I do not own anything here. It is not for profit, merely for my own enjoyment. J. owns Harry Potter, not me. (cry)
HELLO! First of all, wow, it's been a month and a half since I've updated. I'm so sorry! I don't even have a valid excuse; first, life caught up with me - Uni. How I loathe it. Exams are coming up, assignments needed to be completed, and between work, uni, and sport (which I joined unwillingly! Merlin, I can't even catch a bloody ball!) I haven't had the time to sit and write. What's even more irritating, is that the chapter only needed around a thousand words before it was finished...sorry, I guess that doesn't make you guys feel any better. Also, I don't know if anyone is aware of the fire situation in Australia at the moment, but its quite bad, and quite near my home. So, all in all, writing took the back seat for a while. Then, added to the fact I don't really want to continue writing sad moments, because I know what's coming in my story, and its not happy at all lol. All in all, I don't have a valid excuse :P
By the way, THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL MY REVIEWERS, AND READERS! 100,000 VIEWS! THANK YOU ALL! Here is a nice long one for you all for being awesome!
Chapter twenty one – Past the Dungeons
Harry winced as the spell finished, reaching up to touch his healed lip. It felt alright, healed to its former glory. He didn't know what to expect with Malfoy trying his prowess with healing, but he wasn't supporting a beak, so he had to reluctantly suppose he had done an alright job. It was a shame, really; he had been rather excited with the prospect to mock the blonde.
"I must admit, I've outdone myself yet again." Malfoy drawled, a soft hand coming up to turn Harry's head from side to side, examining his handiwork. Pompous git. Harry pretending his face didn't turn hot at the touch. "Not a scar in sight. Fat-arse out there-"
"Leave him alone, it wasn't his-"
"I never gave you my permission to speak."
"Fault."
Harry shifted as Malfoy huffed; he was, in all probability, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows, arrogant as always. He would be leaning on one leg; it was a quirky way of standing that he had perfected.
"If you even think of the words 'forgive' and 'Brute of a Toad Wonder' in the one sentence-"
"He wasn't attacking me; we were wrestling over-"
"You cannot see. The fact that he was using it was a clear advantage-"
"I bit my own lip when I fell, it wasn't his-"
"You were on the floor, blood dripping down your chin, shrieking up a-"
"I did not shriek."
"Did too."
If Harry could have glared at Malfoy, he could have been throwing his most withering stare. The one that forced his flowers to wilt and give up on life. Neville wasn't a bad guy; he was the biggest softy Harry knew. Both had had emotions running on high, and Harry had been panicked. They were both at fault, no one more than the other.
"I overreacted."
"I sincerely doubt that."
Harry swallowed as his bed sunk a little, Malfoy sitting close enough that their knees were touching. There was a perfectly stable, and comfortable, chair next to the bed.
He could hear the door rattling as the book still tried to get to Neville, and could only hope Malfoy hadn't noticed it yet. He didn't want the blonde knowing either. As odd as it was, if Malfoy knew that Harry was trying to research and understand his illness, the insufferable blonde would develop some ridiculous hope that Harry would magically heal himself. He was the Boy Who Refused to Die, after all. However, he didn't want that hope to form; Malfoy had been rather accommodating lately, even knowing that nothing could possibly shape between them. Harry didn't want him to suddenly want more, in either life or relationship; it would only lead to disappointment. And hurt. Harry definitely didn't want anyone hurt more than they had to be.
"Potty, I know morbid thoughts are occurring behind that thick skull of yours; stop it."
"Not really," Harry tried to seem happy, he really did. "Just considering. I mean, you take my wand away for an entire ten minutes, and look what happens."
"Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have to worry. To err is human, however. I forgot that it's you I'm dealing with."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you have an unhealthy knack for finding trouble, at the most inopportune moments." Malfoy had the audacity to sound exasperated, as if he actually cared. Sometimes he seemed nearly human. What if he had his smile on? The genuine, soft grin that he wore casually sometimes? He had better get his eyes back, because he would really want to see that smile again. "Befriending me, case and point." He added almost playfully.
Harry snorted, rolling his eyes in his head. Malfoy definitely had that smile on. "You're not nearly as dangerous as you think you are."
"Oh, really?" Malfoy drawled, reaching over to flick Harry's forehead none too gently. "I truly need to change your opinion of me; can't have you gossiping about me being cuddly; I'll lose all my charms."
"Hate to be the one to tell you, Malfoy," Harry grinned, thinking back to the holidays. "But you are a fantastic closet-cuddler."
His grin faded, however, when the blonde didn't reply, and silence descended on the hospital wing. Was he not supposed to talk of the times they slept together? It had become considerably less awkward the more time lapsed by, and Malfoy had mentioned it, at the game night. Why was the rule one sided? The rattling of the book on the door forced him to press on; otherwise, he would have wallowed in humiliation for the rest of the day.
"Uh, never mind, it was just a joke…" He ended up mumbling, feeling his face heat up again. God, if only he had an uncomfortable window to gaze out of, this day would be complete. Embarrass himself in front of Neville, embarrass himself in front of Malfoy…all he needed was Pomfrey to come in and spoon feed him breakfast!
"No, it wasn't." Malfoy replied evenly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Harry didn't know if his face was happy or irritated or behind that unbearable mask. How do you even reply to that?
He found himself fidgeting on the bed, hands unsure what to do. He had to answer soon, or it would be too late, and the awkwardness would become thick and fetid…
"Um, about that letter that Neville brought in-"
"The blatant attempt at redirecting the conversation is not attractive in the slightest. In fact, it's quite irritating." What did he want from him?
"There's really nothing to talk about-"
"I think there is." They were not having this conversation.
"Malfoy, please don't make this harder than it already is." Harry said quietly, wishing to gods unknown that he could just see the blonde. He could feel the stare drilling into his face, heating it uncomfortably. Their knees were still touching.
Harry shifted away slightly, pushing himself further into the bed and angling himself away from Malfoy. If he didn't, the need to touch the other wouldn't subside, and it really wasn't something he could contest with at the moment. "I've already lost one friend today; I don't particularly want to lose another. As horrifying as it is, you're the last one left. So don't start a fight, or a confrontation, or whatever this is."
The room was silent for approximately three seconds.
"I thought you were 'forgiving' the brute." Bloody hell, why couldn't Malfoy be just the slightest bit less attentive?
"I am." Harry sighed, waiting for the onslaught to come. He could feel it manifesting, Malfoy's confusion or curiosity getting the better of him.
"Then I don't understand." The unsaid 'explain' hung thickly in the air.
"It's just…God, I don't even know why I'm telling you this." Or why he wanted to tell him this. "Neville was guessing, and I can't have that. He's my mate, and I'm going to miss spending time with him, but he can't figure it out. He's too suspicious and a lot smarter then you lot give him credit for." He waited for the oncoming scoff, swallowing nervously when it wasn't forthcoming. Odd. "I…I can't let him do that, not to himself…I just…ugh, never mind."
Now this was humiliating, prostrating his emotions on a stage for Malfoy to pick apart. Merlin, they had kissed twice; it wasn't as if they were in any relationship, or commitment. It wasn't as if he wanted them to-
"Fucking Finite!" Harry swallowed as the book stopped trying to escape, willing Malfoy to stay where he was and not run across the room to investigate. If he cancelled the spell, he had to know that that was what the fight had been about-
"…You don't always have to be the hero, Potter." Malfoy cut across his rampaging thoughts quietly. "Be selfish for once."
Harry swallowed, turning his head to stare at where he thought Malfoy was. His voice was barely a whisper. "I am selfish. Otherwise, you would be gone by now too."Malfoy was going to be hurt, and they both knew this, and yet Harry didn't chase him away. Some friend he was. "You know, I thought to myself just the other day that I would willingly give my eyes up for my…well, and look what's happened. Now, all I can think, is I would do anything for my eyes. I am selfish, Malfoy, I'm never content, never happy; I've already hurt-"
"Sometimes, you really are an idiot." Malfoy cut across him, shifting on the bed. Harry frowned at that, opening his mouth to retort when footsteps echoed around the wing. Damn Pomfrey and her strategic entrances.
"Okay, I've found another potion that may help. Mister Malfoy, please vacate the bed. Mister Potter, are your eyes hurting still? Any dizziness, nausea-?"
.
.
.
"Don't worry, I'm sure the next one will be effective. I've contacted the head Healer for optical hindering ailments at Mungo's, and she's going to floo over any possible treatments that she knows of; you have the best of the best working on this, Mister Potter. In the meantime, we'll continue with the diagnostic tonight, to ensure that no other accidents occurred. Hopefully this has taught you not to use spells aimlessly?"
Harry didn't reply as she rewrapped his eyes in bandages. He couldn't find the will to. Three potions later, two spells, and numerous prodding…and he still didn't have his sight back. He wasn't going to see again. He was never going to see sunlight, or Malfoy's smile, or the atrocious red of the Gryffindor common room, or…
"Don't worry, Healer Burnes is rather fastidious in her work. She'll already have several different treatments lined up and ready to work; we just need to find the correct one."
…or the snitch when playing quidditch. He wouldn't be able to play quidditch. Or even walk around without someone helping, someone directing him. He wouldn't be able to dress himself without wondering if he was wearing something ridiculous. He wouldn't be able to trust anyone not to play tricks on him, to trip him. Not be able to read their facial expressions, to know if they were happy or sad or mocking him, or smiling that fantastic genuine smile that lit up the room…
"Apparently she's consulted her partner, too, who does some astounding experimental treatment. Perhaps we should get him to come in? Healers have a patient healer confidentiality pledge, so you wouldn't have to worry about them going to the press. I think I'll give him a call."
Or read a book. He would never read quidditch through the ages again. Or read his list. How was he supposed to complete his list? He wouldn't be able to complete the rubic's cube without his sight. Or juggle. Or duel with anyone, not blind. He would never be able to cast a spell and feel that thrill in knowing it had worked.
"I see your friend has brought some belongings into the hospital wing. You should know that this isn't a residency; they cannot stay here. I don't understand what you both are thinking, but you are to remain in Gyffindor Tower, do you understand? That is your place."
He would never be able to look at the map again, and know exactly where everyone was. He wouldn't be able to stare at his parents' happy faces. Or see his stag patronus. Or a photo of Hedwig. He wouldn't be able to stare at Malfoy's pompous blonde head or vivid, challenging grey eyes that seemed to drag forwards the will to live or….
.
.
.
Hermione peered around the door, eyes narrowing at the bed towards the end of the wing. It hurt that she had to sneak in to see her friend after he had been injured, but that was the way it was now. It hurt more that she hadn't even heard that he was injured, until Neville told her a few hours previous. She had had to wait for the common room to empty before sneaking out, hiding at every noise. It was fifty times more difficult without the cloak or map. Easily.
But she had continued on, despite almost being caught by Filch, Flitwick, and a sobbing Myrtle within twenty minutes. She had to try to talk to Harry, to mend a little of their bond.
The Golden Trio had disbanded, and it was killing her inside. She missed Harry. It wasn't the same anymore; she was Ron's girlfriend, not simply his friend now. And while that was brilliant, and wonderful…she needed a friend. Who could she possibly turn to? Parvati was more interested in gossip and studying the meaning behind dreams than simply talking, hanging out. Hermione had quite specifically informed her of a 'dream' which included a lightning storm, a sobbing Ron, and her floating in the middle, unable to cease the storm or help. She had thought it had been quite obvious about what she wanted advice on; Parvati had turned around and claimed that she would be pregnant within the month. She was tempted to run and hit her head against the wall.
Dean was fine, but spent the majority of his time following Ginny around with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and she couldn't approve of the potions mishap he had instigated. Ginny was more like a little sister than a friend, Seamus was such a…boy. He mucked around and talked about quidditch all the time, as if the universe orbited around the upcoming game. Even Neville had been distant this year, trying to open communication between her and Harry, and when he wasn't, he either talked about Herbology, plants, or Malfoy, of all people. She spent the majority of her time with Luna, and whilst she was lovely and charming in her own unique way, there was only so much imagining of fictitious creatures that one could take.
She needed her best friend back. The small problem was that he wasn't inclined to do so in the least.
Couldn't he see that he was in the wrong here? Ignoring them all summer had been fine; they were used to that. But refusing to attend Fred's funeral? The Weasley's loved him, and he had just turned his back on them all. They considered him their son and brother, and he point blank refused to even tell them why he hadn't attended.
And then, then, he had returned to Hogwarts, to instantly befriend Malfoy? The little prick had been horrible to Harry for years, and he had immediately chosen him over them. He had immediately forgiven him for being on the wrong side of the war, and yet couldn't forgive Ron when he, in turn, couldn't.
And he didn't seem able to comprehend when she had taken Ron's side either. She loved Ron; they were going to marry. Why couldn't he understand?
The entire situation was unfair.
Hermione hurried to the bed, a hand flicking to her mouth in shock. Neville had said it was bad, but she hadn't expected this. Both eyes were bandaged up. He couldn't see? Why hadn't Neville said something about that? God, Harry…
She wiped her eye quickly, huffing to herself about getting upset. She was tired of all the petty fights in Gryffindor at the moment, tired of all the jinxes and plots they had to use against Slytherin. They wanted their revenge, she understood that. But after months, it should have died off by now. It should have been settled. She didn't know how to settle it; it wasn't as if she was going to resort to Harry's crude ways and push girls down the stairs.
Dean and Seamus had moved most of his stuff into the corridor today, in a rage. It was just petty; didn't they realise, that if he didn't return to Gryffindor Tower, they couldn't possibly re-bond? Or did they expect him to beg? If they knew him half as well as they thought they did, they should know that he didn't beg, or plead, or ask anything of anyone.
Well, she had just wanted to ensure he was alright. He was fine, except for his eyes.
…
Maybe if she ran a diagnostic spell on him, just to check if it was serious or not?
"Miss Granger, what do you think you're doing here?"
Hermione spun around quickly, hand flying to her wand; she sighed in relief. It was just Madam Pomfrey, tutting at her sternly. Thank goodness.
"I'm sorry; I know I'm not supposed to be in here." She conceded, glancing at Harry again. "I heard he was sick, and…well, we haven't been the best of friends this year. I just came to check up on him." Pomfrey's eyes softened at that, and she smiled at her gently.
"I understand dear. I would prefer it, actually, if you came to check on him, rather than…" She stopped there however, flushing as she realised she had said too much. She didn't have to finish it, Hermione knew what she was about to say. Malfoy. She had meant Malfoy. That slimy little snake had sunk his fangs into Harry, somehow, and wasn't planning to let go; he had to have something on him. That was the only possible explanation she had; she knew they weren't romantically involved, unlike the prophet and most of the student body believed. First of all, Harry was not gay. Secondly, he wouldn't choose, or propose to, Malfoy. The Slytherin must have something over Harry, blackmail, maybe. They couldn't be friends.
"Well, it's nice to see that you still care about him. He would be happy to know that you dropped by."
"Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind me asking…what happened to his eyes?" This was better than a diagnostic spell; she could hear it from a reliable source, rather than having to research and guess hours away in the library.
Pomfrey was silent for a moment; she simply stared at Harry's sleeping body, considering. She didn't look away as she answered. "Harry is…was involved in an accident. A spell went wrong. It seems Mister Malfoy and he were trying to enhance the effects of 'lumos' by themselves; foolish, to do it unsupervised. Even more so, to try to adapt a spell at such a young age."
Hermione blinked, frowning slightly. Why on earth would they do something so strange?
"Mmm…" She turned back to Harry as he started mumbling in his sleep, smiling softly. She had missed him; though they weren't talking, it felt as if everything was normal once more-
"…Mal…foy…" Harry mumbled in his sleep, almost sighing the name.
Hermione blinked, and turned. She had to get out of here, before she burst into-
Grey eyes met hers challengingly, less than a metre away.
"Get. Out."
.
.
.
Harry shuddered on the bed, swallowing as Pomfrey removed the needles from both his arms. If he thought the diagnostic was hell usually, without his sight, it was the bloody apocalypse. Every touch burned, every slither was a different unimaginable agony.
Malfoy had waited until the potion had squeezed its way ruthlessly through his chest before undoing the restraints, letting Harry clasp his hand almost desperately as they waited out the rest of his torture. He didn't seem to mind that Harry had been trying to break the bones in his hand, or the fact it had to be uncomfortable; the blonde had just sat there, his thumb moving that tantalizing way across his skin. It was more comfort than Harry expected, especially after beating the shit out of the Slytherin the other day. He ignored the fact they had also kissed. It wasn't as if it was going to happen again.
"I highly recommend you allow me to remove the bandage and heal the ailment underneath." Pomfrey muttered again, sniffing as if insulted. She probably considered herself to be. Malfoy had quickly charmed a bandage around his forearm, covering the dragon tattoo with ease. Pomfrey didn't like the addition to Harry's person, and had been acting offended since glimpsing it.
"It's fine." He repeated for the sixth time that hour; he would have rolled his eyes if he could. "I'm more interesting in my eyes healing. Can we focus on that, please?"
"If this is hindering-"
"What? My health?" Harry barked out a humourless laugh, ignoring her tsk of disapproval. It wasn't as if his health was going to get any better; what did one bandage matter in the scheme of things?
"If it is bringing you discomfort-" She tried, to have Harry interrupt her. Again.
"I just want my eyes fixed. That's all that matters. I don't care about the diagnostic. I don't care about the bandage. I wouldn't care if my arm was shattered right about now, or if my organs stopped functioning, or if I had to spend the rest of my, albeit short, life stuck in this bloody bed! I just want my eyes fixed. Is that too much to bloody ask!?" Okay, so his emotions were running a little high; frankly, he didn't care about that either. What could she do? Put him in detention?
He was tired. Exhausted, actually. And it didn't help that this diagnostic had been particularly bad tonight. Didn't help that his heart beat was still racing almost painfully, that a thin line of sweat was covering his body. It didn't help that Pomfrey just wouldn't let this go.
"The next potion should be ready within the next few hours. Your eyes will be healed, and then you'll allow me to heal your arm." She didn't pose it as a question as she hurried back to her office, as kind as she usually was. God damn it! Sometimes, just sometimes¸it would be nice to be given a choice!
"Get up." Malfoy said almost immediately, throwing the blankets off of Harry himself before he could register the demand. Not the request, not the question. Another bloody demand. He had barely waited for the doors her office to click shut before stipulating Harry's compliance; he hadn't let go of his hand yet. And, though Harry was quite obviously trying to reclaim his hand, Malfoy's grip was unrelenting steel.
"I'm tired, Malfoy." Harry replied to the air, trying to shake his hand free. He hated feeling vulnerable like this; he was pathetic. "I'm just going to go to sleep."
"Swing and a miss." Harry couldn't tell if it was a snarl, or exasperated. It made his head hurt to think about it. "You're going to get up, and follow me."
"Or," Harry growled himself, jerking his arm again. "I'm going to lie here, and sleep." He tried to move his arm again, hissing when it didn't budge. "Let go of my fucking arm!"
"Potter," Malfoy's voice was quiet, a threat in itself. Harry promptly ignored it. "Stop having a hissy fit and-"
"Let go of my arm!"
"Don't tempt me, Pot-"
"As if you would even-"
.
.
.
Well. He had warned him.
Draco jerked at Potter's arm, literally dragging him from the bed and to the quite possibly freezing floor. Only after Potter had slammed into the tiles did he relinquish his hold on his arm. The insufferable git. Did he honestly think Draco was soft and cuddly and mellow? He may admit to caring for the brunette, he may even admit to these terrifying feelings, but he wasn't about to let him snarl like that, not after the past couple days of hell.
"You arsehole!" Draco couldn't help the smirk as Potter pushed himself into a sitting position, head spinning every which way to try to find him.
"I gave you adequate forewarning."
"That's bullshit, and you know it!" Who knew Potty had such a crude mouth? Especially when he was angry, which happened to be all the time. It seemed he had edged onto the anger side of his grief. Draco didn't know whether to be pleased about this or furious. Yes, it meant he was creeping away from denial. That had to be considered progress. He didn't know whatever stage came next; he would be happy as long as it wasn't acceptance.
That was insupportable.
Potter was not allowed to accept this.
Draco knelt next to the brunette, rolling his eyes as a fist came up and smacked him immediately. It was fair, he supposed. Despite the fact he was supposed to be a Slytherin, and 'fair' wasn't a word usually permitted in his vocabulary. The second fist was caught quickly. "Out of your system?" He queried, smirking as Potter clenched his teeth instead. Oh, he was furious.
Draco would be too, after being subjected to the torture for the night. However, he shouldn't take it out on him; Pomfrey, Toad-Wonder, Goyle…any of those would have been fine. In fact, he would invite the confrontations between them. He might yet.
"Good. Get up, we have somewhere to be."
"Malfoy, I'm tired." He tried again, barely growling the words out. "I have a headache. I-"
"Perfect. This should help, then."
"I don't want it to help-"
"Merlin, Potty, you're acting like a child throwing a tantrum. Grow a pair, and get up, or I'll be forced to treat you like a child." And he would. Oh so easily. "Should I start by spanking you?" That could be fun; Draco couldn't keep the smirk off of his face at how Potter bristled indignantly at the comment, mouth snarling. "Well? Do I have to count to three?"
"Do it and you'll never touch me again."
Draco blinked, frowning. Potter was using himself as a threat, as if he fully expected Draco to be wounded or upset at the prospect of having to avoid him. And using Draco's own tactics against himself. It was disturbing how Draco's thoughts immediately tried to find a solution to placate Potter; almost as if he did want to touch him again. The cheeky little sod; Draco hadn't thought he had had it in him.
Was this an indication that he had liked their…it couldn't be called a kiss. A battle was more accurate.
Or was this just hopeful, and terrifying, thinking?
It could quite possibly be a bluff, but knowing how stubborn Potter was, that was doubtful. The fool wouldn't speak, or even glimpse, at him again. That was if he got his eyes back.
He would have to pacify him.
"I found something I thought would interest you. And if I'm wrong about that, it will definitely cheer you up." He found himself dismissing the threat altogether. "Come with me." Merlin, he could practically hear the unsaid 'please' at the end. Malfoy's didn't beg.
Potter sat there unmoving for a moment; it didn't even look as if he had heard Draco. Damn it, but he needed those emeralds back. He had become such a good liar, with those windows closed. "Can't it wait until I have my sight back?" He eventually asked softly, sighing. He didn't think he was going to get his sight back, the fool. Of course Pomfrey would fix him. And even if she failed, the specialists at Mungo's would have the Malfoy fortune backing their triumph. Draco wasn't about to let Potter mope in his own misery and forego treatment altogether, like he in all probability would, if Pomfrey's next potion was unsuccessful.
"It doesn't require sight." Draco replied evenly, letting his tone drop softer. "It's brilliant. Come."
"You know, if you had simply asked in the first place-"
Smirking, Draco reached forwards and dragged Potter to his feet, grabbing a hold of one of his wrists to lead him towards the door.
"-Then you wouldn't have to be such a pompous dick all the time-"
"Keep insulting me, Potty, and I'll drag you to some toilet instead to leave you in for the night."
"You wouldn't dare-"
"Wouldn't I?" Of course he wouldn't. He found Potter too amusing and likable to ridicule him, or bully him. But Potter didn't know that, did he? It was good to hold some power, when he found himself too often with very little.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, side by side. Draco hadn't realized just how vulnerable Potter was like this, but he was starting to get an idea. Scarhead held his arm tightly with one of his hands, and pretended it wasn't trembling. He hesitated before each step; it was barely noticeable. Therefore, Draco noticed it within seconds. And with each step, it became more pronounced. A insignificant pause before trying to step, determining if the ground was actually going to be there to meet his foot. It spoke volumes for how much Potter trusted Draco; he allowed him to guide him blind through the halls of a magical castle.
Hell, Draco thought he had been pushing it with the wand. Now, he thought Potter might have given to him regardless.
The stairs were an ordeal. Draco didn't say a word, but each step was tantalizingly slow and unsure; his hand had gripped the rail with a death-grip, stubbornly refusing to let go until he was on a flat surface again. The sheer amount of concentration that walking took must be exhausting.
Maybe Pomfrey could do with an incentive to miraculously find the cure more rapidly? How hard was a woman going to research to cure a boy she thought was dying? Why would one bother with a cure, if in a few short months it would be considered worthless?
Draco paused mid-step, ears straining. Shuffling. What the hell was Filch doing roaming the halls at two in the morning? Hogwarts needed to revise how it hired teachers or caretakers.
He grabbed Potter's arm, dragging him into an abandoned classroom. Hopefully the squib would just shuffle along, and not check the rooms like the paranoid bug he was.
"You should have brought my map." Potter muttered from behind him, standing awkwardly with his arms crossed. He would be frowning, the idiot. Didn't he know it took more muscles to frown then it did to smile? He would have wrinkles marring his skin by thirty.
"I don't have access to it, do I?" Draco whispered back, ear pressed against the door. Was he in the corridor, or did he choose a different route? Maybe it was…definitely him. Only Mrs. Norris had that scratchy meow. A sound from nightmares, in actuality.
"Or my invisibility cloak." Potter added. He had the audacity to sound irritated!
"I don't have access to that either, do I?" Draco found himself snapping, frowning as he strained to listen. He couldn't hear very well over his own heartbeat thumping around noisily in his chest; surely Filch could hear that?
"Just saying, you're not that prepared, are you?"
"Shut it, Potty-"
"Whatever, Ferret-"
BANG!
Draco found himself airborne for a few seconds, literally leaping in fright. The blasted sound would have every Professor on the floor running to investigate! What the hell was that idiot-?
Potter had knocked into a desk. And, instead of simply bumping it like a normal person, decided to somehow become entangled around its legs to send both him and the desk flinging across the room to smash into the floor. Only Potter could make a desk a hazard.
"For fuck's sake, Potter! Do you not have any brain cells to spare in that empty space in your skull? We are out of bed, after curfew, hiding in an abandoned classroom-!"
"And yet you're the one yelling!" Potter bellowed back, shoving the desk away with a loud screech as it scraped across the floor.
"Stop it! Just don't move you utter idiot!"
Draco ran across the room, hauling the brunette to his feet, glaring as his hand was slapped away.
"I believe this is classified as moving, your royal prattiness!"
"Just shut-"
"The door!"
Draco spun around, his wand flicking hap-hazardously in a desperate attempt to lock the door. Thank Merlin it clicked, just as the handle begun jerking. Potter and his loud mouth!
Draco sprinted to an adjoining door, opening it and slamming it as loud as he could. Hopefully Filch would assume they were trying to escape that way, and they instead could sneak back behind him.
…
Potter couldn't run. Fuck, he could barely walk without tripping over! The desk, case and point. Shit.
He sighed in frustration, running a hand though his hair. There had to be a hiding place, somewhere Filch wouldn't check. He would run into the room, eyes sweeping over every known hiding place and dismiss…
The cupboard? Was it too much of an obvious hiding place? Was it too iconic? Too easy?
Or would be dismiss it, because he wouldn't think anyone would be stupid enough to hide there?
Keys jingled outside the door.
Cupboard it was.
Draco snatched up Potter's wrist, sprinting towards the end of the room. Potter stumbled a fair bit, his other hand coming up to cling to Draco's arm as they hurried across the room.
The doors were yanked open, accompanied by a groan from Draco. There was barely enough room to sit, let alone stand. He huffed, snatching up one box and tossing it on the floor next to the cupboard, hoping it wouldn't look too conspicuous there. Then, he grabbed the next container, tossing it precariously onto another in the small cupboard. It tilted, but held. Good.
He shoved Potter into the cupboard, ignoring his yelp to snicker at later. He ended up squishing him into the small space he had made, clambering in after him. Wiping his wand out, he charmed the doors shut and locked them, ignoring the small voice of alarm as he did so. He pressed his way to lean against the back of the cupboard, squished in next to a silent Potter.
It was hot, and uncomfortable, and he was all too keenly aware that Potter and he were pressed side by side together, unable to move. Altogether, it wasn't a desirable situation.
It was ten times better than being caught by Filch, however. The man had been a menace when the Carrows had taken control of the school; he was a weedy little man, who didn't care what duties he was given as long as it saved his own skin. Sure, he probably regretted it, like Draco did for many of his tasks during the war, but he didn't seem too repulsed at the time. What type of man would hand in school children breaking the rules, to Death-Eaters? The man was scum.
Said man had entered the room; they could clearly hear him shuffling through the room. Could he hear their heartbeats? Could be hear how loud they were?
The cupboard shook as Filch tried to open the door, but it held. Thankfully.
Draco released a breath he didn't know he was holding, grinning as Potter mimicked him a moment later. Now they just had to wait for him to leave.
Draco sighed again, blinking into the gloom. There wasn't a glimmer of light in the cupboard, not a slither. And though Draco had never been afraid of the dark, not even as a child, it was a tad disconcerting to not be able to see his hand in front of his face; to not know where Filch was, but to know he was in the room.
Was this how Potter had felt these past few days? He couldn't be blamed for his anger, not while subjected to this.
"Think he's gone?" Potter whispered, jerking as Draco's hand came across to cover his mouth. It hit his nose instead.
"Ugh…fuck!" Draco grinned as Potter tried to curse in whisper; it was obviously a struggle not to yell and give away their position.
"I can't see." Draco muttered, trying to hear if Filch had left the room yet, or if Potter's yelp had re-alerted him-
"F-f-f-fu-uh-ck!" Draco clenched his teeth against the curse desperately as one of Potter's oaf limbs smacked him across his face, handing over his nose and eye. The bloody Neanderthal!
"Whoops. I can't see." Potty hissed back, shifting in the darkness. Why did he have to be Potter today? Why couldn't he be having a compliant, depressed day, instead of stroppy, stubborn Boy Wonder in full fucking action! "Notice my distinct lack of apology there?"
Draco would have laughed at that, but he was in too much pain currently to summon the effort. It felt as if the git had broken his nose!
"I think he's gone, just open the door."
"We can't know for sure. He could be waiting for us to come out."
"Test it."
"How are you supposed to test that, Potty, without giving away out position?"
"Test. It."
Draco sighed at the stubborn tone; it was as if he wanted them to get caught. Did he understand the concept of hiding? Of detention? Of breaking a dozen school rules?
"Filch, I booted Norris so hard up the arse third year, that she limped for two weeks."
He heard Potter catch a chuckle at that, before holding his breath. If Filch was waiting there, or even in the room, he would have ripped the door off its hinges after hearing that. It seemed he had gone. Damn it, but Draco hated it when Potty was right.
Draco flicked his wand to unlock the door, shifting to the front of the cupboard to push the door open. The sooner they got to the dungeon, the sooner they could return, and Potter could take his stupid potion, and get his stupid sight back…
The door didn't budge.
Ignoring the growing trepidation, he shoved it again.
Nothing.
Screw not getting caught, he kicked it roughly, listening to the loud bang that echoed through the silent castle.
Nothing.
"Please tell me you're joking." Potter said quietly, listening to Draco's spells and kicks against the door. Why weren't his spells working? "Are we locked in a cupboard?"
"…yes."
Miraculously, Potter began to laugh.
.
.
.
"We could just wait until a class rocks up; knock on the door, shock them all when he climb out without batting an eye, and continue on our merry way."
"Knowing my luck, a class won't turn up until the next day."
"Hmm, we won't look nearly as impressive then; hungry, tired, soiled…"
"Ew."
They didn't know how long it had been since they had become stuck in the closet, but Draco's leg was getting awfully tired from kicking it. Thump. Thump. Every three seconds, he would kick it in the hope it would swing open. Thus far, they were discouraged.
"I could call a house-elf."
"I am not letting a house-elf see me like this."
"What's your idea, then?"
"…we could reducto ourselves out."
"And blow off our own foot or hand or something. Already lost my eyes, thanks; I've grown quite attached to my other limbs."
Draco snorted at that, rolling his eyes. He booted the door again. Again, it held. "I hope you know this is entirely your fault."
"My fault!" Potty spluttered, shoving him quite successfully with an elbow. He had the nerve to sound indignant. "You're the one that literally forced me out of bed!"
"Yes. I am also the one trying to cheer you up. If you were content, and not brooding miserably in the hospital wing for the third day in a row, I wouldn't have been forced to take action. It's your fault." As expected, Potter chuckled in the darkness. Good. "Only Merlin knows you wouldn't go this far for me."
"I could."
"Bullshit." Potter couldn't see past his nose on a good day; he wouldn't be able to tell jack-shit blind.
"I got you tattooed on my forearm, Malfoy." Potter interrupted with amusement. "You can't top that dedication."
"Tch, you got a dragon tattooed on your arm; nothing to do with me." Draco was grinning in the darkness, slowly kicking the door again. He couldn't let him know he boasted about it in his head almost every night; the smug git would be unbearable if he know how much control he actually had over the blonde. It was a terrifying amount. "I, meanwhile, still have class today. I have to be awake in less than four hours. You, however, get to sleep in. You don't understand that my beauty sleep is a necessity, and I'm disregarding it for you. The definition of dedication."
"A grey dragon," Potter just ignored him, the twat. "on my left forearm. A dragon that you picked out. I seem to recall you calling it 'marking' me."
"You said that, not me."
"You agreed."
"Don't automatically assume silence is agreement."
"Silence? You said 'yes', you prat! You quite clearly agreed with me!"
"I don't recall that."
"Take a gander in my pensieve." Laughing quite loudly, they didn't realise that they weren't alone anymore.
"You know," Came an incredibly soft, high-pitched voice, "You two are so loud I wondered if the professors aren't already on their way here to investigate, to discover they already had." Potter stiffened next to him immediately, his laughter cutting off. The ghost had saved him in the bathroom; his edginess wasn't exactly warranted.
"Stalking me again Myrtle?" Draco asked dryly, frowning as she didn't reply. She had usually been happy when spoken to, almost relieved at not being alone. He had at least expected a giggle from her; it had been an inside joke during that torture of a sixth year. When she didn't respond for a few moments, he tactfully continued on. "What did you mean by they already 'had'?"
"There's quite a large plank of wood locking you in." She replied glumly, not at all interested in the proceedings. It was quite unnerving, actually. "Someone's idea of a joke, I suspect. They did it to me once, first year…"
Damn that fucking Filch. Draco was going to grab that plank of wood and insert it so far up his arse that he wouldn't be able to bend over to remove it!
"Any idea how to remove said wood?" The ghost just sighed, somewhere to his left. Potter shifted closer to Draco, just an inch. Why wasn't he speaking?
"I can't exactly pick it up, can I?" She mumbled, dreary. Good God, whatever had gotten into the ghost seemed to deplete her will to…live wasn't the right word. Subsist?
Hmm.
So Filch knew they were hiding here, and instead of capturing them, locked them in. For what? To make an example out of them in the morning? To keep them locked up until someone questioned why a simple storage cabinet was secured with a bar?
No one messed with a Malfoy.
And by association, his fiancé.
"Can you do me a favour, Myrtle? Life and death situation."
"Careful," Potter growled, shifting closer in the darkness. Merlin, Draco could feel his heartbeat thumping in his chest, they were that close. "She doesn't consider life a priority."
…
Where had that come from?
What was even more disconcerting, was that Myrtle had let out a sob, almost cowering in the darkness. This was ridiculous! It had to stop, whatever it was.
"Please, Harry-!"She tried, but a wordless growl from the brunette stopped her. She instead sniffed, trying to stifle her sobs. There was an obvious power play occurring here, and there was no question on whose side it was tilted. Curious.
"Get Blaise for me, Myrtle." Draco asked, eyeing the dark patch that was Potter. "Quickly."
She didn't reply, but the sobs that echoed further and further away indicated she was gone. Not quickly enough.
"What the hell was that?" Draco demanded, listening to Potter's released breath; it seemed he was holding it. Why? "You do realise you owe her a debt, right?"
"I owe her nothing." And welcome back Potter, vanquisher of the Dark Lord. Merlin, Draco could almost cheer at hearing that tone of voice; determined, angry, and full of life. Exactly how Potter was supposed to be.
"She saved you from bleeding to death-"
"She's the reason I almost did die." The brunette snapped back. A loud thump indicated he had hit the cupboard wall, irritated. "God damn it, you really think I owe her? She almost let me die back there, after I promised I would…" He cut off there, however, jaw clinking shut. Damn it; so close.
"What did you promise her?" Draco asked quietly, clenching his teeth as Potter remained stubbornly silent. He was more likely to get information from Weasley, than he was from Scarhead at the moment. "Fine. What did she do?"
"I don't see why it matters."
"Because it does." And let him think on that until he got it through his incredibly thick skull that Draco wanted to know these things about Potter. That he felt indignant when Potter did, that he felt angry when he was mocked, that he felt alive when they kissed.
For fucks sake, no one could be this oblivious!
Potter didn't speak. Draco didn't think he would, again, until Blaise got there to release them from this stupid bloody-!
"I was bleeding out." Potter muttered quietly, almost inaudibly. "The wounds had opened. I was panicked. I couldn't speak." He shifted again, uncomfortable. He most definitely didn't want to be telling this story; so then, why was he? "And Myrtle found me."
Draco frowned at that. He had thought Myrtle had stumbled upon him unconscious; she certainly hadn't told anyone he had been awake when found.
"And then she watched me."
Draco felt his stomach clench painfully; cold. She wouldn't…
"And she watched me. And she watched me. She didn't call out for help once. I was dying there, and she watched."
"…She may have been in-"
"Shock? No, fuck that! It's because I made that stupid promise to her, that he watched. If I died, she would have gotten exactly what she wanted!" What was this promise? Hopefully it was void, now. Potter was breathing heavily now, flushed against Malfoy's side. It was too hot in there; tight, and hot.
Malfoy could barely move, and yet his hands itched to. Despite the fact Potter was ranting and raving and what his hands wanted to do had absolutely nothing to do with calming the brunette down.
Pretending to feel confident, Draco reached over and grabbed that sweaty, fisted hand.
It didn't pull away.
.
.
.
"Draco, you kinky bastard, I'm so proud of you!"
Draco let his head fall back with a loud thump, ignoring the pain that radiated across his skulls. He could afford to kill a few cells, as long as this was just a horrible, cruel nightmare. He didn't want to subject himself to Blaise's taunts, or winks, or innuendo right now.
He had been carefully plotting how to claim more of Potter's skin for his hands, and had inconspicuously managed to get, somehow, both hands touching all too hot skin. One arm was around Potter's shoulder, allowing him to rest his head tiredly on Draco. His cheek was against his collarbone, and it was brilliant. His other hand wasn't about to relinquished Potter's wrist without a fight; he was stroking the soft skin with his thumb again, grinning as small tremors whispered over the brunette's body. He was slowly relaxing, slowly opening up…
And Blaise had ruined the moment with his loud entrance.
Potter had jerked off of Draco at the voice, scrambling back to his side of the cramped space. Damn it. He would be bright red at that, surprised and mortified that he had both allowed Draco so close and unquestionably enjoyed it.
So fucking close.
"And Potter, may I just add…You sly dog."
"Blaise, so help me, if you don't open this cupboard in the next ten seconds-!"
"I'm just so proud." Blaise continued, a clearly fake sob echoing through the room. He was enjoying this too much, the dick. "I would like to thank Pansy, for teaching Draco everything she knew. It was a tiresome process, but evidently worth the wait-"
Draco sighed as Potter chuckled next to him; still mortified, in all probability, but at least amused. Tch. He might disapprove of Draco strangling his housemate with his own testicles, then.
"If you don't let me out, so help me Salazar, I will tell the entire house of Boris: Part Two."
That had Potter laughing; hell, it even had Draco smiling, though for different reasons.
"There's a part…you did it again!?" He laughed, gasping for breath as Blaise huffed.
"You're a dick, Draco."
"Duly noted."
He waited for a few more agonising seconds, listening to the scraping of the cupboard door. It finally opened, revealing a bemused Blaise, who had his eyebrows raised suggestively, and a smirk in place. Oh god, let the innuendo begin.
Draco shifted towards the entrance, groaning as his cramped muscles finally had the chance to stretch. Merlin, but he didn't even know he had some of these muscles!
"Sore?" Blaise asked, chuckling as Draco summoned enough energy to flip him off before turning back to the cupboard, grabbing onto Potter's hand to help him crawl out too. One didn't realise just how vulnerable he was, until they saw him floundering about for footing like that. It was…heart wrenching, for those with hearts. Draco didn't consider himself in that category. Merlin knew Malfoy's weren't.
"So? Going to give me the dirty little…what the fuck happened to Potter's eyes?"
Draco turned to glare at him, shaking his head quickly. Now was not the time or place.
"Potion mishap." He snapped briskly, just as Potter decided to answer.
"Ran into a door." There was an awkward silence as they registered the two different stories. "After the potion mishap." Potter added a moment too late, blatantly not caring if he was believed or not. He didn't even look abashed.
"Uh-huh." He was clearly convinced.
"Malfoy, whatever you wanted to show me had better be worth it." Potter added, dismissing Blaise completely. Or trying to; he was so apt at hiding without his eyes. So hard to read.
Draco needed those emeralds back.
.
.
.
Malfoy opened another door, ushering Harry into the new room. His excitement had basically become an animate, living object. He could sense the blonde grinning, eyes bright. The door snapped shut quietly, and soft hands lead Harry to the centre of the room.
They finally released him there. Harry immediately wanted them back; he didn't know where he was. Didn't know it the wall was a step in front of him, or a hundred metres away. The hands were a constant, something to stabilize him. Though he hated to admit it, he seemed…less, now.
He ended up crossing his arms against his chest.
"What do you hear?" Malfoy whispered from his right. Attempted to whisper would be more accurate; he barely spoke, barely even opened his mouth.
Hear? There was nothing there to hear. You would think in the dungeons, as deep as they had delved, there would be drips echoing, or eerie silence that wasn't quite that noiseless; the wind would blow, or a bang would ricochet off the walls. Some inane noise that nightmares and horror stories all seemed to contain. There was none of that; he couldn't even hear his heartbeat unless he focused.
What the hell was Malfoy on about? There was nothing here.
…
Oh.
Absolutely nothing.
Malfoy had been right; it was brilliant.
.
.
.
6. Hear complete silence.
.
.
.
Harry swallowed the putrid smelling potion, trying not to gag. Pomfrey had had to hold his nose to administer it, and even then had had to force feed him. He could hear the blonde laughing in the corner, as if the smell wasn't getting to him too. He could hear him gagging himself, between chuckles, the hypercritic git.
Pomfrey began unrolling the bandage, removing it from his face slowly. Hesitantly.
Consoling, that.
The last of the bandage fell away. The room held its breath.
If this one didn't work, Harry was going to do everyone a favour and crawl to the top of the astronomy tower, and hurl himself off. He wouldn't mind falling to death. Hell, he wouldn't even see the ground coming; what was there to be afraid of, if you couldn't see it?
Harry opened his eyes, and almost cried as he saw Malfoy smirking back at him.