogwarts recruits to assemble with the other recruits, and led everyone in a series of exercises designed to increase strength and magical flow. By 1700 the sun was getting low in the sky and the recruits were dismissed.
At the dinner, Harry was not alone in almost falling asleep at the table. Indeed, one of the Slytherin fifth years actually fell into his plate after nodding off. Laughter spattered the mess tent, but by and large everyone was too tired to either ridicule or take offense. Even the twins were operating at noticeably lower levels of energy, though they were two of only a handful of people that were managing to talk with any amount of animation. Indeed, Cho was still following Harry around, but she was so quiet that Harry practically forgot about her.
At Draco's urging, he and the two Slytherins who had finished their laps last left the mess tent early to begin their punishment, followed shortly by the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor – the latter of who commented loudly (and rather immaturely) that all the Slytherins should work in the toilets, as it was the only place where they could be trusted.
The toilets, by the way, were revolting, literally five tents where one had the privacy to squat in private, a roll of toilet paper hanging from the tent pole AN: modelled on toilets the author has visited in Siberia. Draco was forced to choke down his own bile, but Millicent (whose bulk made her both a slow runner and a sumo wrestling contender) and Tia (a frail-looking fifth year) were barely able to stand, let alone master the cleaning and waste-disposal spells that neither had ever encountered before. Tia in particular looked faint, trembling on her thin legs, and Draco sighed and made a decision. "Mil, why don't you help Tia get warm? Sit somewhere nearby, I'll do your guys' tents. Keep a look out for Mackin or Moody, so you can look busy if you need to."
Millicent nodded gratefully, while Tia barely reacted at all. Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned back to the nasty tents.
"Uh, does anyone know a spell to get rid of shit?" the arsehole Gryffindor asked with disgust.
Given the copious amount of his own blood that he had encountered in his short life, Draco did know some quite powerful cleaning spells, but he really had to rack his brain for a waste-disposal spell. Then it came to him piecemeal, as though from a dream, via hazy unfamiliar memories of torturing people: a Dark Mark on his arm, Father showing him how to clean up when done, Father saying that it was neither seemly nor safe to leave behind evidence of such grisly activities as torture and murders – both which tended to leave behind such detritus as excrement and urine. A strong shiver shook his body and he had to quench another wave of nausea, but his face and voice betrayed nothing. "Aufero Attero."
Gripping his wand, he advanced on the first tent, rolled back the opening and clearly pronounced the cleaning and waste-disposal spells. The tent inside then looked spotless, though it still stunk to high hell, but that was easily taken care of with another spell –
"AGH- FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck!"
Draco smiled; that would be the sound of the Gryffindor being covered in shit. He heard Millicent laughing and he stepped out of the tent to see the Gryffindor desperately trying to wipe crap off of his face and no longer white robe. When he saw the Slytherin, he stormed up threateningly, but Draco quickly pointed his wand at him. "Take another step and you will not just be covered in shit, you will be shit."
The Gryffindor glared furiously at him. "Fuck you, Malfoy! You did that on purpose!"
"Of course I did," Draco responded spitefully, though clearly enjoying the situation. "I overheard you bad-mouthing my house. Besides, it's your own fault for assuming that any flick of the wand would have the desired effect. Waste-removal is, after all," he sniffed comically, "a very delicate process."
The Gryffindor looked ready to kill him, but the situation was funny enough that even Tia and the Hufflepuff had to laugh, while Millicent was laying in the snow, gasping for breath.
"I wouldn't try to retaliate if I were you," Draco continued menacingly. "Or you might just find yourself up shit creak without a paddle or wand."
Millicent screamed raucously in laughter, and even Draco had to crack a smile. The Gryffindor finally realized that if there was any revenge to be had, it would have to be had later, but that if he was to clean his tent at all, he would still need Malfoy to show him how to do it. So he clenched his teeth and asked is a high-pitched, disgustingly sugary voice, "Oh please, Malfoy, would you show me how to clean up shit?"
"Why, of course, O'Brien. It's just a simple twirl and flick, like this." Draco demonstrated, and then O'Brien stiffly returned to his tent. The Hufflepuff even managed a thanks before attempting to clean his own tent. Draco flashed a smile at Mil and Tia, then made short business of the remaining two tents.
"Come on, girls. It's time for some plotting."
! CHAPTER END !
Sorry this chapter is so slow and boring. I just need to establish a camp routine as the context within which all ese takes place. The story should get more exciting next chapter. I will try not to get too bogged down by detail.
