Crocodiles.
PART THREE.
"I didn't… I didn't…I…" Malfoy started gibbering as McGonagall reached him, the sweep of her robes successfully blocking him from the sight of Snape and Dumbledore trying to restrain Harry, her face uncharacteristically gentle. She prised his fingers gently from the wall. He clenched his fingers together until the knuckles were white.
"Mister Malfoy," she began, fishing for something to say to him, only to find Snape's hand nudging her shoulder. She rose and faced him: "he's in extreme shock. Severus, if you're going to question him… don't question him."
Snape frowned. "Minerva…"
"Severus, I think Potter tried to assault him. He needs space."
Snape's expression cleared into neutral. "Potter has been restrained. He will be moved to the hospital wing until he's alert enough to give Albus permission to access his memories. His scar…" he stopped, glanced at Malfoy, still huddled on the floor, his knees drawn up against his torso. "I shall bring Malfoy separately. He will not thank us for the embarrassment of being unable to walk up under his own bearing. I shall guide him up when he can stand."
"Thank you, Severus."
When Harry awoke, it was to the smooth stone ceiling of the hospital wing. His head was killing him, and his whole head was fuggy, as though he had been overloaded with toxic potions. His limbs were far too heavy to let him sit up, but he could turn his head, each movement sending shudders of pain through his whole body. Madam Pomfrey must have been in her office. The wing appeared empty, though it was hard to tell through his blurred vision, save the bed next to him. Malfoy was lying on the bed next to him, but completely prone, clearly under the influence of the dreamless sleep potion.
Harry sensed a movement and tensed, but felt his glasses brush against his hand. He could not grasp them. "Harry," Dumbledore's warm voice, though laced with a grave tone. "I shall put them on your face. Do not be alarmed." He saw the black frames first, then the wizard's face swam into focus above him. Albus Dumbledore looked as grave as his voice betrayed, "do not try to talk, Harry, you were screaming and have damaged your vocal cords. Madam Pomfrey has administered a tonic to you, but your throat may take up to a week to heal completely. The vocal area is of such a complexity that it is not possible to fix the damage with a single spell. Harry," the headmaster leaned forward, so that he could see the boy's reactions, "I am going to cast a form of the legilimens charm, so that I can talk with you between our minds. May I do this?"
Harry blinked, then nodded slightly. Dumbledore gently touched him on the forehead, thankfully nowhere around his scar. He felt his mind being invaded, and after a moment's instinctive resistance, let the professor's mind melt into his own, and his questions penetrate his brain.
"Why did you return to the quidditch arena?"
"I wanted to confront Malfoy. I was angry about losing to him, he gloated at me and we fought."
"What manner of fighting was this, Harry?"
"He had his wand. I hit him on the face and in the stomach and he tried to curse me. I was so angry, I lost control of my magic. I was able to deflect him. I felt…"
"You felt Voldemort take over your powers."
Harry froze, disjointed memories flying across his mind. Memories of Malfoy's horrified reactions. Memories of the attempted assault. He felt like he would throw up.
"Harry," Dumbledore's voice drifted into him gently as the mind link was broken. "Mister Malfoy allowed us to cast legilimens on his mind. He saw Voldemort looking out of your eyes. Your scar opened. Harry, I know that this is difficult for you, but before he wakes up, you must know that Voldemort appears to have accessed your mind and attempted to assault Mr Malfoy. Harry, we know that this attack had no connection to your conscious mind, but you should be aware of the trauma caused not only to yourself, but to Mr Malfoy. I have made a decision to let you both remain here until your throat is healed. Now, please, Harry," Dumbledore laid a placatory hand on his forearm as Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "I will not be contradicted on this. You at least will need to be kept under observation for a week in the event of another episode. If you cannot communicate with Mr Malfoy, no one is going to force either of you to try."
A few hours after Dumbledore had left, Harry had fallen into a fitful sleep. He dreamt sporadically, mainly of his nemesis. He dreamt of all the main points of pain he and Malfoy had been through, in no set order. Sometimes they were fighting, or he was knocking back his hand on the train before his sorting, then they were squabbling on the quidditch pitch. And suddenly, they were kissing.
This was not a memory, it was a thought that he recognised from some old subconscious thought, and he began to fight out of the dream as the clothes were shedding behind his eyes, and his fingers were tangling in long, blond hair.
Harry shot up in bed, breathing hard, eyes wide open, just as the boy in the next bed did the same.