CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A/N: Onwards...
"Lemondrop?"
"No thanks," Harry said as he sank into his familiar seat in the Headmaster's office. A million thoughts flew through his mind at once, the most prominent being that everything hurt. The transformation hadn't been like the others. The wolf's frenzy push into it seemed to have left his muscles more weak than they had ever been.
The healing scratches on his sides from the thorns still ached. Some had torn straight into the muscle, which was not as quick of a healing job as knitting the skin back together. Madam Pompfrey wanted him back after the meeting.
The potion, why didn't the potion work? Why is Malfoy here, why did he help me?
"No," Draco answered stiffly, falling into the seat beside him.
Dumbledore sat back in his new, wheeled chair. Harry glanced at it curiously, only having remembered seeing such chairs in the muggle world. Dumbledore seemed exceptionally pleased with himself as he leaned back in its grey leather, blue eyes twinkling thoughtfully.
"You wished to see me, Headmaster?"
Harry and Draco's chins snapped up simultaneously at the sound of Severus Snape's voice. The two glanced over, Draco looking relieved; Harry looked horrified.
His features quickly darkened to an animalistic sort of rage.
"What's he doing here?" Harry asked sharply, his voice cracking from the strain as he narrowed his bloodshot eyes. He looked as exhausted as he felt, with pale skin, purple shadows under his eyes and wrinkles of stress in his forehead. His lip curled dangerously, his stomach muscles knotting up tight.
"I'm here because you didn't take your potion, Potter," Snape drawled slowly, looking extremely accusatory and refusing to make eye-contact with the anxious blond Slytherin sitting next to him.
"I did take my potion," Harry snapped, an involuntary growl ripping from his chest. "Maybe you just fucked it up," he snarled, feelings of hurt and betrayal nearly suffocating him, the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
"Harry, please do sit back down, and try not to use such language in front of Fawkes," Dumbledore admonished lightly. The currently-young phoenix hopped on to the old wizard's knee, giving a few notes of calming song and peering over at Harry with a curious look.
It's just like him. I knew he'd do this. He was probably hoping I'd kill myself, Harry thought viciously as he remained standing, not even remembering when he had stood up. His hands were clenched into fists as he trembled with disproportionate rage, his scar throbbing and pulsing with each beat of his heart.
Draco looked up at him in slight surprise, eyebrows furrowing minutely.
The phoenix gave another sort of gentle song and Harry dragged his gaze from the sneering potions professor, flicking it over to the young bird and then to Draco's concerned grey eyes. The sound of the phoenix song seemed to force his tense muscles into a more relaxed state, and as he drew in a reluctant breath, the sweet, wintery scent that the wolf had associated with Malfoy sent a wave of calm through him.
Damn him, damn them all, he thought miserably as he sank back into his seat, his exhaustion winning out in his fight to remain standing. Snape sneered at him slightly, but his expression betrayed him, hints of confusion pinching at the edges of his eyes.
Draco watched the angry Gryffindor curiously, and Harry couldn't find it in himself to give him a dirty look, instead observing him in return with an intense green gaze.
He wasn't as pointy as Harry remembered him, his features looking more even and well-placed. His grey eyes were light, with darker flecks of grey along the outer and inner rims. His pupils dilated slightly and Harry heard the discreet increase of pace in his heartbeat as he locked gazes with the Gryffindor.
He swallowed, reaching up a hand seemingly unconsciously to tug at his tie. Harry watched the movement slowly, blinking and pulling his gaze away as Dumbledore began to speak.
"We have much to discuss, it would seem," the old wizard said in a very grave tone. "Harry, I must ask - did you take your Wolfsbane potion?"
Harry nodded sharply. "Every night, the same time, the same amount," he said hollowly, looking out of the corner of his eye at the unsurprised blond. "I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, are we not going to obliviate him?"
Draco's face curled in outrage. "Excuse me? I didn't consent to being obliviated."
"You don't have to. We'll wipe your memory and you won't even remember it happened, let alone if you gave consent," Harry snarled scornfully. "If you think Professor Dumbledore is going to-"
The old, greyed headmaster raised a hand for silence and Harry dropped off mid-sentence, still returning the glare that the Slytherin was giving him.
"I won't be obliviated. I can block you," Draco said coldly.
"I am not going to take your memories, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Dumbledore said politely. "If my understanding of the situation is correct, you would be much more useful to us all, with your memory in tact."
Harry and Snape sent the old headmaster nearly identical looks of disbelief.
Draco felt a surge of rage, and tightened his hold on the armrests.
"Useful? I'm not going to help you-"
"-He's not going to keep my secret, he'll tell everyone, Professor Dumbledore-"
"-I don't believe it wise to give this knowledge-"
Dumbledore again raised a hand for silence and everyone reluctantly fell quiet, Harry shaking in nearly uncontrolled rage. His wolf reacted slightly, awakening in the dark recesses in his mind and pacing anxiously.
Harry could feel him now, his presence, his life. It was hard to acknowledge it when you didn't know what you were looking for. There was a sense of familiarity now, and of awareness on the wolf's side. As if he knew where he was.
Fawkes hopped on to the headmaster's desk, poking his head into the tray of lemondrops and pulling it up with a contented look. He swallowed one of the sour candies with a short burst of happy song. Harry reluctantly locked gazes with the bird, allowing him to hop on to his knee and nuzzle into the fabric of his pants.
"Mr. Malfoy, could you explain to me how it was you found Harry?" Dumbledore continued lightly, expression light and casual as he leaned back in the wobbly wheeled chair.
Draco stiffened, swallowing down anger at the man's air of nonchalance. "I was out for a walk, there was a trail of blood. I followed it, he wasn't in good shape, I brought him back," he explained slowly and stiffly. He resisted the urge for his mind to brush over the details.
If he allowed himself to become emotionally engaged, Dumbledore wouldn't hesitate to reach in his mind and take what he wanted. Information about the Death Eaters location, and in consequence the guilt of his parents. In extension, the danger his mother was in, and his own confusing feelings toward Potter.
No, Dumbledore wasn't getting any of those weapons. He blinked, calmly shifting the emotions to the back of his mind and envisioning a blank, white room, the sound of air buzzing in his mind to block out possible sounds of thought.
Harry glared over at him and jumped, looking down at the baby phoenix that was now pressed up against his chest, tucking its head near his side where his injuries had been most prominent. He flinched, but pet the bird's soft, down feathers and allowed it to stay.
Dumbledore nodded, fingers interlaced in deep thought as his blue eyes locked on to Draco's own hardened grey ones.
"You are very talented," he said after a long string of silence. Harry looked up slightly, gaze flicking between the two.
"I have a lot of practice," Draco responded coldly, arms stiff at his sides as he glanced away, looking out to the window. Rain clouds were swirling overhead the forest, prevented from reaching the castle by magical barriers.
He resisted the urge to shudder as he thought of the possibility of Harry still out there, bleeding under the dark, storming sky.
His stomach turned, and he clenched his jaw, again picturing the room.
Harry looked down in surprise as an odd sensation hit his side, cold at first but then gradually warming. Small tears ran down Fawkes' feathered face as he leaned into Harry's most injured side, and the wizard felt a surge of gratitude, slowly extending a hand and petting the baby bird.
The phoenix gave a quiet burst of song in response, pulling away from his side and teetering on the edge of his knee casually.
"I don't believe there is anyone Fawkes is quite as fond of as you, Harry," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, drawing a surprised, happy smile from the young wizard. "Phoenixes are-"
"-What do you want from me?" Draco demanded sharply. "As much as I'd love to hear a speech about the Chosen One's destiny to save the phoenix world, I have other things I could be doing with my time."
Snape's cold, dark gaze was pinned unwaveringly on the Headmaster as well, clearly still at a loss as to what the old man was thinking. Either that, or he thought it completely illogical.
Neither was a good sign.
Harry sighed, reaching for a lemondrop and feeding it to Fawkes quietly as the three of them had an intense staring battle. He reached back into his mind, searching for his wolf.
Can I interact with it? he wondered curiously. He felt a brief swat of irritation, knowing his irrational calm came from a the phoenix's song and tears, but was unable to hold on to it as the soothing magic held a firm grip on his mind.
His wolf also seemed exceptionally lulled. He was drowsy, blinking his green eyes in Harry's mindscape. He paused, cocking his head seemingly becoming aware that Harry was looking for him.
Harry could see him now, blinking his large, familiar green eyes, tilting his furry black head. He wasn't menacing, but he wasn't sleeping either. He seemed just as curious about the wizard as Harry was about him.
Harry felt the room around him slip away, a strange sensation not unlike that of a simpler apparition squeezing his mind.
It was a dark forest. The sweet smell of winter was seemingly permanent in the air. The giant black wolf was sat in the center of a clearing. It was somewhere between nighttime and daytime in his world.
Harry blinked at him. He blinked back.
He was a quiet wolf.
"Potter?"
Harry snapped his head up, the vision of his wolf's world vanishing from his mind's eye as quickly as it had come, the feeling of being dragged away from it akin to an icecube running down his spine.
"Yes?" he asked the enraged blond politely, reaching for a lemondrop of his own.
"You don't have any issues with this?" Malfoy asked in a disbelieving voice, face expressive in shock but lip still slightly curled in rage.
"Professor Dumbledore, I don't think this idea is safe, for either parties involved," Snape cut in coldly, stepping forward. "The two hate each other so much, the wolf could become volatile, even if it personally did not dislike him. Potter's emotions would influence it. And if Potter is speaking the truth, then there is clearly something amiss with the situation already. The boy's curse is taking control, and resisting the Wolfsbane. It could easily kill Draco, and you're suggesting-"
"-Severus, I think, quite on the contrary, that this situation is safest for us all," Dumbledore said gently. "It has been proven many times over that a werewolf in his canine form is most easily calmed by the presence of an animagus. I believe that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have already discovered this," he said knowingly, nodding to the two.
Both younger wizards stiffened in response and Snape looked over to the two incredulously.
Dumbledore looked to Harry imploringly, and the werewolf huffed, Fawkes hopping off of his knee as he crunched down on the sour candy in his mouth. "I've read books where werewolves have pack members," he admitted begrudgingly. "Instinctual behavior, or something."
"The boy's hatred for Draco would influence the wolf. It is too dangerous to put-"
"-I am of the belief that the two have already discovered that the wolf is not in the least influenced by Harry's feelings on the subject of a person's worth as company," Dumbledore replied vaguely, cutting the Potions Master off in a dismissive tone of voice.
Harry nodded reluctantly in agreement to that statement, still somewhat muddled on the topic of conversation. "So, what, exactly, are we doing?" Harry asked slowly, peering over to Draco curiously.
"You knew I was an animagus?" Draco's expression was blank with surprise.
Harry felt heat curl up his neck. "Yes," he spat irritably.
"How?"
"I just know."
"No you don't. How did you know? Why are you blushing?"
"I'm not blushing," Harry snarled, knowing his cheeks were not in the least bit warm. He could feel the red creeping up his neck and he yanked his collar up slightly to cover it, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "What's going on? I don't understand."
Snape looked enraged. "You are putting them both in danger. Does this not matter to you? Is the safety of neither of any importance to-"
"-Severus, that is quite enough," Dumbledore said sharply, his blue eyes flashing in a rare sign of anger. "I have considered the safety of Harry and Mr. Malfoy most carefully in coming to this decision, along with the safety of everyone in this school. I assure you that this arrangement is necessary until we can discover what exactly is happening."
"The boy is odd, everyone knows that," Snape said sharply, waving a hand in the direction of an offended-looking Harry. "Surely you don't think it to be more than that?"
Dumbledore's expression turned grave. "I'm afraid that Mr. Potter's exceptional control of his magic is not to blame for this situation. I believe it will require more study. That will be all, thank you Severus," he said coolly.
The black-haired man looked enraged for a moment, posture stiffening considerably. He jerked his chin into a sharp nod after a silent moment and he turned, sweeping out of the room.
"What do you mean? What's wrong with me?" Harry asked after the door had been yanked shut behind him. He pulled his gaze away from the Draco, realizing he'd been staring at him. "You mean this is going to happen, this is going to get worse? Even if I take the Wolfsbane, my transformations, will... happen? Normally?"
Dumbledore didn't reply right away, only slowly looking to Harry's horrified green gaze. "Could you explain what happened, Harry? Anything in particular that set this transformation apart from the others," he replied, clearly reluctant to answer the questions.
The black-haired boy paused, nodding slowly and glancing down at his palms in his lap as he launched into explanation, beginning with the mention of the searing pain in his scar and trying to ignore the burning stare of the blond next to him.
Draco felt his stomach flip as Potter glazed over the details of the transformation, mentioning the pain in his scar, and very hesitantly the feelings of rage. Then the distant, floating feeling of no control, his wolf parading about in a way that Harry had to struggle to even remember was a negative thing. Fighting with it for control was agonizing, as was accepting the pain that came with consciousness.
Draco's mind flitted back to how he had found him, his concentration slipping.
Shirt soaked through on either side with blood and dark, poisonous liquid dripping from his wounds. He had looked nearly dead, his skin was so pale. He'd had splinters in his hands, and for a few seconds Draco had worried he actually was gone.
That had been a very strange sensation, as hopelessness has consumed him utterly and completely. It'd been like plunging into the Black Lake with cement blocks tied to your feet.
He hadn't expected that Potter's wellbeing had mattered so much - he didn't remember when it had started to. No one's wellbeing mattered to him.
That wasn't how he functioned. If he cared, he'd lose his mind. People were tortured to death in his dining room. He couldn't care.
He'd figured out he didn't have to feel. He could turn it off, file it away, think about it later. He prided himself on his rationality. But Potter took all of his self-control, his practice, patience, his calm and might of well have stomped it into the ground.
He ground his teeth, feeling more of his calm slipping and biting his tongue as panic began to crawl its way up his throat.
It wasn't even the hope that the Gryffindor's destiny carried, as much as he would have preferred it to be. It wasn't wanting for self-preservation, for a world without Voldemort that drove him to that...feeling. Even that would have been preferable. Cowardice was at least something he understood.
But what scared him was the thought of losing him, the loss of his stupid Gryffindor smile and his narrowed green eyes when he got annoyed or was deep in thought. The way his ridiculous hair looked when he'd fly a broom.
It didn't make sense, it reminded him what feeling was, and that made him sick. All of the people he had seen die. It all became real again.
It was terrifying.
Draco fought back the surges of concern and sympathy as Harry finished his tale, looking very shaken and pale. He shook off the urge to comfort him, to move closer, to say something. He also stopped biting his tongue when the taste of iron hit his tastebuds.
Dumbledore looked grave. "Thank you, Harry. I'm very sorry for the ordeal you have gone through," he said in a calculating tone. Draco felt immense gratitude for the old wizard's distraction from probing at Draco's mind.
Harry shrugged, glancing over to Draco and seeming to furrow his eyes in concern before dragging it away. "What were you and Drac-o, talking about?" he asked hoarsely, nearly replacing the name but giving up on the final syllable.
"What the young Mr. Malfoy and I have been discussing is an agreement," Dumbledore said, expression lightening as he began to explain. "As an animagus, he will help calm your wolf throughout the transformation until we can understand what is happening with the Wolfsbane. I would like you to continue to take it, and tell me if there is any change the next full moon. I would also like you to report to Madam Pompfrey if there is more pain in your scar."
"Why would he do that for me?" Harry asked hollowly.
"The alternative is-"
"-Losing my memory," Draco snapped, needing to speak as his mind began to crumble at the edges. "It's help, or be obliviated," he said coldly. Dumbledore knew he owed him more than that - Draco silently planned to discuss the finer details of the agreement with him in private.
Dumbledore needed his help with Potter, and Draco needed his promise of protection for his mother. And Dumbledore would do anything for his golden child.
"What if I say no, I don't want his help?" Harry stared down at his palms, and Draco shoved aside the hurt he felt at the suggestion. He clearly was losing more control than he'd anticipated.
Harry ignored the sound of the blond's heartbeat fluctuating. The Slytherin was upset with the statement. Harry didn't know what to make of that. He didn't know what to make of anything Malfoy felt. He was confusing. Everything was confusing.
"It would not be safe for me to keep you in the school then, Harry," Dumbledore replied.
Harry nodded stiffly, clenching his hands into fists and watching it tighten and flex the muscles up his arm. He quietly watched the slight movement of his skin just below his wrist, his incredibly sharp sight picking up the movement of his own pulse.
"Okay," Harry said quietly.
"Okay?" Draco mirrored him in surprise.
Harry didn't look up. "Yeah. Okay. I don't think the wolf likes the shack. Can we arrange somewhere in the forest?" he asked quietly. "He gets scared. He doesn't understand houses."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sure there's something that could be arranged."
Draco jumped to his feet. He needed out. He needed a walk. He needed to vomit. "Good," he bit out.
"Mr. Malfoy, I expect you know you will not tell your friends, family, or even most trusted loved ones about this," Dumbledore said very quietly, expression pinched with concern.
Draco nodded, turning and resisting the urge to run out the door, away from the stabbing, sharp legilimens of the Headmaster's blue eyes.
"He was lying," Harry said, voice cracking slightly as he buried his head in his hands, eyes drifting closed tiredly.
"You think too poorly of our Slytherin friend, Harry."
Harry shrugged in response, getting to his feet on the hard, dark stone floor. He spared Fawkes a small farewell glance, turning to the door without meeting Dumbledore's gaze.
"Is everything all right, Harry?" the wizard asked gently.
"Just tired," he muttered in response, opening the door and letting the gargoyle jump behind him to close it.
He started down the winding staircase, deciding against returning to the infirmary and instead following after a wintery, cold scent that had left a trail toward the nearest exit of the castle.
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