Chérie, parchments and quills
Chapter Seventeen – Sonixies
Harry had just finished his reply to Draco/Tau – after pacing his private rooms, tapping nervously with his fingers and quill, and spending the last two hours trying to think of what to actually say. The truth had to come out – there was no sensible alternative option – but he was assuming that Draco would never talk to him again after it did, and because of that belief, he wanted to wait until he'd shown his memories to Mr Silas Avery; until they had dealt with that boy to the best of their abilities, they couldn't risk being at odds with one another.
He was ashamed to admit – even if it was just to himself – that he needed Draco to be there when they viewed the memories. He'd been thinking about precisely what memories to show Mr Avery, and just the thought of them unsettled him. Yes, he'd grieved for the lives lost in the war, learnt not to place the blame so heavily on his own shoulders, and spent years in therapy, but his flashbacks and emotions simply failed to understand logic and reasoning; it wasn't logical to lose his mind to visions when he thought back to certain events, and it made no sense because he'd been through all the motions towards recovery… but it didn't matter! His head was fucked up, and he knew he'd need the support when the time came. Worst case scenario: he'd have a flash back, and Mr Avery would take advantage of his lack of awareness and attempt to kill him. Best case: he'd be slightly affected and he'd have Draco there for support.
If he agreed to meet Draco before then, to reveal his true identity, there was a massive chance that Draco would refuse to talk to him again. Yes, he could ask Minerva to assist him, but Draco would have the better chance of getting through to Silas as an ex-death eater, and as Slytherin's head of house. It all came down to the fact that Draco had to be there; he couldn't jeopardise the only opportunity they had to help Silas reform – if it was even possible – and that meant delaying the date of their inevitable meeting.
He'd spoken with Minerva again last week, with Draco, and they had agreed that they should work with Silas over a week or two, not just on that first Friday of the new term – Friday 7th of January – because changing one's opinions didn't happen overnight, and they had quite a bit to get through if they had any hope of getting through to the boy. They'd also agreed that Silas would receive detention every night, starting from the first day of term – Monday the 3rd of January – and that he would not be permitted his wand outside of lessons or unsupervised for the first four weeks of term. Mrs Avery – Silas's mother – had collected her son's wand after her meeting with Minerva back on the 19th of December, and she had been informed that, if Silas attempted to harm another person – be it a student or a teacher – he would be expelled and the Aurors would be notified. Suffice to say, the woman had left in an angry huff.
Well, that left Harry agreeing to meet Draco/Tau at Le'Amortentia, on Saturday the 29th of January… five weeks away. He really didn't want to wait that long; leaving Draco to believe that Padfoot was going to sweep him away in some romantic notion, while denying any feelings for him/Harry, was almost crippling him with guilt … but he felt that Silas was more important than his own personal matters right now, and there was no way this would work if Draco wasn't on speaking terms with him. So… he checked his letter one last time before sending it off.
Good evening Tau,
I had a great Christmas thank you, and I hope you had a good day likewise.
I am delighted that you asked to meet and I have been waiting for you ask, my Chéri, and I apologies for not anticipating your desire to do so. I'll admit, I was afraid you would decline if I asked you before you were ready.
As much as I love the winter, it is a busy time of year – a busy Christmas leading into the start of a busy new year for me. With work especially, the earliest I can meet you, is Saturday the 29th of January. Any time works for me that day, and I hope this is suitable for you.
I sincerely apologise that we cannot meet sooner, and though I cannot explain why in too much detail for now, I will be able to explain more thoroughly then… when we can share more personal details with each other face to face. If you are amenable to this, then let me know a time and we can both book and confirm it with Le'Amortentia respectively.
Your Chéri, Padfoot.
x
After returning the quill and parchment to the draw in his bedside table, Harry settled down into bed to sleep. With his mind playing over the different possible scenarios of Tau and Padfoot's inevitable meeting, it was a while before he drifted off… and straight into throes of nightmares:
A shapeless face was there to great him at Le'Amortentia, while he-himself shifted nervously in his best, casual robes, and smiled hopefully at his secret chéri – all a flutter, breathless, and weightless with the hope of acceptance and reciprocated love.
The shapeless face morphed into that of one gorgeous, Draco Malfoy, but instead of a smile and open arms … he was welcomed with a sneer of disgust that chilled the room. Hope was sapped from him as if in the presence of dementors, and his heart cracked down the middle as a biting coldness washed over him.
Harry tried so desperately, but in vain, to explain why he'd failed to be truthful sooner, and why he'd let Draco go on believing in Padfoot when the man did not exist… but then … Padfoot appeared!
Standing right there, next to Draco, was a perfect copy of himself. Draco welcomed Padfoot into his arms and they kissed with a searing passion, while he … he was left wilting and heartbroken … cold, desolate and alone.
He couldn't watch Draco in another man's arms!
He turned away to flee from the room … but fear paralyzed him when instead of a door, there was a floor to ceiling mirror. It wasn't himself reflected in the smooth surface of the glass, but a figure that haunted him from beyond the grave … Voldemort!
"No!" He stumbled backwards, repeating the negative until the cold voice tormented him once again.
"Harry potter!" Voldemort drawled from his own lips. "Such foolish notions that you believe: friends, family, love." Voldemort spat at the ground; the word love seemed to burn his tongue just saying it. "You are nothing more than a sacrifice, a saviour for the worthless, a puppet on a string for others to pull."
Harry turned, but instead of walls, all he found were mirrors … no doors nor windows … no way out, and nowhere to look but at his reflection – his reflection being Voldemort, his worst nightmares of possession.
"Did you really believe that you would be free of me?" Voldemort drawled on, and no matter how Harry moved, the reflection would move with him. "That you would get to move on and find happiness… find love." Again, the word love strained on his snake like tongue. "I never left Harry. I can never die. As long as you breath I will always be inside of you … waiting, watching. You can never escape me, never move on while I am here within you."
"No!" Harry continued to repeat the negative, louder and louder he screamed, shaking his head, until the mirrors shattered around him like an almighty crash of thunder. Glass rained down … everywhere … a representation of his life perhaps? Having protected his face from the exploding glass, he dropped his scratch littered arms just in time to see the smoke billowing from where the mirrors once stood … horrified, as the smoke took on the physical form of Voldemort himself, and behind the evil man stood the hooded figures of two dementors that wanted to take his very soul.
"Yes!" Voldemort hissed, standing in front of a paralyzed Harry who had sweat beading down his face. "Yes, you will never be rid of me, Harry Potter!" Voldemort caressed a pale, long bony finger, down the fearful face of Harry's – from his forehead, down his cheek, to his jaw line and chin. The touch burned his skin, made him feel sick and violated, and the distant screams of his mother's pleas echoed in the room. "Too weak to be an auror! Too broken to mingle with your pathetic friends! And too tainted for our dear Draco to look twice at!" Voldemort then shoved Harry head to the side, his chin gripped painfully, before proceeding to trace the scar he'd left there when his Avada Kedavra failed. "Everyone only wants what you can give them Harry, they only want wealth and power … there is only power!" He backhanded Harry's face. "And you, you are too weak to seek it!" He spat.
Voldemort aggressively gripped onto Harry's shoulders then, his nails digging into his skin … pain, indescribably torturous pain shook his entire body, and it bled out from his scar as Voldemort took possession of him.
Somewhere in the room, beautiful laughter rung out over his screams… but this time, this time Draco was laughing at him, at his pain and his suffering. It mocked him, mocked that he ever dared to believe that Draco would love him, want him, be with him…
No, he was too tainted … his body violated and corrupt!
Harry's screams followed him as he awoke; sweating, tangled in the bed sheets, each breath trembling, and the pain he'd felt in the nightmare… reduced to ghost like shivers along his nerves. The terror still had hold of him, a sickness deep in his gut, and his memories fought to substantiate reality.
Breathing through the fear and the nausea, he remembered random words – '…darkest of times, remember to turn on the light.' Light!
He waved his hand setting the fire in the hearth alight, the orange glow revealing his private chamber at Hogwarts. His heart rate settled with the visual proof that he was safe in bed, but his stomach bucked and sent him racing to his en-suite.
It wasn't a vision! Tom Riddle – Voldemort, is dead! No one is possessing me! Fuck!
He repeated those words to himself over and over again – while his stomach repelled the last of his Christmas dinner, while he violently brushed his teeth and stared at his own reflection in the mirror, while he showered away the feeling of being violated, and while he marked homework and essays with a very strong mug of coffee.
There was no way in hell that he'd be able to go back to sleep tonight!
-OOO-
On the way to the Great Hall for dinner – having fallen asleep at his kitchen table marking homework, and had therefore missed breakfast and lunch – Harry bumped into Mr Samuel Bartlett, a first year Slytherin, who had literally run into him as he turned the corner.
"Oof!" Harry had managed to steady the boy by grabbing his shoulders, but Harry still managed to be to be subjected to a speeding face colliding into his stomach. "Mr Bartlett! Running, is not permitted in the corridors. I'm afraid I must deduct ten-" Harry suddenly realised that the small, dark-brown haired boy in front of him, was trying valiantly not to cry and had forced his posture to look contrite. "What's the matter Mr Bartlett?" Harry asked, kneeling down on one knee to be closer to the boy's eye level.
Samuel shook his head and tried to step around his 'defence against the dark arts' teacher, but Harry put his arm out to stop the boy leaving. "If you won't tell me, I'll have to take you to your head of house." Harry waited… but when Samuel said nothing he sighed. "Come with me then!"
Harry went to direct Samuel towards the Great Hall – planning to lead the boy with a hand on his shoulder – thinking that Draco would be there eating dinner, but Samuel shook himself free and a loud 'ARRK' sound erupted from the boy's mouth like the honk of a goose. Samuel covered his mouth with both hands and looked positively horrified.
Harry sighed as realisation hit him. "Have you possibly eaten something of the joke variety Mr Bartlett?" Harry asked, thinking of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes 'Amazing Animal Assortments.' It was a product like 'Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans', but instead of flavours… you'd be forced to speak like a random animal for at least twenty minutes.
Mr Samuel Bartlett hesitated before nodding, afraid to open his mouth.
"Alright, wait here!" Harry instructed.
It only took Harry about a minute to enter the Great Hall, notice that Draco wasn't there, and return to the frightened boy before motioning Samuel to follow him down to the dungeons.
"Don't worry Mr Bartlett," Harry spoke on the way down, "if it's what I think it is, then they only last about twenty minutes." He was hoping to re-assure the young boy, which judging by the slight relaxing of his stiff posture, he'd succeeded. Something was bothering Harry though… if Samuel had known the effects of the sweet then he wouldn't have acted so afraid or horrified. "Did someone force or trick you into eating one?" Harry asked.
Samuel hesitated again, but eventually he nodded.
"Okay, we can talk about it when you get your voice back." Harry smiled, hoping it would put the boy further at ease.
The Slytherins were still reserved in nature, despite the slowly growing house unity, and they certainly didn't like tattling to the teachers unless it benefited them, so getting the truth from Samuel could be difficult. Despite the changes in interhouse equality, Slytherins were still bullied sometimes for their parents or grandparent's involvement in the war, and some of the students, like Mr Samuel Bartlett here, had no connection whatsoever, but they were targeted just because they wore green. He was sure that Draco had mentioned how Mr Bartlett was the first Slytherin in his family, and how proud he was of the boy for not only his hard work, but also for the boy's ability to fit into his house despite coming from a family of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The unfair judgment of the boy by other house students, still fell into that old notion that 'all Slytherins were bad', and it was kept alive because the offspring of death eaters that did actually exist, mostly ended up in that house. It saddened Harry most grievously, and it certainly wasn't fair.
Harry knocked on Draco's office door … but there was no answer. If Draco wasn't in his office, then he was most likely in his private room seeing as there was no reason for him to be in the potions' classroom today. They walked in silence to Draco's private chambers, but again, when he knocked, there was no answer ... until Harry swore that he heard a muffled groan. He knocked louder, listening closer to the door … a sudden wave of concern washed over him when he only heard a loud thump.
"Wait here Mr Bartlett." Harry instructed, using wandless magic to unlock Draco's door. Samuel just nodded, but his eyes widened with slight concern.
Harry opened the door slightly, poking his head around the door, and called out Draco's name. He heard a groan coming from near the sofa. Shutting the door behind him, so that Samuel wouldn't see into the room, he moved closer to the sound and found Draco sprawled face down on the floor in front of the sofa. Draco was still in his pyjamas – a long-sleeved dark-grey top, with checkered dark-grey trousers.
"Draco?" Harry puzzled why the man was on the floor, concerned when he made no move to get up. It was also rather out of character for the man to be in his pyjamas at this time of the day.
"W'atsit?" Draco mumbled into the ombre green rug – between the black leather sofa and the antique black coffee table – his voice horse and weak.
Harry didn't quite know what to make of the strange situation before him, wondering if Draco was drunk, but he bent down and lifted the man off the floor. It was a bit of a struggle to encourage Draco to get up and back onto the sofa, and Harry had no control over the flush that he felt having Draco's weight pressed against him – being so close physically – but he noticed two things that concerned him in the process: Draco didn't smell of alcohol, and the man was freezing cold!
"Potty! You's a wonder'ull man!" Draco slurred, a slight shiver to his strained voice. He sounded congested, and his literally ice-cold breath made Harry shiver as it blew against his cheek … it took Harry a moment however, to realise that Draco's breath really was that cold and it wasn't just the close proximity. Any arousal he was starting to feel was instantly invaded by his growing concern.
"Right… Draco are you okay?" Harry frowned, feeling Draco's head once the man was lying down on the sofa. Even Draco's pale face was freezing cold and ghost white – something was very wrong!
Harry glanced around the room, spotting the knitted sacramento-green throw that rested over the back of the other leather sofa. He grabbed it, and as he was it laying over Draco, he heard the man mumble – "The klapities won't go away! Make them to go away!" Draco then started crying … crying, and he was burrowing into the sofa and hiding under the blanket that Harry had just put over him.
"Draco, I'll be right back okay. You just … stay there…" Harry frowned down at the crying man, bewildered and deeply concerned. He left the room in a hurry, intending to fetch Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible.
As soon as he left the room however, he remembered that Samuel had been waiting for him. "Erm, Dra- Mr Malfoy isn't feeling to well. I'm going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Come with me!"
-OOO-
"I'll see you down there," Harry was speaking with Madam Pomfrey, "I just need to have a word with Mr Bartlett."
Madam Pomfrey nodded before swiftly leaving with her medical bag. Harry turned to face Samuel, who was sitting on one of the beds waiting for him – luckily, the boy had gained back his voice as they had reached the infirmary a couple of minutes ago.
"What happened Mr Bartlett? The truth please." Harry cut to the chase, eager to find out how Draco was doing.
"I'm okay now. Thankyou for your help Mr Potter." Samuel nodded and went to get back onto his feet to leave, but Harry gestured for him to stop and to remain seated.
"I need to know what happened so that I can prevent it from happening to others." Harry said, but then he reminded himself… he wasn't talking to one of his Gryffindor's. "What if I make you a deal? I won't tell anyone except Mr Malfoy what happened, and I won't take any action that you don't approve of."
"So, if I choose for you to let it go, you will?" Samuel asked with caution.
"Yes! But if I just so happened to keep my eyes open a little wider, and I so happened to catch someone going against school rules myself…"
"Then it won't be linked to me." Samuel caught on.
"Exactly! So, do we have a deal?"
"Okay." Samuel sighed, hesitating just a few seconds longer. "It was Mr Monero … and Mr Cray too, I think."
"My Gryffindors. Why am I not surprised?" Harry shook his head and sighed. "What did they do this time?"
Samuel looked surprised for a second, that the head of Gryffindor believed him so easily perhaps, but he regained his composure very quickly. "I asked Monero to 'please pass the steak and kidney pie'. After taking what I wanted they did look a bit suspicious, but I just thought they were being strange. I then noticed something a bit chewy in my pie, and it was then that Monero and Cray started laughing. I went to ask what was so funny and…"
"You made ridiculous animal noises?" Harry finished for him, to which Samuel nodded.
"I was just so embarrassed Mr Potter. I didn't know what they had done and I wondered how long I would be stuck that way. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction either." Samuel shook his head, disappointed in himself for falling for their prank.
"Well, the fact that you bolted from the Great Hall might have already done that I'm afraid. I know how their minds' work. You are not the only victim of their pranks I can assure you, but do you feel as if you are being targeted, bullied?"
"No! Not really…" A few seconds of silence passed before Samuel continued. "I heard how wonderful Christmas is at Hogwarts, and I choose to stay for the experience, but … I was shocked that I ended up being the only first year… everyone else is third year or up."
Harry tried to think about what he knew of Slytherin hidden messages… what would be the correct response to a homesick Slytherin?
"Am I to assume, that you at least had fun yesterday?" Harry asked, avoiding what he suspected to be the real issue here – he didn't want to embarrass the Slytherin boy.
"Yes sir! It's been amazing really, and that Snowball fight between you and Mr Malfoy was…" Samuel coughed once to regain his composure and reel in his exuberance. "What I meant to say, sir, is that it's been a rather enjoyable experience despite being the only first year here."
Harry smiled in understanding, nodding, and wishing that the Slytherin students didn't have such high expectations on decorum and speech and the like. "Christmas does have a way to unleash immaturity," Harry said, thinking back to his and Draco's snow fight, "but at least something good came out of me making a fool of myself yesterday." He smiled at the boy, glad to see him return the smile – albeit shyly.
Harry knew he should have ended the conversation there, dismissed the boy and made his way down to check on Draco – Merlin only knew how much he wanted to, but it could not be said that he didn't care about the students.
"As your 'defence against the dark arts' teacher, did you learn anything?"
"Mr Malfoy said that you let your guard down too early, that you became complacent."
"And what do you think?" Harry asked, wanting the boy to feel valued… important.
"I think … I think that he is right. I think that once we were all on your team, we should have attacked instead of goaded Mr Malfoy. Or, we should have at least used that time to strengthen our shields and defences. Only a few us were needed to take down Mr Malfoy, Lilium and Josephine, the rest of us could have stayed behind barricades or shields and acted as back up."
"Ten points to Slytherin … just don't tell Mr Malfoy that, I'll never hear the end of it."
Samuel truly smiled then, and chuckled under his breath. His features then turned into one of concern. "Is Mr Malfoy okay?"
"I'm sure he just caught a cold or something, he'll be fine. I best go and check in with Madam Pomfrey however, I did tell her that I would meet her down there."
Samuel nodded, hopping of the bed, and seemed in better sprits.
Mission accomplished!
"Mr Bartlett?" Harry said, as they were leaving the hospital wing together.
"Yes sir?"
"Can I trust you with a secret?"
"Yes sir!"
"On Salazar's honour?"
Samuel only hesitated for a second, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him. "On Salazar's honour, I swear I will keep your secret sir."
It didn't really bother Harry if Samuel did tell anyone, he would never chastise the boy if he did tell his friends, he just wanted the boy to trust him. Sharing a 'secret' was a good way to do that, and for a Slytherin... well, a Slytherin would take the 'secret' and use it as a comfort blanket – a sort of 'I have dirt on my professor' kinda thing, and it would make the boy feel more comfortable around him. Harry almost shook his head just thinking about how the majority of the Slytherins' minds worked.
"I was almost put into Slytherin you know," Harry stated, "but I begged the hat not to for personal reasons. Hence, I went into Gryffindor. You know our history – of the Slytherin student Tom Marvolo Riddle, who grew up to become evil Lord Voldemort and who was obsessed with trying to kill one Mr Harry Potter. Well, can you blame me for not wanting to be in that house when I was eleven. If I could do it all over…" Harry sighed. "I might have allowed the hat to place me with the snakes." Harry smiled at Samuel's shocked face and winked. "I might not be your head of house, but If you ever need someone to talk to my door is always open to you."
"Thank you, sir." Samuel nodded. They walked until they were about to go separate ways – Samuel to catch desert in the Great Hall, and Harry to the dungeons. "Sir?"
"Yes Mr Bartlett?"
"The hat considered putting me into Gryffindor, but it said I was slightly more resourceful and ambitious then I was brave and daring." Samuel then quickly disappeared into the Great Hall.
Harry stood, mildly shocked for a few seconds, then he shook his head and chuckled before rushing of to see if Draco was alright.
-OOO-
"He has the Snowflu Mr Potter!" Madam Pomfrey explained when Harry finally made it back to Draco private rooms. They were in the living area, Madam Pomfrey having managed to get Draco into his bed.
"Snowflu?" Harry had never heard of such a thing before.
"Sonixies carry the virus in their saliva, he has been bitten by them."
"Sonixies?"
"Yes, Sonixies! They are Imperceptible to the naked eye, and are a species of pixie that bite when irritated or angered. If you wish to know more, I suggest you find a book. Right now, I need to visit St Mungo's and request three vials of the Warmendall potion. It will not cure him, but it will alleviate his symptoms. He shouldn't be left unsupervised – the drastic drop in body temperature, and the virus itself, causes childlike behaviour and hallucinations, and he must stay as warm as possible. I will have him moved to the infirmary once I've administered the Warmendall potion, but can you stay with him until I return?"
"Yes, that's fine. We don't have any Warmendall on hand?" Harry knew the question was stupid the moment he asked, but he was worried.
"Oh, of course Mr Potter, we have hundreds of vials but I suddenly feel the need to give myself extra work." Madam Pomfrey sarcastically responded. "If you must know, we haven't had a case of Snowflu for years. It is mostly a childhood virus, a virus only young children usually get, but still very rare."
"If it's a childhood virus, then why is it affecting him now?" Harry asked, there would always be parts of the wizarding world that eluded him, parts that he had yet to learn about.
"I suspect his deprived childhood…" Madam Pomfrey visibly shook herself, "That is confidential Mr Potter! I must be going!"
"What shall I do until you return?" He was certainly no medic; he knew counter spells to curses and such things, and his auror training had covered emergency procedures and spells for deep cuts and broken bones, but viruses and magical illnesses eluded him completely.
"Like I said, make sure he stays in bed and keeps warm. I shan't be long." Madam Pomfrey then made her leave, leaving a clueless Harry alone with a sick Draco.
'Deprived Childhood' … What did that mean? Harry wondered to himself as he plopped down in the sofa.
Draco was a spoilt child!
Spoilt yes … … but in the material sense.
He suddenly remembered what his own therapist had said about him – something about his own childhood being deprived by his treatment of his aunt and uncle, his isolation and lack of normal childhood activities and experiences having shunted his development ... and not just physically.
Perhaps the high expectations on Draco to be what his father deemed 'a Malfoy' prevented Draco from a normal childhood? Malfoy senior had raised Draco to walk in his father's shoes, and Draco – as himself or on the parchment as Tau – had mentioned a few times, that he had never done things that Harry would have expected a child to have done; Draco had never been allowed to get messy or dirty, had never been allowed to read books that his father deemed as 'silly' or 'childish', had never been allowed to cry or show his emotions, and he'd never been allowed to do anything that didn't please his father and his father's expectations of a 'proper Malfoy heir'. Harry also knew, that Draco felt like his father was never proud of him growing up – nothing every satisfied Malfoy senior, and there was always more that Draco had to learn.
Harry sighed and went to check in on Draco, finding him asleep, and then went back out to sit on the sofa. He was starving, he wondered what having a deprived childhood had to do with Draco catching the Snowflu, and he was still curious about the virus itself… and he was starving!
"Kreacher!" Harry called, his stomach feeling empty and uncomfortable, making itself known – he would deal with that first. He hadn't eaten since his Christmas dinner yesterday evening, and seeing as that came up during the early hours of the morning… his body was obviously desperate for sustenance.
"What can Kreacher do for Master Potter?" The gravel voice of his house elf asked as he appeared with a 'crack'.
"Could you please get me a dinner Kreacher … and possibly a book that accurately explains what the Snowflu is and what Sonixies are?" He added, killing two bords with one stone, so to speak.
"Kreacher can be doing this for master. Anything else?" The elf asked.
"Actually yes! Can you please inform Professor McGonagall that Mr Malfoy has the Snowflu, and that I have been asked to stay with him by Madam Pomfrey."
"Very well Master, I'll be doing that now." And Kreacher left with another 'crack'.
-OOO-
Finally sated by the delicious Hogwarts' food, Harry sat in the dark-green armchair in Draco's bedroom, reading from one of the two books that Kreacher had kindly fetched for him. Madam Pomfrey had yet to return, but it hadn't even been an hour yet so he wasn't too worried. Minerva had been down to see him while he was eating, asking if he would be willing to make himself available to the Slytherins – should they need their head of house while Draco recovers; Harry had agreed of course.
He turned the page of the heavy book on wizard illnesses – rather fascinated and shocked by the variety of strange diseases and viruses that were out there – and eventually reached a page on Snowflu:
Pruinaeostium – more commonly known as 'the Snowflu', is a virus transmitted via the saliva of a sonixie (A species of tiny Imperceptible pixies, that live in icy waters or thick snow mounds, and that bite when irritated, angered, or threatened). The Snowflu is most common in younger children due to their enjoyment in 'playing in snow', however it is uncommon that sonixies will bite children, as they enjoy watching their childish activities. It can be caught by the older witch or wizard, but most adults do not enjoy the frivolous snow related activities that children do, nor are they likely to 'bound around' in the snow like children. Indeed, some adults will have developed an immunity to the virus having been bitten as a young child.
Symptoms can be mild to severe, and are mostly mild in children. The most common symptoms include: hypothermic body temperature, icy cold skin, icy cold flashes in extremities, lethargy and/or fatigue. These symptoms typically begin within 24hours after being bitten and most last at less 48hours. The cold flashes, however, may last for a week but will gradually reduce in severity. In adults, they may also suffer with hallucinations, frosty breath, and become childish/childlike – most commonly referred to as a drunken state.
The virus will pass on its own, however, adults and children with the Snowflu are advised to get plenty of rest, drink warm liquids (avoid cold food and drinks), stay warm, and remain in bed. The Warmendall potion will return the body to a safe/normal temperature, but will not prevent the cold flashes of the extremities. Utilizing warming charms of the clothes and bedding of the infected, will also help relieve symptoms. Adults should be monitored more closely, especially if the symptoms of childlike behaviour and hallucinations develop.
The wizard or witches' magic will prevent the sudden drop of body temperature from becoming fatal, as long as they stay away from cold sources. In squibs or in those with a low magical level, it is advised that they seek medical attention as soon as possible.
Avoid bathing or showering until the body can maintain a normal temperature of its own accord: although initially the warmth of the water will help, the process of leaving the water and drying one's self will only exacerbate the symptoms.
Complications of the Snowflu may include…
Harry then heard Draco stirring awake, the quiet groans loud in the silent room. He quickly placed the book down on the floor to check the man was alright.
"Draco?" Harry frowned, watching Draco's face contort with discomfort, pain, and in confusion.
"Huh?" Draco slurred, his lips blue and shivering along with the rest of him.
"It's Harry. How are you feeling?" Harry asked, but then he felt rather stupid; he remembered Poppy confirming that Draco had developed the symptoms of hallucinations and childlike behaviour – would the man even be in the right state of mind to sufficiently answer that question?
"Cold!" Draco groaned, his eyes opening as he reached out to grab at Harry's arm, looking desperately for relief from the icy sensations cursing through his body.
Harry took Draco's hand as it went to grab at his sleeve… and it felt frozen. He noticed that it was a purple-blue colour, and the nails literally had ice on them. He was quite frankly shocked, startled and near panic as to what to do, but as he stared down at the frozen hand in his own, it suddenly returned to a normal colour, and the nails started dripping where the ice was now melting.
'Icy cold flashes in the extremities,' Harry remembered reading … Merlin, they were being literal, he realised.
He tucked Draco's hand under the blanket before re-casting warming charms on the bedding – making sure they held up and were working efficiently. He just hoped Poppy would return soon with that potion; he was totally out of his element, and he worried that he would be useless if things deteriorated.
Draco's eyes found Harry's before they seemed to look behind him … suddenly filling with fear. "C-Ch-Chimera!" He shivered, voice pitched high and pointing at the wall behind Harry.
"No! No there's nothing there Draco." Harry tried to soothe him, but Draco went flying backwards out of his bed – taking the blanket with him – and he landed on the floor in a fear filled panic. "Draco!"
Harry rushed around to the other side of the bed, finding the man in a shivering cocoon and breathing heavily.
"Kill it! Kill it!" Draco rocked, repeating the same thing over and over as he panted in fear.
"Draco calm down! Breath…" Harry kept encouraging the man to mimic his breathing and calm down. It seemed to be working, Draco was responding to his voice at least… but Harry wanted to hold him and rub his back or something, take away his pain and discomfort, only, he didn't want Draco to react badly … or worse.
Harry was still squatting Infront of Draco a few minutes later, still on the floor, when the man finally calmed down enough to really see him. Harry smiled, nodding. He was relieved, he didn't even know if Draco was allowed a calming draught. "That's it, Draco. Do you feel like you're ready to get back into bed?"
"Potter?" Draco asked in confusion, deep frowns marring that perfectly refined face of his.
"Yes, it's me." Harry smiled, not realising he was doing so in a way that screamed adoration. "Let's get you back into bed now!" Harry suddenly demanded, remembering that Draco needed to stay warm. He went to pull Draco of the floor but the blond man flinched away from him, shaking his head in fear.
"It will kill me!" Draco's fear radiated from his eyes… but at least he wasn't about to hyperventilate this time – Harry thought.
"You'll be safe in bed, there nothing here that will hurt you. Come on!" Harry forced Draco to his feet, the blond grudgingly allowing it this time, but his eyes darting around as if he was about to be attacked by some wild beast or something. "That's in," Harry continued to encourage, "under the covers. You need to stay warm!"
"Warm…" Draco repeated, as if in a daze all of a sudden, as Harry tucked the man in.
Harry was suddenly overcome with how strange this was, that he was tucking a grown man into bed – a grown man that he had feelings for. Draco was also acting so strange, delirious, delusional… and even though Harry knew it was the Snowflu at least, it was still weird to see the man acting like this. It didn't help that Harry was clueless on how to help, that his emotions were swirling in a confused manner, and that he was worried… scared really. Yes, he was scared! Scared that Draco's symptoms were worse than they should be, or that the man was getting worse, or that he was developing symptoms that he shouldn't be. Even so, he managed to outwardly remain calm – thank Merlin, trying to do his best as he prayed that Poppy would hurry back – he needed to be assured that Draco was okay.
"Yeah, warm!" Harry insisted, not sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or groan at the dazed look now on Draco's face... it reminded him of Luna actually, but it had no business being on Draco's face.
"But I don't wanna go to bed." Draco's sleepy voice sounded so childish. Well, Harry thought… that would be the childlike symptoms.
"I'll stay with you." Harry said, sitting on the bed in an attempt to keep Draco in it. Harry couldn't help but chuckle though … his mind helpfully reminded him that he'd have given anything to be taking Draco to bed … but certainly not like this!
Be careful what you wish for!
Harry shook himself, making sure that the charms to keep the bedding warm were still working, and were still applied to his clothes and pillow as well.
"Are you laughing at me Potter?" Draco snapped, pouting slightly – Merlin, that pout almost made Harry laugh, especially with how foolish the man now sounded.
Harry had to remember that he could essentially be dealing with a sensitive child at the moment, and he had to be carful with what he said. "No! No. I was just thinking about something funny. Why don't you close your eyes? You'll feel better if you do." Harry smiled, trying to placate and soothe the man that was obviously hallucinating … hallucinating about scary beast and in the mindset of a child. "You know … if you see something scary, it just wants to say hi. It won't hurt you."
"That Chimera didn't look friendly!" Draco whined in obvious incredulity. "Where did it go?" Draco suddenly sat up again in fear, looking around in a desperate need to reassure himself of his safety, but Harry gently pushed Draco back down.
"It left because you scared it away." Harry said, cursing himself – he felt like he was just fucking this up and making it worse... he sounded like bloody imbecile!
"I scared it?" Draco whined in incredibility, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Father said they're vicious, bloodthirsty beast!"
Well, If Harry had needed – and he certainly hadn't – further confirmation that Draco was ill and out of his mind, that was it right there; Draco never would have condoned his behaviour by using his father's teachings… well, not anymore at least.
"Yes, they can be … but this one isn't." Harry tried, still feeling like a bloody simpleton. As many dreams and visions that he'd secretly envisioned, of a life with Draco, not once had he imagined having to care for the man as if he were a child. "Will you trust me? Will you tell me if you see something else, and try not to be scared of it?" Harry asked. "I won't let anything hurt you." He added.
"Okay." Draco nodded, his eyes drooping as fatigue took over his ailing body.
Harry sighed in relief, watching Draco as he appeared to be sleeping… but then Draco's breathy voice mumbled… "I think you're won'erful!"
Harry snorted. "Is that so?" He asked, wondering why the book never mentioned the fluctuation of moods and the changes in behaviour: Draco went from tired, sleepy, and hazy, to scared, loud, and childish… and the childlike behaviour ranged in ages from young child to moody teenager.
"You're 'ery han'some." Draco murmured, his eyes still closed … but then he groaned and opened his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Harry frowned, instantly snapping out of his amusement.
"My foot 'urts … cold!" Draco moved his right foot, a look of pain on his face.
Harry lifted the blanket to take a look: Draco's right foot was now a purple-blue colour, with frozen, icy nails… just like his hand had been. Harry got off the bed to find some socks for Draco, not really knowing what else he could do to help the man.
"Don't go!" Draco whined fearfully. "What if that C-Chimera comes back?"
"You need some socks." Harry explained, finding them in the bottom draw of the chest of draws. "Here, let me put these on you." Harry said, not waiting for an answer.
Harry noticed the foot returning to its normal colour as he slid the sock onto it, and after placing one onto the other foot, he added a heating charm to them before returning the blanket.
Despite his worry regarding Draco's health and wellbeing, the action of dressing Draco – even just his socks – made him think of undressing the man … and wasn't that just fucked up! Even though it was a fleeting image, a secret desire he'd had for weeks, he felt betrayed by his mind that it would remind of that now. Of all the times to be reminding him! What the fuck was wrong with him?
He sat back in the armchair, pulling it a little closer to bed, and watched as Draco finally drifted back off to sleep. Ill or not, the man was still handsome, perfect, and someone he desired fervently with his body, mind, and soul. Right now, however… Harry was just worried about him. He sighed - trust Draco to catch the Snowflu!
'Deprived Childhood'…
Could Draco have been deprived of the joys of snow when he was a child? Perhaps it was too frivolous and 'silly' an activity for a Malfoy child to play in the snow. Too loud, boisterous, and childish? Even Harry had been able to play in the snow on rare occasions – always on his own though… unless Dudley and his friends were using him as the target of course. Harry frowned as he thought deeper, remembering more of his therapist's words…
"It doesn't surprise you that a twenty-year-old is admitting he wants his daddy?" Harry snapped, ashamed that he had even admitted that – he had actually used the word 'father' originally.
"Not at all. Do not be ashamed Mr Potter! You have never had a steady father figure in your life, never received the necessary comfort, praise, and genuine affection that a child needs from those that are meant to love and care for them. These are things that enable a child to learn affection, self-identity, self-worth and self-esteem for example. All are very important and necessary things needed in order to grow into a healthy adult … and I don't just mean physically Mr Potter! You have been denied these things, and as such you still seek them on a subconscious level."
"But I'm twenty-years-old. I've never needed anyone before, I certainly don't now!"
"You have been deprived of something that every single child needs growing up. Whether you are willing to accept it yet or not, it has left a hole, a deep-rooted need to be loved and accepted for who you are. Often when a child is deprived of necessities, and for so long, it leaves invisible damage. No matter how in denial, stubborn, or adamant we are that we are 'fine' or 'okay', the truth is … you are not. Not emotionally!"
Harry shook himself from his thoughts, he hated being reminding of how damaged he was. The therapy had helped him - surprisingly, and it had made a great difference, but he still hated thinking back on them sessions.
He looked over at Draco and wondered … If Draco was deprived of so much as a child, what damage had been left from it? Harry was no therapist, and he knew that everyone was different and that he couldn't use his own therapy to analyse the man, but … Draco had been through so much that it had to have left a mark.
Draco suddenly coughed then, making Harry jump out of his skin. Merlin!
Harry pulled the blanket up to Draco's neck, checking on the warming charms for the umpteenth time, and he was wondering if there was anything else he could do, when Draco sneezed… sneezed a bloody mini snow flurry that caused the blanket to literally freeze over solid!
Fuck!
Harry banished the blanket to living room in a panic, yelling for Kreacher. "Find me some thick blankets!" He demanded of his house elf, and watching Draco shiver violently he snapped – "Quickly!"
Kreacher 'cracked' out, sensing the urgency – his master never yelled at him unless it was urgent.
"Cold!" Draco mumbled as he woke up, hissing, his teeth chattering violently.
"It'll be fine in a second Draco, just hold on a minute yeah!" Harry said, rubbing Draco's arms in an attempt to warm up the man, even if just a fraction.
Draco then sneezed a second time, catching Harry of guard… lucky however, Draco's head bobbed towards his chest or Harry would have ended up with a frozen face. Unfortunately, however, Draco had just frozen his own Pyjama top!
"Bloody hell Draco!" Harry panicked for a moment before mentally slapping himself. He'd just have to bite his tongue and remove Draco's top!
Harry's hand shook slightly, so he used his wand to removed Draco's pyjama top. Kreacher 'cracked' back in at that moment, buried under a pile of blankets.
Draco – blankets – top – Kreacher – Draco – blankets – Draco – Top!
His brain was so scattered right now! Cursing his panicked brain, he rushed to find a top first and foremost … any fucking top! 'Why were there no bloody tops?' He internally screamed as he searched through Draco's draws. "Top, top, top…" He mumbled.
"TOP!" He practically shouted when he found one, rushing back to the bed.
Kreacher had already, by this time, covered Draco with two of the blankets and was tucking him in. As Harry sat on the bed, holding the black pyjama top in his hand, he felt the heat radiate around him.
"Kreacher?" Harry asked in confusion. His breathing was slightly increased from his mini panic, but he was calming himself down now.
"Mister Malfoy has the Snowflu Master Potter. He must not be getting cold!" Kreacher drawled.
"Yes, I know! Poppy has gone to get the Warmendall potion." Harry said, forcing the pyjama top onto Draco's body. Draco blinked, seemingly in a haze again, but he was slowly looking around the room. "What did you do to make the bed so warm?" Harry asked Kreacher, not taking his eyes off Draco.
"What I did for old master Regulus when he was five." Kreacher said, and Harry's head snapped to face him.
Harry's mind had gone from Regulus to Sirius in an instant: the locket, Grimmauld Place… the department on mysteries…
Sirius was laughing… laughing at Bellatrix. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled at her.
Flashes – lights – and then he was gone… sinking back through the veil behind him, his eyes widened in shock as he fell.
"- it's too late, Harry." – Remus' voice, between his own screaming.
Harry fought hard to pay attention as Kreacher continued... fought to listen, unless he wished to sink into the past.
"He'd been playing … snow … nasty Sonixies bite him they did."
Yes, he blinked… Kreacher… Draco!
"I was the one ordered to watch over him." Kreacher finished.
"I see," Harry said, grounding himself in the present, and ignoring the echoes of the past, "but what spell did you use?" Harry asked, now keeping his eyes on Draco.
"Not a spell Master Potter, Elf magic!" Kreacher answered.
Well, that didn't fucking help him, now did it! Harry just shook his head, making sure Draco was tucked in, snug, under the two thick blankets. For good measure, he applied warming charms to them too.
"Thank-you Kreacher! I have no idea what I'm doing." He admitted.
"Just keep Mr Malfoy warm." Kreacher said unhelpfully before 'cracking' out.
"Just brilliant." Harry sarcastically muttered, but at least Kreacher's magic had made the bed feel like a greenhouse in the peak of summer.
-OOO-
Thankfully, Poppy had returned not long after Kreacher had left, with a case of Warmendall potions ready to go.
Draco had twitched and groaned in pain when the icy cold flashes affected his extremities, complaining that it was cold, that it hurt and stung, but otherwise, his body temperature had returned to a normal heat range.
Once the potion had been given time to settle into his system properly, Draco was levitated up to the hospital wing on a stretcher. Harry had offered to stay with Draco, so that he didn't have to be moved to the infirmary – especially when Draco started begging him to stay – but Poppy insisted he needed to be there under her care. Harry gave in, a part of him relieved because he wouldn't have known what to do anyway, but he promised a crying, childish Draco, that he would visit him.
It was on his way back to his own chambers, feeling rather guilty for leaving Draco in the infirmary like that, that he realised his care for the man ran a lot deeper than he had thought possible.
He wanted to rush back to the infirmary and stay by his bedside until he was recovered, to make sure he would recover. It was foolish, to be as worried as he was; the virus wasn't life threatening to a powerful wizard like Draco, and he would be more then okay with Poppy looking after him. He was just being unreasonably protective of the man, and seeing him so vulnerable in that childlike state… it must have just triggered his foolishness.
Childlike state? Childish…
Draco was always childish, even as a child he was immature for his age. Harry always just assumed that was because he was a spoiled brat. Even now though … Draco had waves, episode, of being extremely immature – just like Harry had episodes of uncontrollable emotions or emotional outbursts.
Deprived childhood? Deprived…
Wait?
Was Draco sometimes rather childish because he was deprived of childhood experiences? Just like he – himself, was sometimes emotional because he was deprived of being able to express his emotions as a child, and Just like he – himself, subconsciously craved love and acceptance because he was deprived of it?
Harry shook his head; it was giving him a headache just thinking about it.
He reached the door to his own private chamber and went inside. It didn't really matter either way, Draco was Draco… and he loved the man faults and all. They were both the way they were – both fucked up because of their families misguided beliefs and actions, and both of them had issues deeper that the bloody ocean.
He suspected that he wouldn't get much sleep tonight… he'd be far too worried about Draco, and the echoes of his past still whispered in the night air.