Hey guys! So, I know this one is a little bit late, and to make up for it, I've made it extra long :) I feel horrible though, because even though it is extra long...Sorry guys, but this is not a happy chapter. Next chapter is amazing, and fun, and I laugh even thinking about it, but today's...not so much. Sorry guys :)
Thank you everyone for your amazing reviews, and thank you for reading my story! As someone states, I haven't had a very good year, however you guys and your positive comments cheer me up immensely. So thank you all! :D
I should probably add that I don't own any of this, I don't own Harry Potter, I am merely doing this for fun, not for a profit.
Please don't hate me when you finish.
Twenty Eight - Please, not now
Harry woke in the hospital wing, eyes drifting immediately to the mop of blonde hair tickling his nose. Draco's arm was hanging over his chest, the opposite hand twisted in Harry's hair. Merlin, he was the most possessive git Harry had ever met; clinging in his sleep.
After their...oh, god.
That had actually happened.
Harry could feel his face heating up, his heart thumping louder in his chest. They had…in a bloody alcove…where anyone could have wondered past…
Slytherins were not cowards. Hell, they gave nerve a name.
Harry swallowed tightly, remembering the possessive kisses, the reassurance, the way Draco's eyes had glowedwith happiness… He tightened his hold on the blonde, inching him closer. He didn't want to let go.
Last night's diagnostic had been…eventful.
Goyle was still a patient in the hospital wing, and therefore, sitting up a few beds away. He couldn't walk yet, according to Madam Pomfrey, but his eyes had thrown glares ready to curse to hell and back. He grit his teeth as they entered, snarling furiously.
Draco had glared back, flipping him off when Pomfrey wasn't watching, and proceeded to draw the curtain around the bed so he couldn't see the torture about to commence.
Not being able to speak was horrific. And a blessing.
He didn't have to hold it in. He was able to groan, and yell, and not have to pretend it wasn't agonizing. The only problem was Draco, sitting a few inches away, his face covered by that insufferable mask again. His eyes drilled into Harry's face the entire time, and as soon as the horrible potion was past his chest again, he undid the restraints, climbed into bed with Harry, and…held him.
"You can let it out." He had whispered, holding him close.
And so Harry had.
He had shrieked blue murder. Silently. He didn't even remember when he had fallen asleep. The tubes had been removed from his arms, so he had to assume Draco had taken them off sometime last night.
…
He was lucky to have the blonde here. And he was horrible for letting him stay.
Harry buried his head into the blonde hair, inhaling the vanilla he was infatuated with. Draco wasn't the only possessive git in Slytherin.
.
.
.
Where was it?
Harry dropped underneath the hospital wing bed, slamming his fist against the floor at the bare tiles that greeted him instead. He had searched the Slytherin common room fervently, retraced his steps from yesterday, double checked everyone he saw had their own belongings in tow…where the hell was his bag?
Harry got to his feet angrily, hurrying from the room without a glance at the boy throwing glares at him from a different bed. Library. It had to be in the library.
Bloody hell, he needed the bag! It had all his homework, his invisibility cloak, the Marauders Map, the letter from Dudley…his list. Medical books. And, the most humiliating, a letter from St. Mungos. Why hadn't he hidden it in his trunk as soon as it arrived? Anyone could read it, and it didn't really take a fucking genius to connect the dots. Oh Merlin, knowing his luck, Hermione had it. Great. And Gryffindor would know within a day. The school within two. The Prophet on the third.
He quickened his pace to the library.
It had to be there.
A scurry under the tables and a frantic note thrust at Madam Prince discarded that thought.
Shit.
Harry was not a happy chappy by the time he wandered down to his potions class, walking in at least ten minutes late and with a scowl to rival any Slytherin. He slumped into his seat besides Draco, snatching the quill from his hand and scrawling a note onto his completed class work.
I need a quill, and parchment.
Draco's mouth had dropped open as soon as Harry sat beside him, lips twitching. Harry had left the hospital wing before the blonde woke up that morning, so perhaps he was slightly annoyed. Regardless, Harry wasn't in the mood. He raised his eyebrows, underlining the short, irritable statement he had just made. He wasn't writing brail.
The smirk was twitching against Draco's lips again. He shrugged as Harry underlined it a second time, pulling the equipment from his bag. Harry spared him a brief glance, turning to scribble down the instructions. He didn't know what was amusing the blonde, but it definitely didn't amuse him.
"…Potty, I think…" Draco stopped speaking when Harry threw a glare at him, holding up his hands in surrender. He leaned back in his chair, smug grin stretching across his face.
…
He wore a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Why?
Harry glanced around the room, swallowing as he noticed almost everyone staring at him, mixtures of shock and amusement. Gryffindors were throwing him scandalized glances when they thought he wasn't looking, raising their eyebrows at one another and whispering. The only one not participating in the whispering was Neville, who was frowning at his desk. He hadn't even opened his books yet. Harry found himself staring at the Gryffindor for a moment before he remembered himself; he was supposed to be distancing. Even Ron looked uncomfortable, shifting in his chair. What the hell?
Harry turned to his side of the room, squirming under the attention. Parkinson was staring with her mouth gaping, eyes wide. What the hell?
Harry glanced down at himself, frowning. He didn't look that odd; he hadn't rocked up in his pyjamas, he hadn't spilt anything.
He glanced around the room; taking in the glances, the giggles…he felt his face heat up, embarrassment sneaking through. It was as if they knew about Draco and his little… tryst.
"Draco…" Harry swore to himself, irritation rising again as nothing came out. Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to bloody speak. Only a few more hours. A few more. Instead, he had to make do with grabbing his parchment, scribbling on it.
What?
"Oh, now you want to talk?" Draco smirked, leaning further back on his chair.
Why are they all staring? Harry scribbled on his parchment, thrusting it towards Draco's side of the table. The blonde just chuckled though, eyes shining with amusement. In public. What the hell was going on?
"You tell me why you were as moody as a prepubescent girl a few moments ago, and I'll tell you why they're all staring."
Harry scowled at him. Bloody Slytherin.
Slughorn didn't seem to notice his class's preoccupied nature; he was still writing instructions on the board, trying to explain some complicated theory without sounding the least bit interested. He hadn't even commented when Harry arrived late to class; he was still brooding about the attack on Goyle, it seemed. He was trying to get his disgust across by ignoring his class; his class shrugged and steadily ignored the lecture. Harry almost felt sorry for him, if not that this was a perfect time to talk without being berated or watched.
I've lost my bag. Harry wrote after an intense internal debate. Usually, he would be fine ignoring the stares. Today, he couldn't summon the energy. Draco just cocked an eyebrow though, disbelieving. It had my stuff in it; invisibility cloak, map…He hesitated there, leaving it as is. He didn't want Draco knowing about the research he had been doing; the git would take it as hope.
"Summoning charm." The blonde git smirked, "I'll do it for you at lunch."
Won't work.
Draco just shrugged, turning back to his work, grinning as Harry elbowed him quite roughly in the side. "What?"
Tell my why they're staring!
"Tch, I will, as soon as you tell me the truth. At the moment, I think you're full of shit." And he had the audacity to look amused. Toying. Did Harry really expect anything else?
Gritting his teeth, he dipped the quill into ink so roughly that it spilt over the table; he didn't care, and no blonde raised eyebrows were going to change his mind. He didn't want to tell the prat. Couldn't he keep a single thing to himself?
In the smallest writing he could, he scribbled on the edge of the page quickly, scratching the sentence to oblivion as soon as grey eyes glanced at it. The amusement dropped immediately.
It had a letter from Mungo's in it.
And trust Slughon to spin around now to question if everyone was copying the board, frowning at the class and silencing them. He spared a glance at Harry, blinking in shock before shaking his head and glaring at the rest. Seriously, what were they all looking at?
Harry chanced a look at Draco, groaning inwardly as those steel eyes were focused on him. He reached for the quill, fingers brushing against Harry's gently before he wrote his own comment. He understood how hard it was for Harry to admit that by chancing anything being said aloud.
Good news, or bad?
Harry shook his head; he wasn't going to answer that. Not in the middle of a potions class, despite how pointless this class seemed to be. Draco just narrowed his eyes a little, underlining the sentence.
It had specifics. Harry wrote instead, sighing. He could feel the panic rising up into his chest again, just as he was thinking about it. Names. It. All it takes is for someone curious to look up a name.
But Draco didn't care. He circled his question, eyes glinting dangerously. "I'll ask it aloud." He warned, whispering despite Slughorn's disapproval.
Merlin. Slytherins.
Hesitantly, Harry reached for the quill again, swallowing down his panic as he wrote. Draco had been furious last time Harry kept anything from him. Perhaps it would be better if he just told him a bit?
I wrote asking information on a similar patient. The letter told me they were declining my request. Confidentiality bullshit.
Draco just blinked at him, eyes intense. He knew there was more, somehow. Stalker that he was.
Swallowing, Harry continued to write.
An intern Healer took my side. She…He hesitated again, but those eyes were insistent, demanding. He scribbled out the rest of the sentence, thrusting the paper away and turning to the board. The silent conversation was finished. It wasn't even supposed to be about that; it was supposed to be about his stolen bag! Why everyone thought he was the most scandalous attraction, for whatever unknown reason.
The class slowly trailed on, Slughorn going on and on about properties no one cared about. People still glanced at him, shaking their heads or grinning to themselves. The Slytherins were the worse. Parkinson had already been sent from the room from erupting into uncontrollable giggles.
Draco didn't say another word the entire class.
Harry could have cheered with relief when the class was finished. He grabbed the paper they had been conversing across, intending to burn the messages to oblivion…
He swallowed tightly, glancing across to meet passionate grey eyes.
An intern Healer took my side. She…she gave me the address of his daughter.
And underneath it, a promise.
I'm coming with you.
.
.
.
Five minutes.
"Come on, Potter, details!" Parkinson grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement. She glanced at his throat, giggling again; she had to bite her lip to restrain herself.
Five more minutes and he could swear the hell out of them.
"Do we really need details?" Zabini threw into the conversation, also grinning. Who knew Slytherins could show emotion, when the occasion called for it? In Harry's eyes, this was not the occasion. "I mean, it tells a story for itself, doesn't it?"
Harry shot him a glare, turning back to the clock slowly. Four more minutes.
"He was nibbled a bit here, gnawed on just there…Salazar, it was a vicious attack. Some leech just attached itself to his throat, surely. It must have addled his brain, too, maybe concussed him when it threw him up against a door…" Harry could feel his face turn bright red, but refused to give in to their taunts. "Must have, for the poor git to actually go to class without healing it first."
"Or applying make-up." Parkinson added, almost too gleefully. "Could have worn a scarf."
"We know Potter doesn't thrive on attention, it must have been a simple mistake." Zabini laughed.
Three minutes.
Harry flushed in embarrassment; he hadn't given them a thought, to be completely honest. One didn't, when they didn't know they existed. He felt like an idiot; Draco had been biting his throat, sucking, nibbling…of course he was going to have bloody hickeys! He just didn't expect them to be…well, all over his bloody throat! And no one had told him, no one had hinted about anything; just watched him make a fool of himself the entire day, and almost had a heart attack when he went to the bathroom and happened upon his reflection.
Bloody hell, Slughorn hadn't told him! It was mortifying!
"Do they hurt, Potter?" Parkinson asked almost innocently, shifting to the seat next to him. "I can make them better, if you like?"
Harry threw her a suspicious glance, watching as she just raised her eyebrows. She…seemed to be genuinely offering to heal them. No one else had. Even Pomfrey had refused, saying he had to learn from his mistakes.
Harry nodded slowly, swallowing as she inched closer. She withdrew her wand, using a hand to tilt his head back. Harry briefly caught Zabini's gaze, blinking at how his eyes narrowed slightly. Was he clenching his teeth? She was just-
A spell settled on him, and suddenly he couldn't move.
Panic flared through him, then anger as a pair of laughing lips descended on one of the bite marks covering his-
"Get off of him, you harlot." Draco's voice was ice, and it wasn't surprising that Parkinson leapt away in an instant, hurrying to stand nearer to Zabini, as if he was protection from Draco. The fool.
"It was a joke, just a joke, just a bet with Theo…" She said quickly, "I wasn't going to do anything."
Harry remained frozen for only a moment longer, as Draco realised he wasn't moving. He leapt off of the couch as quickly as Parkinson had scurried away, whirling around to stare at Draco. He felt...he couldn't have done anything about what had almost just happened, but he still felt as though he had...he felt guilty.
He couldn't believe Parkinson had almost kissed him, maybe had almost gone as far as give him another bloody hickey. Slytherin to the core, that one. He should have known she was going to do something.
But Draco didn't look anything other than disinterested. He glanced at Parkinson, eyes narrowing slightly, then back at Harry, his lips twitching slightly.
"You've been silent for twenty four hours, now." He said seriously, grinning as Harry did. Yes, he had. And he was about ready to get his voice back.
Without further adieu, Draco flicked his wand again.
Harry spoke immediately; he had missed his voice. There was so much that he wanted to say, so much he felt he had missed out on.
"You pack of bastards." The Slytherins just snorted. "You hypercritical, sneaky, horny," He threw at Draco, "pack of complete and utter bastards. I hate you all."
They just laughed.
.
.
.
24. Vow of Silence for a day
.
.
.
Today, no one was giggling and staring at his throat. Thank God.
Parkinson seemed embarrassed that Draco had caught her going for Harry, and having to spell him immobile to just do that; she had a misplaced sense of morals. She didn't mind attaching herself to an immobile Harry, but was mortified when she was caught? Slytherins.
As an odd form of apology, she had practically dragged Harry into a girl's bathroom, and attacked his throat for a second time, with make-up. She, like everyone else, refused to heal the hickeys. Claimed it was his mark, or something utterly ridiculous. Harry already had Draco's mark on him, imprinted onto his forearm. A few rapidly disappearing hickeys didn't change that.
The make-up felt odd and heavy against his throat, and Draco had raised an eyebrow at him when he saw him without his 'marks' that morning. At least the rest of the student population had been denied their becoming weekly entertainment.
As it was, they already had rumours circulating, some of which Harry just didn't understand.
They thought that he had a secret lover; that he met up with him/her (the story changed due to student preference) at night across the grounds. That someone saw him sneaking into the Professor's lounge Tuesday night. They thought he was having an affair with a Professor? For Merlins sake. Just…ew.
The Slytherins thought it was hilarious; the bunch of gits. They all did. First years, bloody first years, asked if it was McGonagall! Yuck. It was imagery that Harry didn't particularly need!
"Well, it would explain your fights with her." Zabini laughed, almost falling off of his chair as the proud first years giggled and ran off. "A secret code. Potter, take out your wand."
He laughed louder as Harry gagged, in the middle of piling food onto his plate. He stared at the porridge, pushing it away before he got a taste. He didn't feel like eating today. Probably wouldn't want to eat for the rest of the year.
"Anything you wish to tell me?" Draco asked quietly, eyes twinkling with amusement. Prat. Wasn't he supposed to protect Harry? Defend his honour, and whatnot? "I don't share, Potter. It's a Malfoy thing."
"I'll break it off with her, I swear." Harry promised, chuckling as the blonde winked at him.
"Hey Harry, can I talk to you for a second?"
Harry blinked at the voice, trying to withhold his groan. He had literally just sat down; he hadn't even eaten breakfast yet, not that he had an appetite. And he was already being confronted.
How many times did he have to shove him away before he got the point? Why the hell was Neville so persistent about their friendship? Ron was easier to avoid! Merlin's beard, did Neville find some sadistic pleasure in grieving? Why didn't he realise the lack of communication between the two was going to be, in the long run, a good thing?
Harry sighed, exchanging a glance with Zabini and Draco. Zabini didn't look amused, but that was nothing compared to Draco. His eyes were ice, threatening. He hadn't opened his mouth yet, but Neville still took a nervous step back from him.
Harry threw a warning stare to Draco, then stood and followed Neville from the hall. This was going to be painful, just like every bloody bandaid Harry yanked from his skin when talking to the Gryffindor. A continuously painful bandaid. He had asked, pleaded, yelled, shoved…did he have to curse now, too?
What was it going to take to get him to leave?
"Neville, this has to stop." Harry said quietly as soon as they were from the hall, refusing to look at his quiet friend. "What more do I have to do to get you to leave me alone? Please, I'm all ears; because I'm tired of this. Dead tired, Nev. Why is a little solitude too much to ask-?"
Oh god.
Harry blinked; swallowing tightly at his bag swinging in Neville's outstretched hand. Neville had found his bag. With the list. With the books. With the Mungo's letter.
Holy shit, Neville had found his bag.
Instead of mortified like Harry had assumed he would go, he felt…kind of numb. The anger, the fright…all gone. If he could somehow bring this on every Tuesday, then that was be brilliant, really. It was like a haze; a contemplative, slow haze. He blinked again at the bag, turning instead to take in his friend. Haunted eyes. Clenched jaw.
He knew.
Harry sighed inwardly; outwardly, he couldn't quite find the movement in his limbs. His arm slowly reached forwards and grabbed the bag, dropping it to the floor instead of carrying it. The fucking thing could burn for all he cared.
Now, he was busy gauging a reaction.
Neville looked almost as numb as Harry did; he didn't react to the thump of the bag. He just stared at Harry, taking it all in. His mortality.
"I…I didn't read it, Harry." No need to ask what it was. They knew. They both knew. "It was just kind of sitting on top…"Harry stared silently. He wasn't allowing the slither of hope to needle its way to the surface. It was going to be consumed anyway. "Is…is it bad, Harry?"
And there it went.
Why was this happening now? First the Slytherins, now Neville. Gryffindor, join the queue. He should lie, shouldn't he? Deny everything. Claim that Dudley had been cursed, he was being fixed. A fan asked him to visit whilst they were in hospital; it had happened before. A medicine was being named after him. Any of the above. Any.
Harry slowly nodded.
"Is it…treatable?"
He was sure he was looking like a deer trapped in headlights. He certainly felt like it. But Neville just waited, patiently, a little sadly. So, unwillingly, he shook his head.
Neville's mouth dropped open as a rush of pent up air finally managed to escape, voice already trembling. He stared at the ceiling, as if that would be of any assistance, bringing up his hands to rest on his hips. "Oh…okay…O-okay…" He was already breaking. Because of Harry.
He stumbled over to a step, slumping on it, pulling at his hair. Harry turned to stare at the doors; was it acceptable to just walk back in? Throw a joke a Zabini, pretend he was fine, down his breakfast? He wanted to. He didn't think he wanted anything more his entire life.
Besides living, of course.
Instead he picked up the bag, and dragged himself to sit in silence next to Neville. Next to the snoopy, couldn't mind his own god-damn business Neville.
"Why couldn't you have just left it alone?" He asked quietly, staring at the doors. He couldn't look at Nev, not quite yet. He would have the Healer's eyes; full of pity. Draco was the only one that didn't look as if he was talking to a corpse. Neville would have the eyes. And Harry couldn't cope with that.
"I thought…stupid things. Didn't really believe them in the end." Neville replied just as quietly. "Thought you were being blackmailed; that was the favourite theory."
"Did you tell Hermione?"
"No." One small relief. "Are you going to tell me what it is?"
"No."
"Harry…my parents have spent their lives in hospital. I'm…good at-"
"At what, Neville? Not seeing the corpse?" The Gryffindor recoiled at that, flinching as if slapped. Another person he had ruined. He had ruined Pomfrey, McGonagall, the Slytherins were going to be hurt…Draco. Oh, god, Draco was going to be destroyed. And now he was adding Neville to the list.
And suddenly Harry was doing the comforting. "Are you alright?"
Neville spluttered though, as if caught between a mixture of incredulity and outrage. "Am I alright? Me? Who the hell cares about me; I sure don't! Are you fine, Harry? And even that's the most stupid question, because no one expects you to be fine! You don't have to be fine, Harry, you don't!"
"They did, start of year." Harry replied softly, "And I wasn't. Now, however, I am."
"That's bullshit."
Harry shrugged. "It's all I have. I can be fine, or I can be a mess. Which would you prefer?"
"Can it…" Neville shifted at this, seeming quite unsure. "Is it something muggles can work on? Oprate? Is that the word?"
Harry smiled weakly in response, shaking his head. The only operating muggles would do to control his magic would be a dissection to discover where it came from in the first place. Definitely not muggle material. "Not much to do, Nev, except keep track of it progressing, and keep tabs on my health."
"…But…why didn't you tell us?" He sounded upset now, hurt. Harry chanced a glance at his friend, sighing inwardly. Pity. It covered his face, controlled is features; worry, sympathy, confusion wrought into one disfigured expression. And whilst Harry knew it wasn't on purpose, that his mate wasn't intentionally hurting him…it hurt all the same. He didn't want pity. Pity would do nothing but remind him he was ill. The reason he didn't tell anyone. "We could have been there for you."
"I don't want people to just be there because I'm sick; I want them there because they enjoy my bloody company. Not to do with the illness, but because of me. Gryffindor sure as hell wasn't fitting the criteria, now were they?"
"So you've been pushing us away? Harry, you don't have to go through it-"
"I'm not alone." Harry snapped at him, the slightest flicker of anger managing to squirm its way through the numbness. He had heard it before, and it was becoming an irritating background noise. The same words, different people, all without sincerity. "No, stop whilst you're ahead." He spoke over Neville as he opened his mouth. Harry knew what he was going to say anyway. "Who was I supposed to tell? Hermione? I won't have her spend the year shoving her nose into medical books. I won't do that to her. Ron? He's already grieving over Fred. The Weasley's? They've lost a brother already, a son…I'm not doing that to them! Gryffindor? Rumours fly through the castle quicker than spells, and by the afternoon, the prophet would have released an entire paper scrutinizing my bloody life! It's none of their freaking business."
"…So you trusted Malfoy." It wasn't a question, more like an incredulous statement.
Harry shrugged, still watching the door. The deadened feeling was growing heavier, making it harder to breathe. Wasn't numbness supposed to still everything, make it clearer? Why was it causing pain? "Stupid git. I was fine before he forced his pointy nose into by business." Harry sighed, sparing a brief thought to why it was so unsteady. Why were his hands shaking? "Draco's been there at my worst. He hasn't flinched once. Hasn't recoiled."
God, the numbness was rising in his chest, tightening its hold on his heart and squeezing. "What am I supposed to do about that, Neville? The prat won't leave me alone."
Why did his voice shake?
"I've told him time and time again to just fuck off, and he shrugs, and says in that impossibly arrogant voice 'You're the Boy-Who-Can't-Die,', as if it's my choice in the slightest. That prick, I was perfectly fine before he came along."
Tears?
"What am I supposed to do, Nev? I'm going to hurt him. He's going to hurt, because of me."
"I'm sorry, Harry," When had Neville moved close enough to wrap a heavy arm around his shoulder? Shouldn't he have noticed that? "I didn't realise how much you…Merlin, I'm sorry."
Turns out he wasn't numb.
He was breaking.
.
.
.
Breakfast had to be at least half over by now. Harry rubbed the wetness from his eyes again, infuriated with himself. Jesus Christ, crying? He should be past the breaking down stage by now; when was the fucking acceptance going to participate?
And now Neville knew.
The world didn't implode, and the howlers didn't materialise before him. Nothing really had changed.
Except Harry felt terrible, the worst he had felt in weeks if not months. And that included the diagnostics in the count. Worthless. Weak. And worse, he felt sick now. He felt as if he wasn't a normal boy, a confused teen…instead he had become ill. It had taken over.
"…Please, Harry, tell me what it is. I may be able to help, somewhat. I'm a regular at Mungo's, they all know me by name."
Harry sighed again, rubbing another frustratingly traitorous tear as if escaped. "Think of the top three worst illnesses or disease Wizards can get." He muttered, resolutely not facing him. "Now, I can assure you, it's one of those."
"Fuck…" Surprisingly, that made Harry chock out a laugh; Neville Longbottom, swearing? What was the world coming to? "If there is anything you need…"
"All I want, Nev, mate, is for everyone to be normal. I just wanted a normal year at Hogwarts." He didn't ask Neville not to tell. He hated himself enough.
"And, as usual, we've all exceeded your expectations." Neville replied normally, straining an unsure grin. Harry smiled back tiredly.
"Lot of big words, there."
"You've been spending too much time with Malfoy."
"Yeah…" It wasn't a bad thing. Harry was taking it as a compliment, really. He wiped his eye again, gritting his teeth angrily. Why wasn't it…?
The door opened, stilling their depressing conversation. The entire hall was holding its breath, not a whisper of a sound. Had they been too loud? Had they yelled? Harry couldn't remember, panic started seeping into his…
A Slytherin girl stumbled into the hall, a hand on her stomach, and a queasy expression on her face. She threw them a disinterested glance before hurrying over to the staircase, taking them two at a time. A boy came out a few minutes late, pale, and followed her up the staircase.
Harry sighed in relief, shaking himself for being silly. His entire body had tensed, the panic taking control of his mind. Neville was staring at him, looking torn between ignoring what he sensed and saying something to either calm Harry down or reassure him that-
Two seconds year Slytherins walked into the hall, clutching at each other to hold themselves up. What the hell? Four within a minute?
They hardly got to the staircase before several more hurried from the hall, all Slytherins, all trying to keep their masks firmly in place and seem disinterested when in fact, they wanted nothing more than to run. What was going on?
Harry stood, frowning, but before the first step could be taken, the Great Hall roared.
It was as if the house cup had been announced early, or if someone had been awarded a large number of points. With the number of Slytherins escaping the hall, it didn't bode particularly well.
Harry hurried to the hall, wrenching open the door, Neville right behind him. Whatever was going on had better not involve jinxes and Slytherins…
The Slytherins were a mess. Some were hunched over; others were dropping their cutlery and shoving their meals away. All were pale, had contorted faces, hands pressed to their stomachs or their mouths…
A third year couldn't keep it in anymore, and retched up his meal across the table, trying in vain to jerk himself from the room. Roars filled the room again, cheering.
The Slytherins were scurrying from the room as quick as they could, dignity forgotten as they just fought to get the hell out of there. Harry caught a glance at Zabini, looking like crap and as if he was about to hurl, but determinedly half carrying a similarly sick looking Parkinson from the room.
Draco looked ready to maim; a snarl covered his face, his knuckles white as he clenched them. Unlike the others escaping the room, however, he held his head high, eyes throwing murder around the room. His hands shook, through anger or just willing his stomach to stay still.
They put something in their food.
Those bastards.
Another kid couldn't keep it in his stomach, and threw up violently, sinking to his knees, exhausted. His face was red, humiliation welling up inside him. The French prick that had made the big show of berating Harry in public had tears dribbling down his face, sick on his uniform, eyes watching the floor.
This was about humiliation. It was disgusting.
Another roar went up across the room.
Cheering. Fucking cheering?
Harry turned, murderous. Snarl on his face, he searched the hall, trying to find whichever fuckwit would sink so low…Half looked amused, the rest disgusted…none stood up to help.
His eyes landed on Dean. Dean, who was smugly high-fiving a seventh year, cheering along with the others. Dean, who wasn't smart enough to concoct something like this, but recently, vicious enough.
Dean turned to the rest of the table, cocky little smirk in place, gesturing for them to high-five him. Ron was one of the few not smiling, but after a little coaxing, he did, albeit reluctantly, raise his hand.
Harry saw red.
"Tarantalegra! Furunculus!" He bellowed, instantly catching the halls attention. He was across the room, but his spells hit home immediately. LEVICORPUS! "EAT FUCKING SLUGS!"
How dare they?!
Harry stormed along the dead silent hall, watching in rage as someone he once considered his friend hung upside down in the air, legs jerking uncontrollably, boils growing over his face, slugs spewing from his lips to land on the terrified table below.
"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE THEM ALONE!?"
"Harry Potter!" McGonagall's yell was a whisper compared to Harry's.
"And you!" He rounded on her instead. "Do your fucking job and control your fucking school! Slytherins has been tormented relentlessly since the start of year! Protect! Your! Students!"
"Go to the hospital wing!" She yelled, pointed dangerously. "Go!"
Harry snarled again, whipping around to throw another glare at the Gryffindors. They shrunk in their seats, eyes wide, mouths opened. Ron looked guilty as hell, face pale, mouth gaping.
"Cowards, the lot of you." Harry growled, finally turning and storming from the hall. He kicked the door wide, uncaring as it slammed against the wall and bounced back with a bang. This bullying had to stop.
It was a small consolation that no one had helped Dean yet.
Harry barely remembered he had been crying minutes before.
The hall was littered with puddles, unfortunate students that hadn't gained control of their stomachs. Harry had never felt pity for Slytherin, he knew they would detest the pity as much as he would, but he couldn't help it well in his mind. That had been brutal; it was too far for a prank. It was pure cruelty. Something one would expect from Goyle, not Gryffindor. Not Ravenclaw. Definitely not Hufflepuff.
But not one student had left their seats to help.
Cowards.
Harry continued to the hospital wing, trying to calm himself. It was useless, but he may as well make an effort. Pomfrey loathed him enough, without him getting snappy at her. It wouldn't help their beautiful relationship any.
A sob caught his attention, barely audible.
Heart rising up in his throat, he turned to stare at Myrtle, floating across the hallway. He hadn't seen her in weeks; it had been a wonderful reprise.
She stared at him anxiously, biting her lip before gathering up the slightest courage she could find. Her voice was a sob, a whisper. "He…he won't leave, Harry. It's the girl's bathroom, but…he's sick, Harry, he won't move…"
Harry nodded slowly, swallowing down the lump as he walked towards her. He knew he was being ridiculous. She was a ghost; she couldn't actually do anything to him. All the same, he didn't take his eyes off of her as he followed her into the bathroom.
There was a small boy in a cubical, curled around the toilet bowl. He was tiny, shaking and trembling as he hugged the porcelain. Some first year…Harry had seen him quite a few times. He was the kid that had stood up to Slughorn for him, vouched for him.
"You alright, kid?" He obviously wasn't, so not Harry's finest moment. He had a thin trail of sweat covering his forehead, his face was pale and clammy…he needed Pomfrey. Myrtle was quiet, hovering over his shoulder. He didn't need to look to know she was watching him intently. The shivers down his spine was enough of an indication.
Harry hurried over to him, kneeling down to pick him up; he evidently wouldn't walk anytime soon. However, as he touched him, the kid whimpered, clinging tighter to the toilet.
"Hey, it's alright; I'm just going to take you to the hospital wing. You'll be fine in a moment, I promise." The kid forced his eyes open, taking in Harry doubtfully. Such Slytherin eyes. However, he reluctantly released his hold, instead clasping a hand to his stomach, another to Harry's shirt.
Harry slowly picked him up, one hand supporting his back, the other under his knees. He couldn't believe how light the kid was. Were all first years that small?
"…I'm…Braxton…" The boy said quietly, staring resolutely at Harry's shirt, wincing as Harry quickened his pace. He was a first year. A fucking first year. Merlin, Harry should have thrown a few stinging jinxes around to secure his point. This was just wrong.
"I'm Harry."
"I know that…stupid…" Harry laughed at the insult, climbing the stairs two at a time. He was carrying the kid, and yet, he still had the audacity to insult him? Definitely a Slytherin.
Harry couldn't have made it to the hospital wing quick enough if he had sprinted; though, by the time he reached the doors, he had no choice but to freeze. It was packed. Filled.
Beds were crammed into every available space, only a slither of a makeshift space between each row of beds for a walkway. The entire Slytherin house was probably in here, all to a bed, holding their stomachs, passed out on a bed, sipping at water. At some points, there were two or three to a bed, obviously friends, all holding cold face washes to each other's foreheads.
Only a few didn't have control of their stomach now, but they were securely clutching bowls, and had Pomfrey running between them, shoving various potions down their throats.
Said Healer turned around and caught sight of Harry…and looked as if she was about to cry. She practically wilted in front of him, eyes losing its bouncy.
"It's not me." Harry declared quickly, pretending it hadn't hurt. "It's the kid."
"Braxton." The boy muttered again, but it turned into a groan halfway.
"Put him on the bed by the end. The other end." She declared, turning to run to a pale girl, checking the temperature quickly and thrusting a pale blue potion at her. With a quarter of the school in one room, Harry wasn't surprised by the lack of attention.
He manoeuvred his way through the beds and students, blinking at the still bruised Goyle. He was still here, it seemed, though even now the ostracizing continued. Those positioned near him had all turned their backs, literally; no one spared him a glance. And he looked livid because of it. Or, also possible, he had just caught sight of Harry.
He finally found an empty bed, by the end of the corridor, right near Pomfrey's office. His arms were getting tired from the carrying, though he knew he didn't have the right to complain. The boy…Braxton…didn't let go though. He stared at Harry for a moment, then pretended he wasn't there, dismissing him as easily as he had accepted the help. Both hands clung to his stomach as he curled in on himself, waiting patiently for the potion.
A first year, already so practised in Slytherin tactics.
Harry sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending he didn't see the look of surprise. The kid was in pain, he was sick…Harry was going to take a page from Draco's book, and help. Nothing better than a little distraction.
"Pomfrey's going to get to you in a bit; she's working her way over." The kid blinked coolly, somehow, and nodded once. It was if he didn't have tears welling in his eyes. "What class is your favourite?" Harry asked suddenly, smirking at the Braxton's confusion.
"…uh...Transfiguration…"
"Wow. Really? Not potions? I've never really been that good at it, it gets way too confusing for me. Malfoy is good at it though, why don't you get him to tutor you? He was able to conjure a snake in second grade…I've always wondered how he did that. Do you play quidditch?"
Again, the boy blinked in confusion, before nodding. He looked bewildered. "…a little…I'm not that good…"
"What position do you play?"
"…keeper."
"You should try out for the team, you know. Well, maybe not this year, but next for sure. If you practise, it doesn't matter what age you are, as long as you can play. I was seeker in my first year, all luck I swear, and no bloody talent."
"I'm not good…because I have a shitty broom." The kid huffed, a small smirk working its way onto his face. It was odd to hear one so young swearing.
"Which broom?"
"…A cleansweep…" He muttered, a pale blush lingering on his cheeks. Cute kid; embarrassed because of a broom. "No one in Slytherin owns a cleansweep."
"I'm sure it's not that bad-"
"A second hand cleansweep." The boy muttered louder, smirk growing. Ouch. Brooms weren't supposed to be handed down; much like wands. It takes a single owner to learn the quirks, a second hand broom…well, they tend to be on the run-down side.
"Ah…Well, you could take up chess?" Harry felt oddly chuffed as the kid chocked out a laugh, shaking his head as if annoyed. The smirk said otherwise.
"Don't have a set; it's too expensive…" The boy blushed a bit at that, raising his eyes to the heavens. "I don't have much money. Go on, laugh; Slytherin's are supposed have money…"
"…Not all of them." Harry gazed around his head for inspiration, but couldn't name a Slytherin. Hmm. Most of them…well, did. Except old Voldy, and he could hardly mention him here, now could he? "I never had much money when I was young, either, you know. Didn't even get a single birthday present. One year, I got a pair of old mouldy socks." The kid laughed again. "Money doesn't buy you happiness, does it?"
"…Yes, it helps." And he said it with a straight face.
Pomfrey came over then, overdosing the kid on potions. She was barely there for two seconds before muttering to herself, hurrying to the next student.
The kid was asleep within minutes.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. Distracting someone sick had been more difficult than he had thought; it was hard to come up with random conversations, hard to keep the talking going. It was exhausting. Was he that exhausting to keep happy?
Harry glanced around the room, eyes immediately captured by a pair of silver orbs.
He hurried over, as if called.
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Neville glanced around the room, taking in the moody faces. They were furious they had been reprimanded for the prank this morning; it had been cruel. Nothing funny about it in the least. Gryffindors being relentlessly cruel. He never thought he would live to see the day.
No wonder Harry.
Harry was sick. Like, sick sick. Dying. Untreatable, he said. Nothing to do but sit around and wait to…no. He was Harry Potter; he deserved more than that. More than this.
And how did Gryffindor treat him?
They forgot to save him seats in class, jinxed him between corridors for his recluse behaviour, confronted him in public, laughed at him when he had fallen out with Malfoy…Merlin. Harry had to have felt awful during that time.
They kicked him out of Gryffindor Tower. His home.
Fuck, they were horrible human beings.
Neville ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from the other students. Harry had always been so strong, so determined, so hopeful…he had cried. He was breaking. And no one here cared. God, no one cared! It wasn't as if he had saved them all last year, now was it!?
He had barely reacted when talking about himself and whatever illness he had. Bring Malfoy into the conversation, though, and the emotion flooded back. His eyes had flashed dangerously, defending the blonde…and then he had broken down. He didn't seem to give a flying shit that he was dying, but panicked over the possibility of hurting Malfoy. Merlin, he loved him. It was the only answer.
Harry loved the cold, heartless, brutal, often cruel, bully of a Slytherin. Malfoy. Merlin, of all people.
Neville slumped into a chair by the fireplace, usually Ron's chair, to stare at the flames. Something had to be done, but what? He didn't want help. He wanted to live his last months alone, once again trying to save everyone else heartbreak, when it was quite clear he needed comfort the most. Something had to be done.
Neville sighed, glancing around the room. His eyes froze on Hermione.
She was sitting at the table with piles of books smothering the desk, barely enough room to move without knocking one off. She wore a frown on her face, huffed, and shoved a book aside, grabbing the next regardless of the three that toppled to the floor with her movement.
"Arithmacy?" Neville asked, knowing it was one of the more difficult subjects taught at Hogwarts. Apparently it was near impossible to pass with an 'O' in NEWT standards, but Hermione was attempting either way. She was brilliant but crazy.
"Hmm? Oh, no, just trying to read up on Harry's behaviour. Maybe if I understand the body language he's displaying, I'll know if he's feeling guilty, or pressured, or cocky; it'll give me insight to whatever's going on between him and the Slytherins."
Neville blinked.
Perfectly sound. Perfectly ridiculous.
I won't have her spend the year shoving her nose into medical books. I won't do that to her.
"Isn't that a tad too far?"
"No, no, it's all logical, when you have nothing to go on…" She trailed up, jotting down a note, sending two more books scattering to the floor. She hastily picked them up, finally turning to Neville when he started drilling holes in her head with his stare. Something he had picked up from Malfoy.
"Don't you think enough is enough? It's Harry's business, not ours. Ron was right; it's time to drop it."
"But the Slytherins-"
"They're friends, Hermione, nothing more, nothing less. Why is it so unbelievable that Harry made friends other than you?" Neville almost winced at her glare, knowing he had struck too close to home. "You're not going to find a miraculous answer, just stop whilst you're ahead."
Hermione, however, didn't argue with that. She blinked curiously, a smile widening on her face. "You know!" She exclaimed, hurrying from the table to where Neville sat. "You know what it is! Oh, you genius Neville!"
He swallowed at her intense gaze, hopeful, expectant. "…Drop it, Hermione." He eventually said, quietly. "If he doesn't want us to know, he doesn't want us to know. It's not our business to pry."
"Neville!"
"Just drop it!" Neville shoved himself to his feet at her sceptical expression, hating the fact a glower was working its way to his face. She expected he tell her; she demanded it. What about Harry's privacy? The friend she claimed to be trying to help? It seemed like curiosity to him. Pure curiosity.
"If Malfoy said something, or threatened you in some way-"
"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, if you believe Harry is still your friend, you had better drop it now. Some things are better left alone." He tried to calm himself, tried to keep the anger at bay. The common room was watching now with interest; curiosity all around. Greedy vultures.
Hermione laughed dryly, frowning herself. "You can't just expect me to-"
"I SAID DROP IT!"
Okay. So he wasn't calm.
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"I'm going to hex the first student I see tomorrow." A second year girl declared, throwing herself dramatically onto a couch in the Slytherin common room. They had all been released from the Hospital Wing, but, in true Slytherin honour, none had left the room until they had all been released. The last one that was checked was the first year, Braxton, and only after he had had the okay to go did they leave. Together.
Potter had stared at them in confusion, then bewilderment the entire time. As if he had never seen house unity before. But coming from Gryffindor, he probably hadn't.
The girl stared at Draco anxiously, asking permission with her eyes. As if he was going to deny her.
"Do as you wish." He replied coldly, "We've been keeping a low profile this year," He pointedly ignored the snort of amusement from Potter. "Due to last year's…behaviour. But we're not going to be submissive children to be scolded by idiots. Enough is enough. Do as you wish."
"You're going to create World War Three." Potter muttered, blinking coolly at the stare Draco turned on him. "Well, you are."
"Are you implying we're not allowed to protect ourselves?" He had better not be, or Draco would acquaint his foot with Potters arse. How dare he question how they run Slytherin? Students were getting hurt, and it was high time to do something about it. Potter hadn't been near poisoned that morning. They had.
But Potter was already shaking his head quickly, glancing around and swallowing as he took in the disappointed stares everyone was suddenly giving him. "No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying, the school is going to turn into a battle field."
"They deserve it." A third year piped up; he was flushed red; probably had been gathering the courage to speak to the infamous Boy-Who-Lived. What a twit. "Two Ravenclaws tried to lock me in with the mandrakes."
Potter's mouth gaped at that, almost disbelieving. Mandrakes were deadly, as they all knew. The pranks were getting deadly.
"We have to put up shield charms in defence; otherwise they aim for us when they think the Professor isn't watching." A fourth year added.
"They throw stinging hexes as if it's normal, now." Seventh year girl. "A fucking reflex."
"And I ended up in the hospital wing, start of the year." Draco yawned, but his eyes were glued to Potter's face. "Remember?" Of course the brunette would remember; it was that that had piqued Draco's interest in what was wrong with him.
"They've already been reprimanded." Potter continued weakly, knowing the battle was lost. Draco couldn't help but smirk; The Boy Who Lived, agreeing with the Slytherins on the act of revenge? Who would have thought it?
"What good is that going to do?" Blaise cut in, rolling his eyes as he sat on a desk. Not at a desk, on the desk. "They don't think it was us that got to Goyle, therefore, they think they're allowed to get away with bigger 'pranks'. We've already decided on our retribution; you're not going to stop us."
Draco watched as Potter opened his mouth, a retort on the other end…before he blinked, shutting his mouth quickly. No, he couldn't stop them, not without his magic. And by the miserable look he threw towards Draco, he knew so, too.
"Just…I don't want my…I don't want them all turning up like-"
"Goyle was a different case." Theo cut across him, raisin his eyebrows as if he doubted Potter remembered.
"How?"
"He went after you." Draco blinked coolly as Potter spun around to stare at him, warily, cautiously…the slightest bit reassured. Merlin, why did he cover up the marks on his throat? Draco preferred them on display, in all honestly. It would have complemented his expression brilliantly.
"You're impossible."
"That's why you love me." Draco ignored the glances around the room; they were as nosy as Hufflepuffs, sometimes. "You're going to help us." He would have preferred to do this bit alone; casually, lying in his bed with it hanging around Potter's very lovely throat. But the younger students had demanded to have a front row seat.
They glanced around now, excited, anticipation across every expression. Even the few that were not amused by the decision stayed in the room; curious. If Potter was the least bit attentive, he would have noticed something was stirring in the air by now; but alas, he was standing here as vacant as ever. Which was fine; it wasn't his attention to detail that had fascinated Draco.
"We already know how to get back at the rest of the school; a kind a win-win situation, if you like. It's something we'll all enjoy, you included, and something that'll piss them off something fierce." Oh, yes Blaise, be a little more suspicious.
"Really?" Potter grinned weakly at that, finally picking up on the thoughtful stares he was receiving. "And what exactly are the choices?"
Draco moved over to lean against a couch, making sure he didn't leave Potty unwatched for a second. He wanted to gauge his reaction, like everyone else. This was more for him than it was for Potter, anyway.
"The usual; maiming, killing, tying small stones to their feet and watching them bob in the lake as food for the giant squid."
"Castrating." Pansy threw in, throwing a sheepish glance towards Draco; he still hadn't forgiven her for being a bitch and trying to kiss Potter; he was his, damn it. And now she knew it.
"What is it with you and castrating?" Potter asked bewildered, turning with sarcastic care towards Blaise. "Stay safe, mate."
…
Had Potter picked up on something he hadn't? Grey eyes flittered briefly to the others, taking in their affronted expressions, mortified faces…no, oblivious Potter wouldn't make a connection like that. It was outside his talents.
"…I'm not getting involved with any castrating." Potter continued, glancing at Draco for reassurance of the right answer. He was still being scrutinized, of course. "Giant squid, though; something I may be able to get behind."
Good enough.
It was difficult to restrain the grin; he couldn't be smiling around everywhere, now could he? They would all think he had gone soft. Instead, he uncurled his tie, tossing it towards his git.
Potter…Harry caught it as a reflex, frowning with confusion. "What? But I don't…oh." He glanced up quickly as realisation hit home, eyes drilling into Draco's skull. "Is this…a joke?"
"No."
"But…I'm not Slytherin material, I'm really not."
"Harry."
"I'm going to embarrass and disappoint you all."
"Potter. Put on the tie."
Harry swallowed again, glancing around the room, taking in the glances and the smirks and the anticipation. Only Merlin knew what was going through his mind at that moment. Possibly the escape routes in the room.
Harry let out a long sigh, shaking slightly as he tied the green and silver around his throat. Those bloody emeralds refused to leave his eyes.
"Welcome to Slytherin."
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Harry followed Draco up to the dormitory, painfully aware of the green tie curled around his neck. Holy shit; the Slytherins were insane. That had to be the only possible explanation for this recruitment. The other houses would barely notice something as miniscule as a tie, anyway.
The door had hardly swung shut before a hand curled around said tie, pulling him in for a chaste kiss.
Yup. Definitely insane.
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Draco watched as Harry laughed with the others, a grin splitting his face. He got along with them better than he thought; sure, he was a bit wary sometimes, and Draco could just see the retorts filtering through his mind, never said aloud. But he would nod, and reply back quietly, and at the moment, laugh so loudly that he started coughing.
Green eyes flickered to him, as they did every few minutes, shining with amusement. Merlin, he should never stop smiling, not with a grin like that. It was infectious.
And the green tie suited him perfectly. Of course, they weren't foolish enough to believe a coloured tie changed his house, but it was a nice transformation. It would annoy the rest of the school, and Draco got to bask in the smugness that it was his tie the Boy Wonder wore.
Something was clenching his chest, almost painfully.
Harry threw an incredulous smile towards Draco, half coughing half laughing at the ridiculous conversation Pansy and Blaise were trying to coax everyone to join. He stifled his cough, rubbing at his chest roughly.
Draco glanced at Blaise, smirking at the ridiculous, extravagant actions he was mimicking. The fool, if any younger students caught him his reputation would vanish in an instant. Who knew Slytherins knew how to have fun?
Harry was still coughing. He turned away from the others, leaning forwards, a hand resting on his knee as he coughed. He knew Draco was watching, because he raised his gaze and a hand, gesturing that he was fine.
But he was still coughing. Loudly.
"Potter-"
Harry fell off the bed, slumped on the floor as a vicious shudder went through his body. He was hacking up a lung, face red, eyes watering as he couldn't catch his breath.
"Salazar, Potty, it wasn't that funny." Blaise tried to make light of the situation. Draco was already making his way across the room; worry inching up in his throat. Merlin, worry. He was doomed.
"Harry, what's-"
The next cough had blood splattered across the stone.
Draco dived to the floor, hands holding Harry up as he retched scarlet over the floor. His whole body shuddered. He had forced both hands to his mouth, a desperate attempt to still the violent attack. Blood dripped through his fingers. It seeped through Draco's robe, unwelcomed.
"Get Pomfrey." He didn't know who bolted out the door, only heard the slam as it connected with the wall.
Another shudder wracked through Harry; if Draco hadn't been holding him up, he would have fallen. He was still coughing. Choking on his own blood.
"Harry…" How was his voice so steady? "You have to let go." He reached up gently, trying to pry the fingers from his mouth. Harry jerked his head though, coughing, trying to move away. Draco was insistent. "You're choking; let go. It's alright, I'm here. I won't let anything happen."
Slowly, trembling, Harry moved his hands. More blood leaked out; Draco wasn't going to lie; it was horrifying.
He shifted closer, holding him tight.
"…Draco…what do you want us to do?" Pansy's voice drifted over, as aghast as Draco felt.
"Get Pomfrey." Draco snarled, tightening his hold on the brunette. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Please, not now! "GET POMFREY!"
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