Union/6

A/N: Listen, before I go any further, I had someone reach out to me wondering if this is a "Drarry" story. It is, sorry to disappoint, I don't know why the pairing didn't show up on the story search, but here we are 13k+ words in and I'm not about to change that, and it's a slow burn. Really if anyone has questions, please message me, I'm here as your resource. Trying to keep up and catch up on writing after taking on more responsibility at work and my entire family's birthdays happening at once in a row is proving to be a task. Oh well! This is giving me a great relief from my days. This chapter leaves off where the last one did only for a moment. Review, pm, all that good stuff so I can know what you think!

Also, this chapter came out to over 7k words, so I had to split it. I'm working out a smoother transition now!

The Gryffindors were for the most part in the common room today, the outside proving to be too harsh to venture through the heavy bouts of snow dropped across the castle grounds like fat dollops of cream. His two friends were sitting across from him, Hermione reading a passage from Hogwarts, A History to Ron who feigned interest a little too exuberantly by nodding at every other thing she read and keeping his eyes wide with what Harry assumed he had meant to be interest but really just looked like he had drank too much Pepper Up Potion. They had spoken about visiting Hagrid earlier that morning, but upon opening the door to go out towards his hut they were met with a wall of thick white that rose to above their hips. Hermione paused in her reading after regarding a passage now from Bathilda herself, and she and Ron stared past Harry with looks of curiosity. He followed their gaze and found a rather nervous looking second year holding a rolled parchment stiffly out in front of himself toward Harry. Being met with Harry's gaze, he immediately glanced once at the scar and looked bashfully at his feet.

"I was told to deliver this to you," he squeaked, "It's from Professor McGonagall!"

"Right, thanks, er…" Harry paused in taking the parchment from him, raising his eyebrows in question at the young boy.

"Perry! It's an honor to meet you, I'd have never had the courage without a reason to-"

"Thanks, Perry," he took the parchment from the boy's hand, not really having the energy to humor another Colin Creevey-type individual at the moment and turned his back to him.

He could feel Perry standing behind him still for a moment before he heard his steps running off.

"That was a bit rude, don't you think?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Oh, come off it, he's gotten enough of that over the years. I don't blame you, mate."

"Just not in the mood today," Harry unrolled the parchment from McGonagall and frowned inwardly, and further so at the text as he read. "She wants to see me. Doesn't say what for, though."

Ron leaned toward him with his eyes on the back of the paper. "I wonder what she needs from you?"

"It's got to be about the ball," Hermione suggested, "It's right around the corner, after all."

"I suppose so. I better get it out of the way, then." He rose from his seat and waved to them unceremoniously as he made his way to the portrait. Behind him, Hermione had narrowed her eyes at Ron knowingly, but continued where she left off in her passage.

It was now one day and some hours until the ball and tried as he might Harry couldn't conjure the same festive mood the other students were expressing. Not having heard from Sirius still seemed to amplify his exhaustion, with his post always acting as a stimulant for Harry- which he very much was in need of. There had been no signaling nor hint of message or anything thus from Malfoy to instigate a meet-up between them to elaborate on what he had found in the library the other day, and there was no spark of imagination on how to further investigate from himself.

Normally he would have three heads working together on whatever he was facing: his, Ron's, and Hermione's- however he still has had no desire to let them know about what was happening, let alone with who. Although the looks of concern and constant check-ins from Ron, and Hermione as she noticed the sunken look about him, should probably feel endearing to Harry, he could not help but feel exceedingly harassed. All the while, the ever-real dreams wracked his subconscious and body continuously.

Harry meandered down the halls and took the staircase unrushed, trying to grapple at strands of what McGonagall could want to talk to him about. If it wasn't an important tradition, he wouldn't have worried too much about the ball anyways, it was only when she instructed him that he needed a partner did it really fuss at his mind, and now with that taken care of after rejection, humiliation, then success, he's certain whatever is to be said is just a courtesy from her.

Once arrived at her office, he knocked on the door although it was cracked wide enough for him to see her with her head down, jotting down notes in a book on top of her old desk.

"Come in," she answered without looking up at him, not pausing for a moment in her writing.

As the door creaked open further for Harry to step inside, she glanced up and smiled at him, waving him to come in and shut the door behind him. Harry always thought her office seemed like a cozy nook in someone's home. She had her small desk in a corner pressed against the wall with a window directly above it that looked over the training grounds as well as the pitch, and a fireplace that was kindling brightly. Unlike Snape's or Filch's office, she had a nice, although rather dusty, ornate rug that covered much of the hardwood floor.

"Mr. Potter, I'm glad you came so quickly. There's something I'd like to discuss with you," McGonagall pushed the book aside, and flicked her wand to conjure a wooden chair a comfortable space away from her own seat in front of her desk, "If you would, please sit." She nodded to the seat expectantly.

Harry did not make to sit, simply starting, "Professor, if this is about the ball, I've got my partner, so there's no need to worry."

She pursed her lips in a small ball of amusement at him but shook her head. "I'm afraid there's other matters at hand. Please, sit," she repeated, and turned her own chair to face him.

He sat down awkwardly, finding not having a table to set his hands on rather off-putting. Minerva gazed at him for a moment, seemingly inspecting him to choose her words correctly. She nodded to herself and met his eyes attentively before speaking.

"Well, Potter, no point in masking anything," she admitted, "I must say you are lucky to have friends that care about you so."

He stared on in confusion, the lost look plain on his face.

"I've been informed you have been having some difficulty getting proper sleep and judging from the luggage you're carrying under your eyes, I am going to agree." She looked on at him worriedly. "Mr. Weasley has also mentioned you haven't been eating?"

An unnerving feeling prickled on the back of his neck.

"I may have been having… some trouble getting rest."

"And, the nightmares? Is something troubling you?"

Harry felt like a child being questioned about their behavior. Something bit at the back of his throat, almost edging him to argue with what Ron or Hermione may have said, but he stopped himself, knowing better not to challenge his head of house. In place of this he felt a goblin with a small scale in his mind weighing how angry he would choose to be at his friends.

"Nothing, Professor," he started, yet caught her eyes narrowing, "just the dance, and the second task will be here before you know it is all. I still haven't got a clue about it." He looked away from her, afraid she'd be able to read through his excuse, but felt relief when he heard her sigh and open a small drawer at her desk.

"Understandable, I told Albus this would be hard on you, however," the older witch pulled a crystal vial out after rummaging around and eyed it for a moment before continuing, "the tournament has its own rules, and you cannot break them or you would surely face the consequences. Here, take this," she reached the vial out to Harry, who took it carefully in his hands as if handling a small bird. The glass was cool, and he watched the deep purple liquid moved thickly inside of it, becoming distracted as it seemed to shimmer.

"Sleeping Draught, Mr. Potter. It's a heavier formula meant to be taken in doses; I suggest ingesting a small amount for tonight to see how it affects you." She smiled gently at him now, a rare gift from the usually stern witch. "I imagine after a proper sleep you should be feeling a bit more like yourself."

"But, Professor, I-"

"No 'but's about it. Now go on, and tuck that somewhere safe until tonight so none of your curious friends find it. Poppy will have my head if she finds out I'm treating a student myself. Off you go." Another soft smile, and she turned back to her book of what he assumed now was a journal.

Harry sat there for a moment in disbelief. He couldn't reason with himself why it was so, but a feeling of betrayal twisted around his gut. He stood from his chair and shoved the potion into his pocket, thanking the professor with what kind tone he could force out before leaving the office hastily for the common room. As he planned to go straight to his dorm, he was caught off-guard by Dumbledore waiting outside McGonagall's office.

"Ah, Harry, just who I was hoping to see. I was about to ask Minerva if she could send for you to lend me a moment of your time." His blue eyes twinkled as he peered down at Harry from his spectacles. "I hope you will accompany me to my office?" The headmaster extended a starry, purple robed arm out in front of him and began a slow pace onward.

Knowing it would be implausible to believe this as a suggestion, Harry hopped into step with the older wizard, forbearing his frustration from his previous encounter.

Draco felt as though his mind was thumbing through the hundreds of emotions it knew of to pick out the one that best fit what was arising in him with the sight that just left him. Worry, pain, anxiety, anger… His mind couldn't decide so they all twisted and knotted together in a dense ball in his stomach.

He'd come to in the library, where he and Blaise had decided to take a break from the noise of their common room. Pansy had at first insisted she come along, but Blaise had told her they needed some quality "guy time" as he put it. Guy time consisted mostly of sitting in silence, usually studying or reading, eating, and poking fun at other students, or if not any of that, Blaise would talk to Draco about Quidditch. Seeing as Quidditch was cancelled due to the tournament, there wasn't much of that going on, so their encounters were rather dull.

Blaise was sitting across from him, flipping through a book that looked like some of the pages were actually old cloth, completely unaware of the melting pot of emotions going on inside of him. Previously he was kneeling beside the stilled form of Gryffindor's Golden Boy outside of the great hall before he watched as he was taken away by Pomfrey and Snape to the hospital wing.

He knew it was a dream. He knew now that he was here, with Blaise, and all of that shouldn't matter, but the sickening feeling stayed with him. He already convinced himself the cold he felt on the old wooden table was what chilled his palms and not the cold skin he'd tried rousing a moment ago in his daydream. What he couldn't shake was the unnervingly peaceful look on Harry's face, as if he was lost in a long, deep sleeping.

"Where have you gone off to, Potter?" Draco cursed himself as the words left him, though hushed he knew it wouldn't pass Blaise unacknowledged.

"Potter?"

He shut his eyes to recollect and opened them to see his friend studying him closely, amusedly, and could halfway imagine a devious tail flicking back and forth behind him. He cleared his throat and tried to pull something together.

"Yes, Potter. You know him. Always trying to show off or going on some secret task…"

"Mm, I suppose you're right. Sorry I'm such dull company that your mind wanders."

"Not at all, it's nice to let it. I don't really have freed moments of thought when we're around all the others. How else would I keep face?"

"Right."

Draco caught Blaise's lips twitch into a quick smirk before taking a sip of cider and did so himself. It had been this way for the past couple of days; Draco falling in and out of sleep while studying or relaxing with his classmates and ending up in a puzzling or otherwise haunting scene. He took to mimicking the motions of those closest to him to normalize himself among everyone. Blaise had confronted him about his peculiar behavior days ago, and Draco had come up with a half-ass excuse about his father he was sure Blaise knew was untrue but accepted anyways.

Blaise's attention was drawn back to the scrappy book in front of him, and Draco let himself ease back into his seat. In only the few days it had been since his encounter with Potter he had been chased, embraced, kissed, harassed, and now this. He still wasn't sure what to call it. Surprised, maybe? Not entirely shock, but it was still too much of an uneasy experience to narrow to just surprising…

"Unsettling."

Draco's eyes snapped into focus on his company again, who had just clapped the old book shut with such force he was sure the tattered thing would turn to dust right then.

"Excuse me?"

Blaise raised an unamused eyebrow at him and shoved the book closer for him to read the book's title, which was in need of some serious maintenance as the etching was so faded they were lucky the light helped shadow the impressions.

"The Calamitous and Deplorable History of The Triwizard Tournament," he murmured, "I know we aren't particularly fond of the contestants, but I wouldn't wish any of this on them. Page 109 was enough to make my stomach turn over."

Draco swallowed the sick feeling that crawled up his throat and pushed the book back to his friend.

"I'll take your word for it. I don't feel so well, actually, I'm going to head on back." Draco faltered a bit as he stood, unnoticeable to most, but not his overly observant friend.

"Do you want me to accompany you? I find it depressing to be here by myself anyways."

"I'll be fine, I know you wanted to stop off by the kitchens beforehand." He watched him cross his arms in front of him, clearly unconvinced, and sighed, "I am fine, Blaise."

"Right, well if you fall down the stairs and break your neck, please don't return to haunt me as I've offered my assistance." Blaise tucked the old book under his arm and rose to return it to its shelf, and Draco grimaced as he noticed a streaming trail of dust falling from it as he walked off.

He knew Blaise would most likely mention this to Pansy later, but he needed to get away from him, and from that book. He had already seen a probable dead body in his mind, he didn't want to read anything that would lead up to it. His mind was heavy as he walked down into the cooler, damp air of the dungeons and if it weren't for the set of hands on him, he would've strode right past Pansy, and another girl he didn't know the name of but recognized from classes.

"Drake! There is someone who is interested in meeting you." The eager yet fierce look in her eyes told him this was not your average introduction.

"Come on, Pans, I'm needing a kip. I'll meet your friend later." He glanced quickly at the girl she had assumedly meant, and nodded to her. She was attractive, with fair skin and pale strawberry-colored hair pulled into a twisted braid. Today just wasn't the day to try and make any acquaintance, especially since he knew this was just for Pansy, to douse another hopeful girl's romantic feelings towards him by laying open claim under false pretenses. "Another day."

"Ooh, Draco Malfoy, you are unbelievable! Two beautiful girls want your attention, and even that isn't enough for you!" She threw her hands back down to her sides and glared after him as he moved past their portrait, to which he didn't pay any mind, just happy to have a moment to himself, and to his reeling mind.

A/N: I hope this wasn't too terrible to read, I'm a bit rusty! I'll start uploading the next chapter later tonight. Happy reading!