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.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.
Hello to all my beautiful reviewers!I am sorry this chapter is so late, I hated writing it. :) Thank you for all who reviews - here you go! A nice long one...(and I'm sorry already!) :) Enjoy!
Chapter 14- Exhausted
"Stop smiling."
Harry glanced away from Malfoy, struggling to restrain his grin. His hand was reattached; twinging, but moving the way it was supposed to. Malfoy hadn't left his side once after trying to rip him limb from limb, and he couldn't stop smiling. Harry was ecstatic.
His list was being completed, step by step. And to make his day just that much better, now he had a blonde git from Slytherin, one which would have an entire plethora of twisted ideas, to assist him in crossing them off. His list was going to get done. Merlin, he could bloody sing!
He couldn't stop smiling, something McGonagall wasn't that pleased with. But then, she wouldn't understand.
"Mr Potter, this is not something you should be-"
"Honestly, professor," Harry never would have dreamed to interrupt her like that, but he was too lively to care at the moment. He almost laughed again at that; describing himself as 'lively'; how contradictory. "It was an accident. I thought we were apparating to the pub, Malfoy thought we were apparating to Zonko's. We got confused."
"Too much alcohol." Malfoy added, smirking as their headmistress turned her icy glare toward him instead. "Probably not the best idea."
"Probably not." She repeated, arms crossing dangerously. Harry thought it was ridiculous, actually. Accidents like this happened all the time, didn't it? Sure, their splinching was on purpose, but she wasn't to know that. And she definitely wasn't supposed to judge. "Tell me, Mister Malfoy, do you have your apparating licence?" Harry's grin dropped slightly as Malfoy nodded. God, she knew that he didn't…
"And Mister Potter…do you have your apparating licence?" Harry didn't have to answer her; his embarrassed silence was enough. "So, let me get this straight. You two were trying to apparate within Hogsmead, under the influence of alcohol, with one of you without a licence?"
They nodded sullenly, knowing they couldn't worm their way from this one. Harry didn't think she would calculate all that from the limited sentences they had provided her with; of course, the universe loathed him. "I'm astonished at the sheer level of idiocy you two continue to share." She continued, shaking her head at them both. "Fifty points. Each."
Harry watched her leave without a sense of guilt; what was the point of worrying over house points? If you weren't technically a part of a house, you couldn't really worry over the loss of points, now could you? And did an 'accident' really merit the loss of points? Battling the troll in first year had cost him less, and that was an incident he had ensured.
He glanced at the quiet blonde next to his hospital bed, grinning as he met uneasy grey eyes. The git was still nervous Harry was about to murder him. Not likely, after a date like that.
"So…I thought you said I wasn't allowed to risk myself?" Harry asked casually, sliding from the bed and slipping his jumper back on. He was grateful the movement hid his face, sure that it would be red again. They hadn't mentioned their fight, a rule both were more than willing to comply with. Harry wasn't sure if he was crossing some line here, and if he was, he didn't want to see the friendly Malfoy hide back behind his mask. It was unbearable, the way Malfoy decidedly hid. It shouldn't hurt the way it always did.
"I don't recall." Malfoy replied equally as neutral. "But if I did imply something of the sort, it would be directed towards your iconic selfdestruct mode that seems to be your default setting. If I'm out there mutilating you, at least I know you won't be killing yourself in some pathetic attempt to build the ultimate snowman."
"It's dangerous to build a snowman?" Harry asked dryly, raising his eyebrows as Malfoy just smirked back.
"Knowing you, you would impale yourself on a twig."
"Touching, that you think you know me."
"I know more than you think."
Bloody git.
Harry grinned as Malfoy couldn't resist rising his chin up, superior as always. He didn't seem the least bit nervous now…perhaps Harry should have snapped at him instead? Joking around always inflated his egotistical head. Not good when the boy considered himself something of a god.
Harry climbed into bed later that evening, grin still on his face. After leaving the hospital wing they had drifted back to the library, playing a crude game Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies had created which involved book titles, a three second time limit, and Malfoy's very imaginative (disturbing!) mind. Harry hadn't laughed that much in months. He couldn't stop smiling; his cheeks were sore.
"Good date, Harry?" Neville asked, dimming the light as he padded to his own bed.
Good? That didn't quite capture it.
.
.
.
"Harry, Malfoy's watching you again." Neville informed him helpfully, looking all too amused at the current situation. They were in the library at the moment; Neville was procrastinating on completing the almost impossible transfiguration homework, and Harry was trying his hand at different languages again. Almost as impossible as ignoring the blonde git that was sitting three tables away, who refused to divert his attention elsewhere.
He had been watching since Harry entered the hall, mouth smirking as Harry rolled his eyes. The amusement had quickly transformed to affront as Harry decided to sit with his friend instead of venturing over to the Slytherin table. Seriously what did he want Harry to do? Send Neville on his way just because Malfoy looked at him?
By Malfoy's rapt and almost irritating glare, yes, yes he did.
"Harry, he's still watching."
"So I've been told." Harry replied dryly, refusing to look up from his book. How was he supposed to concentrate when he had the idiot sitting just across from him? Bloody hell, it was as if he were drilling into his skull. If looks could kill, Neville would be massacred by now. And it didn't help in the slightest that Harry's stomach was acting up again, tight and twisting; why did he feel this sick every time Malfoy glared? Hopefully he was allergic to the blonde. The thought made him smile.
"He's smirking now. It's odd…I don't think I've ever seen Malfoy happy."
"Neville, I don't need to know what he's doing every three seconds."
"It's creepy; looks as if he's about to steal ice-cream from children."
Harry grinned at that, flicking his eyes up to meet the very vivid grey immediately. Nope, bad idea. His stomach twisted almost painfully as the eyes blinked, forcing his head down again.
"I'm not looking at him, so quit it. My stomach's acting up as it is." He could practically feel Malfoy gloating across the room.
Neville grinned at that, a mischievous glint that Harry didn't want to meet creeping into his eyes. "You still get butterflies? Harry, Harry, Harry. You should be comfortable with him by now, given how many dates you guys seem to-"
"Oi, hold on!" Harry blinked at that, panic rising through his chest. What the hell? He didn't get butterflies over Malfoy…they weren't even dating! They went on a singular date, as friends! That's it! "Butterflies? Who the hell said anything about butterflies? I'm not some girl that swoons over him!"
"Hey, does this say Mrs Harry Malfoy on your binder?" Neville laughed as Harry whacked his arm, retreating back to his side of the table and dropping the book. But the glint hadn't left his eyes yet; Harry wasn't in the clear yet. "Your stomach feels upset? Uncomfortable?" Harry nodded slowly not at all liking the grin that stretched over his friend's face. "Palms sweaty? Feel awkward?" Harry didn't need to nod for that one.
"Heart racing-"
"No!"
"Liar." Why was a he friend with Neville again? And when the hell had he gotten so confident?
But Harry didn't have butterflies! His didn't have a crush on Malfoy, no way in bloody hell. They were friends; that's it! These were just symptoms of his illness; Neville almost had him there. Almost. Stupid Neville and his stupid ideas.
"How far are you in your homework?" Harry asked before Neville could say anymore, smirking as he groaned and hit his head on the table.
"That's low Harry…low."
Harry stared at the polish word he had scribbled down, not having any inclination to read it and not knowing how to pronounce it. It just wasn't sinking in today…difficult enough, with Neville making wild accusations and Malfoy drilling a whole through Harry's head with willpower alone.
Harry didn't have butterflies. First of all, he wasn't interested in a relationship with a guy. Secondly, he wasn't interested in a relationship full stop right now. Never again. He couldn't do that to someone, and then leave them in a few months. It wasn't right, not in the slightest.
Malfoy was still staring at him. He was probably still waiting for Harry to kick Neville out. Actually, there was no 'probably' to be associated with Malfoy; he either wanted something or he didn't, and when he wanted something, it was given on a bloody golden platter. Well, not this time.
Harry glanced up quickly, blinking as he met Malfoy's steady gaze.
Fuck.
Butterflies.
.
.
.
Harry jerked to his feet, horrified. No. No. He couldn't have a fucking crush, and not on the pompous git of a Slytherin that he loved to hate. It wasn't happening.
Swallowing tightly, he threw Neville some feeble excuse to use the bathroom and basically ran from the room. Cowardly? Yes. Did he give a flying fuck? Not a chance.
Harry hurtled into the room, running a hand through his hair anxiously. No. Just…no.
Why him?
His body had already betrayed him enough that year, but to react to Malfoy? This was just the clincher of a perfect year, wasn't it? Let's toy with him through magic, mind and body…and now his dick as well!
Harry cursed, throwing a filthy glare at his reflection, as if it was its fault. He liked spending time with Malfoy. Fuck, it was fun. He didn't want that to stop all because his body thought it would be fun to ruthlessly swindle him…again. Butterflies? Seriously? Why not throw in a blush every time the git from hell said anything…oh god. He had been lately… Merlin, did the Universe loathe him that much?
Did he really not see the signs? Was he really this naive? Harry pinched his nose, trying to breathe normally. Hopefully Malfoy was just as unperceptive as Harry had been. He could probably ignore it, as he had been…as long as Neville didn't bring it up again. If it was ignored, it didn't exist…right?
"If you send the Gryffindork away, we'll be able to talk, Potty." Oh, for fu-! "He shouldn't have that much of interest to say, surely. You're probably into the third telling of his favourite nursery rhyme by now."
"Go away, Malfoy."
"Tch, turned back into Gryffindor's Golden Boy?" Harry spun around as the door began to swing open, slashing his wand towards it. It locked with a nice little 'click', leaving Harry slightly smug as a thump heard from the other side. Harry was guessing Malfoy had just walked into the door. "Ow! Oi, Scarhead-"
"Just go away for ten minutes." Was it really that much to ask? That he could go to the bathroom to think in relative silence after been assaulted with a realisation that was better off forgotten? He needed to think and sort out his head; such as, when had he started to get fucking butterflies from Malfoy and not from Ginny? It was absurd!
"Open the door, Potter, so I can curse you to oblivion and back." Harry opted to ignore him, despite how his stomach twisted again. Fucking stomach; could it just stop betraying him? Was a single day too much? "Potter, open the door."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but it caught in his throat. Instead, he frowned as something wet dribbled into his eye. Rubbing it off, his stomach sunk as he glared at the red that smeared over his hand. What the fuck?!
He stumbled around, glancing at the mirror in horror.
Blood was dripping across his forehead and running down his nose. A nose which cracked viciously, shattering. Harry gasped, gingerly raising his hand to cradle his broken snout…to freeze with it hovering uncertainly between the sink and his wound.
'I must not tell lies', etched onto his hand, had been filled with blood, slowly seeping across his hand and weeping onto the tiles. He watched horrified as his recently healed hand tore and fell to the floor with a soft thump. Bruises began blossoming across his face and arms, deepening to a rich and terrifying purple.
His past wounds reopened.
Fuck.
Harry swallowed tightly, ignoring the pain that blossomed and numbed over his body. The numbing couldn't possibly be a good thing; his body was shutting down. Shit. Shit.
He turned to the door. Malfoy. He had to get to Malfoy. He was the only one here; he was the only one that could-
His legs gave out, sending him crashing to the floor heavily.
Lying on his face uncomfortably, it was an effort to roll onto his back. Blood smeared across the tiles, jerking his stomach again. He felt sick…understatement of the century. He felt nauseated…it was pretty clear that he was sick.
Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do? He opened his mouth to speak but could only make a weak gasping; he couldn't speak if he wanted to…and fuck did he want to! He wanted to scream, to let anyone know that he was dying pathetically on the floor; alone…he didn't want to die in a bathroom! Myrtle had, and look how fucked up she turned out to be!
A lump formed in his throat, and he couldn't swallow it no matter how he tried. It felt as though he was choking.
A gasp echoed through the bathroom, stilling Harry immediately.
A gasp? Who was there? Oh, please, mary mother of fuck please let it be-!
Relief filled him as a silvery ghost hovered into his view. Thank god, Myrtle would get help for him. Through the door. Just float through the door. Everything was going to be fine, now. She would sound the alarm.
…
Why wasn't she sounding the alarm?
Harry could only lie there helplessly as the ghost drifted above him, head cocked to one side. She was biting her lip, glancing towards the door and the bleeding Harry as if torn. And it clicked.
Harry had promised her to keep her company if he died.
She was waiting.
Harry lay there weakly; he was gradually tiring. Exhaustion was sweeping over him, lulling him into false security to shut his eyes. He dimly knew that if he went to sleep he wouldn't wake up again, but it was an impossible battle. His eyes were steadily closing…
All Harry could do was plead with Myrtle with his gaze, and hope that she had the ability to read his mind. It was a desperate thought; only Malfoy had been able to do that.
A tear glistened down his cheek.
And Myrtle screamed.
.
.
.
Draco flicked his eyes from the pacing professors back to the unconscious Potter, throat constricting. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this exhausted, this…vulnerable. And he wasn't even the one healing on the bed.
Fuck, Potter had almost died. They didn't know if it was accidental or on purpose, but Draco was almost pleading for it to be the former. Potter wouldn't kill himself; it wasn't in him. No matter how upset or desperate he became, he would never resort to that. He was a Gryffindor, and it was such a Slytherin way to die. Potter was the least Slytherin, possibly, to exist. It wouldn't happen.
Or so he told himself.
Myrtle's scream had alerted the entire castle, forest, and even the giant squid to Potter's demise. People were running everywhere, half terrified half curious. There were rumours someone had been murdered, rumours someone had just pissed off the ghost; only a few knew the truth, and even in those only a few understood the reality. Draco was one of the fortunate's that understood everything.
Potter must have used magic, the absolute imbecile, and it had reacted. Draco was seeing firsthand how cruel the brunette's magic was becoming, and it was repulsive. Potter was covered with blood and bruises; it looked like a tortured Death-Eater victim. Draco had seen far too many of those, and it wasn't an experience he had wished to repeat. Nevertheless, he had, and vomited on the spot. Potter looked dead. He was a corpse, and between the frantic adrenaline in Draco's body and the petrified screams of the ghost, nothing was getting done to revive him.
Draco cursed to himself, swallowing again as he glanced at the bruised face next to him. He had panicked. He was frozen, and in all possibilities would have watched as Potter had died. It was sickening.
Thank Merlin…Argh, Draco couldn't even think it without cringing….thank fucking Merlin for Longbottom. He had heard the screams, and come running to the bathroom wand in hand. He only had to glance at Potter before spinning and bellowing a curse at Draco. Which wasn't fair, to say the least. There was no courtesy in the way Longbottom cursed, no etiquette. Only a sneer and a flash of his wand, and Draco was unconscious. He was going to deny that, however, until his deathbed. Longbottom couldn't dream to Match Draco in a proper duel. He wouldn't be able to imagine it.
And to say Draco was pissed for the accusations when he awoke would be an understatement. He was furious; as soon as Potter was alive and awake, Draco was going to hunt down that overgrown idiot of a Gryffindork, and murder him.
Draco glanced at the weary McGonagall again, watching her wipe her eyes and continue to whisper in rushed tones to the matron. They were deciding what to do with Potter when he awoke; the diagnostic was tonight, unfortunately, and they needed him to be healthy enough to complete it.
Draco growled under his breath at that; it was utter idiocy, forcing Potter to undergo that after he had been sliced apart mere hours ago. But he had voiced his opinion quite clearly, and had been told that if he spoke to the headmistress that way again he would be suspended. And tempting though it may be to throw in a muttered cuss just loud enough for her to hear, he couldn't get suspended just yet. How was his Potty going to complete his list if he wasn't here to help him?
Draco turned back to Potter, wincing as he stared at the bruises. There were fingerprints around his throat, as though he had been strangled…who would strangle Potter? The amount of bruising seemed like a tad too much for an average person, even accumulating each bruise over a lifetime. And yet, Draco couldn't look away.
He reached up hesitantly, matching his fingertips with those on Potter's neck, wincing as he indeed concurred that it was developed by strangulation. How utterly vulgar-
Green eyes were staring at him.
Shit. Draco blinked back, relief filling him. At least Potter was awake; if he was awake, he was healing properly. If he had remained unconscious, the damage may have been too complicated to fix. Thank Merlin.
But now he had the issue of being caught with a hand curled around Potter's throat, and no possible explanation that would be reasonable. So Draco opted to ignore it, throwing his mask back into place. He was protected behind his mask.
"You should have just opened the door." He said quietly, relieved when a flicker of something other than hurt resounded through the emeralds. "I wasn't literally going to curse you."
"I tried." Potter's voice was weak, thin. And it only seemed to irritate him more when he tried to swallow and found a lump in his throat instead. "I fell."
Draco snorted. He sounded like a battered wife, with the iconic lie no one would believe. "Into a doorhandle?" He asked dryly, glancing at the still whispering professors. "You better create a better story when the Spanish inquisition arrives; they're not particularly happy. They don't want you to return home next week."
Potter rolled his eyes at that, glancing at his hands and wincing at the bruises that littered him. They had healed the most dangerous cuts, but had wanted to wait for Potter to wake before attempting the bruises. Too much healing whilst unconscious would trick the brain into thinking it was still hurt, and thus create fictional ailments rather than heal.
"Try." He muttered, sighing as he glanced towards the bickering teachers. They didn't seem close to letting up just yet, throwing pointed gestures towards where Potter lay in the bed. If one of them had the inclination to glance at the boy they were arguing about, however…
Potter's eyes narrowed a bit as they glanced away from their professors. Draco felt him swallow under his hand, nervous. What was he to be nervous about? There were no eavesdropping students in the room. In fact, the only other entity was Moaning Myrtle, who hadn't said a thing since alerting the castle. She just watched sullenly, hiccupping a few times before going silent. It wasn't questioned; she was always an odd one.
"She's quite besotted with you." Draco remarked, turning away from the ghost back to the tired Potter. "Hasn't stopped watching you since we've arrived."
If anything, Potter seemed wary. "I bet." He whispered, forcing his eyes away. To wince.
Draco winced too.
Pomfrey and McGonnagall were pointedly watching the both of them. Or, more precisely, they were watching Potter.
Draco became acutely aware his hand was still around Potter's throat. He snapped it back quickly, breaking the spell on the professors. He wished he didn't.
"What. Happened?" McGonagall demanded, hurrying over. She was a bloody dragon woman; Draco could practically see the smoke drifting from her nostrils.
"Are you alright, Mister Potter? Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?" Draco swung his head towards Pomfrey, surprised at the amount of concern in her voice. It seemed she had finally decided to play Healer properly.
"I need to know what happened. Why did you use magic in such a secluded place?"
"I need to treat my patient!"
"I need to know the truth!"
Draco flicked his gaze back towards Potter, a weird mixture of pity and irritation twisting through his stomach. He was glancing at the both of them with trepidation across his face…his incredibly bruised face. It was clear this was the last place on earth he would rather be; stuck between two bitchy rocks. Their eyes met, and Draco couldn't look away.
Those bloody eyes…they were just so green. Normally so bright and vibrant, now they were dull and hopeless. They were fucking pleading for him to help…but what the hell could he do? If he tried to open his mouth, both Professors would throw him from the room faster than he could say 'quidditch'.
"Mister Potter…I need to know why you were doing magic, in a secluded part of the castle, alone. This is to help you, not to cause more distress." She added as an afterthought. Cow.
Draco watched as Pomfrey shuffled forwards angrily, jabbing her wand and slowly healing the more predominant bruises around Potter's body. He didn't show any inclination of being healed, however. He still seemed to be ignoring the professors and now Draco too, the way he tore his eyes away and stared at the ceiling. If anything he looked sicker, as though he didn't want to remember.
If only Draco had gotten into the bathroom earlier.
"Mister Potter. I am not requesting."
They all waited with bated breath. Draco knew exactly when he was about to crack. He stuck his chin out stubbornly, muttering under his breath. "…It was an accident." He said quietly, blatantly not looking at anyone. Pathetic effort, really; no one believed it for a second.
"And what, exactly, where you doing-?"
"…I was…" He faltered here, red blossoming between the mixtures of blue and black on his cheeks. It would have been quite interesting, if Draco hadn't been on his toes waiting for the answer. "…it doesn't matter…it was an accident…I just…didn't think not to use my wand…I didn't even realised I had done it…" He snapped his mouth shut there, finally glancing away from the ceiling. Towards the door. It was as if he was waiting for his chance to escape.
"…do you realise how dangerous it-"
"Yes." Draco was proud of the way Potter managed to glare; it was as if he had taken notes.
The four of them stood quietly for a few minutes; each one was trying to quell their own anger before the snapping began. Draco wasn't so sure he wanted his resentment to diminish; he was quite overconfident in the smart remarks he could summon at will when he was aggravated. That, and the fact he had been saving some comments for Pomfrey that he wasn't sure he could retain for much longer.
"Mister Malfoy, please follow me."
Well, he wasn't expecting that.
Draco sighed inwardly as he was forced to follow the stern headmistress into the Matrons office, away from Potter and ghostly ears. Whatever she had to say couldn't be good, if she had decreed hiding in an office was the way to go. Did she think he would be intimidated if she sat behind a large desk and looked over her glasses at him? She was about to be sorely mistaken.
"I would offer you a biscuit, but it seems Madam Pomfrey has none." Why mention it then? "…Mister Malfoy, how do you feel about all of…this?"
Draco blinked. So this was how she was going to play? Fine.
He kept his hands relaxed on his chair's arms, his posture straight and his mask firmly in place. She would not be manipulating his emotions today; she wouldn't find any.
"What does 'this' entitle?" He questioned back, keeping his face calm. He wasn't about to make this easy for her.
And neither was she, apparently. "Mister Potter, of course. How are you feeling about his…latest debacle?"
"You're implying it was intentional."
"Wasn't it?"
Draco glared at his headmistress, his dislike growing by the minute. She had no right to demand this of him…one wrong answer and Potter was likely to be thrown off to Mungo's again. And Draco couldn't allow that; he knew of Potter's immense resentment of the uniforms there.
"No." He said clearly. Keep the mask on. Keep it calm. "Potter isn't one to do that."
"Isn't he?" The rhetorical questions were starting to grate on Draco's nerves. "You two are close." It wasn't a question, and so Draco didn't intend to answer. The bitch could gather as little as she needed. "You know about his condition. You are the only pupil that he has informed. Why do you think that is?"
Draco blinked again. For all she knew, they were dating. She had no right to ask this of him. It was none of her business. "I can only speculate." He replied dryly, hands tightening on his armchair. No. Stay calm. Face clear. Curse her into oblivion later.
"You do understand about his condition, don't you?" She threw on a pitying expression, almost pained. As if she had the authority to wear that, in accordance to Potter. "You do understand that it hasn't been cured?"
"I understand completely."
"Then, I'm sure you understand why it isn't fair for you and Harry to be dating. It's not fair for Harry to be strung along, and it definitely isn't appropriate nor fair for you-"
"I believe we can make that decision for our selves, thank you." Draco snapped angrily, furious at himself more so than her. Damn it, he wasn't supposed to break the fucking mask! "I have no intention of 'stringing him along', and I'm not under the impression he resents my company. Therefore, we will continue our relationship unhindered by interfering imbeciles."
"Mister Malfoy." He snapped his mouth shut, eyes throwing daggers at his professor. She could rot in wizarding hell for all he cared! "He will be dead in a few months. Have you considered the loss, if you become close? Have you considered the hurt?"
Draco was just opening his mouth to throw a fairly good insult her way, consequences be damned…when it hit him. That was what Potter was doing.
The bastard.
Of course he kept Gryffindor at an arm's length, and made no attempt at reconciliation. He knew he hadn't a fair chance of survival...and even now, was trying to protect those utter morons the pain of losing him. He had been wary of letting Draco in, because this thought was always playing with the back of his mind. How wouldn't it? Everyone feared mortality.
Loneliness was the only reason he had let in Draco…and given that, in a few months, it was fair to say that he would try to push Draco away again. Did he always have to be so bloody self-sacrificing? Draco was going to head out there, and throttle him.
"I see that you're considering my words. Good. You need to take into consideration-"
"If he only has a few months, Professor," Draco said quietly, cutting her off effectively. "Then I had better ensure I'm there every minute. Excuse me."
He used Pomfrey's abrupt entrance into her office to leave, escaping back into the Hospital Wing.
…
Potter was gone.
.
.
.
Draco paced the halls, barely noticing as the portraits avoided his furious glare. It was one in the morning. One fucking o'clock! Sure, he didn't sleep much anymore. But even he had his limitations; listening to Pomfrey moan on and on and fucking on about how worried she was about Potter was reaching his suicidal point, however.
Where the hell was Potter?
He had his diagnosis tonight; surely he wouldn't have forgotten? You would think he would be counting down the days of relative freedom. No, he hadn't forgotten. He was in hiding.
And there was only one place he would be that Draco wouldn't be able to find him.
The blonde stormed up to the sleeping portrait, knocking on it angrily to wake it up. God, was she fat. Why would anyone that big even allow their portrait to be taken? It was ludicrous. Some form of masochistic behaviour.
"Let me in." He demanded, frowning as the painting had the audacity to laugh at him. A woman who couldn't even fit through a door sideways was laughing at him?
"You are not of my house, Mister Malfoy. I will not allow you entry; you're not about to cause incidents with my students tonight."
"Please let me in. It's urgent." Ugh. How degrading; pleading with an ugly picture.
"Not a chance."
"Can you go and get one of your students, then?" He growled, scowling as the picture just smiled back. He was going to buy it, and torch it, as soon as he graduated.
"I would, if I believed you. As it is, I'm not inclined to do so."
"And how can I change how 'inclined' you are?"
"You can't."
Draco kicked the painting, ignoring the shriek of anger and the throbbing toe that followed it. "Let!" Kick. "Me!" Kick. "Fucking!" Kick. "IN!"
With the racket they were making, a professor would probably be notified soon. Draco only needed to forfeit his toes to do it; a fair bargain.
As it was, however, he didn't need to wait that long. The portrait was pushed open slightly, a disgruntled and rather confused looking Longbottom poking his ugly head out of the darkness. It would have to do.
He managed to step forwards angrily and shove Malfoy backwards, stepping into the small gap before the portrait managed to swing shut herself. The momentary advantage was forgotten as Longbottom managed to grab Draco by his collar. He wore a glower and a certain degree of loathing. Not exactly warranted, and definitely not appreciated.
"Get out before I curse you." He warned, reaching to shove the painting open again but Draco grabbed at his hand, wincing at the action himself. Merlin help him…he was actually touching Longbottom. He hoped it wasn't contagious.
"I need Potter."
"You think I'm going to help you, after what you did to him-!"
Draco needed to refrain himself from slamming his head against the wall. "That wasn't me."
"Bullshit."
"I don't want nor care if you believe me." Draco snapped again, forcing his eyes to glare at Longbottom instead of the enticing wall. "But I need to see Potter. Now. Before I end up breaking your very unattractive nose. Because he needs me, and you are not going to stop me from reaching him."
True, threatening was probably not the best course of action. Draco didn't think it would work, actually. He was planning to rile up the idiot and curse him, but for whatever reason, Longbottom believed him.
He stared in silence for a little bit, regarding Draco as though he had never seen him before. Then, remarkably…he nodded.
What the fuck?
"…just…keep quiet. You're in enemy territory." Tch. He didn't need to tell Draco twice.
Slowly they climbed into the common room, Draco trailing after Longbottom. It was unnerving, having to trust such an idiot as Longbottom…
Red.
Holy shit, the entire room was a bright red…
Who the hell could live like this?
Draco felt his mouth drop open in disgust, glancing around the room with a look akin to horror. It was repulsive! There was absolutely no redeeming factor in the entire room; each thing was as hideous as others! Were the Gryffindorks blind?
Feeling Longbottom staring at him, Draco forced his mouth shut and continued to follow him. There were no words to describe the repugnant nature of the room. Nothing was adequate enough. And if he could sleep, Draco was certain he would be having nightmares.
Draco followed him up the stairs, swallowing a tad nervously. Behind these doors was a horde of Gryffindors that detested him, and would be furious if they discovered him in here. They seemed oddly territorial about this sort of thing, something that kept the mischievous tendency of Draco's to stay hidden. He didn't particularly want to face them in the dark, in their own territory.
As they entered the room Draco was again hit with an onslaught of red. Dimmed, in the darkness, but its intense ugliness could be detected as he past it by.
He headed straight to Potter's bed; it was the only one with the covers shut.
He ripped the curtains open, about to snap at the brunette in harsh whispers…and froze. The words died on his tongue.
Potter was lying in bed, eyes open…just staring at the clock opposite him. He blinked as the minutes ticket by, but other than that he didn't move. Most of the bruises on his face was gone…thank god. He had rings under his eyes, but still didn't sleep. Something was wrong.
"…you're late, Potter." Malfoy whispered, ignoring the other boys sleeping in the room. If one of them woke up… "P…She was pacing around, giving me her entire life story. Nice, of you to leave me to perish with that."
Potter merely flicked his eyes towards Draco. He sighed heavily, shrugging as if he didn't care. He probably didn't. But it was odd of him not to respond.
"Come on, she's worried-"
"No…she's not." Draco blinked at Potter's soft voice; he sounded exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally. Not good.
"…What's the matter with you?"
"…nothing…"
Draco stared at Potter, willing his eyes to drill into him. It worked, for his shifted slightly before blinking up slowly, tiredly. He wasn't going to just brush this one off. Not this time. "…Come on, Potter. You have to get up."
Potter shook his head slightly, barely moving it. "It's…too hard…" He whispered, then shook his head again. "I don't…want to do it anymore."
Draco froze. "Do what?"
"Any of it…I'm just…I'm tired. No more." Fuck. No.
He wasn't giving up now.
Loathing himself a small bit, Draco reached forwards and ignored Harry. He pulled the blankets off of him, and helped him sit up. Even that seemed to drain him, as he struggled not to fall back down into bed again. "You know that's not an option."
Potter just stared at him weakly, eyes wide and face impossibly pale. He shook his head again, as if it was the only thing he had the energy to do. He was just drained.
"Please…just…don't make me."
His heart lodged in his throat. "I'll be there. I haven't left one yet, have I? Come on, I'll be there. Don't give up yet."
Draco pulled Potter…Harry to his feet, snatching at the jumped he had worn the other day and letting him push into it. It was fucking freezing, there was no way Potter was going in his pyjama's alone.
Fuck, this was hard.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, glimpsing Longbottom by the door. Something easy.
"If I hear a fucking rumour that even hints of this, you'll regret it so that you'll be begging to join your parents in the asylum." He sneered, grabbing Pot…Harry by his wrist and pulling him out with him.
It was the longest trip to the hospital wing Draco had been to. Potter stumbled every few steps, kept sighing and muttering to himself. Neither boy wanted to pull open the hospital wing door.
Pomfrey wasted no time connecting the needles, and going through the procedure again. Both boys sat there quietly.
Until the restraints were fastened.
"Just…don't tie them up today." He pleaded, voice catching as a tear slipped out. "Please, just leave it….I can't…handle it…"
"…That's not an option, Mister Potter."
"Can you do what he asks for once?"
"Another word from you and you'll leave."
The machines were turned on.
Potter had never been so vulnerable.
He didn't seem capable of stopping the tears that brimmed over his eyes. Or the winces and cringes he usually tried so hard to cover. He was exhausted, and there was nothing Draco could do to help.
When the invading potion reached Potter's chest, he screamed.
Nothing could have prepared Draco for that. Instead of the pain laced shriek that usually accompanied the torture, it was an agonising screech of fear. Pure terror echoed around the room; from a boy that could look Voldemort straight in the eye and smile.
And it broke Draco.
Potter thrashed on the bed, struggling to be free of the restraints, crying aloud. Draco could do nothing but sit by helplessly, ripping his hair out by the root. Something had to be done…
Potter couldn't continue like this.
Fuck, Draco couldn't.
The blonde jerked to his feet, slashing his wand through the air. The restraints broke on Potter's wrists immediately; he didn't notice. He was gasping for breath, cringing and hopelessly trying to will the tears away.
So Draco did the only thing he could.
He climbed onto the bed, and grabbed a hold of Potter.
It was the most awkward hug he had ever experienced.
Draco wasn't accustomed to hugs, and was unsure how they would actually help. Potter was stiff with unease, clearly not liking being touched.
But slowly he shifted.
His hands curled into Draco's shirt.
His face pressed into Draco's chest.
And he held on for dear life.
They clung to each other, and cried.
.
.
.