Chapter Seven: The Furthest Bedroom

A/N – Hi I'm back! Sorry for my long absence. Life… is hard sometimes. And this chapter was difficult for my brain, for some reason. I think it's because I want it to be all Drarry all the time, but I also think it's important to show relationships outside the main Ship. All in all, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out!

Also, to my Guest reviewer, bluelegospaceman: I'm sincerely sorry that you don't enjoy my story. I understand that my writing isn't for everyone. However, I take your accusation that I plagiarized this very seriously. You must understand that there are lots of tropes in the fanfic world, and I definitely have not steered clear of all of them (they're just so much fun!) So, I can see how you may have read similar things before. That said, (with the obvious exception of the great JK Rowling, who gets sole credit for the creation of this world and these beautiful characters,) this story came from my brain and mine alone.

For everyone else who read and reviewed and followed this story, thank you. Your encouragement fuels me. I hope you all enjoy

Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower slowly, thinking about everything that had happened that night. He was dreading telling Ron and Hermione about Cho. He didn't really know what to think of the matter himself.

More confusing, though, was Malfoy.

It was amazing, really, how much things could change in the course of a few months. When the year had started, he happily hated Malfoy just like he always had.

Then, mere weeks later, Malfoy had become one of the best things in Harry's life. What he'd told Malfoy was true: he, Harry, had told him about the visions because Malfoy was one of the only people nowadays who didn't treat Harry like he was dangerous or breakable.

Like he was… just Harry.

It had shocked Harry to hear Malfoy refer to him like that. Not as the Boy-Who-Lived, not as the boy who defeated Voldemort, but as just Harry.

It was… freeing.

He wanted more.

And then, when they were leaving, Harry could've sworn that Malfoy was pausing underneath the mistletoe so that he could -

But no. No, that was ridiculous! He was looking for signs where there were none - he'd done this before, last year, and it had almost driven him mad.

Malfoy and Harry would never work.

They were too different.

They were too similar.

And even if that weren't the case, there was still the fact that Malfoy wasn't gay in the first place! Images of the blond lying languidly across Pansy Parkinson's lap flitted into Harry's mind, making him a bit sick.

No, Malfoy was straight, and he would never so much as look at Harry that way.

Harry wasn't even sure that he was capable of handling another relationship - especially one that was impossible anyways - after Cedric.

Cedric. His mind immediately flooded with guilt.

How could he let himself think that way about another man when Cedric hadn't even been gone six months? How could he ever stand to be with someone else when Cedric never could? When that chance had been ripped away from him? All because Harry couldn't save him.

He definitely felt sick.

"Out a bit late, aren't we?" came a female voice.

Harry looked up, and found himself face-to-face with the portrait of the Fat Lady. Had he walked all the way back to the common room so quickly?

Harry mumbled the password and climbed through the portrait hole. As he collapsed onto his four-poster, he tried to force all thoughts out of his battered brain, but he simply couldn't clear his head. He rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut.

Just before he drifted off, the image of a smirking blond floated to the front of his mind.

...

Harry ran through the darkness. He had to get there in time.

Looking around, he could barely make out the looming hedges through the mist.

The maze. The third task.

He kept running; he had to get to the center of the maze, to the Triwizard Cup, to victory.

Someone was running down the path beside him.

He burst into an opening at the same time Cedric did. His heart fluttered at seeing the sandy hair, the flushed cheeks.

But someone was right behind Cedric, and Cedric was yelling at the figure.

"What are you doing? What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

And then Harry heard Krum's voice.

"Crucio!"

Cedric's yells of pain flooded Harry with panic. He had to stop his pain, had to protect him.

"Stupefy!"

Krum fell to the ground. Harry dashed over to Cedric, who had stopped twitching and was lying there panting, his hands over his face.

"Cedric! Ced, are you all right?" Harry asked desperately.

Cedric took in a shaky breath, but nodded.

Harry looked around at the maze, the tall hedges, the mist.

He'd been here before.

Was this a dream?

He had to remember what happened next - but he couldn't. All he knew was that something horrible was coming.

"Ced," he whispered frantically, grabbing his hand, "Ced, we have to get out of here."

"The cup-"

"No, don't touch the cup!" Harry's breath was coming in shallow gulps.

"Harry?"

Cedric searched Harry's face, concerned and a bit frightened, but Harry didn't see.

The hedges were closing in.

"Come on!" Harry yanked Cedric forward.

They had to get out of there. Something horrible was coming, they had to leave!

Harry ran, dragging Cedric behind him.

The hedges were closing in, growing smoother and shorter.

Harry tightened his grip on Cedric's hand, but it was slipping. He looked back -

But he had gone.

"Cedric!"

Harry whipped around and bolted back the way he had come. The hedge wall was almost completely smooth now, like stone. And there was a ceiling.

Hedge mazes didn't have ceilings did they?

Harry sprinted down the hallway.

Yes, he'd definitely been there before.

He'd been in this particular corridor almost every night, hadn't he?

He'd dreamt of it, always walking down towards the end of the hallway, searching for something.

What was he searching for again?

Something important, he knew that. Or… someone?

He continued down the corridor, slower now, keeping low. He mustn't be seen.

At first glance the corridor was empty.

But no… a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark.
Harry put out his tongue. He tasted the manʹs scent on the air…

Harry longed to bite the man, but he must master the impulse. He had more important work to do…
But the man was stirring, a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his
feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand
withdrawn from a belt.

He had no choice. He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the manʹs flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood.
The man was yelling in pain, then he fell silent. He slumped backwards
against the wall. Blood was splattering on to the floor…

ʹHarry! HARRY!ʹ
He opened his eyes.

Ron was shaking him, a slightly panicked expression on his face. Harry looked round; he was back in his dormitory, covered in cold sweat.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, "Ron, we need to see Professor Dumbledore immediately!"

"Harry, you've just been having a nightmare! A bloody awful one, I reckon, with all that yelling-"

"No, Ron, listen to me! We need to see Professor Dumbledore right now; your dad's been attacked!"

…

Harry sat against the wall in Grimmauld Place, staring blankly, resolutely ahead of him. Nearby, Buckbeak snuffled through the hay that was strewn across the ground, searching for leftover morsels to eat.

Harry tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. How long had it been since he'd eaten?

He knew he couldn't go downstairs for food. He couldn't bear the Weasley's accusatory stares. Or worse, when they wouldn't make eye contact with him at all.

"Everyone knows there's something strange about the Potter boy," Mad Eye's voice echoed through Harry's mind.

It had been a mistake to use the Extendable Ears the previous day to listen into Mr. Weasley's hospital room as the Order members gathered.

They'd inevitably gotten on the subject of Harry. Of Harry's vision of the snake attacking the Weasley patriarch. Of the fact that Harry had been looking out from behind the snake's eyes as it happened...

Possessed.

Harry was being possessed by Voldemort.

Moody had said so himself.

So he couldn't go downstairs, couldn't face the family that he'd endangered, that he was still endangering.

And he couldn't run away, because Dumbledore had sent him a rather impersonal message telling him to stay put.

So stay put he would. In the furthest bedroom from the rest of the grim townhouse's occupants. With a heavy sigh, he thought longingly of the Room of Requirement, with its comfortable cushions and Sneak-o-Scopes, and of the blond man whom he imagined standing nonchalantly inside.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Harry Potter!" a shrill voice pierced through the thick wood, "Open the door this instant!"

Harry, shocked out of his determined isolation, obeyed.

"Hermione?" he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came as soon as I could, didn't I? Now come on, I need to talk to you."

And with that, she headed down the stairs. Reluctantly, Harry followed.

Ron and Ginny were waiting for them in the bedroom he and Ron shared.

ʹI came on the Knight Bus,ʹ said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Harry had time to speak. ʹDumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose. I think she's the one who sent Malfoy to ask me where you'd gone."

Harry's heart stopped momentarily.

"Malfoy?" Ron said scathingly, "What did he say to you?"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively, "Oh, he just cornered me with some flimsy excuse. He was obviously dying to know where you were, Harry. Of course I was delighted to tell him that it was none of his business, but that Dumbledore had given you and the Weasleys special permission to leave."

Harry looked down, taken aback by the almost foreign joy that took root in his chest. Was it Umbridge who'd sent him, or was Malfoy actually concerned?

"So… How are you feeling?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked up at her, the joy he'd felt moments ago melting back into the anger and loneliness that he'd wallowed in all morning.

He tried to pacify her by claiming nothing was wrong, but none of them bought it. Didn't they understand? Didn't they know how dangerous it was to be around him?

"You're just being stupid," Ginny said with barely-masked anger, "Seeing as you donʹt know anyone but me whoʹs been possessed by You‐Know‐Who, and I can tell you how it feels.ʹ

Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he wheeled
round.

ʹI forgot,ʹ he said.

ʹLucky you,ʹ said Ginny coolly.

ʹIʹm sorryʹ Harry said, and he meant it.

Harry sat down to dinner that night feeling much better than he had since coming to Grimmauld Place. Ginny had assured him that, as he wasn't missing any large chunks of his memory, he was indeed not being possessed.

He still didn't understand why he'd seen the vision of Mr. Weasley's attack, and he was certainly bewildered by how he'd seen it, but it was a comfort to know that he wasn't being controlled by Lord Voldemort.

Things got even better when Mr. Weasley returned home, and even Sirius was getting into the holiday spirit.

Harry finally felt like he was able to relax, aside from a moment every now and then when he'd find himself wishing for the comfort and near-solitude of the Room of Requirement.

Still, between Sirius's mad determination to make Grimmauld Place cheerful for the holidays, and Order members taking turns joining them for delicious dinners, and Fred and George spewing eggnog out of their noses from laughing at a rather scandalous story of Mundungus's, this Christmas was turning out to be… rather good.