THE CROOKED HEART
"Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much." – Oscar Wilde
Chapter Seven: Enter Friend, Exit Foe
Ginny Weasley sat across from Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. They did not talk, they simply watched the fields whiz past as the Hogwarts Express ran its annual route to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The occasional cow could be seen, or a muggle a fair way off in the distance on a tractor. Otherwise, there was no life, in or outside the train. No students running up and down the carriage, no sweet-trolley lady selling Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs. There was nothing.
Fifty-seven. That's how many students had returned. There were no first years - that meant no sorting. There were no Slytherins, and only five Gryffindors - that meant no Quidditch. Neville was Head Boy, Mandy Brocklehurst, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, was Head Girl. Ginny was the only female sixth-year and she had the most ominous feeling about this year at Hogwarts.
"Do you know anything, Ginny?" Neville asked, breaking through the silence. "About Harry and Ron and Hermione, I mean."
Neville, now at seventeen, had reached the peak of his adolescence. He was becoming a man. He was no longer rosy cheeked and filled with innocence. The world would not allow that. He, like so many others, had no childhood left. His despair never left his eyes.
"Nothing," Ginny said, shortly, not meeting Neville's eyes. She instead focused her attention on the flock of seagulls, flying over head and heading for the coast.
"So you don't even know if they're together?" Luna asked, her big blue eyes wide with concern. She too had grown much over the summer, both physically and in mind. She held no copy of The Quibbler in her hand, had no barely believable theories or stories to tell, and her wand was no longer tucked behind her ear. She clenched it in her right hand.
"Well, I guess they're together … look I really don't know," Ginny snapped. "They didn't say anything to me, they just left."
Ginny had been incensed when Harry, Ron and Hermione had suddenly disappeared. She knew immediately that they had gone to execute some plan of Harry's, but she was hurt that Harry had lied to her about taking Ron and Hermione when he'd so adamantly said that he wouldn't. Why could he trust them, and not her? Why didn't he want her around?
"Sorry," Luna said quietly. "It must be upsetting for you. Your boyfriend, your brother and your best-friend just disappearing like that."
"Yeah, sorry," Neville whispered. "We just want to know. They're our friends."
Ginny sighed, regretfully. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Of course you want to know about them." She finally met their eyes with an apologetic smile. "I've just been really stressed out. I've been snapping at everyone."
"I know what you mean," Neville said. "I've been throwing up every morning and … I can't believe I just admitted that."
Neville laughed uncomfortably but Ginny smiled. "Don't be embarrassed. So have I."
"And I haven't had my period in three months," Luna exclaimed. Neville blanched and Ginny laughed out loud, the somber mood inside the cabin was broken for a moment and the other two smiled too.
"Yeah," Ginny said, still giggling. "I've missed one too."
"It's not fair," Luna said suddenly. "We're only kids. We shouldn't be going through this. We're kids, and we know it's wrong. Why don't they know better?"
Ginny looked away from them again. "I don't know," said Ginny. "I think some people are just born bad." Neville nodded his head in agreement.
"So what do we do," Luna asked, "those of us that are left at Hogwarts?"
Ginny sighed. She would always remember how wonderful it was to be at Hogwarts, surrounded by her brothers and friends and Harry. She would always remember her first flying lesson, the first time she made a perfect potion, the first time she turned a hamster into a pin cushion, her first Quidditch match, the first time Harry kissed her. It would all stay with her forever, though she knew none of it was ever to be again.
"We put Dumbledore's Army back together," said Ginny, firmly. She did not forget Harry's request of her to re-forge the DA. "We make sure we're ready. That we can fight."
"Yeah," said Neville, looking out the window as the sun began to drop below the hills. "We fight."
"Do you know who I am?" Fiona Malfoy asked, her hands on her hips and her face full of challenge.
The Ministry Guard's lower lip trembled slightly. "Ye-yes, ma'am," he quivered out. "But I can't let her in." He gestured to Narcissa, standing behind Fiona in the Ministry Floo Hall, outside the fireplace to Azkaban Prison. The Floo Hall was made of rich oak and more than a hundred fireplaces graced the walls of this grand hall. Each fireplace had its own personal guard and for the first time, Fiona was glad for the war. It meant that all competent security had been re-located to the Auror Office. It made this task much easier.
"Do you really think," said Fiona, moving closer to the sandy-haired young guard and standing over him in a very intimidating way, "that I would bring Mrs. Malfoy here, if I honestly thought she was in any way a threat to the security of Azkaban."
"Well I-"
"And is it fair," Fiona continued, "for Mrs. Malfoy to be persecuted for the actions of her spouse? After all, she is not Lucius Malfoy, she just married him."
"Not just his actions. Their boy's meant to be a piece of work too," the guard said, very foolishly.
Fiona narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You are walking on a very thin rope," she said quietly, "I suggest you step aside or I'll have you fired. And you know I will."
The guard looked hesitant for a moment; debating with himself about how likely it was that she could actually have him fired. She may have been a senior minister, but not in this country. He must have decided the risk was too great though, as he slowly stepped aside.
"Thank you," Fiona said, sounding anything but. She stepped into the fireplace, taking a handful of Floo Powder with her. Narcissa followed behind, giving the guard a malevolent glare. Once both inside, Fiona cast down the ashes and a huge green flame engulfed them.
Fiona watched intently as fireplaces whizzed around her, she kept her mouth closed and did not breathe, lest she swallow a mouthful of ash.
At last the whirling stopped, and she and her companion landed expertly on their feet in a black stone fireplace. They stepped out of the fireplace and Fiona shuddered, it was much colder there than in the Ministry. She had never been to Azkaban before. It was an extremely intimidating fortress, surrounded by a mote and situated on a lost island. The fireplace they had flooed to was at the entrance gate – a wooden terror that was protected by more than guards, one of which was bounding over to them.
Fiona looked behind her and was surrounded by the mote's mossy green water, and then beyond that was a dirty beach and then the ocean. She could see no land beyond.
"G'day," a chubby corrections officer greeted them. "Officer Quiggins is me name. What can I do fo' you ladies?"
Fiona gave him the Malfoy glare, just to keep him honest. "I am Madam Malfoy, French Ministry Treasurer. I have come to see my brother, Lucius."
"Oh, ma'am," Officer Quiggins bowed in apology. "I didn' know 'twas you … 'cause I don' know you … but o' course you may see 'im."
"Thank you." Fiona said, with a short smile.
"But ah … she can't," he said, albeit regretfully, to Narcissa.
"Excuse me?" queried Narcissa, the frustration showing on her face.
Quiggins shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Well you see, the Aurors send us a list o' people that can't come in teh the prison. Most nowadays are You-Know-Oo's people. But there are others too. Those tha' are suspect'd a' bad things but there ain' any proof. You see where I'm goin'?"
"Are we to assume Narcissa is on this list?" Fiona asked with a sigh.
"You'd assume correct, ma'am. I'm sorry bu' she ain' comin' in."
"Very well," Fiona said, defeated.
"What?" Narcissa piped up. "No! Get me in there!"
"I cannot." Fiona turned to her sister-in-law and said quietly, "This one cannot be negotiated. You must wait here, I will not be long."
Narcissa huffed and clenched her fists. She turned to the guard furiously. "I need to see my husband this instant! It is my right!"
Quiggins was not the slightest bit intimidated, but he did look very sympathetic. "I'm sorry, missus. It's not goin' teh happen."
"Wait here," Fiona said firmly. "I promise I will not be long."
Quiggins called for another officer who came dashing forward. "This is Officer Burke," said Quiggins. "He'll be keepin' an eye on you missus."
Quiggins motioned for Fiona to follow him into the gates. Narcissa was still fuming, stalking up and down the fireplace, eyeing of Officer Burke angrily.
Fiona walked through the heavy gates, an ominous feeling writhing through her. Officer Quiggins led her forward, past cell after cell, corridor after corridor. She saw none of the prisoners and didn't try and peer into the cells. They reached anthor door and Quiggins stopped her.
"We jus' wen through the minimum security. Tha' lot are pretty quiet. We're about teh enter the place were the really bad 'uns are. This lot 'ave been getting' rowdy o' late. Startin' teh feel better now the Dementors are gone. Jus' be careful."
Quiggins opened the door and a dirty stone stairwell was revealed. Quiggins led the way up about twenty steps and then they reached a landing. Quiggins turned to her and put his finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. She nodded her head in understanding.
They walked steadily on, their footsteps muffled by the six inch layer of dirt on the floor. Cells were surrounding Fiona and she looked straight ahead, not wanting to catch anyone's eyes. Suddenly, an arm flung out at her. She was too far away to be caught, but more arms starting flinging out and the inmates starting screaming and swearing obscenities at her. Quiggins grabbed her arm by the wrist and led her on - the arms still stretching out for her and now she could see the owners of those arms. Hairy, dirty faces, yellow teeth, long dirty finger nails. Some of the men had taken their ragged clothes off and were thrusting at her through the bars of their cells. She looked away and quickly walked on until they were away from the cell block and walking up another flight of stairs. The shouts of the cell mates below could still be clearly heard.
"Sorry 'bout that," said Quiggins. Fiona didn't meet his eyes and kept the steely Malfoy look on her face. "That's the wors' bit. Lucius and the rest of 'em are in a confined area. Surrounded by stone, can't see yeh." Fiona nodded her head and said nothing.
They reached another landing. She was surrounded by grey stone, but for the little wooden doors that led into the little cells. She was colder than ever when Quiggins stopped in front of a stone cell and pulled a large brass key out of his robes. He turned the key but Fiona stopped him from opening the door.
"You can wait outside. I wish to talk to him privately," said Fiona, her composure restored.
"Oh now, I dunno-"
"He is wandless and weak, and I assure you he wouldn't harm me anyway. Please leave us. I am not asking, I am telling." Quiggins looked hesitant but he nodded his head and stepped a few cells back. Fiona opened the door and was greeted with black and the faint stench of sewerage. It was night in Azkaban, so the little window in the top right hand corner of the cell was made obsolete.
Fiona lit her wand with a silent thought and jumped back as she found her brother's face staring directly back at her. "Christ! You scared the shit out of me, Louie!"
Lucius smiled. "Now you, little sister, were not who I was expecting." Lucius looked positively caveman-like. His hair and face were riddled with dirt and he had massive bags under his eyes. But his voice was as steady as ever and an honest smile took over his face at the sight of his young sister. "What are you doing here, Fiona?"
Fiona waved her wand and the whole room lit up. She sat on a little wooden chair in the corner and motioned for Lucius to sit on the bed opposite. He did so without a word. Fiona got a good look at him. He was scarily thin and there was a strange look in his eyes. Self-pity. But there was something else there as well … resolution.
"Well the thing is Louie, Draco's just gone missing," said Fiona, her voice completely lacking concern, having surmised rather quickly that Lucius was definitely involved. "Narcissa is positive he's been kidnapped and murdered. But me, I think you've had something to do with this."
Lucius raised his eyebrows. "What could I have possibly done inside my little stone cell, Fee?" His voice sounded innocent but Fiona knew better.
"Your lack of concern for the one person in this world I know you actually care about is telling me enough," Fiona drawled. "And I saw the Potter boy." Lucius looked up at this, unable to hide his surprise.
"Imagine my complete shock when I saw Draco being levitated out of the Manor by none other than Harry Potter himself, exiting said Manor via a route that only you and I know of?"
Lucius narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why didn't you stop them?"
"The same reason you sent Potter to begin with, I imagine." Fiona crossed her arms angrily. She and Lucius had never seen eye-to-eye on anything, other than their love for Draco. Fiona dearly hoped that this had not changed.
Lucius glanced away, a strange look on his face. "And why did I send Potter after Draco?"
"He's safer with him than with the Dark Lord – especially of late. The Dark Lord's seething because Draco didn't want to kill Dumbledore and Narcissa's beside herself because he confessed to Bellatrix that he was gay." Fiona rolled her eyes. "Well of course he's bloody gay. He shops at Dorian Gray and giggles when he sees naked women." Lucius merely raised his eyebrows at this.
"I take it you knew?" Fiona asked.
"I suspected. It matters little to me what he does in his spare time, as long as an heir is produced."
"Right," said Fiona, apprehensively. "What's your great plan then? Are you going to get Potter to get you out of here so you can go into hiding with Draco? What did you promise Potter in return?"
Lucius smiled mischievously. "Potter is not going to get me out of here, and he's not going to take Draco into hiding. He's going to do exactly what he was always going to do, just with Draco by his side."
"What was Potter always going to do? Do you know what he's up to?" Fiona laughed in disbelief. "The Dark Lord has all his little minions out, trying to find the boy and find out what he's up to and all he has to do is ask you."
Lucius looked away, but couldn't hide a certain amount of smugness from his face for working out Potter's plan. "I'm not telling you anything. Just stay out of it. Protect Narcissa and keep her out of it too."
Fiona shook her head uncertainly. "I won't turn my back on Draco. I don't know what you're up to but if you do anything to hurt Draco-"
Lucius stood up furiously, evidently unable to handle being accused of deliberately causing his son pain. "I am saving him!" He paced up and down in his little cell. "And I'm getting even whilst I'm at it. We should not fear the Dark Lord, my dear Fiona; the Dark Lord should fear us! He is nothing without his Death Eaters and he should have remembered that before-" Lucius cut himself off, breathing heavily in his anger. "Go home and keep Narcissa out of it. And don't let her visit Severus anymore. I don't know if he can be trusted."
"How do you know Sev-"
"Just go, Fee! And don't let anyone know you came to see me. Go!"
Fiona stood up and flicked her wand. The lights went out in the cell and she was again plunged into darkness. She heaved a sigh and turned to the door.
"Whatever you're planning … well … good luck, Louie."
Harry marveled at how peaceful Malfoy looked when asleep. He didn't understand how someone filled with so much hate could look so innocent. Harry thought Malfoy was annoyingly perfect looking, with a soft sheet of porcelain for skin, fine white-blonde hair and perfect teeth.
He stirred in the bed and Harry hoped he was not waking up. That would mean an array of insults and a demand for food and drink. The demanding was starting to annoy Harry, because he knew Malfoy did it only to be unpleasant. Food and drink was always ready for him when he woke.
Ron and Hermione, after the first two days, steered clear of their new companion. Whenever they were in the same room as him, the verbal attacks became even more vicious. Ron and Hermione wanted to dump Malfoy, or take him home again. But Harry would have none of it. For even though as each day passed, and Malfoy got stronger and was able to remain awake for longer, and he reverted more and more back to his former malevolent self, Harry would catch Malfoy looking at him sometimes, his face full of guilt and sorrow. It was the closest thing Harry was going to get to a cry for help, but it was enough.
"Is he awake?" It was Hermione. She had a tray of orange juice and raspberry jam sandwiches.
"Not yet, but he will be soon." Harry yawned in his chair by the bed and stretched his back.
He had had very little sleep in the last four days, being that Malfoy would not allow Ron or Hermione in his room for longer than five minutes. This made Harry the primary care giver – but the task was wearing thin. Harry had tried to talk to Malfoy about Gryffindor's golden horse statue, in particular where he had got it from. But Malfoy refused to say where until Harry agreed to say why he cared. There was no way that they were going to tell Malfoy about their Horcrux Hunt without knowing if the Slytherin could be completely trusted, so Malfoy remained stubbornly silent.
On top of this, Malfoy had refused to acknowledge his attempted suicide. Whenever Harry tried to bring it up, Malfoy would tumble out a bucket load of insults. He got similar results if Harry tried to talk about Lucius and his request.
Harry was more resolute than ever that Malfoy should not be returned to Lucius, but the fact of the matter was, they didn't know what to do with him. He had already detained the trio for four days. And whilst by some strange stroke of luck, Malfoy had delivered a horcrux right into their hands, there was still two horcruxes out there somewhere, and in Ron's words, "How's anything to be done when we're babysitting that evil harpy?"
"I'll leave the tray on the bedside table," Hermione said. "Come out here, we have to talk." Hermione walked over to the bedside table and slid the tray silently on it. She then walked out, holding the door open for him. Harry stood up and followed her out.
Ron was waiting for them on the hotel room sofa. Harry wearily sat on the chair opposite Ron, scratching his eyes.
"You're scratching again. You've been doing it for the last few days," Hermione observed, joining Ron on the sofa.
"Yeah, I'm just tired." Harry said, shaking his head trying to focus his eyes.
Hermione shook her head. "That's not it. Take off your glasses, Harry."
Harry frowned confusedly at her, but he took his glasses off and was immediately surprised. He could see quite clearly.
"What- I- I don't understand?" Harry said, looking down at his glasses.
Hermione sighed. "I suspected before, but I didn't know for sure."
"Know what? My God, I can see!" said Harry happily. Hermione and Ron didn't look happy though.
"What is it?" asked Harry, casting his glasses aside.
Hermione sighed again. "It's the Avada Kedavra curse. It's making you stronger."
Harry stared at her confusedly. "I don't understand."
"Harry," Hermione said carefully. "Three months ago, you were pretty much as strong as you were going to get, using the kind of magic you've been taught. Using white magic. I mean, obviously there was still plenty of spells for you to learn, but strength wise, you were at your peak." Hermione took a deep breath. "But now, you've starting using dark magic … in fact the darkest magic. The killing curse. It's like you've added another few feet to how high you can jump."
"I see," said Harry quietly, not sure what to make of this latest development.
"But the thing is, you've got be careful." Ron spoke up now. "'Cause if you're not careful the dark magic could like … like …"
"Consume you, Harry." Hermione looked at him seriously. "It could consume you."
Draco had been awake for about ten minutes before Granger walked in and summoned Potter away. He had pretended to be asleep, and once they had left the room Draco had listened carefully to their conversation in his bed, munching quietly on his sandwich.
Draco was in better shape than he was letting on. The first two days at the dumpy muggle hotel were nothing but a blur of Granger's food, Weasley's distrusting frown and Potter's green eyes. But he had woken yesterday - with Potter's hand on his forehead trying to determine if he had a high temperature - with his mind quite clear. This was not a blessing. Draco instantly began recalling the events that had lead to him being in that bed, in particular, the discovery that the woman he'd killed was Potter's aunt. His stomach had dropped and he'd been violently sick all over Potter's muggle jeans. To add salt into his guilt-filled wound, Potter had not been angry, but concerned and had helped Draco to the bathroom, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other holding his hair back as he'd continued to bring up all his organs into the toilet.
For his disgustingly annoying kindness, Draco had called him a dirty half-blood and had then proceeded to point out all that was wrong with him. Potter had stood still, his face holding an expression that Draco was not familiar with. And when Draco was done, Potter helped him back into bed and fetched him some water, his jeans still covered with his vomit. Draco had heard Granger exclaim at Potter's clothes once he'd left Draco.
"Oh gosh, what happened?"
"He was sick," answered Potter simply.
"I'm not surprised," Weasley had said harshly. "We could hear him having a go at you, you know."
Potter muttered something that Draco could not hear, but whatever it was it made Weasley scoff and Granger go, "Oh, Harry," her voice full of pity. Granger was using that same voice now as they explained why Potter suddenly didn't need his glasses.
The Avada Kedavra curse. That's what Granger said was responsible. So Potter had killed someone. This, strangely enough, was comforting to Draco. It significantly increased Potter's chance of actually being able to defeat the Dark Lord. Not because of the sudden growth in power, but because it showed that Potter had it in him. Had the ability to kill when the time came.
Draco heard Potter's voice rising in the other room. "I am not going to become the next Voldemort just because I've done the Avada Kedavra curse a couple of times!" Draco raised his eyebrows. He's killed two people.
"That's not what we're saying, Harry!" Draco heard Granger's shrill voice. Draco shifted in his bed. He wanted to get out. He wanted to go outside and breathe some fresh air. But that would mean that Draco would have to start making a commitment to the Gryffindors. Then again, it was the least he could do, considering he killed Potter's last remaining relative. Draco gulped at this thought as he heard Weasley intervening in the argument, "Okay, let's just calm down. Harry is not turning into You-Know-Who Hermione, so let's just calm down."
Draco was torn. There was no way he was going back to the Dark Lord, but did he really want to stand by Potter? He may not care about what happens to the Dark Lord, but he did care about many of his followers. If Draco were forced to choose between his hate for the Dark Lord and his friendships with his followers, he wasn't sure which one would rein. And he doubted he would ever be able to kill anyone again, and live through it.
"I wasn't implying that he was going to go bad!" Granger sounded beside herself. "I just want him to be careful!"
Draco deliberated for a few moments. He made his decision. It was the one he thought he could live with. He felt some strange obligation to Potter after killing his aunt. He sighed and then pulled the bed covers off. He was wearing a pair of Weasley's pajamas, but he'd managed to convince Potter yesterday to transfigure them into something decent whilst Draco had a bath. He would have done it himself if they'd give him his wand back – which Draco was confident he could use now as he'd levitated his spoon yesterday. But when he'd hobbled back into the bedroom, there lay a sleek black, silk pair of pajamas that had been slightly shrunk. Draco knew that Granger had probably done it, but he wore them nonetheless.
He took a deep breath and walked toward the door. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," came Potter's firm voice. Draco opened his bedroom door and three sets of eyes immediately snapped to him.
Draco thought Potter looked very different without his glasses. In the past, Potter's eyes were one of the first things you noticed about him. After the messy black hair but before the annoying personality. But now, they were all you noticed. Draco found it hard to look away from those large, bulbous emeralds that were now being used to scowl at Granger and Weasley.
"Now, now," drawled Draco, pleased that his voice did not shake. "Be nice little Gryffindors and stop fighting over Potter's impending doom, you're giving me a headache."
Potter rolled his eyes, Weasley snorted and Granger stomped off into the second bedroom. Weasley followed after her, throwing Draco a dirty look. Draco sat down opposite Potter who was gazing off, clearly lost in thought.
"So," said Draco, and Potter came out of his reverie and turned his eyes to Draco. Draco wished he wouldn't, they made him feel like he was having Legilimency used against him. "So, are they shagging yet or is Weasley still completely clueless." Potter smiled, though it was clear he was trying not to. He didn't answer. Draco drummed his fingers on the wood of the sofa. "So … am I expected to wear these pajamas for the rest of my life or am I to receive clothing whilst being your prisoner?"
Potter motioned next to him. There were two large bags with Prada written on one and Diesel written on the other. "Hermione had a ball. You should have seen how much she got for herself."
Draco stood up and eyed the clothes. "Are these muggle clothes?" Draco asked, his voice full of disdain.
"Yes," said Potter, warning in his voice. "Very expensive muggle clothes. We're incognito, Malfoy."
Draco snorted and picked up his bags. "Well, at least you seem to be better," Potter said quietly.
"Hmm …" said Draco, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I think it was Granger's cooking. She has a gift." Potter heaved a sigh as Draco walked back into his bedroom. He closed the door behind himself and tipped out the clothes onto his bed. He had two pairs of black trousers; one of them seemed to be a little stretchy. He also had a pair of jeans, several t-shirts, a black cashmere sweater, and another two jumpers. There were also several pairs of underwear and socks in different colours and designs.
Draco picked out an outfit and then went to have a shower and wash away the past.
A day later, Draco was woken up by a loud shriek, followed by laughter. He turned to look at the "alarm clock" which read 11:05PM.
Draco had never seen a clock quite like this one, and did not know why it was called "alarm". So Potter had told Draco to have a nap and he'd set the alarm clock and Draco would then know exactly why they called it an alarm clock. Forty-five minutes later, Draco was suddenly woken by the deafening bleeping of the alarm clock. He fell out of bed in fright and then viciously yanked the clock out of its socket, stormed into the main room and threw it straight at Potter who flicked it away with a wave of his wand. Potter then burst out laughing whilst Weasley danced around him trying to find out what had happened and Granger went and magicked the clock back together.
Draco had then stalked back and forth, furiously yelling at Potter, using mainly expletives before realise he was yelling in French and Potter had merely raised his eyebrows, and Weasley had said, "What are you going on about?" Clearly, neither understood a word. Draco then screwed up his face and shouted, "Oh, fuck you!" He then stormed back into his bedroom, and Draco heard Potter say as Draco dropped onto the bed, "Well, I thought it was funny."
Draco slid out of his bed as more laughter and muffled words reached his ears. He slowly walked towards the door and opened it to see what all the commotion was. An extremely odd sight met him.
The muggle television was blaring and there were two empty wine bottles lying on the ground. There was also a packet of cigarettes – one muggle pastime that Draco was familiar with – splayed out on the carpet. One of the cigarettes was currently hanging out of Potter's mouth. And Potter was lying flat on his stomach, topless, with Granger sitting on his upper thighs, drawing something on his lower back with her wand. And Granger's wand had a sharp black point. She was giving him a tattoo.
"Okay," said Weasley, a little sluggishly. He had a half drunken wine bottle in one arm, and a book in the other. "I want this one," he declared, brandishing the book under Granger's nose.
"Wait your turn!" said Granger, sounding rather tipsy herself. Draco leaned against the arc of his door. He couldn't believe it. Gryffindors getting drunk and giving each other tattoos? These Gryffindors getting drunk and giving each other tattoos?
Potter let out a painful groan. "This hurts more than I thought it would," he said, in a similar state to the other two. "Give me that." He reached out a hand for Weasley's wine bottle, who handed it over. Potter took a large swig rather awkwardly. Draco thought he was displaying the picture of debauchery very well - practically naked, a woman on top of him, a cigarette in one hand and a cheap bottle of wine in the other.
"Keep still, I'm almost done," said Granger.
"Have you chosen your phoenix picture yet, Hermione?" asked Ron, leaning over to grab a cigarette.
"Yes, I'm having the one where he's perched on the tree," she answered. "Okay Harry, all done!" She waved her wand over the ink to dry it and clear it up. Potter slowly got to his feet, wine bottle and cigarette still in his hands as Granger patted the carpet for Weasley to take the spot Potter had just been occupying.
Potter turned around to face Draco and Draco had to stop himself from staring. Potter was built like a … like a man. He had visible muscle definition and not an ounce of fat. His broad shoulders extenuated his small waist and Draco couldn't help but notice how very fetching he looked, topless and barefoot with just a pair of low-riding, snug black jeans.
Potter smiled when he spotted Draco and walked towards him. "You've got a mirror in here, don't you?" Draco suddenly felt very angry. Stupid, sexy, Potter with his perfect chest, thought Draco. I hope somebody stabs you right in a peck.
Potter slid past Draco to get into his room, causing a friction that Draco could have done without but Potter seemed oblivious. Potter flicked the light switch on and turned around at the full length mirror and gazed into it over his shoulder, inspecting his tattoo of a phoenix taking flight. "This is really good, Hermione!" Potter called out, taking another swig of wine. "I think you missed your calling." There came a derisive snort from behind Draco.
"So," said Draco, not without contempt, "decided to get drunk and then decided to get matching tattoos?"
"No," said Potter cheerfully, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Decided to get matching tattoos then thought it best to get drunk first." Draco couldn't help but smile at that. Then Potter said something very unexpected. "Do you want one too?"
Draco laughed loudly and mockingly. "No! But I'm sure I'm grateful for the offer."
Potter shrugged nonchalantly. "Suit yourself."
"He's already got one anyway," said Weasley, his voice full of spite. Draco turned around to face Weasley at this and was about to shove Granger off his freckly backside when Potter steered him away from the unaware two by grabbing him by the shoulder. Potter pulled him back into his bedroom and shut the door, and then shook his head as if to say, "don't do it."
Draco's lip curled in anger and he looked to the door then back at Potter again, deciding who to take his frustration out on. He decided on Potter who was just standing there all calm like. He lunged for him pushing him violently into the bedside table. Potter banged his head on the way down and the sudden sight of blood pouring out of Potter's head, quickly sent away Draco's anger.
"I- I didn't mean to," said Draco in a very small voice. Potter touched his hand to his head and upon seeing the blood said, "Get Hermione."
"I- I-" stammered Draco.
"Just get her," said Potter, his voice not nearly as patient as it had been these last few days. A bit of self-comprehension hit Draco then and he turned on his heel.
"Granger, you better come in here. Potter's hurt." Granger immediately got off Weasley and rushed into the room.
She pulled the hair back from his forehead to see the nasty gash. "What happened?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing Draco.
"I fell backwards, hit my head on corner of the table. I think I've had too much to drink." Potter didn't look at Draco once while he lied. Draco felt even more guilt for Potter than he had before, and he realised that that was the problem. He resented being made to feel such a powerful emotion, like guilt, for Harry Potter - who he'd always thought had everything, despite what Draco used to try and take away from him.
Granger closed the wound and then helped Potter back to his feet. Potter sat on Draco's bed and shook his head a little. "Go back and finish Ron's tat before the ink dries."
"If you're sure you're all right?" she said. He nodded his head and she kissed him on the forehead and gave him a wicked smile. "Have a rest and then we'll play truth or dare and see if we can get Ron to admit to how far he actually got with Lavender Brown."
By the look on Potter's face he knew exactly how far Weasely had gotten with Lavender Brown, but he nodded his head in agreement anyway.
Once Granger was away Draco made to say sorry but Potter held up his hand to shush him and flopped back onto the bed, putting his back to Draco he said, "Just go into the lounge and leave me alone for a few minutes. I need a break … I need a break from you."
Draco left the room, a very unusual kind of feeling of hurt, now coursing through him.
It was two o'clock in the morning, but Harry still didn't feel like bed. Luckily, the other three didn't either. They'd finished, by this stage, seven bottles of wine and two packets of cigarettes. Malfoy smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish, so he was just as about as drunk as Harry and Ron and Hermione by then.
"Okay, okay," said Malfoy, a drunken smile on his face. "Granger, truth or dare?"
"I don't like your dares," she said, pointing her finger and giggling.
"What's wrong with my dares? Potter didn't have a problem with my dare," replied Malfoy, lighting up another cigarette.
"Well," said Harry, who had drunk so much after his run-in earlier with Malfoy he'd be lucky to remember his name when he next woke up. "I don't have a problem splashing in the water-filled gutter screaming "I'm born again", but I'd understand if not everyone agreed."
Ron laughed loudly, holding up the wizard Polaroid that showed Harry doing Malfoy's dare.
"Well whatever," said Hermione, her eyes rolling funnily. "I pick truth."
"A wise decision," said Malfoy. "So then, tell me the truth, are you a virgin?"
Hermione looked like she was about to pass out. She shook her head. "Of course I am! I need to go to the loo." Malfoy smirked as Hermione warily stood up. The smirk was not missed by Ron who began to try and stand with an angry frown on his face but Harry laughed at him and silently Stupified him. Ron, half asleep already, dropped to the floor and instantly began snoring.
"Guess the game's over," said Harry groggily.
"I guess," said Malfoy. "What was Weasley's problem?"
"Probably thinks you're hitting on Hermione."
Malfoy snorted at this, though his drunken state kept his voice empty of most of its malice; he still managed a disgusted frown. "That's not likely."
This time Harry frowned. "Why? 'Cause she's a Mudblood?"
Malfoy turned to Harry and stared at him like he had earlier that evening, when he'd first woken up. And Malfoy had done it all through truth or dare too. This look that made Harry feel like Malfoy was mentally stripping him. Harry wasn't entirely sure what Malfoy meant by it, but it was starting to make him a little uncomfortable. "No, Potter. Not because she's a Mudblood. Because I'm gay, Potter. I'm more likely to hit on you."
Harry turned to Malfoy, his suspicions confirmed. "You have."
"Have what?" asked Malfoy, that look still on his face.
"Been hitting on me," said Harry and Malfoy's face went ashen. "You're lucky I'm not going to remember any of this … could make things awkward." Harry began sliding down to the floor and was asleep by the time Malfoy had gotten over Harry's words.
Malfoy looked at Harry's sleeping form, suddenly feeling very sober. "Oh please God, I beg you on everything I hold sacred, don't do this to me," pleaded Malfoy. "Don't make me like him."
Malfoy dropped back onto the carpet and closed his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep, completely unaware of Hermione standing at the door to the main bathroom, her mouth agape and a stunned look on her face.
... to be continued.
Author's Note: Oh, but I would die if it weren't for my beautiful beta, Kristin (a.k.a. AbundantFear). Thanks be to you! Reviews make me write faster so spread the love.