Chapter 14: The Essence of Pain
Pain.
It was a new sensation for Draco Malfoy, pain. He'd hurt himself before, who hadn't? He'd stubbed his toe, sliced his finger open on the edge of a piece of paper, and even, once, walked into a door when he wasn't paying attention. Thus far, however, Draco had managed to live his live without any true pain. The most excruciating thing he'd experienced in his young life had been the Hippogriff attack on his arm, and that had been over too fast for him to feel any real pain. The talons were sharp, slicing cleanly through the flesh of his arm, and that had made Madam Pomfrey's job much easier. He'd been fully restored in minutes, never mind the fuss he'd made about it for days afterward.
But this.
This was pain.
It had started mildly, a slight twinge in his chest, as if someone had taken their finger and poked him just a bit too hard. Nothing to worry about. He'd mostly been angry that Potter had been, once again, far too incompetent a wizard to even make a proper shielding charm, and had gotten Draco involved in his little lovers quarrel with the Weasel. And then someone had asked him if he was all right.
Of course he was all right!
It was just a spell the Weasel had cast, what was there to worry about? The pathetic excuse for a Pureblood had only knocked him down, and he could get up any time he felt like it.
But Scarface had already gotten to his feet and Draco was too interested in watching Potter charge at the Weasel to get up. Potter balled up his fist and knocked the other out like a true English pugilist, never mind that he was a wizard and should be above such things.
The twinge had gotten worse then, but only mildly, as if the mysterious someone had given up on poking him with their finger and had grabbed a quill and pressed it into his skin. Still, not something that could be called true pain, but whatever it was, was beginning to make him feel just a bit uncomfortable. Still, it was more than bearable, and he could have ignored it for an hour or more before he would start to complain about something so trivial. No, it was after the whole thing was over, and the Weasel was lying in the dust, knocked out cold, that things had really taken a turn for the worst.
The fight was dispersing, no one the wiser for what had happened, when the pain slammed into him with the force of a disarming spell. Having gained his feet, and in the middle of brushing the dust off his robs, Malfoy suddenly blinked his eyes, and realized he was on his knees, with no memory of getting there. Once again, the pain slammed into him, and he crumpled over, the breath gushing out of his lungs in a great whoosh of air. Bent double, Draco had no choice but to stare stupidly at the grains of dirt so close to his nose as the pain refused to release him. His hands were clasped convulsively around his forearms and he could not think to undo them. A dull roar began howling in his ears and the world narrowed to a tiny pinprick of light, through which he could see the world, so very far away. Sweat broke out over his entire body, and his vision swam sickeningly, zooming close, before disappearing again down a long tunnel of black to become a mere spot. Draco retched as the pain crested over his body in waves; sweat and spit intermingled to drip down over his chin.
Shuddering, he collapsed under his own weight, his muscles tensing and spasming under the assault of agony that rendered his body useless. Twitching violently in the dust, Draco began to twist and writhe, striving to escape from pain that had no end. As the pain continued to escalate, the force pushing down on his lungs was overpowered by a nameless urge that he was helpless to resist.
And it was then, that Draco Malfoy screamed.
Convulsing helplessly on the ground in a seizure, his hands clamped in the silver strands of his hair, Malfoy screamed. His back arching off the ground, heels digging into the dust, he ripped hair and flesh from his scalp in an effort to escape the pain. Throwing his head back, it cracked sickeningly on the edge of the cobblestone walkway, only serving to escalate the already painful screaming into something less human. On and on the sound continued, beyond the point where his lungs should have expired, the sound from his throat echoing around the small hallways and arches surrounding the courtyard.
Abruptly, the pain ceased, and cool hands touched his forehead, resting on his shoulders. A rough voice spoke to him.
"Malfoy, shut the fuck up! Can you hear me!? Shut up!"
Closing his mouth with a whimper, Malfoy curled towards the cooling hands that seemed to banish the memory of the pain where they touched him.
"Merlin, he's crazy. What the hell happened to him? He was fine a minute ago." The voice said again.
"I don't know." A softer one replied. "We should take him to the Infirmary."
"I don't know…." The rough one said, then, hastily, "You know, you're right. The Infirmary…" the voices faded away, and Malfoy lacked the strength to summon them back, with the cool hands on his shoulders, he drifted into oblivion.
ooOO00OOoo
"Oh, Shit."
"So you're telling me that he…and I…and…he…" He was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but what was a boy to do? When you'd just been told that your life was over, there wasn't much you could do but babble uncontrollably.
"I'm truly sorry my boy." The Headmaster said sadly.
Staggering over to one of the nearby beds, Harry sank gratefully into its cushioned softness, his mind reeling.
So, Harry was bound to Draco bloody Malfoy for no better reason than Ron was a jealous bastard? No way. There was simply no way. How was he expected to just….he couldn't, it was that simple. He just couldn't.
Ron, it seemed, had gotten mad at Hermione for siding with the Slytherins that one night and had decided that he was going to get her back no matter what. He'd spent the following day holed up in the library, of all places, researching a spell that would make her love him. The pickings had been few and far between, however, and he'd had a limited number of spells to choose from. It hadn't taken him long to make a decision, and he'd quickly retired to an abandoned classroom with the tomb containing the spell clutched close to his chest. Madam Pomfrey had questioned him on which one he had picked, and sent Hermione off to find the tome he had specified. After he was safely wandless, of course.
It had taken her almost half an hour to find it, and Harry had stayed in the infirmary the whole time, staring at the ceiling and flexing his sore hand. It hurt to punch someone in the face, he had discovered. Ron had sat in the infirmary bed, his bruised face as yet untreated because Madam Pomfrey was busy fussing over the still unconscious form of Draco Malfoy. He'd tried to speak once, something about an apology, but Harry had cut Ron off before he'd even gotten started. Harry didn't want an apology from someone who would sound like they were choking when they said it.
Lapsing into silence, Ron had been forced to simply watch Harry pace back and forth across the distance of the Infirmary. The mediwitch had been extremely displeased the one time Ron had asked her for a pain-be-gone spell. Something about 'getting what he deserved', and 'the curse comes back to the caster' whatever that meant. He hadn't really been listening. What did it matter? He hadn't gotten Hermione after all. And after this, he doubted he'd get another chance. She would never trust him around her again. He'd have to do something else if he wanted her. Perhaps a potion? The idea had merit, and Ron had spent the next minutes straining his brain, trying to remember the different potions that the bastard Snape had made them brew, as well as the ones he'd only mentioned.
Harry, for his part, simply paced back and forth, for the first time in his life, wishing that he'd never met the Weasley. Harry didn't think that Draco Malfoy would have made a better friend than Ron Weasley, but Harry was fairly sure that with Malfoy, at least he'd have known to watch his back for something this shady. That's what you got with sneaky Slytherin's.
Finally, Hermione had returned with the book, breathless, and stated that it had been mis-shelved, with the household cleaning books. Pomfrey had thanked her, taken the book, and promptly turned very, very green around the gills. Muttering a strangled something, she'd instructed the two of them to stay there and bustled off to her office, shutting the door smartly behind her. The next few minutes were spent with the two of them looking at each other a lot and shrugging, Ron being ignored through unspoken consent. Hermione said that she'd only looked at the title of the book long enough to recognize it for the one Madam Pomfrey had wanted and had run the whole way back without a second glance at it, and didn't see what the fuss was about.
Eventually, the door to the Infirmary opened and Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore stepped through, each of them sparing the students in the room narry a glance before disappearing into the office with the Mediwitch. Again, there was much standing around and staring before the four adults again entered the main room.
The Headmaster had begun to speak, his words solemn and slow. From that moment, Harry's heart sank to his shoes. This could not be good.
Initially, the Headmaster only questioned Ron more about what he'd said and why, asking him where he'd found the spell and what his reasoning was behind choosing it. Hermione had listened intently to the half-muffled answers that the red head was supplying behind the very muggle ice pack Madam Pomfrey had finally given to him for his aching face. Harry had been unable to follow the Headmaster after the first few questions and had only managed to catch the fact that this was apparently payback for when Hermione had sided with the Slytherins against Ron that night in the hallway. Something along the lines of 'she's mine, willing or unwilling.'
Ignoring that fact for the moment, Dumbledore asked some very specific questions about how he'd pronounced the incantation and what wand movements he made. Snape inquired as to what he'd been thinking about, and McGonagall simply stared at him, as if he was a very large flea. It was all very muddled.
Eventually, the Headmaster turned to Harry and began to speak, his words deliberate and slow. The spell that Ron had cast, the Spiritus Semper Simul, was an ancient binding spell that used to be cast at weddings over a couple. It roughly translated to 'Spirits always together.' Few couples actually wished for it to be performed, since it created all sorts of uncomfortable situations between the two people that few would wish for. One of which was the fact that the two people could only be so far from each other, beyond which, it was like walking face-first into a brick wall. Not very pleasant.
At this point, Madam Pomfrey had piped up from her position beside Malfoy and stated that the spell appeared to be just doing that, but with an added bonus of pain. Something about the ricochet had changed the spell so that it didn't simply keep them from leaving each others presence, it gave severe pain if they tried to go outside the bounds of the spell. But only, it seemed, to Draco. Harry hadn't felt anything.
When Harry asked about a counter-spell, rather reasonably, he thought, he was granted a scathing comment from Snape and the knowledge that there was no counter-curse, that's what made this situation so vile, and why so few couples ever performed this spell.
Malfoy was bound to Potter, and Potter to Malfoy. And there was nothing that they could do about it. The spell, in its original form, was designed to tie the two participants' souls together permanently. Then, it had been cast ineptly by somebody who didn't know the right steps to performing it, and who had muddled it horribly, from both saying it wrong and making the wrong wrist movements. He also cast it at an unwitting, and unwilling, partner, only to have it deflected and eventually strike an unprepared male. Unfortunately it was designed to be cast by a man at a woman.
"But wouldn't those things make the spell easier to break? I mean, it's deviated so far from its original function, it must be unstable." Hermione had asked at some point.
Perhaps, she'd been told, if it was any other spell. But this one had been deemed to be too dangerous to keep around, and it was outlawed and banished from collective memory. The words of the spell, and the books containing the words, were all rounded up and burned, those who knew of it were sworn to secrecy under pain of death, and all that was left of it was the warning that should it ever be cast again, Dementors would once again be born.
"What!" Had been Harry's cry of outrage and confusion. "I don't understand."
Dementors, he was told, were not natural creatures of the earth, but rather, people who had lost their souls to this spell. When the couple used this spell to bind their souls together, it was a permanent arrangement, one that would last throughout time; through this life, and into the next. Most people just assumed that when one person died, the other would follow immediately afterward and there would be two bodies instead of one. The unfortunate truth was far from it.
When one person died, the other soul fled its body, following that of its mate, to which it was irrevocably bound. The abandoned body would live on, because humanity is split up into the three parts of mind, body, and soul, and two of the parts can continue to live on even without the presence of the third…if the situation is correct.
Just as Voldemort managed to live on without his body, remaining only as a spirit and mind; the body left behind when the soul fled would continue to live on, existing as a body and mind without a spirit. This mind/body combination endlessly searched for its lost soul, seeking to reform the last side of the trinity and become whole once more. This was the true birth of the Dementors. When either Harry or Draco died, another Dementor would be born.
"Oh, Shit."
"So you're telling me that he…and I…and…he…" Harry was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but what was a boy to do? When you'd just been told that your life was over, there wasn't much you could do but babble uncontrollably.
"I'm truly sorry my boy." The Headmaster said sadly.
As Harry staggered over to the bed, Hermione found, to her consternation, that her mind was once again going into overdrive.
"How do you know all this?" she asked boldly of her teachers. "And how can you be sure that this spell is going to do that to him now? Are you even sure that this is the spell that they warn of? You said yourself that all records of the spell and specifically, that all books containing the spell, were destroyed, so how is it that one could be found hiding here at Hogwarts? Madame Pince knows each and every book in that library I'd wager."
"And so do you, I would wager." Dumbledore replied calmly. "But have you ever seen this before?" He asked holding up the old book that caused the calamity.
Hermione blushed and looked down a bit. "No, sir." She said meekly.
"And neither has Madame Pince." Professor McGonagall said, walking into the room, and Hermione started. When had she left?
"As I suspected." The Headmaster shook his head sadly, managing, in a single movement, to convey the deepest of regrets as well as a profound wish that things were not as they were.
Hermione looked helplessly between her one and only friend, and the one that used to be her friend. The one she thought she had loved.
"Sir?" she asked quietly of the headmaster, even as she stared at Ron, who had maintained a conspicuous silence throughout the entire explanation.
"Yes, my dear?"
"What about him?"
"Him?" Albus queried, looking up to follow her line of sight. "Ah, yes. We mustn't forget about Mr. Weasley, who decided that it was a good idea to force his feelings upon another to grant himself satisfaction." Albus's gentle features hardened into a steel mask that was as unrecognizable on his face as it was unsettling. "From this moment on, young man, you are henceforth stripped of all of your prefect duties and privileges. You are also not allowed to participate in any of the extra-curricular activities. No Quiddich, no dances, and certainly no trips to Hogsmead. I don't want to see you wandering the hallways or loitering about. Until such time as it is decided what we are to do with you, you are to go to class and go back to your common room. Your wand will remain in my possession, as we are obviously not capable of trusting you not to grossly misuse it. You are certainly going to be expelled; we cannot trust you around other students. But this goes beyond mere expulsion. There will be legal ramifications to this, and you might have to face several years in Azkaban, such things usually transcend the rules of underage magic use." His words were final and brooked no argument. Even if the two heads of houses hadn't been standing behind him and nodding their heads at his every word, Ron would have known not to argue with the words of Albus Dumbledore when they were said in such a tone.
"Yes, sir." Ron said as meekly as possible and stared down at his shoes, wishing desperately that he was somewhere, anywhere else. "I'm sor—" he began to say, but was cut off.
"Save it for those you have slighted." The headmaster said brusquely.
"Yes, sir." Ron said softly, and then lapsed back into silence.
Still staring at Ron with something frighteningly close to hatred, Hermione was surprised to feel the weight of a hand gently laid upon her shoulder.
"Go to him." The headmaster said softly, indicating Harry where he sat, still in shock, on the bed.
"Yes, sir." She said softly.
As she approaching the bed, Hermione was disturbed to notice that Harry was still staring straight ahead, his eyes unblinking. Closer still, and she saw his hands begin to shake, even as the rest of his body remained motionless. When she was close enough to touch him, she reached out, only to pause mid-movement as she saw his head begin to move. Slowly, as if it wasn't attached to his shoulders, Harry's head turned to face her, his face remaining eerily blank. It reminded her of a horror movie she'd seen once in which one of the main characters finally succumbed to a virus and became a zombie.
"…Harry?" she asked tentatively, unable to shake the image of a zombie Harry from her mind when he was sitting in front of her, "are you alright?"
Suddenly, Harry's face twisted into an ugly mask of rage.
"'Are you alright?'!!" he yelled furiously at her. "'Are you alright?'! What kind of stupid question is 'are you alright?'!" He jumped to his feet, his movements awkward and jerky, his breathing ragged. "Of course I'm not bloody well alright! I just got told that I've been soul-bound to Draco bloody Malfoy for the rest of my life, and that the only way to escape it is to become a Dementor! No! I'm not fucking alright!"
"I just meant..." Hermione started.
"I know exactly what you meant!" Harry cried, "You wanted to know if I'd suddenly smile and say, 'buck up, Hermione, things aren't as bad as all that!' Well, guess what? I'm not going to say buck up, because things are as bad as that, and I'll thank you to leave me the hell alone."
"Now Harry, there's no reason to use such language." The headmaster said crossly, a crease forming between his brows.
"'No reason'?!" Harry shrieked. "'No reason'!?" reaching behind him, he swept all of the items off of the bedside table, sending them clattering across the floor. "There is plenty of reason to use bad language. I am going to turn into a Dementor when I die!" he was screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Harry!" Professor McGonagall yelled, trying to catch his attention. "Calm down!"
"Don't tell me to calm down!" Harry continued to scream, "I'll calm down when I bloody well feel like it! Why don't you people realize that telling someone to calm down when they're mad only makes them more pissed!" Dropping his volume, Harry continued in a softer tone, full of menace. "Once again, my life has been screwed up to unbelievable proportions, through no fault of my own. I didn't ask for this, I never do, and yet the universe insists on using me as it's shitting bucket."
"Elegant analogy, Potter." Snape drawled contemptuously.
"Don't talk to me." Harry snapped, "You don't have anything nice to say, you never do, so just be quiet. You'll only want to cast blame on me and say that it's my fault that your precious Malfoy has been cursed with the likes of me."
"Now that you mention it…" the Potions Master began
"Yes, yes, I know." Harry said snidely, as he waved a hand negligently in Snape's direction, " stupid bloody Gryffindors, always acting on impulse. Why can't they learn to pull their heads out of their asses and use their brains for once?" he snarled in a passable imitation of Snape's more elegant baritone drawl.
Flushing angrily, the Potions Master opened his mouth to respond, no doubt something scathe and cutting about Harry, who was standing there, bouncingly lightly on the balls of his feet, muscles tense, and eyes glittering with suppressed fury. A small sound from across the room caught Harry's and Snape's attention.
Whipping his head around, Harry took in the seated form of Ronald Weasley, the originator of Harry's misfortune, and suddenly, his rage had a focused target. Releasing an inarticulate scream of rage, Harry brought his hands up, fingers curled into fists, and launched himself at the other boy, sending Ron flying back wards. Tumbling off the back of the bed, Ron cracked his head on the linoleum and saw stars. Clearing his head, he saw the snarling form of his ex-best friend hovering above him, teeth gnashing in his attempt to reach Ron.
Placing his palms on the floor, Ron scooted backwards on his butt, eyes wide. Was that Harry? The wild and crazy thing writhing in mid-air, fighting against an invisible force, could not possibly be Harry. Harry was calm and quiet. Sure, he'd yelled before, but never at Ron. Even when the two of them had split ways, Ron had been the one to yell, not Harry. It seemed to be against his very nature. And when it came to physical violence, Harry always had to be goaded beyond belief before he'd even raise his wand at someone else. And he certainly had never raised a fist. But this was the second time today that Harry had not only raised a fist to Ron, but had actually done him harm as well. Now both the front and the back of his head was throbbing from what Harry had done to him.
"Calm down, Harry!" Professor McGonagall said, hurrying to end of the bed by the boys. "Violence won't solve anything!"
Unaware, or unconcerned with her words, Harry only struggled harder, his eyes wild and teeth barred. When the Professor reached a hand out to touch him, Harry snapped his teeth at her, barely missing her fingers as she snatched them back. Drawing her eyebrows down severely, Professor McGonagall reached a hand into her robes and withdrew her wand.
Calmly, she pointed it at Harry and said, "Stupefy." Instantly, he stopped snarling and relaxed, his body going boneless while his mind took a vacation.
Tucking her wand back into her robes, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey gently guided Harry's limbs out of the way while Professor Dumbledore slowly lowered him onto one of the nearby beds.
"Poor boy." Madam Pomfrey said, softly stroking a bit of hair out of Harry's eyes. "To have been through so much, and now to be subject to this."
"Yes, yes, Poor Potter has things so bad."
Looking up, Hermione saw that Malfoy was finally awake.
"So what did Weasley do this time to piss off Potter?" Malfoy asked in a disinterested tone, looking at his nails.
"Same thing as before." Hermione said, "Only this time we know what he meant to do. And what he actually did."
"Oh?" he asked, flipping his hand over and looking at the backs of his fingers.
"Yes. I'm afraid that we know exactly what Mr. Weasley has done to you." Snape said to his pupil.
That got Malfoy's attention. "Oh?" he asked again, "to me?"
"Yes."
ooOO00OOoo
Ten minutes later, Malfoy sat in place while Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him to checking his vitals, eyes glittering dangerously.
"So you're telling me." He began softly, "That the Weasel has managed to dig up an old banished spell and not only perform it incorrectly, but cast it so ineptly that we now have a twisted version of an already twisted spell binding me and Saint Potter together?" Malfoy spoke to his Head of House as if no one else were in the room.
"Yes."
"And the two of us cannot go beyond the allowable limits of the spell or I will be in pain like before?"
"Yes."
"I see." There was a pregnant pause in which everyone, especially Ron, tensed, waiting for him to blow up the same way Harry had upon hearing the news. "What is your middle name?" Malfoy asked calmly, looking at Ron.
"Uh, what?" Ron blinked in confusion.
"What. Is.Your. Middle. Name?" Malfoy spoke as if to a child.
"No, Draco." Snape said, stepping towards him. "I'll not allow you to do that."
"How are you going to manage that?" Draco asked, turning his head towards his Head of House.
"Because I am your Godfather, and your legal guardian. As such, you must have my permission first before you do something like this, and you do not have it." Snape's voice brooked no argument.
"Don't give me that Godfather crap!" Malfoy suddenly snapped at him, his face set in a dark scowl. "You're only saying that to stop me."
"Of course I am, you dunderhead" Snape glowered. "That's the point."
"Stop him from what?" Hermione couldn't help asking.
"To challenge someone in a wizards duel, you first must know their whole name." McGonagall said absently to Hermione. "To be official. The problem is that a true wizards duel is to the death."
"Uh-oh."
"Indeed."
"I don't care." Malfoy was saying resentfully. "He has just ensured that I am going to walk in my fathers footsteps! Everyone knows that Saint Potter is going to die at Voldemort's hands within the next five years. What does that say about my life expectancy? That in five years I'll be floating around beside my father looking for souls to consume, that's what!" Sitting on the table beside him, Malfoy's wand sparked alarmingly without his having to touch it. "That kind of life deserves some payback and by Merlin he's going to get it!"
"He will get his punishment, Draco, in due course." Snape assured him. "The Headmaster has already stripped him of his prefect duties, and all extra-curricular activities. After we floo the authorities and get him taken away, he's going to be expelled."
"That's not enough!" Malfoy insisted, his eyes the color of steel.
"That is not all that is going to happen to him, I promise you." Snape guaranteed.
"Perhaps." Malfoy agreed reluctantly. "But how much of it is going to happen at my hands? This kind of insult demands a personal response, or I will have shamed my family irrevocably. I'll not have any more shame come upon the name of Malfoy."
There was such conviction in his tone that Hermione could not help but feel reluctant admiration for him. "Family must really mean a lot to him." She muttered to Professor McGonagall.
"For Malfoys, it's everything." Minerva explained. "That is why his fathers death hit him so hard. It wasn't that he'd died, but how he'd died. The indignity of it. Mister Malfoy believes his father deserved better."
"Anyone deserves better." Hermione muttered.
"There is a time and a place for this Draco, and that time is not now." Snape told him. "Even if I gave you permission to do this, you could not do it now anyway. You are too bound by this curse to be able to take any action against Weasley. You need freedom of movement, and you just don't have that."
"I know that, Professor, I know!" Malfoy finally yelled, loosing his cool. "Believe me, I know! Father's beat enough of the lessons into my head by now that I remember exactly the set up of a wizards duel, but by Merlin I will have my dues!" He stood to his feet and faced the Headmaster. "This is exactly the sort of thing my father has been warning you about for years, Headmaster. Now you see the results of allowing Blood Traitors and Mudbloods in our midst!"
"Draco Malfoy, that is enough! Your mother would be ashamed of you." Madam Pomfrey said sharply.
Stiffening, Malfoy's eyes went wide for a moment before his face took on a look of contrition, and he slowly turned to face the mediwitch. Bowing at the waist, he spoke to her, his eyes firmly trained on the ground.
"My apologies, Lady, for saying such things in your presence. Apparently I don't quite have the breeding I thought I did." When her eyes softened, he turned to the rest of the room, keeping his back to Ron, and did the same. "My apologies, everyone. I have allowed my anger to get the best of me."
There were murmurs of acceptance from everyone but Hermione, who remained standing there, arms folded. Giving the smallest of sighs, Malfoy turned to directly face her and bowed again. "Please accept my apologies, Miss Granger, for before, and now, for my use of that foul word. It does not suit you."
Despite herself, Hermione weakened. How could she not forgive him? She wasn't even mad at Harry for the things he'd said and done, how could she hold the Mudblood comment against Malfoy? He'd been talking about Ron, after all, and she wasn't exactly feeling charitable towards him at the moment.
"You are forgiven." She said softly, uncrossing her arms and touching him lightly on his shining head.
"Thank you, Lady." He said, straightening. Looking her in the eye, he offered her his hand, palm up.
A little curious, Hermione did as he wordlessly requested and placed her hand in his own. Bringing it up to his mouth, he smiled impishly at her for the briefest of moments before placing a kiss on the back of her hand with a resounding smack. "May your hair grow long and your toenails never break!"
Laughingly, Hermione pulled her hand back and smacked him lightly on his shoulder with it. "Shut up, you." She said, not unkindly. Was this the infamous Malfoy charm?
ooOO00OOoo
With suddenness not unlike that of a slap in the face, Harry came awake. With no slow transition stage between asleep and awake, he was left feeling a little disoriented as he sat up on the bed.
"Ugh, what happened?" he asked, a hand on his head.
"You tried to kill the Weasel and Professor McGonagall decided that it was best to Stupefy you for a little while." A voice Harry knew far too well said with a smirk in the tone.
"Ah, yeah. That would be right after I found out…" Harry trailed off and lowered his hand to look at his…roommate? Who was leaning against the foot board of one of the nearby beds.
"They told me." Malfoy said.
"Great." Harry said, and flopped back down on the bed, his arm flung over his eyes. "Just great. I was hoping it was all one big nightmare."
"I don't know what you've got to be so upset about, Potter, you aren't going to be the one that turns into a Dementor."
"Why not?" Harry said, sitting up straight and looking Malfoy in the eye. "Nothing about this says that I'll be the one to die first."
"About this situation, no. But I'm not the one with a Dark Lord out for his head, now am I?"
Strange that after so many years of hostility, Malfoy and Harry were having their first quasi-civil conversation since he'd turned down Malfoy's offer of friendship. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.
"No," Harry frowned, "but who's to say you aren't going to choke on a grape at dinner tonight and die?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes expressively, "Don't be so pessimistic, Potter, that's my job. You aren't clever enough."
"We're in the same boat, I have as much right to be pessimistic as you do." Harry said snappishly. Maybe things would be just as bad as they'd always been. "And I'm just as intelligent as you are."
"Mm-hm," Malfoy said doubtfully. "Keep telling yourself that."
"Why are you so evil, Malfoy?" Harry asked honestly.
"Evil?" Malfoy barked a laugh, "Just what I would expect from a lackey of Dumbledore. You have no concept of how the world really works, do you? The world is not made up of merely good and evil, dark and light. People are inherently shrouded in shades of gray. Of course, I wouldn't expect Perfect Potter to know that. You've led a charmed life, haven't you?"
"'Charmed life'?" Harry scoffed, "Hardly."
"Oh please." Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Don't delude yourself."
"You're the one with the charmed life, in case you haven't noticed." Harry said peevishly. "Parents, a home…"
"Oh, Shut up, would you? I've heard enough senseless prattle from you today. It's bad enough that the Weasel has managed to bind the two of us together, try not to overload my ears with useless sounds." Malfoy turned his back on Harry and walked a few feet away, effectively ending the conversation.
Confused, and disgusted with the mini-conversation he'd just had with the Prince of Slytherin, Harry turned his eyes to the rest of the room and noticed that they were sectioned off from the rest of the ward by privacy curtains and a shimmering wall of energy that he assumed was a high-powered silencing charm.
A few minutes later, the two boys had yet to speak again when the curtain was pulled back and the spell dispersed, revealing the Headmaster, both of their heads of houses, and Hermione Granger. Ron could be seen sitting on a bed just beyond the curtain's edge.
"How are you boys feeling?" The Headmaster inquired, stepping inside the portioned off space.
"Fine, Headmaster." Harry said.
"As well as can be expected." Malfoy returned, turning to face the newcomers.
"That's all that can be asked for, I'm afraid." The Headmaster walked over to the window and stood beside it, while the two heads of houses remained by the doorway. Hermione, however, headed straight for Harry.
"How are you?" she asked him quietly, eyebrows puckered in concern.
"I feel normal, actually. I'm not sure I believe it." Harry shrugged. "Shouldn't I feel something?"
"Not you, me." Malfoy said with the air of someone who was speaking to the utterly dense. "I'm the one that feels different. I can feel the connection that binds me to you. I know just how far I can go from you before it starts to hurt, I can even tell that you're disgustingly blasé about this whole thing. Do you just not care, or are you too stupid to really understand what this means?"
Harry bristled instantly. "Just who do you think you are, Malfoy? You don't have a monopoly on suffering. You aren't the only one trapped in this spell, I'm stuck with you! So don't start getting all high and mighty on me."
Rolling his eyes eloquently, Malfoy did not deign to respond; instead he turned and pinned an implacable gaze on the resident Potions Master. "Sir?" he asked with determination laced throughout his carefully polite tone. "May I speak with you?"
Nodding stiffly, Professor Snape strode over to speak with Malfoy, raising a silencing barrier around them so they could speak privately.
"Harry, my boy," the Headmaster turned away from the window, but retained his distance, eyes dulled with sorrow. "I've had a rather large problem suddenly called to my attention, and I'm afraid we will not be able to punish Mr. Weasley as originally intended."
"What!" Harry yelped in shocked anger. "Why not? He cursed me, Professor!" Harry flung his arm out in the direction of the red-haired Weasley who sat hunched over, as if to ward off a blow. "And he's turned me into a Dementor! He deserves to be punished."
Dumbledore bowed his head, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. "I know that my boy, and I am truly sorry, and if you had been any other person, then legal actions could be taken against him, but that is not the case."
"So you're saying that it's because of me that Ron isn't going to be punished?" Harry's eyebrows crawled up his face while his voice dripped scorn.
"Yes." Dumbledore paused, then stepped closer, as if physical distance was the only thing keeping Harry from understanding the situation. "You must remember, Harry, that the Dark Lord seeks your head. Even as we speak, I feel dark murmurs in the underground that tell of a slow gathering of ill will aimed against you. I have no doubt that they refer to Lord Voldemort." He turned to the side and looked at the privacy ward surrounding the two Slytherins before continuing. "You must know that this situation puts you at a distinct disadvantage and no one must find out about it."
Incensed, Harry opened his mouth to offer a sharp retort, but Hermione stretched a hand out and laid it against his arm, shaking her head mutely. Cocking his head to the side, Harry closed his mouth and considered the Headmasters words. What happens to me if Voldemort finds out about the spell? It wouldn't be too hard for him to send a death eater inside the wards and have them steal me away. After all, they did that with the false Mad-eye just last year. And what happens if me and Malfoy are forced to go beyond the limits of the spell? Past where he starts to scream?
"Professor McGonagall?"
"Yes?"
"What are the exact limits of this spell? Madam Pomfrey said that it was a few feet, but not how many."
"Nobody knows for sure exactly how far the two of you can get from each other except for Mr. Malfoy himself. You'll have to ask him I'm afraid." The hair pulled back into a sever bun only served to accentuate the tight expression on McGonagall's face, as if she'd been asked to solve an impossible problem with two unthinkable solutions. Which one she'd chosen remained to be seen.
Off to the left, there was a sudden soundless explosion of magic that was barely contained by the privacy ward around Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy. The blurring around the two distorted further, going from a slight blurring of their shapes, to a warped version of reality, their bodies appearing to twist and bend in all kinds of macabre ways as red streaks of a malevolent appearance chewed their way down from the top of the ward. It settled down quickly, however, the red streaks fading away into nothingness as the privacy ward reset itself, the bulging, writhing edges smoothing back into the more placid blur. The whole thing took less then five seconds.
"Harry?" Hermione said, apparently unconcerned about what had happened as Professor Dumbledore strode over and entered the privacy bubble.
"Er, yes?" Harry asked absently, watching, fascinated, as Snape began making cutting motions with his hands, mostly aimed at the now blurred image of the Headmaster.
"Harry." She frowned at his obviously distracted countenance. Couldn't the he see that more important things were happening than whatever drama was going over with the Slytherins?
"Yes." Harry said again, eyes glued to the…glowing?…figure of Draco Malfoy. Did privacy wards do that? He didn't think so. Then what was that explosion? And what caused it? Maybe Snape…
Rolling her eyes, Hermione strode up to Harry, determined to get his attention.
Two quick snaps in front of his nose brought Harry out of his introspection and he glared down the length of the arm attached to those most annoying fingers until his eyes came to rest upon the annoyed face of Hermione Granger.
"Pay attention, would you? This is important." Hermione said irritably.
"I am paying attention." Harry said defensively, even as his eyes shifted past her head to focus over her shoulder at the image of Ronald Weasley sitting completely still on his bed, a veritable deer caught in the headlights of a fast-moving car. Harry could almost see the thought of 'maybe they'll forget about me if I sit still' flashing across his face even as he slowly slid his bottom off of the infirmary bed and slunk his way across the room, obviously towards the door.
"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "I'm trying to tell you something."
"What?!" Harry eyes snapped back towards Hermione. "I was paying attention."
"Uh-huh. Sure you were." Hermione said doubtfully.
Harry opened his mouth to deliver a retort. Perhaps in defense of himself, perhaps to tell of Ron's sneaking off. But at that moment, there was another soundless explosion from behind the privacy ward, and the red lines of malice were back, hissing and sizzling as they ate away at the magic of the privacy ward, dissolving them with minimal effort.
"I am sorry." Harry heard the Headmaster say. "But if you could just give us a good reason to suspend you for a few days, we'll have more time to come up with something."
"A good reason? You want me to give you a good reason to smear my family's reputation farther? No. I'll give you no such…" Draco Malfoy's countenance changed from one of pure rage to one of cunning and calculation as he saw Ron's form frozen in the act of escape, fear and surprise rooting the red-heads feet to the ground.
Abruptly, Malfoy turned back towards the Headmaster. "Alright. I understand why you want me to do something, even if it makes me sick to think of what you're asking for. I'll do it, but I'll do it my way, Headmaster. I'll not have my name smeared anymore."
As quickly as Malfoy's expression had changed, Dumbledore's changed even faster, going from open and pleading, to shuttered and suspicious in the blink of an eye. "What are you…"
"I'm going to get some honor back." Malfoy said with a self-deprecating smile on his face. Turning towards Ron Weasley, Malfoy marched past Harry, his face set in grim line.
"What are you-" Ron began right before Malfoy stopped dead in front of him, planted both his feet, drew his left hand back, and shot it out in a devastating punch.
Though he was a pureblood, and raised to disdain such things, Draco had always been an observant child, and a quick learner. Watching Harry land a solid roundhouse on Ron's left eye earlier in the day had taught Draco exactly how such a thing was to be accomplished, and the roundhouse he threw at the Weasel's right eye was just as strong and well-aimed as the on Harry thrown a mere hours before. It connected solidly, and the Weasel's head snapped back as he gave a muffled grunt, collapsing bonelessly onto the ground, instantly unconscious.
Lowering his arm, Draco turned calmly to face the rest of the room and looked the Headmaster straight in the eye. "I do believe I've just assaulted another student without provocation Headmaster. Whatever will you do?"
Professor Dumbledore eyed Draco for a long moment before responding. "I'm afraid that I'll have to suspend you for a week Mr. Malfoy. After all, extenuating circumstances not withstanding, you just knocked another student unconscious. A student who has already had his nose broken once today. It is terribly unfortunate for you that Madam Pompfrey is low on some of her potions. You will be assigned to the infirmary for the duration of your suspension to brew the necessary concoctions for her. Good day."
Turning on his heel smartly, Dumbledore nodded coolly at a flabbergasted Hermione and Harry, raised an eyebrow at Madam Pompfrey, who incidentally nodded back, and swept out of the Infirmary, Professors McGonagall and Snape attached to his shirt-tails.
ooOO00OOoo
Lookit! Lookit! I'm alive! In my defense, I've got about thirty five days before I get married and I'm just a little stressed out. (If that isn't the understatement of the century, I don't know what is.) And besides, do you know how expensive computers are? I was without one for a while since some a-hole stole my other one. But you don't care about my sob stories. Hope this chapter was good enough to tie you over until the next one. Tootles!