Hey guys, so here is the new chapter. I tried to make it a bit longer, since you had to wait a while. I have exams coming up, so I have to focus on those unfortunately. But afterwards…I'm free for the next month! And I plan on writing as much as possible to finish this bad boy soon :)
By the way, there is some foreign languages in this chapter. I only know three languages personally; English, Bad English, and Japanese. So, I'm probably wrong with the others. If I am, just ignore it. I wasn't expecting to get all of them a hundred percent right.
Onto the show! (Don't hate me – it's quite an unhappy one.)
As always, I do not own Harry Potter, I am not making a profit from this, and I do not claim Harry Potter as my own.
Chapter Forty – Admissions
Neville scribbled down the notes Ron had lent him, courtesy of Malfoy's impeccable knowledge of potions. He would have glossed over the page if Ron hadn't pointed its usefulness to him, and, though he hated to admit it, the graph Malfoy had plotted out made sense. In a way that he would be able to remember it without trouble.
Ron had been all too eager to share the notes; Neville was not the first to copy them down. Seamus had whooped with delight as Ron procured the parchment, and soon all the Gryffindor eighth years were scribbling down the graph. Hermione had refused, but Neville had caught her glancing at it with a reluctant approval at the work.
No one seemed to care that Ron had had to study with Malfoy to acquire these notes; that small fact was overlooked at the potential benefits they gained.
"So, how was the study session?" Ron glanced up from his musings at the questions, shrug already rolling off his shoulders. It seemed like a reaction now, whenever anyone asked about Harry or Malfoy. Ron had been pestered because of the chess games for days, and was all too willing to avoid the attention.
"Alright, I guess."
"Alright?" Neville prodded, curious. Who wouldn't be? Malfoy and Ron had shared a mutual loathing since first year; it was amazing that they were able to spend time together, in close proximity, without leaving with bruises. Malfoy had been less than pleasant all year, especially towards Gryffindor. He had snarled at Neville more than once. It was weird that he would suddenly invite Ron to a study session. It was Malfoy.
Ron hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the room. No one seemed particularly interested in their conversation by the window. Everyone was crowded around the fire, struggling through homework. The only other eighth year was Seamus, and he was sleeping on the floor near the entrance.
"Alright, it was weird. I was in the library and all of a sudden Malfoy was staring at me. He didn't even hesitate, just pushed the chair out. And, well, Harry was at the table, so I went over." Ron spoke in a gush, as if he had been waiting for someone to ask. He tried to seem aloof, but he was speaking too fast for that to happen. "Harry didn't think the chair was for me; his whole mouth dropped. For quite a while. I mean, it's not that strange, is it?"
Neville couldn't give him the reassurance he wanted, and so just shrugged. Ron groaned at that, scrunching up his nose. "It wasn't even Harry that invited me over; it was Malfoy. Seriously, what's up with that? What's the Ferret planning?"
...
Neville had to shrug again, pretending he didn't know. Malfoy was initiating contact between the Gryffindors and Harry? It was either he wanted Harry to come back to the tower, which Neville didn't even consider. It was a stupid reason, and anyway, Harry would never allow that. Or…Harry's sickness wasn't getting any better, and Malfoy thought Harry should have some of his old friends as company.
Who knew that Malfoy had a selfless side?
"I'm guessing there was a lot of taunting, knowing Malfoy."
"Not a word." Ron shook his head, laughing at the flat look Neville gave him. "I'm serious; he was damn near civil. Teased the hell out of Harry, though." He grimaced at the thought, contradicting his near smile.
"What happened?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Come on, you look like you're going to be sick. And now you're turning red." What the hell would make Ron look as mortified as this? "Did something happen?"
Ron glanced around the room again, shifting uncomfortably. He leaned closer, beckoning a bewildered Neville to do the same. "Do you think…they were acting…" Oh, no. "They were acting like they were…together."
Neville couldn't help it; he laughed.
Ron's face was so serious, and the whispering and the indignant squeak at the question-!
He snorted again, holding his face in his hands. It was too funny. He had expected Ron to ask about Harry's health, or declare that he wanted to know his justification for avoiding them. To ask about his relationship with Malfoy? It was trivial.
"Fine, laugh." Ron had his arms crossed, embarrassed. His face was still a nice shade of scarlet. "But I'm telling you, they're more than friends. Malfoy saved Harry treacle tart the other day."
"...what?" Neville wasn't following this one. What did treacle tart and Harry's relationship have in common?
"He saved him treacle tart." Ron stated again, as if that would explain all. He appeared to see Neville's bewildered expression, for he continued. "It's Harry's favourite dessert. During the chess match; they played right through dinner, so no one ate. But as the food was disappearing, Malfoy snatched up a tart and slid it over to Harry."
"So…?"
"Never mind, you don't get it." Not at all. "And I've seen them in the library, juggling."
"Juggling?"
"Do you think Malfoy would ever juggle without being forced to? And then, he touched Harry's hair."
Neville grinned at that. The horror. "Yup, that's definitely relationship material."
Ron groaned loudly, attracting quite a few stares. He slumped over in his chair, shaking his head as he tried to find another example. "They…never mind."
"No, this is a sharing booth." Neville laughed, poking Ron's arm to get his attention, which had turned to the window again. This one would be good; Ron had turned red again. "Come on; what's the evidence?"
"…Alright. While studying Malfoy was teasing Harry; like, challenging him. He had to answer a question and if he got something wrong, Malfoy would tell me something about his recent nightmare." Ron paused here, frowning. "I don't think they were talking about a nightmare."
"And they were talking about…?" Neville prompted, bemused. What could be so bad as to-
"Harry had hickies on his collarbone." Ron near whispered, pulling a horrified face at Neville. "There was a bathroom, and something to do with his pants, and-"
"No, no, that's enough!"
"It was more than enough for me!" Ron spluttered, shaking his head. "They…I mean…come on!"
"I don't want to know."
"Neither did I!" Ron moaned, "I mean…Malfoy? And Harry? I mean, if Harry likes blokes…sure. Fine; I can live with that."
"How generous."
"But that snobby, gitty, prat of a Ferret? Just…why?" Ron whined again, holding his head in his hands. Neville could understand his bafflement; it was just…Malfoy. There didn't need to be any other explanation. "And no wonder Harry's kept his distance from me, after what I said about it. I didn't know it was true, but…god, I was so angry I blurted it out…"
"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think." Ron could say some tactless things sometimes, but it was never anything to destroy a friendship over.
"I told him it was sodomy."
"Ouch."
"Yup."
"Better apologize for that one."
"Going to, but it won't change the fact I said it, and Harry's been pissed about it for months."
… But had he?
Everyone overlooked a few insensitive words; a comment or two was nothing to hold a grudge over. Harry was using this as an excuse to protect his secret.
Neville didn't know what to say; he knew Harry wasn't fuming over a comment spoken months ago. But if he told Ron, he would demand to know the real reason, one Neville wasn't authorized to give. He couldn't protect one friend and lie to another. So he nodded, and stayed silent.
Ron was onto him in an instant.
He raised his eyebrows, and crossed his arms boldly, but he shrugged as if trying to seem indifferent. "You…mentioned at breakfast that you knew Harry's reason for avoiding us. You know why he's been acting weird…"
Neville sighed inwardly; he knew this was coming.
Ron scratched at his nose, staring at the window. He waited a moment, perhaps for Neville to answer the unsaid question. Only when he remained silent did Ron speak again.
"Is…is it a good reason?" He sounded miserable at the question, the humour grabbed from the air and throttled. How were you supposed to ignore that? Ron just missed his friend; they all missed Harry.
They were going to lose him.
"I wouldn't say good." At least this was safe to say; there was no surrendering of promises here. Harry's secret would remain his. "It's…" How to say it, though? Ron had glanced at him from the corner of his eye, frowning as Neville struggled with the phrase. "…fucking horrifying."
Ron blinked at the swear, turning back to the window unhappily. "Yup. That's what I was afraid of."
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Harry strolled through the hallway, a knut in his hand, flipping it between his fingers. He figured he may as well try to complete the list as quickly as possible, since it didn't seem likely he was going to be hanging around for much longer. He didn't want to be so blasé about it, but…
He didn't care.
This waiting, and deteriorating…it was hell. Pure hell.
Of course, his opinion changed on the hour, for each hour. This morning had been quite good; he had missed Transfiguration because he had slept in, something that he didn't mind. He had had a weighty lunch without feeling ill afterwards, which was a feat in itself. The hickies, which he hadn't known were decorating his collar all week, had finally faded into a soft bruise. Draco had helped him with his potions work, and he had actually followed and understood what the blonde prat was trying to teach him. It had been a proud moment for all.
And then, when he was sitting in charms, doing homework instead of practising the new spell, his nails had shattered on his left hand.
It was as if it was happening to another person; Harry had stared at lines that decorated each nail, blinking at the droplets of blood that began to seep through the cracks. It hurt quite a bit; each of his fingertips felt as if he had dipped them into an open flame.
Harry quietly pulled his hand from the table, and into his lap. No one noticed. No one would know.
He continued with his work, if a tad distracted.
He hadn't seen Pucey Junior at dinner, so he was hoping to find him in the common room with, perhaps, some murtlap essence. And as each Slytherin was certainly Draco's eyes and ears around the castle when he was absent (minions, really), Harry supposed he should be doing anything other than staring at his hand and rushing through the castle.
So he flipped the coin, and tried to complete another insignificant item off his useless list.
He held the coin between his thumb and finger, squeezing his hand and sliding it between a crevasse of his thumb. If he managed to do it fast enough…?
He tried again, then flipped it back to his fingers.
"Hey, Potter!" Harry glanced at the furious Nott, frowning. What had he done to piss him off, now? Surely he wasn't still fuming about keeping the secret; he didn't seem like the kind of guy that held a grudge. Harry had placed his father in Azkaban, and he didn't seem too perturbed about that.
Harry flipped the coin between his fingers again, sliding it behind this thumb as Nott approached. The Slytherin saw the action, shaking his head with disgust. Was it the muggle trick that was-?
He reached Harry, and promptly whacked the back of his head. "You ignorant jackarse!"
"Ow!" Harry dodged the second hit, weaving out of reach. "What the hell's the matter with you?"
"You!" Nott shoved him roughly, gesturing to his hand. "Vanishing the fucking coin! Are you suicidal, or just plain stupid?"
"It's just a trick!" Harry yelled back, shoving the irate boy away. He held up the coin quickly, huffing. Nott hadn't just hit him; he had aimed to punch! His head throbbed, and yet the Slytherin didn't look even the slightest bit guilty. In fact, he still seemed angry.
"A trick?"
"A muggle trick." Harry rubbed his head ruefully, sighing. "I wouldn't do anything to rip myself apart in the middle of the bloody corridor; it would horrify the first years." Harry flipped the coin between his fingers, sliding it down to hide near his thumb. "See? A trick."
"What happened to your other hand?" Harry couldn't help the groan, shoving his sleeve back over his hand. Why couldn't the Slytherins be a little less perceptive?
"Nothing to worry Draco about." He replied evenly, pretending he didn't see the grimace. Nott didn't want to know any more than he already did; Harry was fine with this arrangement. "Are you going to apologise anytime soon?"
"Not likely; you deserved it." Nott huffed, starting up their journey to the common room again. He wore a perpetual frown.
"How? Walking? Minding my own business?" Nott glanced at Harry's hand again; a clear enough message. "Whatever. It's not like I can control it."
Nott glanced around the corridor with a sigh, glaring at the second year that trailed behind them until she turned and sped into a random room. Only then did he draw his wand. "I'll heal it-"
"No!" Harry forced himself to calm, and ignore the raised eyebrows. His reaction was anything but normal. "I…its fine."
"But Draco will notice immediately."
"It's fine." He repeated, trying to sound firm. He looked anything but confident. "Nothing a little murtlap essence won't fix."
"And how are you expecting to acquire this murtlap essence without Draco knowing?" He didn't seem too pleased with Harry's shrug. "He watches you like a hawk. You can bloody sneeze a room away and he'll race to check on you. And you're trying to tell me he'll overlook the use of some murtlap?"
"I didn't tell you anything; you made assumptions."
"Tell me, Potter, can you imagine any scenario where Draco wouldn't want every insignificant detail over a minor injury?" No. He had caused a massive fight between them because Harry had had a bruised rib once, and hadn't told him immediately. God help them all if Harry every stubbed a toe. "Exactly. Now, if you just let me heal it here, we can avoid all the ugly confrontations to come."
"You using a spell on me," Harry muttered, glancing at the impassive boy besides him. "Could kill me at the moment. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere near involved with the ugly confrontation to come after that."
Ron would have nodded and probably laughed. Hermione would throw an eye roll. Neville would have shuddered at the thought. Luna would have changed the topic to wrackspurts. Ginny would reply with a smart quip. The Slytherin before him?
He blinked at message, shaking his head with frustration. He picked up on the hidden phrase, one easily overlooked. He knew in an instant that Harry's illness was getting worse.
Nott frowned, groaning as he ran his hand threw his hair. "When did everything get so complicated?" He sighed, "We used to just antagonise Hufflepuffs. We used to slip love potions in their drinks, try to sneak into their common room, use them as jinx practise." Poor Hufflepuffs. "I swear, Slytherin is the only reason they pass their exams; we give them practise."
"So your bullying was mutually beneficial?"
"Exactly." Nott glazed over the bullying aspect; he didn't seem to see the problem with it. "Then you came along; I haven't cursed a Hufflepuff in weeks. It's no fun anymore."
"I didn't make you stop!"
"You didn't interfere intentionally, but indirectly." Nott huffed, on a tirade now that the gate had been open. Harry was left almost speechless; Nott didn't really speak this much, or this open. The last time he had opened up, Harry's hand had snapped open, and effectively shut him up again. Even the threat of his illness growing worse didn't influence Nott's complaint. "Draco won't curse them because you won't approve, and he's too whipped to do anything you wouldn't like." Wanna bet? "Blaise is trying to get into your good books, so he won't do anything to jeopardise that. Pansy does whatever Blaise does, and Crabbe isn't even worth noting, because he's turned into a disgusting prick. You came along and complicated everything up. With your secrets and your 'Don't tell Draco'. I'm putting my life on the line for you."
"And your point?"
Nott just smirked, shrugging. His face was composed into a kidding façade, but his eyes didn't twinkle. He was utterly serious. "You owe me."
Ah. So that's how it was going to be played out. "Alright." Harry didn't see anything wrong with it; sure, it seemed very mafia-esque. Nott was going to come forward at an inopportune moment and demand an inconvenient favour. But wasn't that why you had friends? "Sure."
"That quickly?"
"Sure."
Nott growled instead, clicking his tongue with irritation. "Damn you, Potter." He muttered, before quickening the pace. "Come on; you have to freak Blaise and Draco out with that trick. I'll get the murtlap."
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26. Learn a muggle magic trick
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Theo sat at one of the large armchairs by the frosty window, hunched in on himself to warn younger years to stay away. He didn't need to put so much effort into his posture; the window alone ensured isolation. It was cool, and dragged out all sources of heat rather quickly. It wasn't a popular gathering spot.
"Do it again!" Blaise shouted from across the room, frowning as Harry easily complied. He was flummoxed by the trick; he couldn't wrap his head around the fact muggles invented a way to hide coins with seemingly nothing. It had been funny when Potter had fetched the coin from Blaise's ear, but that had been twenty minutes ago. The humour was beginning to wear thin.
Bloody Potter. Putting him in a bad mood.
His magic was reacting without spells now, and Draco didn't know.
And he had hinted about further progression.
Merlin, they were going to wake up one morning and he would be torn apart, or suffocating, or just…cold. It was no way to go. And yet, he didn't seem to care. He brushed it aside, spoke about it vaguely and researched muggle tricks to amuse the younger and idiotic Slytherins.
There was something very wrong with this picture, and damn Potter for making Theo agonise over it. What he needed was a timely Hufflepuff jinx. But he couldn't get away with that unless one of them attacked first, and no Hufflepuff would take him on. Not after that idiot Ravenclaw that had ended up sobbing in the Hospital Wing. Surely they were boring of their petty spells by now? He definitely…
No, he couldn't even think that without scoffing. Cursing Hufflepuffs never lost any entertainment factor. The hostilities between the houses couldn't be fixed with a few words, or growing dreariness of the monotonous routine. They would continue to fight until something forced them to stop.
Theo watched as Potter noticed Pucey Junior leave the room, before stretching himself. He made some excuse about needing a shower, and pocketed the coin. Theo glanced at Draco; he didn't move to follow Potter, but his eyes trailed after him, hovering on the door for longer than necessary before returning to his book. He was infatuated. Potter's death was going to destroy him.
He watched as Blaise searched the room. With his entertainment gone, he needed someone else to annoy. Pansy had disappeared earlier in the night, complaining about a headache. Draco was fixated on that bloody notebook again, which meant he wouldn't utter a word for the next few hours. Which led to…
Blaise smirked as he noticed Theo, practically bouncing over.
"So, what are you moody about today?" He sung, dropping into the second arm chair. He wasn't perturbed by the glare; they had grown up together, and knew when to run and when to mock. "Curled up in a corner glaring at the world; if you wanted Potter to show you his trick, all you had to do is ask."
"I couldn't care less about the stupid trick." Theo muttered, frowning. How to phrase this? "Blaise, do you remember that time when you needed advice about your mother's new beau?"
He raised an eyebrow in response, bewildered. "Yes, of course. He was trying to con her."
"And what did I do to help?"
"Well, you helped me track down his-"
"Not that."
"You helped me plot up some revenge."
"Try again."
"We planted some marija-"
"I gave you options." Theo interrupted before any past adventures managed to make its way into the common room gossip. Merlin, some of what they had done hadn't been very legal. "I gave you counsel. I helped with a third party opinion."
"…That is usually what 'advice' entails. But go on." Blaise was enjoying this all too much. The tanned prick was grinning ear to ear.
"I need advice." It came out in a mutter; admitting that, to Blaise of all people…it was humiliating. The git sat up straight in his chair, probably to help support his inflating head.
"On a conning beau scale? I'm all ears." Oh, he was going to regret saying that.
Theo sighed, forcing his eyes to stare at Blaise instead of glancing at Draco like they wanted. The small glimpse would be enough for Blaise to understand and escape. "Potter's hand snapped the other week, without magic."
Blaise blinked. His smile slid from his face in an instant. He glanced at Draco, before shaking his head at scratching at his forehead. "You fucking prick." He muttered, sighing. At least he mimicked Theo's sentiments. "This is nothing like a conning beau."
"You made that assumption." Theo watched impassively as Blaise sighed again, muttering under his breath. "So, give me advice. Potter is keeping from Draco the nature of his condition. What the hell do I do? Stay silent, and watch as Potter kills himself and ultimately destroys our friend? Or tell our friend, and watch as they fight and break each other, and loathe us for months on end. Which is the lesser evil?"
"I can't believe you've dragged me down with you."
"Of course you can." Theo almost laughed. "It's me; the epitome of self-preservation." His nickname, before they became friends, was 'The Non-Conformist'. It didn't sound so bad, but it had a mocking tone when said with a Slytherin sneer.
"Uh-huh." Blaise wasn't impressed. "You're a horrible friend."
Theo agreed wholeheartedly; solitary was his routine, before these loud idiots forced their way into his life. "Give me advice."
Blaise leant back in his chair, staring out into the darkness of the lake. Another reason these chairs were permanently empty; it was unnerving to know something may be watching back. At least Blaise hadn't hidden in the dormitory to fume like Theo had predicted he would. He was taking this seriously.
"Alright, the way I see it," He muttered, glaring at the lake. It was up to Theo to discretely ensure Draco was still transfixed by his notebook. "If you don't tell Draco, he'll kill you when, not if, he finds out you knew." That was a given. "If you tell Draco, Potter will loathe us for the rest of his life." Also true. "If you don't tell Draco, he won't be prepared if Potter suddenly blows himself up."
"I don't think he'll be prepared either way." Theo added dryly, ignoring the rightful glare sent his way. Potter's death was going to hit Draco hard.
"None of us are going to be prepared." Blaise snapped back, grimacing. "Another note; it's none of our business. This is between Draco and Potter. What right do we have to share Potter's business?"
Theo had already thought of that; it was one of the reasons he had held back thus far.
"But then, we're friends. Isn't it a friend's responsibility to point out their stupidities?" Point. "But, as friends, we need to keep his confidence, too."
"I know all of this!" Theo couldn't help the snap; Blaise was being less than helpful, pointing out the plenty contradictions Theo had already noted. "Just tell me what to do!"
"I don't know what to do!" Blaise snapped back, shrugging at the glare. "It's a shitty situation. Do nothing."
"And watch as Potty blows himself up."
"Then tell Draco!"
"Something that isn't ours to tell, given in confidence, by someone who's having a hard enough time as it is."
Blaise finally turned away from the glass, with another sigh. Theo didn't like the look he was getting one bit; it was almost pitying. "What do you want me to tell you?" He asked calmly, of all things.
Theo tsked, turning away from his friend. He was less than fucking helpful.
"Fine." Blaise murmured instead, "Since I'm already going down with this blasted ship; what happened?"
This was…unexpected.
It was hard to tear his eyes away from the window; and then, he only did because he saw Draco watching them from across the room, from the corner of his eye. The Malfoy heir's expression was…concerned. He shouldn't have to spend his spare energy worrying over his friends; not when he had a dying… whatever Potter was to him.
"We were chatting, and his fingers snapped." Theo whispered, glancing at Draco's reflection. Blaise caught the hint, for he whispered back.
"What do you mean by snapped?"
"I mean these three fingers," Theo held them up, all too aware they had caught Draco's attention. "Broke at the joints. They faced backwards. They cracked."
"Shit."
"He didn't even make a fucking sound." Theo muttered, annoyed at the anger that little memory brought him. Why should he be angry about the reactions of a Gryffindor? "His fingers broke, and he just gasped. Then, nothing. Just stared at them. Not a word. And just now, he's gone up to follow Pucey Junior, because all his nails are shattered. Another injury."
Draco's reflection was placing the book down, and getting to his feet. "It's gotten worse."
"It's gotten a hell lot worse." Theo replied, frowning. "And I don't know why I care."
"Come on, you're not an idiot."
Tch.
"You two seem to be having a heated discussion." Blaise jumped, the idiot. He practically radiated guilty. Amateur.
Draco had approached them almost silently; he crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows. "Everything alright?"
Theo withheld the grimace; he knew what he had to resort to. Distraction tactics. "My father hasn't sent me an owl from Azkaban in over a month." It wasn't hard to seem bitter; he was. "He wasn't doing so well last time I heard from him."
Draco wouldn't know how to comfort him; his father was healthy, and under house arrest for giving information about other Death Eaters. And, furthermore, Potter was the reason Theo's father was in prison. How could Draco possibly support him?
And, as predicted, Draco stared at him for a moment, face impeccably still. "I…" Blaise's neck cracked loudly as he whipped it around to stare at Draco. Theo didn't react as dramatically as dropping his jaw or having a stroke…but his eyebrows did shock straight into his hairline. Draco Malfoy was trying to console?
Then, more scandalous, Draco's entire face turned pink at their reactions.
All three boys turned away, staring at the window, or the very interesting walls.
Draco ended up storming to the dormitory seconds later, leaving Theo and Blaise to stare at each other quite bewildered. Draco Malfoy had turned soft. Potter had changed him.
"Potter is going to obliterate him."
"Agreed."
"So…what do we do?"
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Harry sprinted through the castle, grin spread across his face. He felt bubbly; a novel emotion, lately. Ron had approached him again; twice in one week. It was terrifying, and yet lightened Harry's shoulders. He wanted to know if Harry was up for a game of quidditch after dinner; the grounds would be lit, and they could play in the half an hour after the Gryffindor team finished their practise.
Harry had turned to the silent Malfoy besides him; his eyes must have been pathetically hopeful, for he got a snort in return and a snark response that Draco wasn't his keeper. And despite the fact it was strange Draco was pushing Harry to spend time with his old friends, Harry had leapt at the opportunity. With the stress of the year, he had completely forgotten about quidditch. The wonderful feeling of soaring through the air, of being weightless…it beckoned.
And Ron seemed to genuinely want to rekindle their friendship. Though it wouldn't last for long, considering Harry's condition…it made him cheerful. It was rather nice to be wanted.
Harry had incessantly stared at the clock for each class, tapped all throughout dinner, and annoyed Draco with his half-arsed contributions at conversation. It wasn't near seven when Draco kicked him out, telling him to infuriate someone else.
He was excited.
He hadn't been excited for a while.
Harry's grin spread at the sight of the empty pitch; Gryffindor had finished earlier than expected. They would have longer to fly around. Brilliant.
He ran towards the pitch, firebolt under his arm. He had always loved flying; the sense of freedom it brought never ceased to amaze him. The slight dizziness that came with rising too quickly, the speed of his broomstick that blurred the surroundings. The fact he was good at flying; for once, it was his own achievement. His own skill.
How had he ignored quidditch? If he was having a hard day, surely a few laps around the field would lighten him up. He might even release the snitch, to see if he could still catch it.
Harry panted as he finally reached the perfect green that lined the pitch. He was more than ready for this.
He grinned, and mounted his broomstick. With movements drilled in through practise, he kicked at the ground to kick off…
…
Nothing.
He blinked, and stared at the broom handle. He vaguely tried to recall the novel emotion that presented itself. His chest felt tight, his stomach was clenching…
Harry dropped the broom, and threw up, falling to his knees.
Nauseous and…
Oh, that was the emotion.
Shattered.
Harry wiped his mouth with shaking hands, turning to stare at the broom. Why hadn't it worked? He had kicked off faultlessly…
He had felt nothing.
The usual tingling in his hands, the possibilities, the…magic. It was gone. The broomstick was just a useless hunk of wood with twigs strapped to it. He hadn't felt a thing.
Harry snatched the broomstick up again, mounting it and stamping his feet to kick off. The broom didn't levitate.
His feet stayed firmly on the ground.
His grin had definitely slithered away.
The broom wasn't responding to him. Why didn't it react to his…?
Magic.
His magic wasn't responding.
Was it…gone?
Harry almost threw up again. It couldn't be gone. No, not his magic. It was the broom that was faulty. Yes, it was just his…magic.
Oh, god.
Harry dropped the broom again, spinning around in a daze. He had to make sure. He had to check it was still there.
He barely noticed Ron calling out to him, or the scared stares other students threw him as he wandered back into the castle. He couldn't feel it; the tingling of his fingertips, the power pulsing through his veins. He couldn't feel his magic.
It was just…gone.
Harry scrunched his eyes shut, stumbling through the Slytherin maze of corridors. It wasn't gone. Not that. Anything but that. It was just in hiatus. It was mocking him, readying its next attack on his faulty body. It couldn't be gone.
The entrance to the common room slide open, and Harry stumbled in.
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Draco watched Theo stare at the board, hiding his distaste that it took so long to move a bloody piece. He had set up the match for an easy win; he had held back, and, for once, was going to let someone else triumph in a game of chess. Theo deserved a win, after he had mentioned the lack of communication with his father.
Draco didn't know what the hell to say to that. He wasn't the comforting type; it only seemed to work on Potter, but he didn't think Theo would take kindly to kissing or fighting. He had always been the quiet one of the group; the only one Draco had to hesitate on when deciding his emotions.
He couldn't help with the father issue, not when his own was safe in his own home. So, he had decided to let his unhappy friend win against him in chess.
If he would ever take the move!
He had noticed the pathway to the easy victory a few minutes ago, and hadn't moved a piece yet. He was staring at each individual piece, trying to determine if it was a trap or not.
Theo narrowed his eyes, and moved a pawn instead. A fucking pawn.
It was an effort not to bang his head on the table.
"Bishop to D2." He sighed in response. Theo just frowned, and examined the board.
Draco screamed internally.
"Knight to E5." Draco cocked an eyebrow at the voice. He hadn't noticed Harry had returned, and wasn't expecting him quite so soon. He had been bouncing all day at the chance to pummel Weasley at quidditch; why had he returned so quickly? It had barely been twenty minutes.
If that Weasel had changed his daft mind and made a thoughtless comment, his arse was going to be well acquainted with Draco's foot. Of all the idiots Harry had to befriend, why did it have to be the one with an unhinged mouth that spat everything miniscule that came to mind?
"You've returned rather early." He made sure to make it a statement, not a question. A question would sound too demanding, and Harry would avoid him if anything he considered embarrassing had occurred.
"Knight to E5."
Draco blinked as he was ignored, frowning to himself. Harry didn't disregard him; though he knew it sounded conceited, he was one of the only decent influences in Harry's life right now. He distracted him from the pain to come. Something had certainly happened for Harry to ignore him, deliberately or not.
Theo wasn't watching the board anymore, either. He was focussed on the brunette behind Draco, eyes uncharacteristically wide. Why would Theo react like that?
"Harry," Draco paused as he turned around. Harry's face was pale, and his jaw was clenched. He was staring at the board with blank eyes; unseeing. And, worse of all, he had tears straining against his lashes. Draco was left bewildered; how to calm him down with everyone watching? What could possibly happen in twenty minutes for him to be in such a state? He didn't seem this unstable when his horrible relatives had dismissed his shortening lifespan. "What happ-"
"Knight to E5!" His bellow made quite a few younger kids jump.
Why was he so determined on making that move?
Draco glanced at the board. It was indeed a move that Theo's piece could make, being his turn. The pieces should move no matter who said…the pieces hadn't moved.
Oh.
"Harry." Draco tried again, shoving the chair away as Harry turned from the board, pacing up and down the room. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, wiping his cheek furiously as the tears finally broke free. "Oi, Potty, you have to calm down."
Draco was well aware that they had the attention of the entire room; the older years managed to flatten disinterest on their faces, but their eyes swivelled between the two far too rapidly for that to be true. The younger years wore open expressions of curiosity, or fright. If he didn't have to calm Harry down, he would curse them all until they realised they were no better than the other houses. He was going to have to be gentle with Harry, and it bothered him that the others watching would use it against him. But damn them all, until they had someone like Harry was to him…
Harry made an awful noise in the back of his throat, almost a sob.
Draoc had to get over to him; he was closing the distance quickly, arms up as if placating a wild animal…not fast enough.
Harry whipped out his wand. Draco hadn't even considered that he had held onto it after the duel at the hospital.
"Lumos."
Oh, god. "Harry, don't!"
"Nothing's happening." His voice was distant, vague. "Lumos! Lumos. Lumos!"
"Stop it!" Fuck gentle. Draco was going to break his fucking hand.
He bolted across the room. Still not quick enough.
"Lumos! Lumos! Lu-!" Draco snatched at his hand as it exploded in a flash of light.
There were only a few shrieks, more from surprise than anything, before the room fell silent again. Everyone wanted to see the fallout, curious little shits that they were.
Draco blinked at the smoky tendrils that floated to the ceiling, before moving his gaze down to the charred fragments of wood that decorated both his and Harry's hands. Both pairs of hands were covered in splinters, and cuts that dribbled with red.
Harry's wand had shattered.
At least that solved the moron using magic problem.
Draco steadied himself, staring at Harry's shaking hands. He needed to be calm. No good would come from punching the prick in the nose. He would feel immense satisfaction, but it would be short lived. The satiating crunch of his nose wasn't the answer. He needed to calm down, and ask quietly why Harry thought it was a good idea to use something so fucking-! No, calm. Calm.
Minutes passed in silence.
When Draco finally judged his anger to be ebbed away at a reasonable distance, he moved his gaze from Harry's hands, to his face.
He appeared relieved.
His lips bore the satisfaction of a small smile.
"You fucking bastard!" Draco exploded, shoving the prick away from him. He was so furious that he didn't even care that he stumbled. "What the hell was that? The duel was supposed to be the last time you went near magic! The last fucking time!"
Harry flicked his eyes to meet Draco's unapologetically. The prick didn't regret a thing. "You don't understand." He muttered, turning to stare at his sliced hands instead. He went to pick out a splinter of his obliterated wand, and so he didn't see the second shove.
"You don't understand!" Draco snapped back, rage swelling. "How many times do we have to play through his scenario?"
"As many as I need!" Harry growled back, sweeping out a leg as he was shoved again. Draco snarled as he toppled to the floor, retaliating with a kick to the arse's knee.
"How many times do you need to blow yourself up," He scowled, "before you realise that you shouldn't use your fucking magic? What number is this? Eight? Nine?"
"More than you know." Draco saw white. How many other incidences had been kept from him?
He didn't care if it brought him no satisfaction; Harry's nose had to break. And Harry appeared as equally angry.
But before Draco could lunge at the little shit, Blaise stepped in his way.
Blaise.
Tch, so much for calming down.
"Get out of the way." Draco snarled, pushing himself to his feet. His ridiculous friend was standing between them, holding up his hands as if pacifying. Harry looked similarly annoyed at the interruption.
"It's been a long day filled with emotional turmoil," Blaise tried, fingers twitching. He would feel a whole more comfortable holding his wand. "I think we should all take five and-"
"Shut up!" "Fuck off!"
Blaise swallowed at both of their yells, conceding and shuffling out of the line of fire. If neither of them wanted his help, he wouldn't continue to stand there and make a fool of himself.
However, the distraction had soothed some of Draco's anger. He couldn't just rush at Harry and punch him now; it seemed unwarranted. Harry was looking the picture of a kicked dog; flushed face, small frown. His eyes were still red, and the tracks the tears had made were still visible against his cheeks.
Despite his idiocy, Harry had a reason for trying to cast the spell. Something that he considered bad enough to risk his life. Draco's rage couldn't get in the way of that.
Draco sighed, gaze flickering to Harry's hands. Cuts and splinters littered his palms. He began to clench his fingers into fists, but stopped halfway because of the ache. He pulled out his wand, pointing it at Harry.
He couldn't quite hide his rapidly returning ire as Harry leapt out of the way.
"No magic!" He snapped, frustratingly vague. His hands were sliced open, and he didn't want it healed. He had bits of wand sticking out of his fingertips, and that was apparently fine.
What the hell was going on?
"So if you're not allowed to use magic, neither am I?" Draco knew it was a cheap shot, and from the flicker of hurt that crossed Harry's eyes, it did the trick. "That's ludicrous."
"From now on, no one casts any spells on me." Harry ground out, glancing at the witnesses to this debacle. "You'll make it worse."
"How will my spell make it worse?" Was this the paranoia seeping in? "It's your magic that's fucked up."
Harry turned back to Draco, shoulders slumped in a half shrug. It only fuelled the fire. What the hell was that shrug? How was Draco supposed to interpret…? Oh.
Draco could feel his face darkening; his magic bubbled, and something shattered behind him. It didn't matter what.
"It is only your magic." This was the quietest he had spoken all night, and yet everyone seemed to jump. "You're bluffing."
Harry wasn't even meeting his eyes; he was looking at a point just past his shoulder. The prick couldn't even meet his eyes. "Try it and find out."
No.
No. No. No. No.
He couldn't deal with this.
So he turned, and walked out.
.
.
.
Kelly Harris loved being an apprentice Healer. But 'love' was such an overused term in this day and age. It didn't have any real meaning anymore. She loved her new shoes, but in a different regard to being a Healer. She could say she loved the sea-salt ice-cream she nicked from undeserving brat's beds when she was the only trainee on call, but how could you compare the love of helping the sick to the love of ice cream? Esteemed was a better word. Or treasure.
Yes, Kelly treasured being a Healer. Even a trainee one at that.
She had been working with the hospital for one and a half years now, under Patricia Brown. She was a crabby old woman, that was for sure. That first week she had made it quite clear that she didn't want any chatter, or gossiping, or idle moments from Kelly. She also didn't want her to get too acquainted with the patients, or speak unless spoken to, and her work had to be completed immediately. The cow didn't expect her to have a social life.
She had flooed in on her first day as an apprentice, and been utterly obliterated by Patricia. They didn't even leave the office that first day; it was just the demands of an irritated middle-aged woman who didn't want a trainee hovering over her shoulder for the next few years, and let her know straight away.
Damn it, she loved that old cow. Treasured her, even.
Kelly had ignored everything said, handed in her homework a day late for the entire first year, joked with the patients, and gossiped in one-sided conversations with her irate mentor.
And now they met every Saturday for dinner.
And Sunday for coffee.
The bat would never admit it, but she was lonely. And Kelly was even a bit fond of her.
It would make one a bit lonely, and irate, being in a ward with terminally ill patients. It was a distressing job; you got to know your patients; their quirks, and their faults. They became your friends. And then they died. It was a vicious cycle; only once had a patient walked out of here, and that was to die in the comfort of their own home.
Kelly was allowed to change wards if she didn't suit this one. She would never leave, though. Her chatter was valuable here.
She sighed happily, scribbling over her assignment for the night. She had been given a record of illnesses and their treatments, and had to explain the mistakes. It wasn't too hard, considering they had mixed up very different diseases. Seriously, Cerebrumous Spattergroit was completely different to Squabbs Syndrome; one being that it affected humans, and not dragons. Both were curable.
Every disease should be curable.
"Listen to me, you halfwit!"
…
What the hell was that?
Kelly happily disregarded her homework assignment in favour of peering around the office door to find the commotion. Crying was normal here, even the odd bit of anger. No one yelled quite as arrogantly as that, however.
"I need to speak with her, damn it! Floo her if you have to!"
Well, this was interesting.
Draco Malfoy, egotistical ex-Death Eater and Harry Potter's boy toy, was snarling at the on call Healer, who looked positively bored. She had no inclination to assist at all; feet lounging up on the desk, eyebrows raised. She wouldn't move unless one of the senior Healers were here, and they had all left for the day. They would apparate in a second if a patient needed them, but they deserved their sleep. Attending a haughty Malfoy did not qualify as an emergency.
"Damn you woman, do you think I enjoy being here? Do you think I would chose to be here of all places if I had the choice? This is serious, and I need Healer Brown! Now!"
"If you need a Healer, I suggest you head to reception." She sighed, folding her arms. "Healer Brown, however, is unavailable."
"Who is available?"
"I suggest you head to reception to find out."
Malfoy looked wretched; his hair was a mess, his robes were wrinkled. It looked as if he had jumped out of bed at the first opportunity, and run the entire way here. Not possible, of course.
He ran a hand through his hair, clenching his fists until his knuckles shone white. He was agitated, that was for sure. Maybe something had happened to Potter? It made them all a bit uneasy with Potter being elsewhere with his volatile disease.
"Oi, Malfoy." Kell barely noticed she was speaking until the blonde turned to glare at her instead; it was a reoccurring problem she had. "I'm her trainee. I can speak with her in the morning, if you want to talk to me. Otherwise, the reception beckons."
The git stared at her with open disgust; it practically manifested around him. Glowering, he stormed her way, pushing past her into the office. Technically it was Patricia Brown's office, but Kell was allowed to use it when she went home. Well, she used it regardless of permission. They had a system.
Kelly blinked at the shrug, swinging the door shut; he was going to be a little gem, wasn't he? She remembered him in first year, prancing around and boasting about his family. He was a right little shit then, and he was shaping up to be a little shit now.
"So, why the tantrum?" She had to ask, if just to see his nose twitch like that again.
Malfoy did not look well. He stood near the wall, arms crossed, permanent scowl across is face. His eyes were red, as if he was lacking sleep. That could very well be the case, since it was nearing midnight.
She felt no pity; she had seen distraught parents stand over their children, seen a woman who screamed for her husband to stay with her. Malfoy had had his life handed over on a silver platter; he didn't deserve pity.
He stared at her with a sneer, as if he knew what she was thinking. It didn't stop him from replying, though.
"Is it possible to remove magic?"
…
What?
"What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?"
"You heard me. Is it possible to remove magic?"
He had to be kidding. "Listen, I don't have time for this nonsense-"
"Damn it, answer me! Is it possible!?"
Kelly blinked at the yell, frowning. She had thought he was going about being a prick because that's how Malfoy's were. They were above everyone else, and their emotions.
Draco Malfoy's voice had just broken; he wasn't the proud boy she remembered.
She looked at him again. Really looked.
He was pacing, showing his agitation. He couldn't keep his hands still; they changed from hovering, clenching, folding across his chest, running through his hair. His eyes were red-rimmed. His nose kept twitching, his jaw kept locking…he wasn't being haughty. He was bothered. Something had him spooked.
And damn it, the sympathy gathered before she had finished her glance.
"It's not possible." She finally replied, "Malfoy, I think-"
He spoke over her; he didn't want to hear what they both knew was coming.
"There's a research department, right? Would anyone be able to develop a way?" He wasn't yelling now, but his voice was strained. It wavered with each second word.
"…We're not miracle workers. We either have the treatment, or we don't. We can't conjure phenomenal cures on demand." It sounded harsh, even to her. "With Harry Potter-"
Malfoy literally shuddered at the name. "There was blood in his lungs, once." He continued to pace, desperate. "It was vanished. Can't you do whatever was done there, but to his magic? If it's the magic killing him, we need to get rid of the magic."
"…It's just not possible."
"It has to be!" He wiped away at his eye quickly, gritting his teeth. "A dementor can take away your very soul. Your soul. What's to say there's nothing that can take away magic?"
"Mal-"
"What about the vanishing spell? We were taught it vanishes both animate and inanimate objects."
"He's not a kitten you practise on in Transfiguration." She managed to get out, if softly. He heard, if his clenched fists were anything to go on. "Vertebrates get harder the more complicated the organism. Magic…I can't think of anything more complex."
"It vanishes both animate and inanimate objects. Magic is both, isn't it? Vanish it!"
"It's not possible."
"Attempt it anyway!"
"I can't!"
"Then I will! Who knows what kind of bodgie job I'm going to do! Might miss and remove his heart. It won't really matter, will it, if he's going to die anyway!" He wiped at his eye again, almost punching himself. "You can remove sanity. You can remove memory. Fucking demontors can remove your soul! I'm sure it's possible to remove magic! It has to be!"
"But..." How could she say this tactfully? "It's his magic; it's a part of him."
"When you have an inflamed appendix," Malfoy spoke through gritted teeth, "you remove it. A part of you."
"Just think of how painful that would be, Malfoy. To live without knowing the touch of magic-"
"He's already living it!" He snapped, voice breaking between a growl and a moan. "It's there, but he can't touch it. It's there, and it's KILLING HIM! If you have a fucking tumour, you remove it. If you have a parasite, you remove it. I can't think of something more invasive and disgusting and fucking parasitic than what Harry has! Please, please, just ask Brown!"
Kelly couldn't help it; she crossed the room quickly, and pulled him into a hug. Just so he couldn't see her own tear dribbling down her cheek. Christ, and she hadn't cried in months.
Malfoy as stiff, and bony, and taller than she was, but she hugged him anyway. He didn't attempt to touch her back, but his shoulders shook. He was probably grateful he could hide his face.
"I'll ask, alright?" God, her voice shook too. "I'll ask Brown in the morning."
She treasured her job. But sometimes it was torture.
.
.
.
God, Harry was pathetic. He was stupid, and selfish, and utterly pathetic. He must have managed to defeat Voldemort with sheer dumb luck, because there was no possible way someone as pitiful as him could have done it.
His hands twitched, aching to get the bottle of firewhiskey he had locked in the corner of his trunk for a bit of courage to face the furious Malfoy to come. But he forced himself not to. If Draco came back and Harry was intoxicated, it wouldn't solve a thing. It might top Draco's anger, or it might make him pity Harry. There was no way that was going to happen. Harry would throw himself off the Astronomy Tower before he allowed Draco to pity him.
That fight had been awful. It was not how Harry wanted Draco to find out. To be frank, he never wanted Draco to find out. He was hoping for the miracle that he would lay down to sleep, and his heart would stop beating in the middle of the night. Yes, it was a ghastly wish. But it was one he clung to desperately; because now Draco knew it was progressing, and he would be counting the days.
It was coming to an end, and Harry didn't want him to count the days. He wanted to spend time with the irritable blonde, not have his death hanging over every laugh. Every kiss. Or every fight.
Harry sighed, glancing at the stationary door. At times like this, he could understand how Simon Harvey had cast a spell and ended his suffering prematurely. Who could withstand all this guilt, and anger, and grief? It was exhausting. He was exhausting.
Draco was surely getting tired of his shit.
Using a spell in front of him. Tch, what had he been thinking?
He hadn't been thinking. He had felt numb, felt as if the earth was opening up to swallow him. He could barely breathe, barely see. His magic had stopped working; for about fifteen minutes, he hadn't even felt the magic. Nothing magical responded to him; the broom, the chess piece, his wand. He one agonising moment, he had felt as if he was simple the 'boy' under the stairs again; nothing.
He had never felt fear such as that. Not when facing Voldemort, or the Basilisk. Not when his vision had vacated, or when he first heard the condemning words 'It's called Succorbentis'. It had been mind numbing. He had thought that was the worst fear one could experience.
And then Draco shook his head with frustration, and walked from the room.
And the previous panic Harry had felt was child's play.
So Harry was sitting here, on Draco's bed, waiting for him to return. He had to explain. He had to stop being so pathetic, and hiding behind the illness, and just…trust him.
The window into the lake was getting brighter; the sun had to be rising for it to be that lighter green. Draco hadn't been back all night. He wasn't going to return. Harry had been stupid to think he-
The door swung open, and there he stood.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Draco didn't ignore him; it wasn't his way. He stared straight at Harry, face expressionless. He didn't speak, just stared.
There was so much disappointment in the one gaze.
And this got ten times harder. Disappointment was the worst emotion; Harry hadn't often been witness to it, before Hogwarts. Anger, disgust, and indifference were commonplace. Disappointment meant that the person held you in esteem, and their expectations had been let down.
Draco didn't speak, and he didn't move.
The tension in the air was almost palpable; it was suffocating. Harry didn't think he could speak; but hadn't he just decided he wasn't going to allow pity? He couldn't be weak; not now.
Say it. Say it. SAY IT!
"I'm sorry!" Harry blurted out, wondering why he couldn't catch his breath. "I…I'm sorry." Harry didn't know if he was sorry for the fight, or for not telling him about the progression of his disease. He felt sick to his stomach.
Draco blinked, and took a step into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He stared some more, and then walked without motivation to the bathroom.
So far, this was turning out pretty terribly. He knew Draco well enough to know he wouldn't want an excuse, he just wanted a reason.
Steeling himself, Harry waited for him to come out of the bathroom. He ignored the fact his hands shook, and he felt as if he was going to throw up. Surely he had a bit more courage than this?
Draco re-entered the room, and headed over to his bed.
Man up, Harry.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to worry you, or anything. I…It was stupid. Selfish, and completely egotistical, and stupid." Harry swallowed tightly as Draco sat on the bed, heart sinking at the distance between them. Draco wasn't meeting his eyes. "And I…you have every right to be angry."
Why wasn't he speaking?
Draco reached towards him, picking up his left hand with his. It managed to still the babbling falling from Harry's mouth, almost painfully so. Draco had collected a pair of tweezers from the bathroom, and had decided to pick out the remaining splinters from Harry's hand.
Harry shuddered, this pain nothing to do with his aching hands. No more excuses. No more vomiting up whatever came to mind.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, turning to stare at the bedside table instead of the gentle hands on his. "I couldn't feel my magic, and I panicked. I shouldn't have used my wand, but…I'm nothing without my magic." Draco's hands stilled. "When I couldn't feel it, I felt as if I was nothing, again."
"When did you complete number ten?"
Harry didn't know if he was cringing at Draco's tone, or the change of topic.
"…A few weeks ago."
"You ruined my plan." He replied quietly. "Speak them for me."
…Now?
After their very public fight?
Harry couldn't do it. He couldn't just pretend everything was fine and sunshine and prattle on about a stupid bloody item on a list when-
"Say 'hello' in German." Draco commanded, pulling out a splinter that had burrowed into Harry's thumb.
"…Guten Tag, but-"
"Ich liebe dich."
"…I don't know what that-"
"Danish, then."
Harry sighed, stomach sinking. He wasn't going to get around this. If he tried to press his point, it was likely that Draco would blow up. He didn't want another fight. "Hej."
"Jeg elsker dig."
Draco had obviously learnt some words, too. But Harry didn't know what they meant. If Draco was going to try for a conversation, he was going to be as disappointed as he was in Harry right now.
"Do I have to keep prodding?" Draco asked quietly, focusing on another splinter.
Harry had no choice but to speak. "Privet. Konnichiwa. Salve."
"Ya tebya lyublyu. Aishiteru. Te amo."
"…Uh, Hola. Zdravo. Buna."
"Te amo. ljubim te. Te iubesc."
"Ola. Cześć. Nǐ hǎo. Zdrasti. Szervusz. Namaste."
"Eu te amo. Kocham Cię. Wǒ ài nǐ. Obicham te. Szeretlek. Mãĩ tumse pyār kartā hū̃."
Harry stopped. He didn't understand a word Draco was saying, but…he knew. He knew what the blonde prick was trying to convey. He could say it in fifty phrases, or the thirteen they had already uttered, and it would crush Harry regardless. "Draco…you can't-"
"You're finished already? I can keep going; Je t`aime. se agapó̱. Aloha Au Ia 'Oe."
"Draco-"
"Is breá liom tú. naneun dangsin-eul salanghabnida. ek is lief vir jou. ikh libe ir."
"Draco, please."
Draco stopped with a sigh, but brought his eyes up to meet Harry's. Finally. "I think item one has been completed."
"…I still haven't-"
"Your original number one. The one that you changed because you thought you didn't deserve it. The better one."
"…That's not part of the list."
"Well, it should be."
Harry swallowed again, guilt rising up in his throat. He hadn't said it back immediately, and the distance between declarations was getting further and further away. "I thought this was supposed to just be two people enjoying the moment."
"And I do enjoy every moment." Draco replied steadily, frowning slightly. He seemed much more in control than he had last night. "Which is why it infuriates me when you continually try to shorten it. I'm actually happy your wand blew up. And despite what you say, your worth isn't determined by your magic. I've enjoyed your company this year without you using spells."
"You don't understand." How could he?
"Then explain it to me."
Harry sighed; he didn't want to have this conversation, not when he was trying to say something substantial back to his blonde bastard. "I was nothing without magic. To feel like that again…"
"You haven't been normal since you were a baby, Harry. To be demoted to 'nothing' seems like a slight embellishment to me."
...
"Up until the age of eleven, I slept in the cupboard under the stairs." Not quite the declaration of affection he wanted to say. He pretended he didn't feel Draco still next to him. "I was loathed in that household; I didn't even know I was a wizard. Up until I went to school, I actually thought my name was 'boy', so don't imply I'm embellishing. I was nothing, and to feel like that again…I was petrified. Magic gave me my life; I could overlook that it's going to kill me, as long as it's still there."
"You can live without your magic." Oh, Harry knew there was so much more Draco wanted to say than just that. He had to be really fighting himself to not leap around and beat his fists against his chest at the significance of the bloody cupboard. "I won't accept anything less."
He acted as if Harry had a choice.
"And don't think I've overlooked you ignoring my declarations. Do you have any idea how long it took to try to memorize those? Fifty different languages, and you only let me say about fifteen."
Harry stared at the boy renowned for being a Slytherin Prince; he was perched on his bed, without sleeping the night previously, picking splinters from Harry's hand. He was holding in his frustrations, being the voice of reason no one expected him to be. He was trying to reassure. He had just made a very passionate declaration; a boy that loathed to show his emotions.
"If you had a list, your number one would be completed, too."
"…My number one would be to travel to France. I don't know what you're on about."
.
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10. Learn to say hello in 50 languages