Rowling Owns, not me. Got it? Good!

Ch 6 Lessons from Spirits

Harry was completely disoriented when he drifted into consciousness again. It felt like he'd only been asleep for a few minutes, but it must have been a couple of hours. His head pounded in rhythm with his heart, which felt like it was far bigger and louder than usual. His nose hurt inexplicably, and the air he was breathing tasted used and dead. After a few moments of confusion, he was able to raise his head. He'd rolled onto his stomach in his sleep, and his face had been hovering only a centimeter or so from the floor, supported by the pillows on either side. He was also still wearing his glasses, which explained his sore nose. In fact, that was one of the most disorienting things; being able to see right away upon waking.

Picking his head up had the effect of making the throbbing worse, but that was just too bad, because he really needed the lavatory. When he went to stand up, though, he was surprised to find Malfoy a few feet away. The blond boy was still dead-asleep and snoring very quietly. Taking care not to wake Draco, Harry kicked cushions out of the way until he had a clear path to the restroom.

With that problem addressed, Harry returned to the pillow-strewn room and looked around. The far wall was still conspicuously lacking an exit door, but the small table in the other corner now held a cut-glass pitcher and two of the carved wooden cups. There was also a small amber vial on the table. Harry, astonished, found that the vial contained four small white pills that looked suspiciously like Muggle analgesics.

Not trusting them right away, he examined the bottle a bit more closely. On the side was etched the word 'willow-bark' in a utilitarian script. "Brilliant, aspirin!" said Harry, then grabbed the sides of his head. "Oww…" He swallowed two of the pills and washed them back with the cold water from the pitcher. They weren't magic, but he reckoned they'd work almost as well, given a little time. He finished the cup of water, then went back to his sleeping place and lay back down. Harry wrapped himself tightly in the blanket he didn't remember getting; was the room capable of dropping a blanket on him while he slept? He was asleep again almost instantly.

When Draco Malfoy awoke an hour later, his immediate thought was also for the restroom, but with an added reason. His stomach twisted and cramped, and the pulsing in his skull was definitely second priority. He ran for the restroom door, tripping over the threshold in his haste.

Draco arrived at the toilet in the nick of time, as the heaving became impossible to resist. His whole body seemed to join in the convulsion, and through the muscle spasms, his head felt like it wanted to split in half. The agony was so great, Draco almost wished it would, but then another cramp from his stomach told him it was time to concentrate on throwing up.

This time when Harry woke up his head was much clearer, and his glasses were safely on the floor right next to the wall. He could hear sounds coming from the other room. He unwound the blanket from around him and retrieved his glasses. He saw that Draco was not sleeping, so it was he who was making the racket in the bathroom. Harry padded over to the door, but was hesitant about opening it. What if Draco was…he felt the blood rush to his face at the thought. But this close to the door, it was apparent that the Slytherin boy was puking his guts out.

Harry pushed the door open as quietly as he could, peeking around it. There was Draco Malfoy, on his knees in front of the porcelain bowl. His elbows were resting on the sides, and he supported his head in his hands. He was gasping for breath, and tears streamed down his pale cheeks. A sound like a sob escaped him. His whole body went rigid, as if electrified, and the heaves took him again. There was nothing left to expel; after an agonizing forty seconds, he was able to unclench, toppling onto his side.

Standing behind the door, Harry watched his 'nemesis' panting for breath, exhausted and hurting. Throughout the years they'd been enemies at school, he'd had many occasions to wish suffering on Draco Malfoy. Seeing it now, though, didn't give Harry any pleasure, and he wished there was something he could do. There was nothing, aside from offering a word of comfort. He stepped tentatively all the way into the room.

"Are you okay? There's some-" He began.

Draco's head snapped up. His eyes were wide and streaming, his pale face showed his exhaustion, but now it also showed humiliation and anger. "Get out of here!" He croaked, unable to make his abused throat and vocal chords obey. "I bet this is funny to you, isn't it, Potter! Just get out!" He might have continued yelling, for his mouth kept moving, but there was no sound behind it. Once he realized this, his face fell even further, and he curled up into a ball.

Harry could tell that Draco was crying in earnest now, and to attempt to help would only make things worse. He turned on his heel and walked out of the bathing room. Draco's outburst didn't really upset him too much; Harry of all people knew what it felt like to be helpless, and he knew the helpless rage of being humiliated in front of people. He did want to help, though, and this surprised him more than anything. It seemed that the blond boy was done vomiting, so maybe the willow bark would stay down. He went to the table, filled a cup of water, which was still cold, and picked up the vial. He went back into the other room.

There was Draco, still in the fetal position, holding his head in his hands. Quietly Harry set the items on the floor an arm's length away from the prone boy. "This will help the headache. Take it, then come and lay down on the cushions. Trust me, it's more comfortable." Without waiting for a response, Harry left again.

He sat back down, deliberately choosing a spot where he wouldn't be facing the bathroom. There was time now to wonder at the situation. Before now, if he'd ever imagined prolonged, close contact with Draco Malfoy, his imagination could never have come up with anything like what was currently going on. At first they had fought, but once it became clear that no one could be hurt in this place, things had become, well, not friendly, but no longer adversarial. There had been a few tense moments, but it was almost...pleasant.

The fire whiskey had been a great help, of course. Harry shuddered a little at the memory of the headache he'd earned for that. Drinking to excess was definitely not something he cared to try again very soon. He imagined Draco felt much the same.

Draco Malfoy. What a puzzle he had become. All of Harry's previous experiences with the boy had been bitter. He'd always felt outnumbered, and the sneer that twisted the pale, pointed features reminded Harry far too much of the contempt his relatives had for him. But here, in this prison-like room, away from his cronies and the watching eyes of the entire school, Draco's face and manner seemed subtly different. Without the look of smug superiority, his gray eyes seemed less cold, his mouth wasn't always pressed into a thin line. He actually looks a bit more mature, thought Harry.

I wonder how I look, Harry thought suddenly. It had been at least a day since he'd bathed, and his usually messy hair must be absolutely frightening. He stood and turned to go into the bathroom again. There was Draco, on the far side of the room, curled up on his side with his back to Harry. Good, thought Harry, at least he won't catch cold. He took a moment to drape one of the blankets over the blond boy, taking care not to disturb him, and purposely not looking to see if he was sleeping or not. If he was sleeping, fine, but if he wants to be alone right now, that was fine too.

Harry's first glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror drew a short bark of laughter from him. His hair was indeed standing on end in every direction. His clothes bore the distinct marks of having been slept in; rumpled and off-kilter. He was suddenly very aware of how long it had been since his last bath, and there was a tub, right over there. It was a deep and wide tub; not as ornate as the one he'd seen in the prefect's bathroom, but definitely serviceable. There was a curtain that could be drawn to block the view, and a cabinet he'd not previously noticed against one wall. Curious, he looked inside.

He was pleased to discover thick, soft towels neatly folded on one shelf, and a full set of clean clothes that looked to be over sized, but comfortable. They were plain brown linen, clearly from a time long, long ago.

Abruptly nervous, Harry decided to peek once more into the main room. Draco had pulled the blanket over his head, but had not moved otherwise. Satisfied, Harry went back to the tub and turned on the center tap. Out poured hot water, steam instantly rising from it. After some fiddling around with the various taps, he managed to get the temperature comfortable, and one of them ran with a lightly scented water. He couldn't identify the smell just yet, but it wasn't flowery. Even though he knew he was quite alone, he drew the curtain, and was blushing the entire time he was getting undressed. Well, now was not the time to figure out what that was all about, now was the time to get clean.

X x X

Thanks to my mighty reviewers, your cookies and Internets are in the mail, I swear! Reviews fuel the fire, tis true, so the more the better! To answer your question, unforgivable curse caster, I have seen Boondock Saints, an all time fave of mine, but the word Veritas in my brain links to the concept of truth, but an extra biscuit to you for seeing a link! As for the title of this chapter, I wanted to say the Lessons of Wine, but that's not what they were drinking, so I went with Spirits instead. That's why there are no ghosts in this. Wow, I'm breaking my A/N rule.§