I'm sorry for not updating in a while. I know I can blame uni, being sick, work, family commitments, but they don't really cut it. I hate it when I'm reading a good story, or a manga, and they don't update the next chapter for ages. It annoys me as much as I'm sure it's annoyed you guys. So here is my new chapter - I hope you enjoy it. It shows a bit more of the Slytherins rather than just purely Harry and Draco.
This chapter is dedicated to sunneedee, Emynicole123, RukiaKiryu, NANA-Chan101, and everyone who has reviewed my story and prodded me into writing.
Merry Christmas everyone!
CHAPTER 35 – The Slytherins
Harry yawned, shuffling through the quiet halls of the dungeon. His night at Malfoy manor had been ridiculously fun, but exhausting. He was running on adrenaline. Thank Merlin whoever had made his timetable had had pity, and had allocated him a double study Wednesday mornings. How was he expected to return to class if he couldn't keep his eyes open? These trips to the hospital weren't organised well; which, he supposed, is probably why his lovely Headmistress had tried to insist he remain at Mungo's.
Regardless, he was rather anticipating doing nothing but relaxing in the dormitory until Potions.
He wandered up to the common room entrance, blinking as it opened prematurely.
Parkinson. Of course; the only witch in the castle that liked to forego beauty sleep in favour of preferred seating at breakfast. It only took one glance at Harry for her grumpy expression to split into a grin.
Harry tried to hurry past her but a hand snatched out, grabbing his wrist. "It's either you snuck out to see Draco instead of getting your treatment, or the hospital has rent boys on call. Either way, you're explaining where those hickey's came from."
"Pansy, I'm exhausted." Harry knew it came out in a moan, but he didn't particularly care. His, or Draco's, bed was less than fifty metres away. To have it taken away when it was within his grasp…!
"I know." She sounded anything but sympathetic. "From either snogging Draco, or a few rent boys all night. And I need the details."
"You don't need them." Harry sighed though, as his feet traitorously followed her through the dungeon. At least she would know the quickest path through the maze of corridors.
"Yes, I really do. Gossipers need scandal like plants need sunlight. Are you really going to take away my sunlight, Harry?" And she said it all with a straight face. Pure talent.
"Well, when you put it that way," Harry suppressed a yawn, pulling his back so he could follow without being physically dragged. "I suppose it would be discourteous of me not to."
It was the right thing to say; Parkinson's face split into a magnificent grin, her laugh echoing through the dungeon. She really was rather pretty, when she smiled like that. "Draco's rubbing off on you, if you've picked up a big word like 'discourteous'. I didn't know you had a word like that in you."
"Neither did I, if I'm to be honest."
It was quite nice, actually, to walk with Pansy through the halls of the dungeon. No one sane was awake at this time, and so she didn't have to hide behind her Slytherin façade; though no one's mask was quite as intricate as Draco's, each Slytherin had one ready to hide behind. Parkinson's was to turn into a snarling cow, to verbally abuse everyone within earshot if just so they forget her own embarrassment. Nott yelled, and sneered. Zabini just switched himself off, and mimicked Draco's iciness. It wasn't as terrifying, but it was still formidable.
Here, walking the halls, Pansy smiled and laughed. She gossiped about Daphne Greengrass, and her infamous crush on Draco. She spoke about how Nott experimented on spells late at night, when he thought everyone else was asleep. Apparently, he had lit the dormitories on fire twice last year. She squealed with delight at how she had beaten Hermione to answer a Transfiguration question yesterday; apparently, she had been trying all year to snap out an answer a fraction quicker than Hermione; a little rivalry, perhaps. It was nice to just listen. It was the little ordinary that had been missing from his year.
"And I walked in on several of the first-years in a fight, last night. A couple second year Ravenclaws were trying to jinx them in an empty classroom; I soon fixed that. What kind of prefect would I be, if I didn't curse the little shitheads to hell for threatening my own? They're first years, for goodness sake; they don't know any vicious spells yet. It's a clear disadvantage!"
"The depravity." Harry chuckled, shaking his head in wonder. She didn't care that they were being jinxed, or that the vicious bullying was still going on, but that they didn't know any good spells to curse back? Parkinson sure was something.
"Don't worry, I taught them all a quick little hair-removal spell. Very effective, very humiliating. It should even the playing field."
They entered the, unsurprisingly, empty hall.
Utterly empty.
Not even the plates were set up yet; there wasn't even cutlery, let alone food.
Why on earth was Parkinson up this early? Wasn't it a tad premature, even for her standards?
"So, enough about me." Parkinson plonked herself down at her usual spot, gesturing for Harry to climb over the table to sit across from her. He would have refused, except the room was empty. Who cared what he did? At least she waited for him to sit. "Give me sustenance. I thought you were going for one of your…sessions. Did you skip it to go canoodling across London?"
"Give me a bit more credit than that, Pansy." Harry sighed, smiling at her pout. She was probably disappointed she couldn't report it to Draco; Merlin, everyone knew the moment Draco stepped into the castle was the moment Pansy would apparate to his side, to notify him of every sneeze that had occurred whilst he was gone. "I rather like living; I don't put myself in jeopardy on purpose."
"Could have fooled me." She smirked back, waving her hand impatiently. "Draco seems to get into a tiff every second day because you jeopardize your life. Apparently it's your hobby."
"That's a bit of an exaggeration."
"You're not the one he rants to." Parkinson's smirk deepened as Harry frowned. He didn't like the way that sounded. "Come on, I'm wilting here. I need my nourishment!"
Harry watched her stretch over the table, eyes twinkling. She would never act this way in the common room. Never be this free. "I went to mysession, like I had to. It was horrible, like it always is. I actually had a Healer, well, a trainee, from Slytherin. Kelly Harris?"
"Kell." Parkinson smiled, "I remember her. She taught all of us how to cast a good tripping hex first night in. Then she bloody tried to charge us for it, conniving cow. How was she doing?"
"Uh…good. She seemed good." Harry didn't know whether she liked Healer Kelly, or hated her. "She got me ice-cream. She actually looked me in the eye, which is a hell of a lot more than any of the others." Maybe he shouldn't be boasting about that, with the frown that was crossing Parkinson's brow. "Offered to get me kinky handcuffs, just to spice it up a little."
"Was Kell the one to give you the hickies?"
"What? No! God, no!"
"Well, then get to the hickies. I don't want to hear about the success of a former Slytherin; if she was tripping over herself and stuttering and couldn't get the needle in your arm first go, sure. I'll listen. That'd be funny. But not about her success."
Harry gave her a flat stare at that; Gryffindor relished in success stories; Wood was flying internationally, Lee Jordan hosted his own radio station, and Katie Bell had been travelling overseas as soon as the war ended. It gave the younger students hope for the future. How could Pansy despise that?
"She's thriving." Harry added, watching her roll her eyes with roll of his own. "But I didn't really focus on her after that; Draco turned up. So, nothing exciting as skiving my appointment, or paying someone to make me feel special. I'm really not that interesting."
"Draco turned up?" She blinked at that, a frown flittering into place. "I thought he was suspended; they don't usually allow suspended Death-Eaters to go where they please. Hell, he was on house-arrest before term started."
Was he just? Well, that answered some of the thousands of questions Harry had been piling away for later. "Do you think he'll get into trouble?"
"It's possible." No sugar coating in Slytherin. "After all, he still has the Dark Mark; people aren't as forgiving as you, you know."
Harry glanced at the Gryffindor table, a sigh on his lips. He knew that better than most.
"He's a bloody idiot. Why would he risk the aurors' wrath just to see me?" Harry didn't get it. It was one thing to sneak around the school after curfew. Quite another to sneak around London. Draco shouldn't be risking anything, when the consequence would be Azkaban.
"Maybe he thinks you're worth it." Parkinson actually sighed, her predatory grin sliding back into place. Merlin, but she could be scary sometimes. "He blackmailed McGonagall for you; at this point, I think you could gesture to any object and he would deliver it to you on a silver platter. I honestly don't know how you managed it; I was trying for years before I realised it was impossible."
That cheered Harry more than it should.
"I didn't do a thing." Harry shrugged, smiling himself. "Prat stalked me and forced his way into my business. Couldn't get rid of him, and believe me, I tried. Stalked me to the bloody hospital! How the hell did he know I was going to be there? He turned up, haughty as ever, and ate my ice-cream."
"I'll hit him for you when he gets back." Pansy laughed, "So, Draco hickied you up during your session. I was expecting a bit more excitement, to be honest."
"Uh…no." He couldn't lie to her, not when she was watching every shift carefully. She wasn't stupid enough to believe any pretences. And he liked her enough to not want to disappoint her. Oddly enough, this little gossip session wasn't half bad. It felt nice to be able to talk without having to speak in codes, or wonder if he should censor anything. He could be 'Just Harry', here. Just as Parkinson could be Pansy. No masks, for either of them. "We…kind of went back to the manor."
Pansy had a gift if she was able to choke without a drink in sight.
"You snuck into the manor? Are you insane?" She hissed as though she hadn't commented moments earlier that she had anticipated thrill. "Don't you know that Lucius hasn't left that bloody mansion since the war? Don't you know that they have wards thicker than Hogwarts?"
"Well, I do now."
"Christ, Potty." She stilled grinned though, despite the berating. "Hanky panky under Lucius' nose. You're insane."
The crazy one was Draco, snapping and fighting with his father when they were caught. Harry was able to escape back here; it was all too clear that Draco would have to face a furious father sooner or later today, and yet he shrugged it off. Was anyone able to just shrug off Lucius Malfoy?
"Well, I'm still wilting. Details, if you please."
Harry blinked at the fact she had actually asked. What the hell was the world coming to? "You know, in Gryffindor we don't really…uh, gossip over what happens. I mean, sure, we joke and stuff, but-"
"Merlin, you Gryffindors are dull." Pansy interrupted, a sneer sneaking out before she had a chance to catch it. "Friends exist to extract all the juicy bedroom gossip, and use it against you at opportune moments. What do you guys do for fun?" She waved away his response, not caring. "Never mind. I'm the master at this. You won't have to say a word."
And with that, her sharp gaze flicked to the hickies at his throat, glittering with amusement as he shifted uncomfortably. Really, they didn't speak about the bedroom in Gryffindor. Sure, lewd comments were made sometimes. Or a shy grin when something was going their way. But they were never expected to sit down and have a conference about what they did or didn't do.
Harry would never expect to have this conversation with Ron, or Hermione.
There was a moment of silence; glorious, brilliant silence.
"Judging by the trail of bruises, you did a little extra then just kiss." She smiled, a cat with a mouse to play with. "You have less hickies than last time, meaning…who was on top?" Harry could feel his face heating, as he tried to keep a straight face. "Holy shit, he let you top? He letyou top?"
How the hell was it possible for her to decipher so much when he hadn't uttered a single word?
"I don't understand why everyone doubts that." He managed to get in between the questions and lewd comments she was throwing his way. Merlin, her imagination would turn the boys in Gryffindor into red, embarrassed heaps. "Anyway, stop while you're ahead. Nothing too…nothing happened."
"Well, how was how little you did do?"
"It was fine."
"Fine?" And now she looked worried. "What happened?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, a little self-consciously. It had been fine. More than fine. And yet, Pansy's predatory grin had vanished.
"Honey, fine is not the word normal people use when they have an entire night to themselves and their partner. You know when guys ask how a girl is, and they respond with a 'fine'? It means they're about to release world war fucking three if something doesn't change real soon." Were wizards involved with the world wars? "Hot, steamy, passionate, animal…gentle! Not fine."
Harry stared at Pansy, wondering if he should tell her or not. He wouldn't tell this stuff to Ron. Their friendship didn't extend into bedroom talk, apart from the threats of not taking Ginny there.
And this was Pansy Parkinson; the girl that named gossip. The girl he hadn't known, let alone liked, until recently.
The girl that apologized for her actions last year. The girl that didn't have a problem when he moved into Slytherin that first night. The girl that forced him to eat because she noticed he didn't.
"We were us." Harry sighed, ignoring the twinkle that returned to Pansy's eyes. "But I…uh, had an issue."
"Oh. Oh."
"Not like that!" Harry ran a hand threw his hair. "I…hell, I couldn't keep up." And despite how it made him seem utterly juvenile, and inexperienced, and rather pathetic, he couldn't help but want her opinion. It wasn't too bad, was it? Or was he ruining everything he had with his blonde every time they tried anything remotely physical?
"Well, it is Draco we're talking about here; who knows what sort of kinks he has under his belt."
"No, not like that." Harry sighed again, trying to squish the pained expression he knew was crawling onto his face. "I couldn't keep up. We were rolling and fighting and…and I needed a breather! I needed a physical break; god, my hands were literally shaking from exhaustion. I was about ready to roll over and just not contribute."
"Well, why didn't you?"
Because he couldn't.
He couldn't be weak in front of Draco anymore than he already was.
It was…Draco, for Christs' sake.
Harry slumped onto the table, covering his head in his arms. This was one of the most humiliating conversations he had ever had; and he had had a disgruntled Vernon Dursley mutter a brief sex talk to him when he was eleven. Yes, it even trumped the mortifying 'talk', no matter how concise, with his uncle.
"Well, you had just come from the hospital, right? It's taxing, isn't it?" Pansy didn't seem perturbed. "You'd been up all day and all night. There was wonder you're tired. People do get tired. And I'm sure Draco didn't mind either way; you could punch him, and he'd bloody kiss you a moment later."
And they had.
Harry peeked through his arms at her, rolling his eyes at her grin. Her statement was surprisingly calming.
"I think it's cute. Harry Potter, smitten with a Slytherin. Won't that make headlines?"
"It already has." Harry reminded her, "Don't you remember the furious student population? I think I got slapped that morning."
"Yeah, but none of us believed it then." Pansy smirked, "Hell, Draco was still insulting everything you said and wore. Still does, though, so I guess that isn't a good example." Her words tore a tired laugh from Harry. "I think you two need to stop dancing around one another; a good snog in the hall will stop the rumours."
Harry didn't think theywere dancing around one another. For one, he had two left feet; he didn't dance.
"If you can convince Draco," Harry smirked. Ah; A rare opportunity to silence Parkinson; he took it. "I'll convince Blaise."
Parkinson blinked at him, raising her eyebrows. Outwardly, his words didn't seem to have an effect on her, despite the fact she didn't speak for a good few moments. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Blaise is barely Slytherin."
"Maybe that's what you like about him."
"He's not my type."
"Did you think Draco was mine?"
"He'll never notice me."
"He already has."
Harry jumped as plates appeared on the table, the two before them slowly filling with food. He pretended he didn't see the smile Pansy was forcing into submission, just as she didn't see his insecurities when speaking about Draco.
Slytherins still surprised him.
.
.
.
"You haven't taken your potion today."
Harry stared at the scribble that was supposed to resemble a potions essay, withholding the sigh that wanted to escape. He knew it was going to happen sooner or later; he was just surprised that the panic he thought he was going to experience didn't emerge immediately. Maybe he was too tired to panic. And surprisingly, that thought didn't soothe him.
"Or yesterday. I suppose you have a good reason, since you know what happens when you don't take it."
Harry glanced up at the first year, calmly. He didn't even put his quill down; pretend it wasn't worth his time, and it wouldn't be. Well, that was his hope.
Braxton had a scowl on his face. He stepped towards the desk, and placed the revolting potion on top of the essay. With that done, he crossed his arms angrily to wait. So much anger from someone so small.
"You've been through my trunk." Harry didn't look at the potion. Refused to.
"Yes." He didn't seem guilty in the slightest. "You've been a right idiot."
Harry couldn't help the laugh at that, even though it made the kid's scowl deepen. He was being berated by an eleven year old. Someone he barely knew was demanding answers. "I forgot."
"Liar."
Now the sigh managed to escape, as Harry ran a hand through his hair. The Slytherin wasn't moving, just maintained eye contact and glared. If he was half as stubborn as the others in his house, he wasn't going to move anytime soon.
Harry kicked a chair over to the kid, indicting to sit down.
He remained standing.
"Well, I guess I should ask how long you've known." Harry didn't ask, just supposed he should. Braxton answered anyway, after a withering eye roll.
"My father works for Mungo's Apocrathy. He came home a few weeks after the war, devastated. He actually cried. Said there was someone with a very horrible disease, and that he needed to make these potions to help them cope with it. I actually helped him over the summer, cutting ingredients." The first sliver that he was remotely uncomfortable crossed his face then; but, knowing him, it was the fact he had worked over the summer in an apocrathy rather than confronting an ill eighth year. "Then, you shoved the box at me when Slughorn was yelling about the attack on Goyle. I recognised them."
"Having unstable magic isn't all that uncommon; there are plenty of children out there that need to take these potions before they enroll in school."
"Yes, and one potion will usually suffice. Not this many. I know you're the one my father was making them for. And, considering you don't use your magic anymore, adding in how thin you're getting…it makes sense."
"Aren't you a little detective."
"…A what?"
Still no panic. What in the world was wrong with him?
"Are you going to sit down?" Harry asked, nodding at the chair again. It must look very odd to the rest of the library, to see a first year scolding him. No one was within earshot, but the spectacle was drawing every eye.
"Only after you drink it."
Well, hadn't he learnt the tricks of the Slytherin trade rather quickly.
Harry finally placed down his quill, instead snatching up the potion and downing in with one fluid motion. Get it over with, and maybe it wouldn't taste as fetid as it usually did. No, it didn't help at all. Still rotting, still putrid.
Braxton sank into the chair almost immediately, a relieved smile crossing his face. If anything, he looked proud that he had managed to successfully bully the Harry Potter; and, in turn, that made Harry a bit amused.
"Don't you have class?" Harry asked, shifting slightly as the first years blue eyes narrowed immediately to an exposed hickey on Harry's throat. Now he looked embarrassed. Good.
"Just Charms." He shrugged, as if it wasn't of consequence. Just a core subject; not worth the bother. "You know, I wasn't expecting you to own up to it."
"Neither was I, to be honest."
"Why did you?"
Why indeed? There was something endearing about the little first year storming up to confront him. Eleven year old Harry would have done the exact same thing. But eighteen year old Harry had every ability to lie or refuse.
"There was no reason for me not to." Harry eventually landed on, feeling quite clever for once. It was true, too. What did he have to lose by telling the truth? The kid had obviously known for quite a while, and he hadn't spread any rumours. If all he wanted was for Harry to take a potion, why wouldn't he? Both would benefit. Harry, by taking his medication. Braxton, by influencing Harry.
"You know, I wanted to hate you." Even now he didn't look embarrassed. "Before coming to school, I knew you would come back to finish your NEWTS, and I hated you for it. How is anyone supposed to live up to the great Harry Potter? You were an idol when you were just a kid, and now you're a hero as well. Everyone at Hogwarts is going to be compared to you, forever. My father was bloody ecstatic I was going to be taught at the same place as the wizarding saviour. Not that, you know, I'm ungrateful for…you know, getting rid of You-Know-Who." Harry didn't even know what to reply to that. "But then you carried me to the hospital wing as if it was nothing. And you kept standing up for Slytherin. And now, you've got a really horrible disease. You've been dealt a really shitty hand."
"So…you don't hate me?" He had to ask, despite the exaggerated huff.
"No. It's impossible to hate you. You're an idiot, but you're not hate worthy. Which is why it's really annoying that I had to hunt you down to force you to take your medicine! I'm eleven! It's too much pressure!"
"Oi, I didn't make you-"
"Tell me, Mr Hero-Complex," Despite his harsh words, his eyes were twinkling with excitement. God, Slytherins were weird. He was having too much fun for Harry to take offence. "Did anyone make you stand up for the Slytherins the day we were poisoned? Could you have just shrugged, and continued eating? I don't think so." He huffed again, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
Harry had to agree to that.
They sat in silence for a moment, both regarding the other. Harry was thinking how peculiar this kid was, skipping class to lecture someone he barely knew. Braxton was staring at a different hickey, poking its nose out from under Harry's shirt.
"I don't want to have to chase after you again." He eventually muttered. "I'm only a first year. You shouldn't expect too much from me."
"I don't expect anything from you." Harry replied honestly, "Least of all to mind your own business."
"I'll tell Draco Malfoy."
"He knows."
"That you've stopped taking the potions."
"I just took it, didn't I?"
"He'll want to know that you were being an idiot while he was gone."
"It's really none of his business either, is it?"
Braxton shuffled in his chair, looking the first bit worried since he barged into the library. He scratched at his forehead, and refused eye contact. Whatever was coming next must be good. "Do…you want to talk about it?"
It made Harry laugh. Slytherins and their irrational fear of displaying emotions.
"I'll save you the trouble." He snickered, "They've started barely working as it is; I thought they were useless. But, if it saves me from having to deal with irate Slytherins, I'll take it again. Happy?"
"…Even if it works only a little, it's better than nothing, right?" He muttered, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "A little bit more living is better than less."
"Why does it even matter to you? We're barely acquaintances." Maybe that was why Harry wasn't panicking; it was no one that would really miss him.
But the kid just shrugged. "They gave you a Slytherin tie; that means you're one of us. And we look out for our own."
Fair enough.
"You're a cute kid, you know that?"
"I don't know which word in that sentence I should take offence to first."
Tch, Slytherins.
.
.
.
"Hej."
"Hi."
"No. Hej."
"…Hi."
"No! Hej. Pronounce it. Hej."
"…Hi."
"Do I have to bring back the flicking rule?"
Harry shuffled away from the irate girl, glancing around the room for help. None was forthcoming. They all thought it was funny when he got it wrong time and time again. Even more so when Nott and Blaise had taken to flicking his forehead when he mispronounced each word. Christ, but it was tempting not to break those bloody fingers.
Pansy had discovered him trying to practise his languages, which had soon developed into torture for Harry and entertainment for the Slytherin common room. Anyone slightly bilingual, which, let's face it, was the entire Slytherin cohort, had decided to help him learn. While it was fun when it started, despite every eye being honed on him…that was an hour and a half ago. Why weren't they tiring?
"Do you want to speak Danish, or not? Hej!"
"…He-i?"
"Almost. H-e-j. Hej!"
"…Hej?"
"Halle-fucking-luiah!"
Even Harry cracked a smile at that, as the third year fell about herself laughing. It turned out she had spent her holiday in Greenland, and the only word she had picked up had been 'hello'. Despite only knowing the single word, she had insisted she was an expert, and had been torturing Harry for the past ten minutes. It was all sounding like gibberish now. English words didn't sound normal.
Gibberish; was that an actual word?
"Well, go on, Potty." Pansy was using the nickname at every opportunity with Draco absent. She liked to live on the dangerous side. "Run through them again."
She was lounging across the table, ignoring the glances of the second years that surrounded her. Their essays were trapped beneath her, and she had no intention of moving. The second years didn't have the courage to ask for them back. Instead, they hovered around her, inconspicuously waiting for a moment to rip their homework back. She didn't pay them any attention, which meant she knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes twinkled with humour.
Zabini was sitting at the small desk with Harry, hands twitching as if wanting to flick him again. His eyes kept travelling to the small band of second years, however, with a glint in his eye less warm. If they uttered a word, they would have to face him, and by the way they blatantly avoided looking in his direction, they knew. The dynamics of Slytherin was confusing on a normal day.
"Alright." Harry swallowed as the room hushed, the few students interested leaning closer. It wasn't as if he had the eye of every Slytherin, but an mysteriously large group was hovering in the room. It was as if they wanted him to fail. "Namaste. Olá. Salve. Buna. Hei. Guten Tag. Aloha. Hej. Privet."
"Pree-vee-et."
"Privet." The fourth year nodded, a hint of a smirk flickering across her face. He had been flicked many a time trying to pronounce that one.
"Bonjour. Moi. Shalom…uh, salaam… cześć."
"Cześć. Che-sh-ch."
"Che-sh-ch…uh…oh, zdravo." How many was that? "…uh, halo. Hallo…"
"Ahn nyeong."
"What?"
Harry exchanged a hopeless glance with Zabini before facing the smug first year. He blinked, as if bored.
"Ahn nyeong. It's Korean."
"And impossible."
"The seventy four million people that inhabit Korea seem to be able to say it." Pansy remarked dryly, "Don't they, boys?" The second years behind her practically fell over nodding and agreeing with her. Anything to perhaps retrieve their homework. All except the singular girl with blonde curls, who cocked an eyebrow. She did not seem impressed.
Harry watched with amusement as she flipped her hair behind her shoulders and crossed her arms. The boys around her ceased their nodding immediately. There was no doubt over who was in control of that particular group. It was going to be fun to watch the drama; were they going to do as the blonde bid and retrieve their homework, or were they going to allow Pansy to continue to sit there as if nothing was wrong?
"You're already making me relearn the words I thought I had down pat."
"You weren't saying them right. Do you want to learn different languages, or do you want to sprout nonsense?"
"Why does it matter?" Harry asked, not for the first time that night. "It's not as if I'm going to use any of them. It's just a little self accomplishment."
"That's like saying why bother to learn because no one else understands your capabilities."
It was nothing like that, from what Harry could see.
The blonde second year had turned her glare on Pansy; she patted down robe to ensure her wand was in place, before squaring her shoulders. There was no way she was going to win this fight; especially since she didn't have the help of her friends; they had all stepped back immediately, finding issue with their shoes or their fingernails. It would have been funny, if the only brave one in the group wasn't about to be utterly annihilated.
"Pansy," Harry frowned, cocking his head to the side. He blinked, as if just remembering something. "You haven't done much work tonight. Can I read over your essay, to compare it to mine? My conclusion seemed a little stiff."
"Which essay?" She didn't care yet; her eyes had drifted to the blonde girl, hardening as she took in her defensive stance. Any moment now and all hell would break loose.
"Defence."
"…We didn't have an essay for Defence." It was an effort to retain his grin as she snapped her eyes back to him, the girl forgotten. "We did spell-work Tuesday."
"Which is what the essay was about. The properties of the spell, the mispronunciations, possible outcomes for each mistake. Here…" He pulled over his bag, well aware that both Zabini and Nott were staring at him with intensity to rival Draco's. He eventually found the essay, shoved hap-hazardously in his book.
Pansy practically flew across the room to snatch it from his hand, eyes scanning the parchment.
The second years leapt at the desk, snatching up their homework before she had realised she was moving. Harry caught a grin from the blonde girl, but couldn't smile back. He wanted to wink; that would seem like Slytherin material. But Pansy was staring at him with suspicious eyes, so he couldn't risk it.
"I don't remember this being set."
"…Well, it was." Harry shrugged, "You haven't done it yet?"
"I don't remember it, either." Of course he couldn't trust Zabini to play along; he was infatuated with Pansy. He would never take another side.
"I've done it." Harry threw a glance at Nott, having to stop his mouth from gaping. "Can't afford not to, with N.E.W.T's coming up."
"I don't remember this at all!" Pansy wailed, running a hand through her hair. "And that Defence cow has it in for me as it is! Potter, I'm borrowing this." And with that, Pansy hurried upstairs to do her non-existent homework. Zabini waited about a minute, before seeming nonchalant and following her.
"You can be a real git, Potter." Nott snickered, "I'm finding myself liking you more each day."
"I don't feel half as guilty as I think I should." Harry admitted, "There was about to be a catfight in the corner."
"I know. I was about to start a betting pool."
"The kid couldn't have won."
"Tch, do I look stupid? It was about how many spells she could get in before Pansy obliterated her."
"She wouldn't have had time to draw her wand."
"I know." Nott groaned, regretful. "You wouldn't believe some of the ludicrous bets these kids make. You can make a fortune, gambling in the common room."
"I'll keep that in mind." Harry laughed, packing his books away. Now that the official laugh-at-Harry portion of the entertainment had been cancelled for the night, the rest of the student body slowly began to drift away. "So, when are you going to tell them that the essay was a prank?"
"Are you crazy? We wouldn't have a chance against an irate Pansy either." Nott shuddered, the most casual Harry had seen him. "She's got a reputation for castrating for a reason. Anyway, why did you have that ridiculous essay? Ahead of class?"
"Just a bit of extra work." Harry shrugged, "As a way of keeping up. Showing I understand the spells, even if I can't necessarily cast them."
He got several glances at that comment, but no one said a word.
It was a little worrying that he didn't care.
Maybe he was finally sinking into the acceptance phase of emotions?
"I don't see why you're bothering." Nott replied rather truthfully. "If it was me, I would be anywhere other than here."
"It did cross my mind." Not once. "But I'd feel like a failure if everyone graduated and I was considered a dropout. You can just picture the headlines…Argh!"
Just as he was accommodating acceptance.
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain that radiated through his fingertips and up his hand. He held his hand in his lap, squeezing his wrist as if to stop the throbbing.
He didn't want to look.
But he couldn't avoid it forever.
"Potter?" Nott's voice was wary, probably regretting that he hadn't followed his friends up to the dormitory. And Harry didn't blame him. "What's the matter?"
Harry forced his eyes open, incredulous through the pain. He shouldn't care. He shouldn't have asked that question. Why would Theodore Nott, who, according to Zabini, only looked out for himself, cautiously ask how Harry was? Harry was the reason his father was in prison. And in any case, why would he know Zabini's opinions about Nott? When had this become normal? Hadn't Harry decided for distance?
But Nott was still sitting across from him, guarded and mask firmly in place.
There.
Harry dragged his hand above the desk.
The three middle fingers had snapped, the joint on each protruding against the skin. It had already begun to swell.
"I didn't use magic." Harry managed quietly. Now that it was visible, he couldn't stop looking at it. It looked as if someone had swivelled the joints, so his fingers pointed in impossible directions. It would have seemed comical, if he wasn't trying to keep from throwing up.
He saw Nott glance around the room from the corner of his eye; the next moment, he had his wand out, tapping each broken finger.
"Episky." He muttered, barely wincing when each finger righted itself with a loud crack. He glanced around again, cautiously. "It never happened."
"No." Harry was barely aware he was replying. "Course not."
Nott escaped to his bed soon after, his acquaintance not much in the form of company.
Harry sat at the desk, refusing to move as glances were passed. Eventually, the common room dwindled until only he remained. As he wanted.
He had thought he might be numb. Numb might be the appropriate emotion. Maybe sadness; everyone would expect a bit of grief. Hell, even relief might be welcomed.
Instead, he felt rage.
Today had been spent relatively happy.
He had company at every meal. He had company in his breaks. In his study period. Pansy had followed him into the bathroom for a chat. A second year had walked him back to the common room, because she had noticed he seemed to get a bit lost. They had pestered him into perfecting a part of his list, something they knew nothing about.
Draco wasn't here, and he hadn't been abandoned.
He didn't want to accept that he was going to die.
Not when life was so utterly fantastic.
Harry clenched his fists, despite how they burned. The desk was soon overturned, thrown across the room. If anyone heard the crash, they didn't investigate. Which was all very well, because the chair soon joined it.
Braxton had been right; he had been dealt a bloody shit hand!
He wanted to break something! Everything!
But most of the room was filled with furniture that wasn't able to be damaged without a wand, which fuelled his anger even more. Something had to give.
So, when Goyle shuffled into the room with a scowl, and then a well aimed punch for Harry's gut, he happily returned the favour.
.
.
.
Fucking Potter.
Gregory stomped through the maze of the dungeon, scowling at the portraits that tutted the time at him. It was almost midnight. He knew that. He had had to wait for Madam Pomfrey to finally return to her rooms before escaping. The witch was going mental. She waited until midnight each night, eyes honed in on the entrance to the Hospital Wing. And, when no one entered (because who would at that time of night?), she would reluctantly return to her study, sighing, crying, or looking as though she was about to. Cracked, she was.
He had had to escape from the Hospital Wing.
He was fine. He had been fine for over a week.
But she had refused to dismiss him! Hovering over his shoulder, throwing potions at him. A few broken bones and bruises didn't mean he had to be coddled. He had experienced worse.
What was a few broken bones, compared to what happened to Vincent?
Tch, Vincent was the only one that had understood him.
Now he was gone, and the rest of his house was infatuated with his killer!
Fucking Potter!
He could have turned the broom around! He should have! The supposed Wizarding Saviour had left his friend to burn alive in that fucking room! Potter should have gone back for Vincent!
Vincent was worth ten of Potter! To him, at least.
But the freak could do no wrong.
Even Theo had stood up for him. Theo.
And Draco was infatuated. That kiss.
It was sick.
No, he didn't care about a few broken bones. It was nothing compared to what he was going to do to Potter the next time he laid eyes on the freak.
Greg flicked his eyes at a portrait of a fat woman, shaking its finger at him and tutting. Tutting. Everyone bloody tutted.
You're nothing more than a henchman to the Malfoy brat?
God, are you thick?
Just shut up!
A troll could speak with more grace.
I don't know why you're protecting them.
Do you know it's midnight? Curfew, young man.
Curfew? Fucking curfew?
In moments, he was snatching at the frame of the portrait, ripping it from the wall and hurling it down the corridor. It smashed against a wall, the frame shattering. The paper curled, hiding the ugly woman's face.
He approached it slowly, drawing his wand. He wanted to see the bitch as she burned. If it was off the wall it couldn't run to an adjoining painting.
"Incendio."
Her screams rebounded off the walls, trying to summon anyone that could stop her demise. But it was midnight, after all. Everyone else had curfew.
For the first time in weeks, Greg smiled.
It fled the moment he entered his common room. Potter was standing there as if he had any right.
For a moment there was silence, but Potter glanced away, dismissing him altogether. Dismissing him? Dismissing?!
It was the green attached to Potter's tie that had him leaping forwards, fist extended.
The smile was back the moment he landed that first punch.
.
.
.
Blaise glanced at the door to the dormitory at the loud bang, shrugging as nothing followed it. Someone had probably tripped over something, knocked it over. It was nothing to investigate.
Not now.
Pansy had drifted off to sleep midway through her essay, sprawled across his bed so he had to make do with sitting on a pillow on his trunk. She literally took up the entire bed. Arms spread wide, body running diagonally across the bed. Her hair was spread out hap hazardously, knotting even without movement.
She had ink smeared across her cheek, her hands, his sheets. The essay wouldn't be decipherable with the ink running. All her hard work would be useless.
She was snoring, mouth gaping and he could have sworn she farted once.
Merlin, she was perfect.
Another bang from outside the room, this one accompanied by a yell.
Was it worth checking-
Another bang.
Theo glanced at the other beds, taking in Draco's empty bed.
With a sigh, he pushed himself up and shuffled up the stairs. Whoever was making him miss Pansy's possible humiliation at being vulnerable was going to regret it. She didn't often let her mask fall, and he was missing it, and some probable blackmailing material, by returning to the common room. He could have pressured her into a date with a good photo.
Even make her pay for the meal.
Oh, the lost possibilities.
Blaise shuffled into the room with a yawn, hand hesitating halfway to his mouth.
Goyle had returned with a vengeance.
He was standing there with a broken nose, panting and looking positively insane with a smile and blood smeared over his face. He grabbed a desk chair and hurled it at the floor. No, not the floor. Potter was curled against the stone, hands and nose bleeding from what Blaise could see.
He winced as the chair connected with Potter's side, wiping out his wand.
Potter's foot flung out, kicking Goyle's knee. He went down with a yell, swearing his head off.
It wasn't enough. Goyle was up again in a second, grabbing Potter and throwing him against he wall. Potter didn't look afraid for a second; he looked furious. He swung out a fist, managing to get Goyle's nose again.
It was insane.
Goyle roared, dropping Potter, who scurried out of his reach. Finally.
"Colloshoo!" Blaise shouted, sighing in relief as Goyle's feet stuck to the stone floor immediately, causing him to stagger but not fall. He growled, trying to rip his feet free for a few moments before jerking his wand from his sleeve. Blaise didn't think so. "Expelliarmus!" He didn't catch the wand, either, letting it clatter to the floor. He must have bought a new one before returning to Slytherin. Either way, no wand that chose a person like him could be good.
Potter glanced at him, hurrying over quickly. He was limping slightly, and the blood smeared across his face wasn't that attractive. He looked…guilty.
"Blaise, I-"
"Release me!"
"It won't happen-"
"BLAISE! Now!"
"Silenco."
Blaise studied his handiwork for a moment, at the enraged bull that shrieked silent threats at him. He didn't look too bad; it seemed Potter barely got a hit in. And who would, with that whale leaning over them? No one had a chance against him.
Potter, on the other hand, had a broken nose, bruises already blossoming over his skin, a limp, a particularly bad bruise against his…
Christ. It looked as if Goyle had tried to strangle him.
A quick glance around the room found Potter's tie discarded near the fireplace. Well.
But there was Potter, looking guilty still.
"I'm not that good at healing spells. I'll have to wake Theo to heal your nose."
That wince was unexpected; what had Theo done to make Potter wish he was still fighting Goyle?
God, emotions. He didn't know how to react. There was no damage control this time; no one else had wandered up except a few first years that had bolted the moment Blaise had drawn his wand. He couldn't heal him, he wasn't good at that. And Draco would murder him if he returned and Potter's nose was crooked.
"Come on, downstairs. Draco'll have a fit if he comes back and you're not perfect. You couldn't have done this earlier on in the week, could you?"
"I don't usually fight-"
"Anyone other than Draco. I know; you and your fetishes. This'll stay quiet; between us."
Potter just stood there incredulous, a hand to his nose to stop the blood. He glanced at Goyle, wincing again. "It won't-"
"Christ, Potter, are you a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff?" Blaise sighed, gesturing to the stairs again. He really wanted to get out from Goyle's gaze; the bastard was probably trying to kill them with silent spells. The idiot probably thought he could do it without a wand, too. "Downstairs before Pansy wakes up, and you won't get away with it."
"Don't tell Draco."
"I value my life, too. That prat would probably blame me for leaving you alone. You know, as if you're a child that has to be supervised instead of an adult with a mind of your own." He wasn't good in situations, but he could make them crack a smile. At least he had one good attribute. "I don't know why you want to be with someone as utterly controlling as Draco, but…each to their own."
"He's not controlling." He was smiling softly here, not nearly as menacing as Goyle's sneer.
"Oh, please, you forget who you're talking to." Blaise smirked, with one last glance at Goyle. Fucking prick; he could spend the night stuck there for all he cared. They shuffled down the stairs, ignoring the whispers behind each door. Everyone was awake, it seemed, and wanted to know the gossip. Great. It was going to get back to Draco. "In second year he had study timetables constructed for each of us. Who the hell wants to study History of Magic every bloody night?"
"Hermione did the same." He replied nostalgically. "God, I miss her." It was said quietly, so Blaise didn't know if he was supposed to have heard or not. He didn't reply, and ushered Potter into the room instead. They would fix him up, and they would all go off to bed.
There would be no gossiping. No consoling. No bonding.
Because Harry was dying, and Blaise rather wished he wasn't.
.
.
.