Chapter Twenty Two – Don't tempt me!
Hello my lovely readers and reviewers! See? I can write a chapter within a month! I can do it! :D I wasn't planning on updating, actually - I have exams next week, and I really should be studying :( However, none of the stories I've been reading where updated in the last couple days, and I felt angry, then I thought my readers might too, so I had an epiphany and wrote as much as I could within a day for you all! Enjoy!
Thank you for all of my beautiful reviewers, you make my day! I hope this chapter pleases you; it was very fun to write. I've been looking forwards to this one. Sorry for the teasing at the end, I couldn't resist.
I am not making a profit here, nor is this mine. It belongs to J. :( I am simply trying to cure my boredom, and hopefully some other people's while I'm at it :)
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Okay. Breathe. Let's try this again.
Page three hundred and twelve.
Succorbentis.
Harry read the word a few times, gritting his teeth. "Succorbentis. Succorbentis. Fucking Succorbentis." It seemed evil when heard out loud, crude. Abrupt. Nothing of the word was soft, gentle. Rushed sounds, rough. It suited the evil word. Maybe the wizarding world should change it to 'It-That-Must-Not-Be-Named', or 'You-Know-What'. Then Harry would probably be able to utter it without a care in the world. Unfortunately, until that happened, he would have to get accustomed to the sharp pain that resounded in his chest.
This incurable disease has horrified the wizarding community for centuries.
Good improvement from last time, Harry. Just breathe and it will all be okay.
It is unknown how the disease came about, however mythology of the early twelfth century believe that the demon of jealousy, Succorbenoth, cursed a bishop (a muggle occupation that who teaches muggle religion) of the name Edward Worthy. Worthy was apparently a wizard of tremendous talent and power, who provoked the demon with his magic. Jealous of his ability, the demon cursed the very core of his magic, effectively turning it against him.
Harry clenched his jaw together, fisting his hands. They shook from the effort not to tear the awful book to pieces. It was an effort, but he succeeded.
Anyway, he had to learn about it. He couldn't beat it in ignorance.
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Neville frowned at his blank charms essay, tapping his quill lightly against the parchment. He had been sitting here for more than an hour, and yet he had only just managed to scribble the question down. Then, he had reworded the question into an opening sentence. After that, he had just sat there. Who cared about the seventy three different 'swishing' motions to wand waving, and their properties? How could anyone interested in this, with all the chaos around the school?
Everyone was hurting, and it didn't seem to get any better. Instead of being upset, that hurt had changed to anger, and it was actually quite scary to behold.
Most of his housemates supported a frown, and only smiled when plotting some new trick or jinx to play on the Slytherins. He could understand their revenge, but this was getting out of hand. The professors had to be informed, and if they already had, they needed to step in soon. Jinxing was one thing; cursing quite another.
And Harry…
What was he supposed to do about that? He had hurt his friend; he had turned as bad as the others. He was determined to go straight to him the next time they crossed paths, and apologize. He could keep his secrets; they all had them, didn't they? If he didn't want Neville's help, fine. He would wait and watch from afar, and if Malfoy even smirked at him the wrong way…!
He found himself sighing, tapping again. There was something wrong, but he just couldn't see what it was. It was like an annoying answer to a question, hovering just beyond his reach, which he would remember at two in the morning instead of in class. However, days passed, and he still found himself fumbling aimlessly for the solution. It was impossible.
Laughter made him flick his eye across the room, smiling softly. Ron, Seamus and Dean were chortling in the corner, looking at some letter that had Seamus looking caught between bemused and embarrassed. It was good to see them laugh, to be happy. It was almost as if they were letting it go, moving forwards with their lives. Ron glanced to his right, as if to say something, but caught himself halfway there. Grimacing, he frowned, staring at the unoccupied seat miserably before turning back to the others, a strain of a smile in place.
It was strange to not see Harry sitting with them. Usually he would be sitting by Ron, running a hand through his hair, or wiping his glasses, or slumped in his chair hardly breathing he was laughing so hard…
Hopefully he would come back to Gryffindor Tower, if Neville asked him. Pleaded with him. They needed him, more than he knew.
"Need some help, Neville?"
He turned with a smile as Hermione pulled up a chair, a bemused smile on her face as she watched the boys. This is what they had all returned to Hogwarts for. Not petty revenge, moments like this.
"Nah, I've got it covered."
"Really?" She raised her eyebrows, glancing at the empty page. "Because you haven't moved in over an hour, nor written anything except for the title…and I don't think 'swish' is the accurate term."
Hermione had become quieter this year, less bossy. She had made it quite clear that antagonising the Slytherins had to stop, but she hadn't enforced it. Neither had Neville, though.
"Yeah, I know. I'm just…"
"Preoccupied?"Neville found himself nodding, despite not wanting to pressure her with his thoughts. They all had enough to be worrying about, without sharing the load. Hell, Hermione had more to deal with than most; she had lost both her best friends this year, in one way or another. There was only so much you could tell your boyfriend; what if you wanted to complain about him, for instance? She was kind of in a stalemate. She couldn't go to one without pissing the other off. "Want to talk about it?"
"I don't want to upset you."
"Hardly. Nothing could upset me except Malfoy."
Neville have her a pointed look, nodding as understanding settled in her eyes. Everything anyone talked about now had to do with Malfoy.
"Great. What has the ferret done now?" She grimaced as she said it; not because she was speaking of the blonde. But because she couldn't believe she had resorted to the petty nickname; it was something they were doing subconsciously. Something else to stop.
"I don't know." Neville replied truthfully, tapping his quill again. "That's what's bothering me. He's got Harry trapped somehow, I just know it-"
"Harry's a grown man who can take care of himself." The witch interrupted with a small smile; she didn't believe that, not for a second. "He can deal with Malfoy."
"Can he?" Neville challenged, frowning. "You know how obsessed he was throughout school…he's always been odd around Malfoy. Anyway, he's controlling him, somehow. I don't know how, but it's the only possible explanation. Why would Harry stay away from all of us? Why would be choose Malfoy publically? It doesn't make sense. He's never shown any interested with being friends before."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, her own frown creasing her forehead. She still shook her head, however. "Malfoy helped him during the war." She said softly, glancing at Ron before continuing. "He had a chance to hand us over to Voldemort, and didn't."
Neville could feel his mouth gape open. Malfoy? He would hand in his own grandmother to escape detention…and he refused Voldemort? It…was insane. Why would he do that? "No, it has to be bigger than that. Harry bloody listens to everything he says…you saw how desperate he was that day we visited him in the hospital wing, after the Womping Willow incident; I've never seen Harry plead like that."
"He's made his choice, Neville-"
"What if he hasn't?" He persisted, desperate himself. "What if it's being forced on him? I saw him the other day-"
"Did you see his eyes?" Hermione asked quietly, avoiding his surprised expression by staring determinedly at the tabletop. When had she gone to see him?
"Yeah, I did." They sat in silence, thinking of Harry bandaged defencelessly in the Hospital Wing, unable to meet their eyes, unable to bloody face them without help. Unable to pick up a book, Neville thought warily. "I don't know what bloody fool potion they were-"
"Potion?" Hermione snapped her eyes up, narrowing them dangerously. Finally; some Gryffindor stubbornness that Neville had missed. "I was told it was a spell mishap."
"Malfoy told me it was a potion accident-"
"Pomfrey told me they were experimenting on Lumos." Neville frowned, thinking it over. Why were they told different things? Just what were they hiding? "Malfoy practically threw me from the room."
"Me, too."
"I went at night." Hermione added, contemplative. "It was late, very late. Why was Malfoy there at that time? Pomfrey didn't even berate him, just accepted it…is she involved? No, she's a professor."
"They're always together." Neville could feel his excitement growing; Hermione believed him. If there was one person clever enough to get to the truth, it would be her. "And I don't believe a word about them dating, or marrying, or courting, or whatever the rumour is now."
"Of course not," She laughed, bemused. "Harry's straight, in any case. And if they were dating, they would at least touch in public. The brushing of a shoulder, holding hands; there's none of that."
"Exactly!" Neville was grinning now; he could practically see the clogs rolling in her brilliant mind. "So, you believe me, right? There's something going on."
Hermione nodded, still frowning. "He's so pale now, and he's lost a lot of weight…classic signs of stress."
"So you'll help me find out what they're up to?"
Hermione hesitated again, glancing at the laughing boys in the corner. They both caught Ron again shifting on his seat, eyes dulled and not as bright as the other two. It was as if he couldn't help himself up want to talk to the seat next to him; it was a reaction he couldn't stop, having been used to Harry just being there years on end.
"I'll help you. Maybe Harry's waiting for us to help him." She didn't sound reassured, but it was enough. They could aid Harry in getting away from Malfoy.
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Twenty Four.
That was going to be his legacy; Number Twenty Four.
Forget vanquisher of Voldemort, forget the title 'Boy-Who-Won't-Die'.
Nope, they would be disregarded as the public discovered he was the twenty fourth person in history to contract succorbentis.
How was that even possible?
Sure, he had heard that it was rare, but seriously?
That meant twenty four people out of the approximate six and a half billion that had existed since the twelfth century caught the disease. That was ridiculous.
Only one person per approximate two hundred and seventy million people contracted it.
The Universe was a dick.
Out of those twenty three previous fellow fatalities, all had died. Obviously.
Fourteen went insane. Two more were heading there.
Twelve committed suicide.
One was killed. Mercifully.
Eight died by the figurative hands of their own magic, before help could get to them. Lungs suddenly collapsed, hearts stopped beating. Skulls cracked, limbs were blown apart, kidneys disappeared…one girl was burnt to a crisp; how, unknown.
It made fantastic bedtime reading.
The average time was five months. One only lasted two weeks, the longest…no, that couldn't be right.
Three years?
How?
Harry frowned, imprinting that name to memory. Simon Harvey. Died in nineteen seventy eight; suicide.
…
How had he done it?
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Harry sighed as he entered the Great Hall, listening to the usual halted conversations and the hissed of whispered conversation heat up. Could they not just mind their own fucking business? Was it really too much to ask? Apparently so. It would be interesting to hear the latest rumours, at least. Possibly.
He didn't want to be here. He had been evicted from the Hospital Wing by Pomfrey, claiming he was in impeccable health, ignoring the obvious reasons he wanted to yank her lying tongue out for even suggesting that. After hours of stalking the halls hunger had driven him here; standing awkwardly in the entrance of the Great Hall, not knowing what to do. He would probably have to steal a plate of food and eat in a courtyard, despite the unwavering stream of snow that refused to let up. Gryffindor had made it perfectly clear that they didn't want him.
And while he considered this an improvement at least, in the fact no one would get hurt when he eventually…uh…stopped existing…he was surprised at how much it pained him. He had been steadily ignoring them all year, so why now did he expect an olive branch? You reap what you sow, and he was most definitely reaping.
Still, he didn't expect to be evicted from Gryffindor Tower. What had made them so angry? The fact he had let in Slytherins? It wasn't as if they had gone on a cursing spree; it wasn't as if they had snuck in a boggart to terrify everyone come morning, or shoved them down the tower staircases. In fact, Slytherin hadn't hinted of any of those things. Gryffindor, on the other hand, had.
He understood that they were mad at him for not going to the funeral. He understood perfectly how hurt they would all be. After all, his funeral was going to be nonexistent; only the priest would show up, and maybe Malfoy.
Harry hesitated still, meeting the glares of his ex-housemates with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't going to give them the pleasure of watching him squirm, or hurt. He would never suspect that they would be purposefully cruel.
"Come on, Scarhead," Harry blinked in surprise as Parkinson curled an arm through his, appearing from thin air. "You could teach puppies lessons in the 'I'm kicked and hurt' department."
"I was going for distant yet angry." He replied cautiously, allowing her to pull him away from the table with confusion. Merlin, like this wasn't going to get their backs up.
"Oh please, your aloof expression looks like you were pummelled one too many times as an infant. That was definitely the 'kicked puppy look'." She glanced at him, a smirk twitching at her lips. She wasn't nearly as unattractive as the girls from other houses implied; her eyes were large, full of emotion. Why hadn't he noticed before? "Careful, Potty, you keep looking at me like that and they'll think you're in love. And where would that get us? With Draco being a temperamental bitch in one corner, and the wizarding world out for blood in the other."
Harry could only splutter at that, when she shoved him into a seat, plonking herself down beside him.
"I overheard them coming in, Draco. They're planning another one; we can't just sit back and…" Nott cut off as they sat down, eyebrows raising. He exchanged a smirk with Zabini, cocking his head to one side as he regarded the wary Harry. Because this made him feel right at home, in a den of vipers.
The whispers heated up behind him, viciously spreading from outraged mouth to mouth. Why was it such a big deal? Luna had occasionally joined Gryffindor table; was a reciprocal action really too much to take?
"Morning, Potty." Harry snapped his eyes up to Malfoy's face, throwing his strain of a smile in place. He wasn't about to be a petulant, moping Gryffindork when invited to sit with Slytherin; it wasn't going to happen, despite how he wanted nothing more than to seal himself in the Chamber of Secrets for the rest of his life. Albeit short.
"Morning, Malfoy." He tried to smile, hoping he wasn't failing epically. Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly. Great. "I've been evicted, apparently."
"Did the fact I had to rescue your belongings go unnoticed?"
"No. It's just more noticeable, now; I've been evicted from the…uh…other place too."
"What other place?" Nott asked immediately, at the same time Parkinson demanded to know if Malfoy was keeping secrets from her. Harry really should learn to guard his stupid fucking mouth!
"What happened to your eyes?" Harry blinked, turning to Zabini, who was looking thoroughly confused. The tanned boy had his head cocked to one side, a frown marring his face. He was one of the only people that knew anything had happened, and oddly enough, Harry rather wanted it to stay that way. "Now that they're fixed…what happened? Was it a potion, or a door? You've had plenty time to collaborate your story."
"Eyes?" Harry frowned himself, ensuring he maintained eye contact; any looking away would be classified as a lie. "What're you talking about? My eyes are fine. Well, apart from the fact I need glasses-"
"Don't patronize me, Potter." Zabini grinned, "I know what I saw. Even you can't deny that."
"I can honestly say I have no idea what you're talking about." He shrugged, as if it was unimportant. "Maybe you imagined it?"
"Yeah, and I'm sure I imagined stumbling upon you and Draco locked in a cupboard-"
"What?" Parkinson shrieked loudly, effectively gaining the attention of the entire hall. "You caught them doing what?"
Draco raised his eyebrows at the display, smirking to himself. Harry didn't dare look at him, less it look incriminating. He was holding off the blush by sheer will; he had, maybe, hoped for something more to happen in that cupboard. Curse Zabini and in impeccably irritating timing.
"Is this true, Draco?" Parkinson asked gleefully, almost jumping on her chair. It was…actually quite disturbing how interested she was in this. God forbid she turn into a fangirl.
"I have neither idea nor inclination to whatever circumstance Blaise is talking about." He replied dryly, sipping his orange juice as if it was wine, or port. He made quite an image. "If you're having fanciful dreams about me and Potter, Blaise-"
"Ew! No, don't even go there, Draco!"
"I'm sure we can arrange-"
"Stop! My ears! They burn!"
Harry found himself snorting into his own cup, almost chocking on his juice. He could feel Malfoy's insistent gaze on him again, and it was quite difficult to ignore from two feet away.
"Good to have him on your side, huh?" Nott whispered from next to Harry, elbowing him almost knowingly on the arm. Neither boy expected the large yelp that escaped from Harry's mortified lips.
Stinging pain blossomed where Nott had touched him, radiating down his arm. Harry shifted away from him quickly, surprised when the other boy did immediately too, hands up in surrender. "Okay, fine, I won't touch you…" He muttered, both affronted and irritated. Harry felt a glimmer of guilt before his attention was drawn away again.
"What happened to your arm?" Malfoy asked, eyes narrowing again. Merlin, couldn't Harry have a single day without something happening? Something embarrassing, or failing?
"Dunno." Harry hoped that would end it.
"Well then, check." Of course it wouldn't; this was Malfoy here. Once again, most of the Slytherin's eyes were rapt upon Harry's. He really had no choice but to ease his robe off of his left arm, and grimace at the large purple bruise that had blossomed just above his elbow. Wincing, he rolled up the sleeve with astonishment; he was supporting a larger bruise, stretching from his shoulder to his elbow. Just staring at it made him wince. How the hell had that happened?
"…Guess I bumped it." He muttered, frowning. This had certainly not been there when he dressed that morning. Or had he missed it, somehow?
"How can you not know? It looks like a troll bludgeoned you."
"I swear I didn't elbow him that hard!" Nott spoke up, hands raised in defence. He actually looked guilty…odd as it was.
"Unless your elbow is the size of a troll, I doubt it." Harry replied dryly, poking his
bruise with a wince.
"Don't poke it!" Malfoy reached across the table, snatching up Harry's hand and forcing it away from the tender skin. "What are you, some primitive beast? Let it heal, you Twot."
"Twot?" Harry laughed, eyebrows raised. "That's defiantly a new one."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
"Don't think I won't."
"You won't."
"Wanna bet?"
"Oh, I bet." Harry grinned, pulling his robe back on slowly. He didn't catch the stunned, half-hearted, bemused expressions of the other Slytherins until it was silent for a good few minutes. Then he glanced around, feeling oddly self-conscious.
"What?"
"You were just…bickering with Draco." Pansy grinned, "Like an old married couple."
"I can't believe Draco just acted immature." Blaise threw in for good measure, "Almost like he was, I don't know how to put this…a teenager."
"Fuck off, the lot of you." Harry glanced at the snappish blonde, snorting with amusement as his cheeks turned pink. He was embarrassed. Sweet Merlin.
"Oh Salazar…Draco's blushing!"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Let's begin the second tale of Boris the-"
"Okay, folks, nothing to see here!" Zabini quickly jumped in, throwing a glare at Malfoy and covering Parkinson's eyes. Literally. "Nothing at all! Draco, you're a dick."
Harry smirked to himself, catching Draco's eye. The blonde winked, going back to his breakfast.
The Slytherins weren't half bad.
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"Mr Malfoy, you need to catch up. You may be gifted with potions, but the final exams aren't all about raw talent, are they, my boy?" Slughorns booming voice caught the attention of the entire class, shocking the majority.
Harry glanced at his potions partner, noticing how he stiffened slightly, and his eyes glinted dangerously. Why hadn't he done the homework? Even Ron had done it, it wasn't particularly hard.
"Of course sir." The blonde replied evenly, eyes narrowing as their professor shuffled to the other side of the room. "They obviously reply of sheer dumb luck, you fat moron." He muttered, turning back to his cauldron.
"Why didn't you do the work?" Harry asked, cutting up some mandrake root. He wasn't allowed to touch the actual potion, not with Malfoy as a partner. He had been labelled as the 'prep-er'. Whatever that meant.
Malfoy glanced at him, mask in place. Harry almost thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he rolled his eyes as if irritated. "It was juvenile; I'm not going to waste my time on homework that we did in first year."
Oh. "It wasn't juvenile." Harry made sure not to make eye contact. He had to get the roots perfect, after all. To the nearest millimetre.
"You cannot have had trouble with it."
Harry shrugged, ignoring the snort next to him. It had taken him quite some time, actually, to find the answers to the essay. Even then, he had had trouble filling the required length. Potions was definitely not his forte, despite it was the only subject he had a hopes of passing. He could see number eighteen of his list drifting away.
"It wasn't the easiest-"
"Maybe you need a tutor, Potter."
"Funny, that," Harry grinned, seeming fifty times more confident than he actually was. "I seem to recall you stalking me through the library to 'help' with my homework…we definitely did not do homework."
"It was homework of a different kind." Malfoy replied evenly, immediately; he smirked though, adding the roots to their potion. "Stop blushing, Potter, or people will assume we're being uncouth. We wouldn't want them to believe we're uncouth, now would we?"
"Of course not." Focus on skinning the frog, Harry. You're just skinning a frog. "I have nothing to redden over. We didn't do anything across the floor of the library. Nothing uncouth at all."
"Not as much as I'd have liked, I'll admit."
Harry found himself swallowing, his entire face bright red. Speak any louder, Malfoy. He was sure there was a few adjoining classes that didn't hear.
They could not be talking about this…in the middle of potions class. Harry glanced to the side, meeting the amused grey eyes. His stomach jittered when they met. There was nothing to say to that, nothing that didn't get his hopes up or crushed. So he didn't say anything.
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"Professor McGonagall!" Harry winced as his voice echoed around the hall, catching many a glance in his direction. Did any of them have homework? Why were they all wondering around the castle with idle direction? He had an excuse; he had no place he belonged. Everyone else? Didn't they have tests coming up, or homework, or a dying aunt that needed to be prayed for?
McGonagall paused in her scolding of two second year students, who shuffled and sniffed and looked as if they were about to burst into tears. It wasn't every day the headmistress berated you. Poor kids.
She waved them away, ignoring the line of students that seemed to want her attention too. Odd, that…Harry frowned, counting the Gryffindors in the group. Eleven…it must just be a coincidence. There was nothing to connect the exiled Gryffindor, the head of Gryffindor, and a few Gryffindor delegates from each year. Nothing at all.
"Mister Potter, I assume this is regarding the letter?"
"Uh…yeah…" The letter that Neville had saved for Harry turned out to be from Dudley; thank Merlin the smart Gryffindor had had the sense, or loyalty, not to open it. His git of a cousin mentioned 'cancer' seven times within about five lines; as if that wouldn't have been a giveaway. "It was from my cousin…regarding the…uh…"
She nodded, remarkably, and charmed a quick silencing barrier around them. McGonagall had tact. Who knew? "Continue."
Harry swallowed, glancing at the several Gryffindors that glared from outside the barrier. They didn't seem impressed with the latest potential rumour regarding him ripped from their clutches. He felt smug; was it too immature to poke his tongue out?
"Yeah, he said you gave him permission to sit with me during… 'chemo'? It's, uh, a muggle form of-"
"Thank you for the perception, Mister Potter, but I know what it is."
Harry flushed in embarrassment, continuing on quickly. "That's the thing; my…treatment…is quite different from the muggle version. It's…not even treatment, technically. Malfoy calls it 'torture'…I can't have my cousin sitting there through that…"
If only her eyes could bore holes through his skull. Her nostrils flared once, mouth thinning. "I've been informed that you don't mind people present. Wouldn't it be comforting-?"
"But that's Malfoy." Harry cut across, frowning slightly. "It's completely different. I don't particularly want my cousin there."
"He's been quite insistent." She glowered at him, arms crossed against her chest. "I have made the preparations already. In fact, I am breaking decades of tradition here, by allowing a muggle to see Hogwarts, let alone enter."
"I get all that, I understand." Harry cut in again quickly; she was prepping for a speech. Best to end this quickly. "Can we just…not do it with the diagnostic? We can go down to Hogsmead or something instead, right? Just a catch up; he'll think he's doing right by me, there'll be no prodding on anyone's toes…it's better that way, right?"
He almost sighed with relief as she ended the silencing charm, studying him uncomfortably with her bloody hawk gaze for a few more minutes; she could, seriously, see into your soul.
"You are an adult; if I cannot change your mind, that's what will happen." She sounded as if he had yelled at her, or insulted her. "However, it is my firm belief that you are making a mistake."
Harry nodded, spinning around and attempting to hurry down the hall. That had almost been as hard as yanking his own teeth out with a wrench. It was ironic that no one wanted anything to do with him, and yet detested the choices he made for himself. Her voice stopped him again.
"Why are your belongings in the hospital wing?" He spun back around quickly, sparing a glance at the uninterested students before hurrying back to the headmistress. Merlin, he wanted to slap her. She knew he didn't want anyone to know! Did he have to get her to sign a fucking contract before she would stop trying to ruin his life?
"What do you think-?"
"Mister Potter. Answer the question." Okay, he had pissed her off royally somehow. And this is what she did in return? Petty revenge? God, he had tried to be polite in that conversation!
Harry grit his teeth, hands clenching at his sides. How dare she? "I thought, considering the…time I spend there," He dropped his voice to a bare whisper, hoping the other students in the area wouldn't hear. They didn't, but his sudden anger caught their attention. "It would be easiest to have it on hand."
"The hospital wing is not a dormitory; it is not designed for a single student alone. Please return your things to Gryffindor Tower."
Harry glared at his headmistress, trying to show her the sheer amount of loathing he held at this moment. How dare she? "Sure." He grit out, spinning around and storming off again. He wanted to punch someone! Why wouldn't anyone let him have this one little secret?
He hurried down the corridors, wondering to himself why he was rushing in the first place. It wasn't as if he had anywhere to go, or be, and it wasn't as if he was anticipating the destination. He had a suspicion where the bruise on his arm had come from, and he desperately wanted to be wrong. Another factor to make this day just that much more perfect.
"Potter, I need to speak with you."
He barely had the time to blink before Parkinson grabbed his arm, dragging him into the nearest classroom. She flicked her wand at the door to lock it, and Harry pretended that the flare of jealousy didn't exist.
"I'm not in the best mood right now, Parkinson." He managed to mutter without growling at her. An achievement, that.
"I saw the little confrontation in the hall. Don't worry; McGonagall's always been a real bitch, hasn't she?" Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead and glancing up at the girl. She was leaning against the wall, a predatory grin on her face, arms crossed. She didn't look as if she just wanted to 'talk'. "And because I'm the loveliest person alive, I'll spread some rumour that she's angry you don't want to support her and your illegitimate love child."
Harry held back the laugh, though it was a near miss. He couldn't stop the grimace. "I'm sure that will help immensely." He replied dryly, blinking in shock as she flashed a nervous smile.
…
A smile. Not a smirk, or a jeer, or a grin.
Parkinson had smiled at Harry.
"…what's wrong?" He found himself asking, on one hand worried for her, only Merlin knows why, and on the other wanting to ram his head against the wall. This wasn't his fight, not his duty, not his friend…
She tittered a false laugh at that, running a hand through her hair. "Well, to be completely honest…you."
"That was…blunt."
"Honest." She reminded, eyes tracing the lines on the ceiling. She almost looked nervous, but that was ridiculous. This was Pansy Parkinson here, able to, according to the well founded rumours that circulated the Slytherins of all ages, castrate a man with her bare hands. She needed nerves to be able to be nervous, and she was without. "I…fuckity fuck fuck! I'm sorry! There! Done! And if you bloody open your mouth about this to anyone, Draco included, I'll reach down your throat, yank out your vocal cords, and feed them to you! Got it?"
Ah, and there she was again. Few, for a moment there, she seemed almost human.
Harry found himself snorting, nodding his head quickly. "It's fine, you're forgiven…"
"I don't need your forgiveness, Potter."She sneered, rolling her eyes angrily. "Salazar Fucking Christ!" …How would that work, exactly? "What made you think that I did? I'm not some petty, snivelling little Gryffindork-!"
Harry hesitated again, frowning. He had assumed, incorrectly, of course, that apologizing indicated a need for forgiveness. These bloody Slytherins never made sense. But she was still standing there, waiting. A little awkwardly, if Harry could read her correctly.
"…A lot of things happened in the war." He began hesitantly, refusing to look away when her furious eyes snapped to his. "…A lot of people did a lot of terrible things. I…used the Unforgivables." He admitted, pretending not to see the glimmer in her eyes. Only a Slytherin would see credit due there. "But trying to save yourself and your friends…that's…well, I would have done anything to save my friends." And he had. Harry could still remember the numb walk to the forest, the fact he had had to hide whilst his friends suffered; the hollow feeling in his stomach as he entered the gloom…his hands had shook. He had been terrified.
Parkinson stood quietly, watching Harry through chocolate brown eyes. She rolled her eyes again. "Why must you always be so bloody Gryffindorkish?" She asked, flashing him a smile again. "Makes everyone love you, you know?" She unlocked the door, smirking. "I would appreciate this if you kept your mouth shut, Potter."
"Naturally. I would like my vocal cords to remain attached." He replied evenly, watching her laugh. It wasn't that loud or shrill laugh…it was normal. God, what was he doing to the Slytherins?
Grey eyes stopped them outside of the door.
"Potter. Pansy." Malfoy's eyes narrowed at them, glancing into the empty classroom behind them. He didn't ask, and his mask stayed in place.
"Well, I have to run!" Pansy was much too happy, practically skipping down the hallway. Great. Way to go, leaving Harry defenceless with a pissed off, suspicious Malfoy.
Harry shrugged, continuing his way to the hospital wing. He really was spending the majority of his life in that clean, horrible little room, wasn't he?
"Care to explain?"
"Nothing happened."
"Bullshit; you're not nearly as good as lying now, with your eyes in clear view." Malfoy easily walked alongside him, his scowl frightening first years out of the way. The unsaid 'tell me' hung awkwardly in the air.
"It's not mine to tell."
"Pansy will crack within a week."
"Doubt it." Harry smirked at that; Parkinson would seemed like a person to never tell what she wanted, only useless information others didn't. Her cracking was as likely as Dudley giving up cake. "Want to make a bet on that?"
"Fine. I win, you have to accompany me on another date, next Hogsmead weekend." Harry glanced at him again, frowning. This was twice in the one day he had said something…well, fond. He couldn't like Harry, not like that. It…was the heat of the moment in the library, right?
"Uh, that may not be the best idea." His eyes turned into icicle daggers, intent on slicing his eyes out. "My cousin is visiting that weekend." He covered quickly, swallowing. Malfoy's glare didn't soften. He knew it was just a cover.
"I thought your cousin was a muggle." He stated, eyes narrowing to slits.
"He is. A whale of a muggle." Harry slowed his steps; they only had a corridor until the hospital wing, and he didn't particularly want Malfoy there, today. He didn't need to know what Harry was hoping was wrong. "And McGonagall, in her infinite wisdom, has allowed him to visit."
"A muggle at Hogwarts." Malfoy looked like he was going to be sick; Harry certainly felt like he was going to be. Dudley, able to speak to any of his peers. To McGonagall. To Malfoy. Merlin, it was a disaster waiting to happen.
"So…have you caught up with your potions homework yet?" Harry stalled, hoping Malfoy would take the hint and leave. He stopped walking, surprised when Malfoy slipped his arm around his and jerked him to continue again. The bastard.
"You need to practise lying; you're pathetic." He drawled, looking bored. To anyone else, he would have seemed indifferent. But Harry could see the amusement flicking in his eyes, shining brilliantly. Merlin, he almost tripped he was nervous all of a sudden. This was getting out of hand, these fucking butterflies. "Don't hide where you're going; I've walked along this route so often in the past few weeks it's more familiar than the trek to the dormitory."
Wow.
How depressing.
"I need a check up; you're not going to be allowed behind the curtain anyway." Harry tried, sighing as Malfoy glanced at his face, and glared again.
"Eyes. Windows. Lying." He even smirked at the end. Prick.
Harry sighed inwardly; this was not going to be fun.
Pomfrey stopped mid-step as they entered, frowning. "What have you done now?" She sounded weary, afraid. But she still straightened up and hurried to a bed, gesturing for him to sit down.
Malfoy lent against the wall, indifferent. Well, not for long.
"I have this bruise, and don't know how it happened." He shrugged his cloak off again, rolling up the sleeve to show the entire arm. It was still the bright purple, stretching from his shoulder to his elbow. "It wasn't there when I dressed, it appeared sometime before breakfast. I didn't bump it at all." His mouth was dry.
Pomfrey frowned a little, poking it with her fingers. Harry winced, throwing a glare at Malfoy as he growled. He literally growled at her. Merlin.
"…Well, I commend you for coming to me and showing me this." She said softly, her frown deepening. "However…it's not uncommon, considering how aggressive your magic had become. Headmistress McGonagall informed you of this? "Harry nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on Pomfrey as holes were being drilled into his head. Shit.
"You're taking double the dosage of magic stabilizing potion now, so it should be contained for the time being…I'm sorry, Harry, but there's nothing I can do about this…" She hesitated, healing the bruise with a flick of the wand. "You don't have to come to me for every single…occurrence. If you're worried, or others are," She added, throwing a glance at Malfoy, "Then by all means…"
"So I can expect things like this from now on?" He asked warily, ignoring how weak his voice sounded. He knew this would be the answer. He was prepared. So why did it hurt so much?
"It has become more aggressive now; your magic doesn't necessarily need the mechanism of the wand to react." She explained. At least she sounded upset.
"Oh…so I can be sitting there and my arm will explode? No warning?" Keep talking, anything to avoid being left alone with the murderous Malfoy.
"…That situation is extremely unlikely." She didn't deny it.
"I find myself not trusting in odds anymore, funnily enough." Harry met her eyes, nodding slowly as she shuffled away disturbed.
"I'm sorry, Harry."
Great. Not sorry enough to save him from his current predicament.
"You. Fucking. Bastard."
Harry braced himself, glancing at the furious blonde. Grey eyes slashed into his, and he couldn't look away. He had expected a mask in place. He had expected coldness, a calculating gaze.
Nothing was hidden, and that, in itself, was worse than any mask Malfoy could hide behind. Raw emotion crossed his face, a furious heat radiating from the apparent Slytherin 'Ice-Prince'; how wrong that nickname was. Confusion, and hurt emitting from his eyes. Guilt gnawed at Harry's insides; this was what he had been hoping to avoid. Merlin, he didn't want Malfoy hurt; that was worse than Ron, or Hermione, or…fuck it, the entire school could burn, as long as Malfoy was fine.
"When were you going to tell me that it's getting worse?" He growled, hands clenching into his arms. His knuckles were white; he had been holding back until Pomfrey was gone. Harry was actually surprised he had waited that long.
"Never." His throat was trying to collapse on itself; that single word was all he managed to get out before cutting off. He needed to tear his eyes away, but Malfoy's hold was relentless.
"I deserved to know!" He bellowed, flinging his arms out in an enraged gesture. He took a single step towards where Harry was sitting, before jerking to a stop. Something grabbed Harry's chest and squeezed. Malfoy's hands came up again to squeeze at his arms again; he wasn't letting himself get close, not for this.
Anger crawled up through Harry; why was he so angry? It wasn't his magic failing on him here!
"Why, Malfoy?" Harry found himself shouting back, throwing himself from the bed and stalking around it, effectively cornering the blonde. "We're not dating, we're not a couple. We're barely even friends; I don't have to tell you jack shit about my life! The only reason you know is because you were being a selfish little prick-"
"Will you get it through your thick skill already?"Malfoy bellowed, grabbing Harry by his shirt. Harry's anger subsided quickly, the horror of what he said sunk in. No. He couldn't lose Malfoy, not him too. Malfoy's hands were shaking. "If I didn't give a shit about you, I wouldn't be here, Potter! Why do you think I'm here? That it's some sort of hobby? A game? That I find enjoyment in the fucking suffering of someone I care about? That it's fun to sit here and have to watch you wilt away, when you sit there in your oblivious fucking ignorant mind, having no idea just how much I…!...You can't possibly be this thick, Potter!"
Harry's breath hitched. He couldn't possibly mean what he was saying. No one wanted him, definitely not Malfoy. No, it couldn't happen. No matter how much Harry wanted it.
He found himself shaking his head.
"G-get out." He voice trembled, and he hated himself for it.
Malfoy's voice shook too. "No." He growled; his eyes glinted dangerously. "You're not pushing me away too."
"'Pushing you away' would imply I have you!"
"That's implying you don't!"
Harry tried to jerk away, but Malfoy growled a warning, tightening his hold. He didn't speak though; he had let out, and now it was Harry's to do with as he willed. But he couldn't…
He managed to jerk his eyes away, finally. They glared at the ceiling instead, trying desperately not to let the stinging in his eyes spread. "I'm not dating you. I'm not dating anyone. It…Fuck, Malfoy, don't ask this of me…Just…don't…"
"Don't what?!" He snarled, shaking Harry roughly when he didn't reply. "Don't what?!"
"Don't fucking tempt me!" Harry bellowed back, wrenching himself from the blondes grip. He couldn't do this. He wasn't nearly as strong-willed as they all seemed to believe. He wiped his eye quickly, furious that the tears had escaped. He was so weak. So pathetic. He was breathing heavily, like he had just sprinted ten miles. He couldn't even look at the blonde. "I can't…just…" Shit, he didn't even know what to say. What could you say? Yeah, he'll date him, and leave him heartbroken when he died in a few months? No, he wasn't doing that! Not to Malfoy.
"…We don't necessarily have to date."
Harry frowned, turning at the soft tone. Malfoy was still glowering, irritation and confusion radiating from his face. He didn't look as angry, though. His eyes were soft. "What…be friends with benefits?" Because that was going to work.
"What an unsavoury term. Definitely not." Harry watched as the blonde composed himself; he sounded like himself again; emotion locked away.
"Then what?" Harry found himself asking, wiping at his face again. Why was Malfoy the one to always watch him cry? There was nothing to do now, except lock himself away. And hurl himself off the tower. Or starve himself in the Chamber of Secrets.
"We would…enjoy the moment." Harry sighed, turning to decline the blonde, to blink, stepping backwards quickly. Malfoy was right there, centimetres from his face. As he retreated, he followed.
"I've put my heart on a fucking pike, Harry; don't stab it further." He whispered. Fuck, he was right there. Harry could smell that vanilla that seemed to follow him, could see every lash on his eye. "Enjoy the moments you have." The unsaid 'left' was ignored, as Harry reached up, hesitantly, to touch that surprisingly warm face, if just to stop the chasing.
"Don't hate me when I die." He muttered, searching in those depths of grey. Merlin, one could get lost in those eyes.
"Easily fixed," He drawled back, ever the Malfoy. "Don't die."
Their lips brushed together.
.
.
.