I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J. owns Harry Potter, not me.
A big thank you to DrarrySmurf, yuediangelo, TheShadowsNeverLied, Astrido, demonicfate616, TaitZu-chan, SevLoverKat, MirrorFlower and Darkwind, SignatureSinful, DinaTheCat, bluetoads, ParanormalMoonlight, a kitsune's light, xSaffire55x, Allyieh, doyou000me, Guest x 4, history, Atta, and MaiKanon! Thanks for your reviews, they made my day :D
Okay, I made a funny little joke in the beginning of this chapter - you guys probably won't think it's funny, but I found it halarious, so it made it to the published version lol Hope you like this chapter, I agonised for days.
Chapter Nine – Any Other Way
Harry Potter Engaged to Death-Eater Draco Malfoy!
Well, it was slightly worse than Harry predicted.
Harry gaped at the heading, now understanding why the entire hall had been shouting and glaring at him as he entered this morning. He had been resigned when the glares turned on him, expecting it. He really hadn't known that anything had occurred until he caught sight of Neville's post, quickly snatching it off of him at the sight of his name on heading. Nothing could have prepared him for that.
Sure, he had been a bit curious about the remarks that had been directed. The fact most people told him to "break it off" had been a bit odd, and in hindsight, a bit of a clue in. But Harry had remained carelessly oblivious, and was now unfortunately sitting in the centre of the hall with every furious eye trained on him.
Where was the bloody prophet getting their facts from?
Harry glared at the large picture of Harry and Malfoy by the lake, taken just yesterday at sunset. Yes, there was glinting on Malfoy's left hand, but it wasn't a fucking ring! Harry had, excited and naive, bet Malfoy to see who could skim their stone father. In the excitement of crossing off twenty nine, he wanted to try for another. He had lost dramatically, and Malfoy was mocking him, trailing the gallon along his fingers like the show-off that he was!
Merlin! Who the hell would even take a picture like that? And why, fucking why, would you send it to the prophet?
Surely his roommates didn't believe this shit? He and Malfoy had only been talking for the past week or so, they didn't even consider one another friends! The Gryffindors couldn't believe this pack of lies?
Oh, yes, yes they could.
An absolutely furious Ginny was throwing down the newspaper, her livid gaze flying around the hall to spot the mortified brunette. She was practically flying over before he could blink, she-bat in action. Dean and Seamus were muttering to themselves, shaking their heads in disgust before throwing heated glares to the table bathed in green. Even Neville was oddly quiet, staring at his half eaten breakfast with a puzzled frown plastered on his face. Every single one of them accepted it as true.
Un-fucking-believable!
"Harry Potter!" Ginny shrieked, grabbing a disregarded paper and flinging it at him. "Is this true? Huh? Explain yourself!" She seemed near tears, very much as if she were nearing hysterics.
It infuriated Harry; that she dared to be hurt, as if more so than he. The prophet wasn't sprouting lies about her. They hadn't made her life miserable more times than she could count. And she wasn't the one about to be ostracised, yet again. What did she have to be hurt about?
"It's not true." He said quietly, standing from the table quickly. She had been towering over him, and even if he couldn't use magic, the slight height difference made him feel a bit more confident.
"They have a picture!" She shouted, "They have a fucking picture!"
"It's. Not. True!" Why wouldn't she believe him? You couldn't even see the ring, and the article was filled with speculation. All they had to go on was a shoddy photo and some imbecile's imagination.
Apparently this imbecile's imagination. "Were you just experimenting with me, is that it?" She demanded, a bit too loud for a hall filled with eavesdropping students. "I was waiting for nothing?"
"It's not true, for fucks sake!" The temptation to grab his wand and do pointless magic for the sake of just ending this insistent torture was becoming too much. Hell, Harry's fingers were even twitching towards his sleeve.
Why did no one here believe him? Honestly, they were acting as if he had committed some devious sin, and was saving gods known and unknown from judging him by doing it themselves, and trying to utterly destroy his good sense of lack of self harm. Did they want him to snap?
And, anyway, it was as if it was any of their fucking business! There could be no way he could even hope to tell them about the illness, if they were going to blow up about a photograph.
The thought hit Harry like a ton of bricks, crushing his chest into a dull, numb stinging. He couldn't tell anyone. He was going to have to face it all alone, even if taking it alone became too much to bare.
The hall grew louder as the doors opened, Harry swinging his eyes over to groan inwardly. Malfoy had just entered the room, seeming oblivious to the tension as he made his way over to his own table. Fucking prat, this was his entire fault…again!
"Miss Weasley, I think it would be good if you could take your seat." Harry actually groaned aloud before turning to McGonagall, wanting nothing more than to approach the nearest wall and bang his head against it until it turned to mush. That, or knocked himself unconscious. Either or, at this point. Preferably mush, though.
The headmistress did not look pleased.
"And Mister Potter, I think you and I need to have a long conversation." Even she was butting in where she didn't belong.
Laughter from across the hall caught Harry's eye, turning slightly to watch as the Slytherins around Malfoy all burst into laughter. Even the blonde git was smirking, shaking his head in disbelief. He was talking to those around him, quite animatedly…and they were all laughing. Sneering at the other tables, but laughing.
No one accosted Malfoy for apparently being engaged. No one even looked remotely angry. They all thought it was a great joke, and wore their trademark smirks proudly. Fantastic.
"Mr Potter, please follow me." The appearance of the please made no difference to the fact it was an order. Harry would follow, or, he was sure, the conversation would be held where he stood, regardless of the students that were trying in vain to eavesdrop.
So, Harry left his untouched breakfast, and followed the silent headmistress from the hall. Every eye followed him, not one comforting.
The walk through the corridors was numb. McGonagall refused to speak. If the silence wasn't indicator enough to know she wasn't that pleased, the infamous crossed arms were a giveaway. If not for the paper clenched in one hand, Harry could have been any other student simply going to detention.
Harry was stuck thinking about the prophet, and how it seemed to want to destroy his entire life before the illness got a chance to. Wasn't he ever going to get a break?
So caught up in loathing his very existence, Harry didn't realise they weren't alone until a not so subtle cough echoed from right next to him.
If McGonagall seemed angry before, now she was livid. Her eyes were so narrowed they hardly looked open, and her voice trembled as she spoke. "Leave us, Mr Malfoy. I don't recall asking you from the hall."
"True, true," Harry cringed at the tone alone, not even having to glance at Malfoy to know he was wearing that condescending sneer he seemed to cherish. "However, you did drag out my fiancé. Shouldn't that be included in my business?"
"No one here is laughing, Mr Malfoy, at your sordid humour. This does not concern-"
"On the contrary," Harry would never have dared interrupt the headmistress, not like that. "It's my name one the headline, too. That, I believe, makes it very much my concern."
Please say no, just please, give me a fucking break! "Fine. You will answer my questions, too." Harry sighed as they continued walking, utterly exhausted. He couldn't keep up with this, the constant anger being directed at him. And now, he was about to get snapped at for an article that he was the subject of, not the creator. To make it worse he had hardly slept last night, the reoccurring nightmares refusing to let him rest more than a few hours each night. Could this day get any better?
Harry glanced at Malfoy was he tapped his arm. "How bad was the hall before I got there?" He asked quietly, raising his eyebrows as McGonagall spun around to glare at them.
"No speaking until we get to the office. I will not have you validating stories, is that clear?" She was off again before they replied.
Harry glanced at Malfoy curiously, watching as he rolled his eyes like the overdramatic twit he was. He caught Harry's gaze, inching over until he was right near his ear. "On a scale? One to ten, how bad?"
"I. Said. No. Speaking." They blinked understanding as their headmistress turned to glare at them, a warning if Harry ever saw one. He didn't know what the consequence would be, but it couldn't be that bad, now could it? What could be worse than the illness?
Harry counted to five before turning back to Malfoy, considering the question. On word shouldn't hurt, should it? "…'bout fifty."
"Fine. Get in there."A frustrated McGonagall flung open a random classroom, eyes glinting dangerously as she ushered them in. They hadn't even sat at their respective desks before she flung the paper at the both of them, eyebrows raised. "What is this rubbish?" She demanded, raising her chin to effectively look down at them. "Explain yourselves."
Harry just blinked, tired eyes willing to close and allow him a few minutes of sleep. This was completely unfair, that they would get ambushed this way. They hadn't even done anything, for Christ's sake.
"It seems," Malfoy drawled, ignoring the groan from Harry, "To be some sort of newspaper article. Correct me if I'm wrong, of course."
"You're pushing a perilous line, Mr Malfoy." The cold reply made Harry sit up, a hand pinching his nose tiredly. He couldn't trust Malfoy to make this any better. Hell, he didn't even know why he had followed them in here. He was going to make this as painful as possible.
"Has the prophet ever written a true word about me?" Harry asked quietly, unable to meet the Gryffindor Head's eyes. "It's not true."
No one, it seemed, was inclined to believe Harry. "You must be aware of the rumours that have been circulating the school, Harry. And then, faced with this-"
"Tell me," Malfoy bit in again, completely unperturbed about the nostril flaring that increased in McGonagall's face, nor the icy glare. "Is it the fact Harry is engaged to a boy that has you so incredibly infuriated, or is it his choice in partner?"
"The rumours were only rumours." Harry tried to cut across Malfoy, but knew he cut in a second too late. Shit, the blonde was playing a dangerous game. Either answer could have her fired, and she knew it. On the other hand, it was an interesting question to pose, at least for Harry. Why was she so furious? For that matter, why were they even obligated to answer her?
A stifled silence echoed throughout the classroom. McGonagall stood to her full height, icy glare drifting from both boys. "This is not to be considered funny, boys. I will only ask once. Is the article true?"
"…No." Harry mumbled when it became clear that Malfoy was opting for a brooding silence instead. If she had listened thirty seconds ago, she wouldn't have had to ask again.
She sighed relief, turning instead to the cooperative Harry. "And are you two dating?"
"I don't see how that in any of your concern." Broody silence was too difficult for Malfoy to uphold, apparently. "You don't ask every other student with whom they are or are not dating, and nor are they obligated to tell you. It is no one's business but our own."
"Harry."
Harry sighed inwardly, swallowing as her demanding gaze drilled holes into his head.
"Potter." Fuck, if McGonagall's glares were holes, Harry was lucky he didn't disintegrate under Malfoy's cold stare. Fuck it all. He was doomed if he did, doomed if he didn't. It all counted on what he had most to lose.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but I fail to see if that is anyone's business." Merlin, he couldn't practically feel Malfoy gloating next to him. Insufferable twat, if he wasn't here it would be over with already! "I should be able to date without being judged, by a teacher no less."
"…Do you think this is wise, Harry? Given your current…activities?" Was there a spell for disintegration? Harry would gladly pay every knut in his vault than have to sit here and take the pity directed towards him. "It wouldn't be fair on yourself, nor your partner, Harry. It's actually quite selfish of you. You know the…the risks, yes?"
They weren't talking about the issue with the prophet anymore.
Harry sighed, this conversation doing nothing to ebb the oncoming headache. It was Sunday for Merlin's sake…he should have listened to his tired body and spent the day sleeping. "…yes." He mumbled, staring at her shoulder quite firmly. He wasn't even dating Malfoy, yet he was feeling guilty.
"And do you think, knowing this, that this course of action is fair?"
"…I'm sick…not dying." Harry sank lower in his chair, swallowing tightly as both eyes became quite attentive in studying his face. They knew his lie. "…Malfoy knows." He added to a silent McGonagall, swallowing before continuing. "And it's my choice to make."
"Be that as it may," If her tone was more judgemental, she would be considered his aunt. "The school will talk. The wizarding community will talk. I hope you boys understand that-"
"The school will know it to be a hoax by lunchtime." Malfoy dismissed with a wave of his hand, lounging back on the chair as if remotely comfortable. Harry didn't know how he did that, acting as if he was here not to be berated. "The Slytherins never believed it. And I think you need to instigate some sort of mail filtration, for the next few days least. I understand I don't have the best reputation, and I can assure howlers have already been sent."
"That is already being sorted, Mr Malfoy." Harry sincerely doubted that. "I know how to run my school." Again, Harry had doubts. They were both scrutinized for the next few moments, the silence soon becoming overbearing. She didn't believe a bloody word they had said, and they all knew it.
When it became clear that nothing else was going to be said, not even a dismissal, Malfoy stretched lazily, getting to his feet. He gestured for Harry to follow, and waited until he did. The door hadn't even clicked shut before he was speaking.
"Not too subtle, that one." He remarked, glancing at the quiet Harry before continuing. "You don't have to look as if it was the end of the world; it's just a rumour."
"Yeah, another rumour to make my wonderful life just that much easier." Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously. He felt, and he didn't know why, like he was about to burst. Wasn't it supposed to get easier? Instead he just felt numb, and when he wasn't numb, he felt this livid, uncontrolled anger. Why couldn't it just be uncomplicated for once? "Why did you even follow us? She thinks we're lying through our teeth, now."
"I was giving you the moral support shit." Malfoy replied easily, his trademark smirk back in place. "You know us Slytherins; we're always there to lend a hand."
Harry could only stare at him blankly. He didn't know if he was trying to be serious, or if he was making a joke. You could never tell with the blonde prat, and it did nothing to make him less uneasy. It could just be a joke…but then why did he follow?
Harry couldn't deal with the fifty shades of Malfoy at the moment. He turned the opposite direction at the first chance he had, trying to ignore the stare that followed him to the entrance hall.
.
.
.
Harry sat near the edge of the lake, in his usual spot by now. The weather was getting colder, each miniscule breeze able to send him into a fit of shivers. It was as if the wind was transporting small particles of ice, which had an affinity towards Harry and only Harry.
Harry didn't appreciate this attraction, but like all things Harry didn't like at the moment; it ignored his wishes and continued to draw towards him. Similarly to the blonde git from hell, who was pointedly watching him from a window in the castle.
Harry had spotted him half an hour ago, and the unabashed boy refused to move. Of course, there was no way to tell that it was Malfoy from this distance. It was just a blur anyway, maybe a blemish on the window. But Harry knew. No one was as ostentatious as the git, and no one would want to mimic that blonde head. So the blonde watched, completely unabashed, as Harry tried to freeze himself by the lake.
The git. Didn't he have his own NEWTs to study for, or was he getting his cronies to do the work for him?
Harry tossed a stone towards the lake, a soft smiling making its way onto his face as it leapt across five times before sinking under the cool water. It was stupid how something as insignificant as making a rock bounce could cheer him up, even make him smile. It was stupid, immature, completely idiotic…
Harry threw another rock as the lake, just to smile.
.
.
.
Harry glanced around, shifting uncomfortably as he wandered through the Gryffindor common room. Where was everyone? Were they actively avoiding him? Did they have a charm that rang when he was approaching the portrait hole?
He needed to talk to them, to explain that the paper was a lie. He needed to salvage his friendships. He couldn't do this alone, the prospect terrified him. He needed someone.
Harry glanced around again, taking in the dying embers of the fireplace and the empty room. The clock…oh. That was why. It was only three in the morning. They weren't avoiding him, they were asleep. He had spent more time at the lake than he had thought.
Sure, he had stayed a few minutes after watching the sunset, but he hadn't thought it had been for hours.
Feeling like a bit of a tosspot, Harry ran a hand through his hair, climbing the steps to his dormitory. He pushed it open, taking a step into the darkened room-
Ron was spread across the floor, something dark covering his too small pyjamas and slowly trickling into a sickly dark puddle around him. His eyes were opened, gazing at nothing. The ever-present frown covered his face, something akin to shock. He…no, this couldn't be happening. Ron couldn't be…
Harry stumbled across the room, barley breathing. Not Ron. Please, anyone but Ron! He tripped and skidding to a halt, cringing as he landed in the sticky liquid, rust invading his nose. He needed to save him. Anything, just to make those eyes see again.
Harry yelped as something yanked him away from his bloodied friend, tossing him aside like the garbage he was. The force was strong enough to weaken his knees, jolting them so he crumpled to the floor.
The thing edged closer to Ron, a scaly hand appearing beneath a dulled cloak, reaching, reaching…it was going for his soul.
Harry was stuck on the floor, watching with paralysed fear as Ron's soul was taken from his chest, a squelching sound echoing cruelly in the room as it was pulled from his very flesh. Shit, he was defenceless; he couldn't even help his friend…
The thing turned to him, blood dribbling off of the grotesque hand, flexing towards Harry-
Harry jerked to the side, falling and yelping loudly. Icy knives stabbed at him from all sides, water filling his mouth. After a few hazardous moments of thrashing, he managed to grip a root and haul himself back to the surface, gasping in gulps of much needed air.
Harry shook in the freezing water of the lake, coughing and spluttering as he inched to the bank. He managed to pull himself up with shaking hands before he collapsed in the mud, chest shuddering fretfully. It was a combination of the extreme fear he had felt in his nightmare, and the freezing water of the lake. Either way, he just wanted to lay there for a few more hours, until he could breathe without gasping.
Harry shivered, a hand inching up to cling at his hair. That nightmare had seemed so real, so detailed. The thing, dementor he realised now, was horrible, gruesome…his stomach heaved at the thought of it. He would never get a good night's sleep.
Harry slowly clambered back to his feet, inching along to the castle. He had fallen asleep by the lake, just like in the dream. It was a coincidence that he didn't want to consider.
He breathed a shaky sigh of relief upon entering his dormitory, but didn't sink into his very tempting bed. He needed to go and take his potions for the night, deal with the furious Pomfrey and try to explain why he was three hours late to the hospital wing. He could nap in three hours, but then had to go to class. Double Potions. Great.
.
.
.
Harry stared at the cube without enthusiasm, trying in vain to ignore all the heated glares thrown his way. It had arrived this morning, and had taken up his time in breakfast instead of trying to communicate with his friends. To be entirely honest, the sigh of Ron made Harry want to throw up everything he had eaten in the past week, which admittedly, wasn't much. He couldn't deal with the frown on Ron's face, not after seeing it permanently stuck there in the nightmare. So he avoided the redhead, not too much difficulty there, and instead played with his new game.
That was how he had spent the last few minutes in defence, and that was how he was going to spend the rest of it. The teacher could hardly complain, now could she? Harry was ahead in defence notes, already completed the homework that was designed for next week. He didn't practise the magic, but then he had been able to cast a shield charm years ago. So instead of paying attention, Harry was lounged back in his chair, trying to figure out a rubik's cube. It was much more difficult than he had imagined. He couldn't even peel the stickers off, like he had seen Dudley do years ago, because these cubs were painted on.
Harry had resolved to taking the cube with him to the hospital tonight, pleading with Pomfrey to let his hands loose. The restraints were not the best company, not on a night like tonight. His nerves were already frazzled; he hadn't had much sleep, yet again, hadn't eaten, yet again, and was being utterly ignored, yet again. He didn't entirely want to be strapped down and left like a mental patient, not when he was so close to snapping. He might just magic his way out of the mess.
What would happen, if he did that? If he used magic during the diagnosis? He was curious enough to try.
Harry rotated another section of the cube, blinking in surprise as the entire side was green, with a vivid orange cube directly in the centre. How the hell had he done that? Was it even possible? Sighing, he cracked his sore knuckles and resumed the slow procession of ruining the cube; this was going to be unattainable.
And to make matters worse, Harry could practically feel Malfoy's distaste from across the classroom, his disgust rolling off in waves. His loathing gaze had never left Harry's back all day, digging into his shoulders uncomfortably. Harry had ignored him, but it never seemed to work lately. If the blonde wanted your attention, he would slide his way in right where he wanted it, like the snake he was. And the insistent staring was doing nothing to calm Harry's weary nerves.
That's all anyone did lately. Stared. They didn't try to hold a conversation, never asked his opinion…just stared. There were different types, of course; furious being the predominant, judgmental the favoured. Pity, it seemed, as a classic with the professors. But never once did anyone ask about Harry's wellbeing. Never once did they inquire if any of the rumours were true, the exception being McGonagall, and she didn't count very much anyway.
No, they just stared. And being on constant surveillance was really starting to annoy Harry. He had lived his life being scrutinized. Did he really need it during the last…during these few months?
So there Malfoy was. Staring.
And, now, waiting to get his arse kicked as soon as their pathetic excuse of a trainee teacher excused the class.
Another glare was thrown his way; ignored. A scowl was hissed at him; not even seen.
Harry was out of his seat and down the hall before the class had even realised class was over. Malfoy had caught up before the bell had even finished.
"What the hell is that?" He demanded immediately, as if it wasn't odd in the slightest that they were walking together from class. After the rumours and the paper, Harry thought he would have wanted to keep his head down. Hell, Harry had hoped Malfoy would keep his head down. "It looks…muggle."
Even after all this time, it stung that Malfoy considered anything beyond his norms as inacceptable. He had spat out 'muggle' as if it were a curse, as if Harry wasn't a half-blood or raised by muggles or spent the last year trying to defend them from a fucking lunatic with no nose!
"Careful, Malfoy, muggle is contagious." Harry spat back, trying to make 'Malfoy' sound as the blonde did 'muggle', and knowing he had failed miserably at it. He focused on the cube, trying not to let his temper edge into his voice. Usually, it might have worked. Today, after irritated over the improbability of completing the cube, the frustration over the rumours, the bloody unrelenting stares, and Malfoy's continued prejudice being thrust in his face…Harry knew he was kidding himself.
How dare he just stalk in and belittle something on the list? That was Harry's list, damn it, and he would be fucking damned if he let anyone judge it!
"Aren't you acting like a little bitch today?" Harry spun around furiously, eyes narrowing at the fucking audacity of the blonde prat. "Is it that time of the month?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy; I've heard it all by now." And he had. It was incredible the amount of names you could be called that all imply the same thing. It was also incredible that so many of the student population could be that prejudiced. "And you know what? It still isn't slightly funny. So why don't you stop playing Death-Eater, because you sure as hell failed at that as well, and grow up!"
Harry regretted it as soon as it left his lips.
Malfoy's face contorted immediately, hiding back behind that insufferable mask. Cool eyes blinked back at him, expression stoic and indifferent. However, if he hadn't been hurt, there would be no need for the mask, now would there?
"Fuck you." Shit, he didn't even yell. Instead he spoke so quietly that Harry wasn't sure if he had heard it or not. Why had he even thought that? It was a touchy subject, even for those in Slytherin that weren't Death-Eaters.
Malfoy barged past him, fleeing to a different hallway. Harry couldn't help the lump that had formed in his throat. An odd feeling had constricted against his chest. For a moment he panicked, thinking it could be his magic having another fit…then he realised.
He wouldn't be seeing the grinning, joking Malfoy again. He had effectively crushed that bridge, in one fell swoop. At least now, in a few months time, no one would be hurt in the slightest. Hell, even Malfoy would smirk when he heard the news. He would be prepared, of course, but protected. No one would be hurt, not by Harry's hand. Well, no one would be hurt excessively.
Now, Harry truly was alone.
He should have been feeling relief…and yet, the lump refused to move.
.
.
.
Harry crossed the floor unhurriedly, his feet getting heavier by the step. Here he was, again. It was the fifth time he had to put up with this hell, and it wasn't getting any easier. His feet were trying to turn and sprint, not going to rest until he was safely past Hogsmead; it was pure will that kept him shuffling towards the bed. That, and the fact Pomfrey was following a step behind, as if she could read fragments of his screaming mind.
"No company tonight?" She queried quietly, seeming remarkably relieved despite her apparent unbiased nature as a professor.
"No." The word was hollow, empty. Was his brain trying to make him numb already? Take some of the pain away? He had read, once before, that the body was able to do that sometimes, to try to preserve the owner stress. Did this count as stress enough?
"…I believe it's for the best."
Because Harry always did what was for the best. Becoming a murderer, isolating his friends and avoiding all contact. He was Harry Potter! Golden Boy extraordinaire, selfless and heroic! Yes, all for the best.
Tonight, Harry wasn't so sure.
Especially when Pomfrey reached for the restraints.
"Uh, it's alright tonight, I don't need them." Harry shifted his wrist away, pretending to smile at the patron. He held up the cube. "I have this instead, you know, to keep my hands busy."
Pomfrey didn't speak for a moment, but she didn't release her hold on the restrain either. It wasn't the best indication. The sickly feeling that accompanied his gut every time he entered the hospital wing grew stronger, fetid and cruel. It was enjoying this, Harry's discomfort.
"Harry, last time I left your hands free, you clawed at your chest." She spoke to his shoulder, as she always did now. It did nothing to ease his nerves. "I can't allow you to self harm."
"It wasn't on purpose." The smile was getting harder to hold. "This way I can concentrate on something else. I won't hurt myself."
"You can't ensure that."
"You could, if you didn't leave."
It was the wrong thing to say.
Pomfrey stiffened visibly, her eyes narrowing. She took on the pose that had disobedient students sprinting to the door, lest she force them to clean bedpans or the like. She wasn't usually purposefully cruel, but then she wasn't usually disrespected by students. She jabbed her wand at him, refusing to look at his face as the restrains curled around his wrists, locking into place. The cub remained in Harry's hand, utterly useless.
"…I don't want the restraints." Harry said louder, trying to jerk his hand and almost whimpering when it didn't budge. "Apparently subtle doesn't work with you."
"While you are my patient, Mr Potter," Suddenly he was only known by surname basis. "You will do as I command. I cannot allow you to hurt yourself. The restraints will stay on tonight, and every Tuesday, for the next few months. Understand?" She started attaching the needles to his arms, still resolute in avoiding his gaze. "And as my patient, I will be treated with respect. I am an incredibly busy woman, and I have other patients and other work to attend to other than you. You need to respect that. I cannot coddle you throughout your treatment." Bloody hell, Harry wasn't asking to be coddled! He was pleading not to be chained up like a mental patient!
"…Please, just don't-!"
He cringed as she flicked on the machine, hardly waiting for it to hum before spinning around and hurrying back to her office. Other patients and work his arse! She was either running off to sleep, obliverate herself, or take comfort in a large bourbon.
It slid into his arm, humming happily to itself as it chewed through the muscle in Harry's wrist. His fist tightened on the cube, not as good as a distraction as he assumed it would be, but the action only flared it up. It tightened its hold on his arm, digging through the bone and squeezing until Harry felt his arm was going to snap, like it had the other day.
It stung, that was it. A slight sting. It wasn't hurting, just smarting a bit. Just a little. This was nothing, Harry. You've died once before, haven't you? This little throbbing doesn't compare to-
Fuck! Harry yelped as it inched along his arm to his elbow, shifting through the joint as though it was supposed to bend backwards. He needed to do something, fucking anything, to ignore the thing that was literally invading his body. He even tried twisting his other wrist against the restraint, checking if it would cut or bruise. Of course it would bruise, but he needed something to avoid feeling the ache that was overwhelming his arm-
Harry flicked his eyes to the door as it clicked shut, adrenaline coursing through his body. He couldn't be found here, not like this; the fucking rumours would never stop.
The adrenaline wasn't a good thing. When the chemical and It came into contact, it was as if Harry's very arm was on fire. Liquid molten spread through his veins, trying to burn him from the inside. It smouldered, refusing to abscond. His arm squealed with pain, shrieking…no, no that was him.
Harry clamped his teeth onto his lips to cut out that dreadful whine, loathing himself when a whimper still managed to escape his throat. This couldn't get that much worse.
Scraping next to the bed forced him to squeeze his eyes open. He shut them almost immediately. God, no! It had to be his vivid fucking imagination; the Universe couldn't be this cruel.
"Just so you know, I'm still extremely pissed off at you." Yes, yes it could, and would, be. "You cannot comprehend just how much I want to break that ugly face of yours, Potty. Cutting out your tongue and smashing your nose wouldn't be enough to satisfy me."
"…get…in line…" Harry managed to mumble, hardly even considered that as he couldn't fully remove his teeth from his bottom lip yet. He didn't want to shriek again, defiantly not in front of Malfoy. Not again.
"Malfoy's don't queue." He retorted. Harry could practically see the sneer in place. It was, surprisingly, comforting. Just imagining the brainless git's reaction was considerably better than focusing on It, currently tearing along his forearm.
"Why are…you here?"
"I don't speak mumble." Malfoy yawned lazily, two heavy thumps on the bed indicating he had rested his feet over Harry. He was the picture of indifference.
"Why…are you-?"
"Try again."
Harry growled to himself, feeling his temper rise already. Trust a fucking Malfoy to try to take advantage of this situation. He wanted nothing more than to say it clearly, and wipe the imaginary smirk off of his face.
"Why are you here?" It was an effort to not clamp his mouth shut again, especially when It decided that now would be an absolutely perfect time to try to dislocate Harry's shoulder, but he managed it. Albeit slowly, he managed it.
"So you can speak cohesively." Harry shouldn't have felt a shimmer of ..pride?...with those words. "I, however, refuse to communicate with people with poor etiquette. For example, refusing to meet my gaze."
…
He couldn't be serious? However, lo and behold, when Harry remained quiet for a few moments ominous tsking began echoing throughout the hospital wing. What a heartless bastard; Harry couldn't even move here, he could barely speak, and yet Malfoy wanted him to turn and look him in the eye?
Everyone always said that Harry was an open fucking book; if he faced Malfoy right now, he would be present for every emotion that flickered across Harry's mind. That was not the most desirable prospect. For Merlin's sake, he wanted more ammunition!
"Potty? You still with us?" Even now, he seemed impassive. If Harry wasn't literally tied to the bed, that bloody aristocratic nose would already be broken. But…
It was stillbetter than focusing on the potion.
Loathing himself to the darkest depths of wizarding hell, if he was still able to get in, of course, being counted as a squib, Harry slowly turned to face Malfoy. It was pure torture, and utterly fucking humiliating to face his nemesis like this, but he did it. He had to. He couldn't focus, not tonight. And even if Malfoy was being nothing more than a merciless prat, at least it was a reliever of a kind. After all, he wasn't allowed numbing potions.
Pain-laced green met with slightly irritated grey.
And It sliced its way through to Harry's chest.
The potion slithered its way into his heart, basking in the source of magic, attempting to taint it with its fetid essence. It clung to every muscle, to every nerve…and squeezed.
Harry thrashed on the bed, anything to dislodge it. Move. Move. MOVE! He was dimly aware that he was shrieking again, but couldn't summon the effort to care. He needed the thing that was devouring him to stop; he just needed it to stop!
And as if It could taste Harry's desperation, and enjoyed it, It clawed deeper, basking in the pain. It would cease slightly, giving Harry false hope that the torture was almost over, before clinging to his insides again, steadfast and malicious. It was pitiless, giggling as it shredded his tissues and muscles.
Harry's chest was getting tighter and tighter, compressing ruthlessly. Tighter…tighter…
The potion slid on, poisoning his stomach instead.
Immediately Harry began guzzling down gulps of air, remembering how to breathe. Too quickly, for he began spluttering uselessly for a good few minutes; an odd mixture of panting and coughing simultaneously. Fuck, it had never been that intense before. It felt…alive.
The violent urge to suddenly throw up everything he had eaten in that week returned. Harry had to make do with clamping his mouth shut, his hands disengaged.
His throat was throbbing. His eyes were watery and stinging. And cold sweat was clinging to his back. Great. Fantastic. He had screamed and cried in front of Malfoy, again. Fucking brilliant!
Well, there was no bloody way he was meeting his eyes now. The blonde prat could complain and bitch about all he wanted, it was mortifying. If only the potion had managed killed him.
Harry flinched as hands suddenly snatched the rubiks cube from his numbing hand, tossing it aside. It clattered against the tiles, in all probability shattering. It made him wonder why the bastard of a Slytherin held such loathing for the toy; it was a toy, for Merlin's sake!
Malfoy quietly reached over and replaced the cube with a soft, incredibly warm hand.
Harry blinked in surprise at the willing contact between them. Malfoy wouldn't want to be caught doing something like this, would he? He was holding Harry's hand. What type of crazed Slytherin…?
The hand squeezed gently, able to communicate oh-so-many words without a single syllable. It counted any pain instantaneously; all the brunette could feel was the heat radiating from his palm, the slight pressure to reassure that he wasn't alone, not anymore. The tightness in his throat returned, nothing at all related to the pain from shrieking.
"I still hate you." Malfoy whispered softly, his voice almost nonexistent. And despite the negativity in the message, Harry found himself smiling.
"I wouldn't have it…any other way…"
A warmness Harry had forgotten began creeping its way back into his life.