Title: The Secret's In The Telling
Authoress: Sakuri
Rating: T
Summary: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one
Chapter 12: Accidents Happen
xxx
Hermione's scream rose up inside her, trapped, unheard by anyone but herself as she watched, entranced, as Harry was struck by Malfoy's curse. He went down without a sound, bleeding. God, so much blood!
And then Ron was gabbing her about the waist, pulling her roughly backwards. She tripped and fell against him. Where she had been standing only seconds before, the black snake of Malfoy's was coiled, hissing and spitting. No longer charmed by Harry's Parseltongue, it returned to its original task of attacking Ron.
Again it reared back, fangs glistening, prepared to lunge. She drew her wand, mind rapidly going through a list of spells that might work on a conjured creature.
But before she could do anything, the thing disappeared in another puff of smoke. She looked up, to find Malfoy pointing at it, his wand shaking in unsteady hands. He looked shocked and faintly ill, but she had no time for him.
Darting forward, she threw herself down next to Harry's prone figure. She slid slightly in the pools of sticky crimson that were forming on the tiled floor. Refusing to acknowledge the clawing panic growing inside of her, she lay her hands on her friend's chest, trying to find the source of the bleeding. The robes and T-shirt he was wearing were ripped, she saw, and parted the shredded articles of clothing.
A gasp escaped her just as Ron dropped to his knees next to her. Together they stared in horror at the slash across Harry's chest which gushed blood.
"Episkey!" she tried desperately, the only healing spell she knew. The gash seemed to tighten slightly, but nowhere near closing.
"We have to get him to Pomfrey," Ron was saying lowly in her ear, already moving to cast a Levicorpus spell.
Suddenly, Hermione felt herself shoved gracelessly aside, and a third presence was snapping out, "Move, Granger."
Half blinded by her own panic, she simply had to see the flash of white-blond and her control snapped. "You BASTARD! You stay away from him! Petrificus Tot–"
Malfoy's hand shot out and hit her wand, sending it spiralling across the room. "I said move, Granger!" The aristocratic, disdainful voice she was used to had vanished, to be replaced by a growl that wasn't recognisable as the Slytherin's trademark drawl.
He was down on his own knees with them then, ignoring the blood that swiftly smeared the tailored robes. Hawthorn wand in hand, he waved it in some intricate gesture, muttering something she couldn't make out over the rushing in her ears, and the raised voices of everyone else in the room.
She didn't know if he finished, only that Ron had suddenly grasped the smaller boy and tossed him backwards with little effort. Malfoy fell awkwardly, his wand clattering away from him, and then Ron was upon him, roaring incoherently, fists flying. She could hear Malfoy yelling something, trying to be heard, but the redheaded boy only seemed interested in destroying him.
But then, taking her by surprise, Ron was suddenly hurtled a good several feet across the room. He skidded to a stop, landing on his backside, looking just as shocked as her that Malfoy had used that kind of strength.
"Look at him, Weasley!" the blond was shouting, gesturing wildly. "Fucking look at him before you kill me!"
She spun away from the fighting pair, throwing herself down to examine Harry again. She lifted his shirt, and though sticky redness still stained every inch of his skin and clothing, she could find no gash.
"Ron!"
He was by her in a second. "What? Is he okay? Is he –"
"He's…" She trailed off, waving her hand helplessly at the lack of an injury. Her eyes turned slowly back towards Malfoy, who had been left panting on the floor, his harsh breathing quickly becoming the only sound in the near silent room.
"It was an accident," he said at last, voice tiny in comparison to the snotty confidence he normally exuded. "I didn't know what it did."
Hermione felt like she was going to explode. A thousand and one insults were springing to her lips, but none of them seemed good enough to describe the pure stupidity–
Anyway, Ginny Weasley beat her to the punch.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN IS WRONG WITH YOU?" she screamed, startling everyone. Malfoy actually paled at the sight of the furious young witch stalking towards him. "WHO CASTS AN UNKNOWN CURSE LIKE THAT IN A PRACTICE DUEL? AND AT HARRY! WHO ALLOWED YOU TO BE HERE –"
She was cut off by Neville, who hurriedly wrapped a restraining arm around her and all but dragged her backwards, literally kicking and screaming.
All eyes once again settled on the distinctly uncomfortable Slytherin, who was slowly beginning to realise that not only had he nearly killed The Boy Who Refused To Die in full sight of his biggest supporters, he, Draco Malfoy, had also just saved his miserable life.
"S-someone," Hermione started, never taking her eyes of the blond, "go get Madam Pomfrey. And the Headmaster."
Draco winced.
Well, this should be interesting, he thought despondently
xxx
The gossip mill did not take long to start churning, at least among the members of the DA. And though they longed to tell everyone they possibly could of what had happened, Hermione's contract kept their silence. To each other, they repeated the same questions over and over again.
What had Harry been thinking, bringing Draco Malfoy here? Why had Malfoy even shown? Merlin knew he didn't need Defence lessons, when he was practically sleeping with their current DADA Professor, teacher's pet that he was… And besides, what did a Death Eater in training want with Dumbledore's Army?
And that spell! No one among them had seen it or even heard of it before, not even Hermione, who was generally accepted as an Encyclopaedia of wizarding knowledge. Which, it had to be said, begged the question of where Malfoy had learnt it.
They were also wondering about the abrupt 180 the Slytherin had done – from trying to kill Harry to saving his life, when no one else seemed able to do anything. And of course, there had been the strange events afterwards – not only had the Headmaster seen for himself the state Harry was in, and been told what had happened, he'd also utterly failed to expel Malfoy on the spot.
By the time Harry woke in his hospital bed some hours later, the whole thing had been analysed in detail, though no one, as of yet, had found a sensible explanation.
xxx
Harry stirred slowly, waking as he was jostled and poked in the ribs. Opening his eyes, he could make out the blurry image of Madam Pomfrey hovering over him, her wand waving in sweeping gestures and occasionally jabbing at him experimentally. He winced as the length of wood yet again made sharp contact with his side.
"Oh, you're awake now, are you?" the nurse muttered, glancing at him briefly.
"Hnngh," he responded intelligently. "What happened this time?"
Her eyes flickered up to look at him intently before returning to her examination. "Well, I'm afraid you've got another scar, Mr Potter."
He jerked. "What?" Struggling to sit up, he was handed his glasses, and quickly put them on. Looking down, he found himself shirtless. Crossing his chest, from right shoulder down toward his left hip, was the thin silvery line of a newly formed scar.
"Duelling, Mr Potter," she went on, tutting. "Thoroughly irresponsible of you, I must say…"
He frowned. Duelling? Duelling – the DA – Malfoy – "Malfoy!" he growled suddenly.
She nodded carefully.
"Why – I mean, how am I -?" He gestured to himself, indicating the healed gash down his front.
The nurse's mouth tipped in a smile. "According to all reports, your miraculous recovery is ironically also due to Mr Malfoy."
"That bas– What?" He was becoming incredulous now, scowling in confusion.
She chuckled. "I'll be back in a moment, Mr Potter." And with that she bustled off down the ward, leaving him feeling more than a little perplexed.
Gingerly, he traced a finger along the neat line that dissected him, resting his hand where it crossed his breastbone. What the hell had Malfoy done to him? He remembered duelling, and the snake, and then pain and… nothing. What kind of spell did this? Now, at the very least, he knew the Slytherin was perfectly capable of using Dark magic. Too bad he'd had to be on the wrong end of it, though…
Wincing slightly, he levered himself up until he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. He was still clad in jeans, which had been worn under school robes, but his shirt was nowhere to be seen. Disturbingly, he could see dried red stains dying the blue denim brown in places. It was quite unnerving.
Glancing around, he looked fruitlessly for clothes that might have been left out for him. Being half naked in the hospital wing, much as he was used to the place, made him uncomfortable. Distracted by his search, he didn't notice the new presence in the room until a soft, purposeful cough caught his attention.
Turning, he saw the Slytherin student hovering some distance away, hesitating.
"Malfoy! What are you doing here?"
The blond walked slowly forward, his usual swagger somewhat lacking. Harry's eyebrows climbed as he took in the other's appearance.
The expensive, neatly folded robes that normally radiated class were now creased and rumpled, and visible on the green trim were the dark, rather ominous stains of blood. Not only that, there were even traces of the same redness right through the silvery hair, as if Malfoy had run a bloodstained hand through the strands. Under his left eye was the blossoming darkness of a new bruise.
Forgetting his first demand, Harry gaped. "What happened to you?" he asked, staring in morbid fascination. "Is that… is that mine?" Helplessly, he indicated the bloody smears covering the Slytherin.
Malfoy flushed, almost sheepishly. "Yes. I haven't had a chance to change. I've been in the Headmaster's office since…"
Curious, Harry studied the prominent black eye. "And that?"
The Slytherin looked back at him wryly. "Apparently Weasley took offence to me saving your life. And Pomfrey isn't healing it as some kind of malicious punishment."
At that, the Gryffindor seemed to recall the situation, and his manner abruptly chilled. "So what do you want, anyway?" he snapped, glaring. "Come for another shot at me?"
Malfoy scowled. "Look, Potter, don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't think… I didn't mean to…" He sighed, frustrated. "I've never used the spell before," he admitted, shrugging. "I didn't know it would do that."
Harry stared at him, incredulous. "So you decided to test it on me?"
The blond folded his arms defensively. "Yes, alright. The Weaselette already informed me of my mental defect in that area, thanks…"
"Glad someone did," Harry sniped, feeling justified in his ill-temper.
"It was an accident, alright? I didn't actually mean to killyou –"
"It's not just that, though, is it? Malfoy, you set a snake on Ron! Just to distract me! I mean, for Merlin's–!" The Gryffindor broke off sharply, his green eyes growing wide. "Wait. The snake. Oh god, it didn't… I mean, when I blacked out, it didn't…?"
The Slytherin abruptly seemed to realise what was being asked, and shook his head quickly. "No. I vanquished it as soon as it… happened. And I only did it because I knew– I mean, I'd thought you'd be able to control it…"
"Don't you have any kind of… conscience?"
For the long moments the blond stared at him, looking confused, as if he couldn't quite understand something. "Potter, you're lying in the hospital wing because of a curse I cast without testing – and instead of yelling at me for that, you're lecturing about my lack of duelling morals?"
Harry snorted. "Better people than you have tried and come closer to killing me, Malfoy. I guess I've just gotten used to it," he remarked wryly.
"Oh, yes, there it is," the Slytherin suddenly snapped. "I'd been wondering where your martyr-complex had disappeared to."
The Gryffindor sneered. "Yeah, that's exactly what this is," he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"Fine," Malfoy said sharply, his expression closing over. "Don't even know why I came here." All huffy indignity, the blond turned on his heel, somehow managing to make blood-crusted robes look haughty as they rippled behind him.
"Malfoy." Harry called out automatically, not really sure why. He waited for the Slytherin to turn and look at him, but almost immediately looked away to the side uncomfortably when grey eyes finally pinned him. "I… Thanks, I guess. For –"
"Don't thank me, Potter," Malfoy snapped, sounding annoyed. "I didn't exactly have a choice. The Headmaster's spell didn't take kindly to me standing by watching you bleed to death." He spoke dryly, but his voice was brittle, as if barely managing to conceal whatever emotion lay beneath.
Harry stared back at him steadily, trying not to wonder what would have happened if Dumbledore's spell hadn't been in place. Shaking the thought from his head, he nodded once. "Guess we're even then," he said, barely audible, but the grey eyes locked with his own flashed.
"Whatever, Potter," was the dismissive response, Malfoy trying for scornful but not quite managing. He looked, in fact, faintly disturbed. Finally, he tore his gaze away and stalked out of the ward, not looking back.
As he reached the door, he almost walked straight into Ron, who was just entering with Hermione. The redhead leered dangerously at the smaller boy, who merely curled a lip, disdainfully sidestepping.
Scowling, his friends made their way toward his bed. They were dressed cleanly, probably having changed clothes, unlike the Slytherin, though they hadn't bothered with school robes. It was nearing curfew, not worth putting on their uniform when they had a decent excuse to avoid doing so.
"What was he doing here?" Ron asked as he dropped onto the bed beside him.
Harry shrugged. "His version of an apology, I think," he answered unsurely. "Pretty sure Dumbledore made him show his face."
"Ferrety little git should have been expelled," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "Everyone who saw it is saying so. He could have killed you, mate."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, and I got the scar to prove it." He glanced down again, sighing at the sight of the silvery mark.
Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "Does it hurt?"
"No, not really. It's just kind of annoying. That he got one over on me, I mean."
The witch rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Of all the things to be worried about!" She sighed. "Well, I suppose it could have been much worse. I… I couldn't do anything, you know. You would have… If Malfoy hadn't known what to do…" She trailed off, looking away and blinking rapidly.
Ron broke the abrupt tension by letting out a sceptical, "Hah! Hermione, you're forgetting that it was him who caused the whole mess in the first place! If it hadn't been for Malfoy, we'd all be happily up in Gryffindor right now." He looked darkly at Harry. "Although, you're not blameless as well, you know. It was you who brought him!"
Harry widened his eyes innocently. "I told you already! Dumbledore made me!"
Hermione held up her hands, stopping them. "Look, let's forget about Malfoy, alright? What's done is done, but… Harry's fine. Leave it at that."
Harry smiled, relieved that she, at least, was prepared to drop the subject.
xxx
Draco just managed to drop himself onto the couch as he entered his rooms, and felt perfectly justified in wanting to sleep for a week. He'd briefly thought about returning to Slytherin – he wanted desperately to talk to Pansy and Blaise, to find some normality with them – but with the mood and the state he was currently in, being around his friends was a bad idea.
For one, they'd probably want to know whose blood he was covered in, and what exactly he'd been doing to end up that way. He was not about to launch into an in-depth explanation of how he'd been forced to attend Potter's Defence club, which had only almost resulted in the untimely death of both of them – Potter, by his own hand, and himself by an enraged Weasley.
No, bad idea all around, facing Pansy and Blaise right now.
He wondered vaguely if he should move, go get showered and ready for bed – but even the thought of shifting himself from his semi-comfortable position made him cringe. So he remained where he was, thoughts drifting tiredly.
He could also sense the wolf, growling edgily at the fringes of his mind, alerted by his anxiousness over the day. He'd have to go see Lupin again soon, loathe as he was to admit it. Better a few hours humiliation than sinking into the unfit state he'd been in previously. The man had somehow managed to fix it last time, so he'd be able to do it again, surely. He'd probably just talk about acceptance and changing again – and really, all that had done was send Draco straight to Granger, of all people, and her bloody equal-rights speeches – but if Lupin's method worked, for whatever unfathomable reason, then Draco was willing to listen to him prattle on if it meant staying in his right mind for a while.
Sighing, the blond purposely cast his thoughts in another direction.
He'd be glad when Severus got back, though his godfather would probably be furious over what had happened in his absence. But knowing the Potions Master, he'd find a way to blame Potter for the whole incident. Stupid Gryffindor – it had been his fault anyway, Draco rationalised. Rushing off to play hero to the Weasel, instead of concentrating on what he was supposed to be doing. If he'd been paying attention, the prat would've ducked the curse, and the whole thing could have been avoided…
But no, how silly, that was the clever thing to do.
And where did Potter get off, thinking they were even? It seemed everything that had gone wrong lately could be traced back to him. The Boy Who Lived had done nothing but systematically destroy Draco's life. They were nowhere near even.
It had been him, doubtless, who was responsible for the werewolf's presence here this year – and him who had utterly failed to keep it on a leash! If he was going to bring along Dark creatures to teach at Hogwarts, he should bloody well take responsibility for them! But – gasp! – that was simply too mundane a task for the hailed Saviour! No, he'd much prefer to stride in at the last moment, catering to a hero-complex to go with that martyr one, and be the one to save the situation before it went tragically wrong.
Too bad for Draco that Potter's version of 'tragic' didn't seem to coincide with his own. Far be it from him to wish that the Gryffindor Golden Boy had deigned to show up a few moments earlier, but as it was…
But worse than that – far worse than that – was the sickening thought of being sworn to Potter. Thanks to Dumbledore he was sworn, irreversibly, to act like yet another starry-eyed worshipper. That's what it amounted to, anyway. Forced to run around after the idiot, fixing whatever disasters he managed to create, all the while trying to convince the rest of the world that he was still Draco Malfoy, bitter enemy of one Harry Potter.
Hah! Merlin, his life was becoming a joke…
And then there was Lucius. Lucius, who had stopped sending him letters altogether, who he could expect never to see again until – at the very least – he graduated, who was even now–
But no. He didn't want to think in detail about his father.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move from the couch, stumbling sluggishly towards the warm, cleansing bliss of a shower and then sleep.
But first, of course, he fully intended to incinerate the robes soaked in Potter's blood.