Here's the new chapter – a big thanks to all the positive reviews that inspired me to keep writing. The surge of hate mail will continue to be ignored – if you don't like my story, I don't care. Don't read it. My sister is trying to influence me to write two endings at the moment; one is the intended ending, and the other involves a meteorite plummeting to earth and killing every last character. It certainly was tempting.
For all my lovely readers who comment and make my day – because so many of you do - Thank you. I read the comments, and I smile brilliantly like a fool for the rest of the week. It's because of you guys I'm still writing (Iapoda, and Feenrai being two such wonderful people). This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I'm travelling tomorrow and so it'll have to wait for me to return.
So, enough unpleasantness. On with the show! :)
Chapter 42 – Discovery
Ron's attention was divided at breakfast.
Hermione sat across from him, studying her plate without touching her food. She rested her forhead on her hand, and let her hair cover her face. Her eyes were dulled, and swam with unshed tears. Despite his prodding, she remained silent.
What the hell had happened to upset her?
It couldn't have been anything he said, or did. They stayed up half the night talking like they used to; she complained about Parkinson catching up to her grades, or pretending to, and he muttered about the recent quidditch scores. They called each other names, and tried to keep the air nice and light. Simple nothings to take the place of their confusion, hurt, or anger. And there was plenty of that to share.
Hermione had found her parents in Australia, but hadn't contacted them yet. The likelihood of them remembering her was slim, after two years of being Wendell and Monica Wilkins. She had decided to wait for after graduation before seeking them out to restore their memeories; the decision was a difficult one to make.
But had that caused her unhappiness?
She had kissed his nose and smiled as she finally rolled over to sleep. Finding her struggling not to weep come morning had been disconcerting. Ron had only seen her this devastated once, and it was a morning he didn't wish to relive anytime soon. The funeral had been difficult on all of them.
"'Mione," He tried again, trying to be comforting. He always thought he would cock it up, but she found his hushed tones surprisingly soothing. It was a real mystery.
Not today, however, "I just need a minute." Her voice strained not to crack. She swallowed tightly, forced her eyes not to relinquish their hold on the tears, and glanced up. "Please."
Ron could only nod, and shrug helplessly at Neville besides him. What could he do? He had been trying for ten minutes to cheer her up, or hell, get her to look up for longer than three seconds. Surely her decision about her parents hadn't caused this. If he had to drop out today and march to Australia to undo the spell…he would. She shouldn't struggle like this. It hurt to sit across from her like a brainless twit. He was her boyfriend, and he was useless.
His gaze drifted to his second problem, conveniently located over Hermione's shoulder.
Harry.
He was surrounded by a horde, a literal horde, of Slytherins hurling money at his plate. Gold glittered across the room as the pile grew. And what a pile. There had to be over a hundred galleons on the table already.
It wasn't the Slytherins flaunting their disproportionate wealth that had him angry. It wasn't the overbearing roar the table was making. It was Harry.
Sitting innocently between them, a small smile on his face. What a bloody lie. He was getting better at hiding his emotions; probably from spending every waking moment with the masters of deception. But yesterday afternoon…he had been shattered.
Ron had been ecstatic about the quidditch match; getting up on a broom and watching the world blur as you fly around was the best feeling in the world. It was freedom. And spending an afternoon with Harry…just being able to talk to Harry without a fight breaking out. Chatting with his mate again. Hell, he had almost skipped to the pitch. He was so keen he had left a good half hour early.
Harry had still beaten him to the pitch. Ron took it as a good sign that his mate was already mounted and ready on his broom.
And then the broomstick had dropped to the floor, and Harry had spun around. His eyes were wide, his mouth was open. He didn't look as if he was taking anything in; not any sight, definately not a sound. Ron had shouted to him but he had sprinted straight past him.
He looked scared.
Harry wasn't afraid of anything, and yet he was terrified.
And now he forced a smile, albeit small, on his face. He chatted with Luna, though only Merlin knew why she was at that table, and a greater question, why she was allowed to stay. He nibbled on his toast. He pretended he was fine.
It was not fine.
"I can't…" His attention returned to Hermione. She hastily wiped away a tear that managed to escape, shoving herself to her feet. "I'm not going to class today." Jaws dropped across the table. "I'll be in the library."
"I'm coming." Hermione thought that delving into books cheered her up, but it wasn't true. It may give her some comfort, but it was talking that calmed her. She wasn't ready to talk yet, but she might need someone during her study frenzy, and it was Ron's job to be there.
"I just need to be alone for a moment." She tried to smile again, but the pathetic attempt only allowed a second tear to escape. She wiped it away frantically. "I need to gather my thoughts."
"The last thing you need is to be alone." He tried again, blinking at the shake of her head. Why didn't she want comfort? Why wouldn't she just tell him what was the matter? "Come on, 'Mione, you're-"
"Asking my boyfriend to trust me." Oh, bloody hell. She played the 'trust' card. "Please, just trust me. I'll tell you everything, I just need to collect myself first."
There was nothing he could go but sink back into his chair, and watch her hurry from the room. His heart rose up in his throat as she escaped into the hall. He was useless.
His eyes flicked back to Harry.
He was talking to Parkinson now, and didn't look too impressed. The charade of a smile had vanished, and instead a small frown covered his brow. Why had he been shattered last night?
"You know," Neville drew his attention. He spoke softly, but avoided his eyes. "I have to head back to the common room. I left my homework by my bed."
Ron blinked, frowning. They didn't have any homework due today. But he only nodded as his friend got up from the bench to follow Hermione's hasty exit.
It confirmed it for him.
Hermione knew the secret Neville was keeping for Harry.
She knew, and she had burst into tears.
He felt like he was about to throw up.
"Ron!" He ignored his sister as she threw herself into the empty seats around him, instead watching Harry's frown. "Have you read the paper, yet? It's brilliant!"
Harry had stiffened noticeably, turning from glancing around the room back to Parkinson. Whatever the cow was saying didn't seem to have good influence on him.
Then, Harry was on his feet.
"Ron, are you paying…oh, he's moving! I hope he socks him right in the mouth." It was hard to ignore Ginny's commentary, and especially difficult to ignore the ball crushing grip on his arm.
Harry was storming down the room, fists clenched and eyes on Malfoy. Half the Slytherins had leapt to their feet, and the other half fought to shove them from blocking their view. Ron didn't realise he was on his own feet until someone poked him in the shoulder.
He couldn't look away. Harry was upset, and running up to pummel the shit out of the deserving Malfoy. He didn't know what the ferrety prat had done, but he probably warranted it. Ron still felt sick. He was ready to leap over the tables to separate them if his friend seemed disadvantaged in any way…
Oh…hell!
"Argh! My eyes!" The urge to separate them didn't desist.
.
.
.
"The article was talking about Harry, wasn't it?"
He should have continued walking. If he ignored the bint it wouldn't give her assumptions any satisfaction. If he kept walking, she would rethink her idea and leave them alone. She may remain suspicious, but she would have no evidence, even hearsay, to validate her notion.
Instead, Draco found himself stopping mid corridor. He pulled out his wand to cast a few silencing charms around the nearest doors, and turned back to Granger. He had been expecting this confrontation for a while; he was just grateful she hadn't cornered him while Harry was present.
Granger's expression was not gratifying. Her eyebrows were raised, and her lips were pressed together tightly. She had crossed her arms against her breast; her stance was one of determination. What an extravagant façade. She would be distraught about the secret she had uncovered, and further miserable about Harry's decision to come to Draco instead of her for comfort. Pretending she was fine? Tch, who did she think Draco was? That, and her eyes were red. Who did she think she was deceiving?
He waited for her to continue the argument, but surprisingly enough, she remained silent. Did she think the first statement was enough to pique Draco's interest, or was she expecting him to panic?
"You really should be careful with what you sprout so recklessly, Granger. Some people place an excessive amount of value on their privacy." He managed to drawl. He would be lying if he thought his heart wasn't sinking. This was it; Granger and Weasley were now going to fight for the attentions of their friend. They were going to steal whatever little time he had left.
"I don't give a damn about your money."
"I wasn't implying anything to do with my wealth. I'm simply reminding you that certain people appreciate discretion. Said people, if their privacy is invaded, will seek isolation; and that won't benefit anyone, now will it?"
Granger's eyes narrowed, and her arms tightened against her chest. "This is why he's been avoiding us like the plague? He's sick?" Why was she repeating the question? Was she searching for a verification?
"Not the choice of words I would have used." Draco replied evenly, not confirming or negating her claim. "And I seem to recall you lot throwing him from the Tower. It's not as if he chose to abandon you."
He expected the witch to shout at him, but instead she closed her eyes for a moment. Wow. It was as if his words inflicted physical pain. Something he had wished for since he was a child. And yet it wasn't nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be. It was satiating, just lacked the envisioned euphoria.
"Difficult to swallow?" Draco couldn't help but drawl, smirking to himself as those eyes snapped open furiously.
"Could you tell me it's name? Please." Even though it was a plead, she made it sound like a demand.
"I don't think so." Draco replied quietly, frowning as she wiped an eye quickly. He didn't do emotions, and especially didn't care for hers.
"I can just as easily find it out myself."
"Doubtful."
"The library-"
"Has been emptied of all books with it within it's contents." The surprise in her gaze was a unjustified as ever. "Wouldn't want you alerting the school that something's not quite right, because let's face it…you three shoving your noses into books has been an indication that the shit's about to hit the fan, so to speak, since first year. I don't particularly want strangers nosing their way into our business."
"Harry's business."
"Just the same."
She wiped another eye, shaking her head as if disgusted. "What can I do to get the name?" Well. He hadn't expected that. "Well? Name your price."
"There's nothing you can do that'll entice me, Granger."
"You don't understand! If I can read about it, I can-!"
"Do absolutely nothing." Draco blinked at the growl, coughing to smooth his voice back to a drawl. He was losing his temper much too easily lately. It wouldn't do to have Granger see him rattled; she would use it to her advantage. "Pretend you're still oblivious, and keep this little notion to yourself."
"Notion? My best friend's sickness is not a notion, and-"
"You're going to do nothing. Nod when you pass him in the corridors, by all means. Allow Weasley to play chess with him. I may even allow lunch dates." Draco inwardly smirked as a snarl crossed Granger's face. He didn't think she was capable of an emotion such as that. "But you are to let Harry deal with this as he wants, not how you think he should be acting."
"He knows we have his best interests at heart."
Draco laughed at that, without humour. "He's going to avoid you, in your own terms, like the plague, if you even glance at him with a speck of sympathy."
"Harry's a Gryffindor; he'll-"
"He used to be a Gryffindor."
"Changing his tie colour doesn't change the fact-!"
"He's scared." That certainly managed to shut her up; her mouth closed with a snap. "And you lot running around like the whirlwinds you are, acting first and thinking second, will not help him. I've finally got him spending time with his previous friends," Granger's face cooled at the word 'previous'. "I've got him to move past the denial stage of grieving that he's been stuck in for months. I've pulled him from the brink of this numbing depression he was falling into, and I do not need you fucking Gryffindors screwing it up for me now! I will not have Harry spending the very limited time he has left worrying over you! Are you understanding me, Granger? You're going to do nothing!"
Damn it.
Draco cast a second silencing charm on the corridor; he didn't think the first would be enough.
.
.
.
They continued as if the emotional turmoil unleashed last night hadn't happened. They journeyed to dinner with the pretence that their eyes weren't red and puffy, and heeding no attention to the dumbfounded expressions of the fellow Slytherins.
The others didn't know how to react; they settled on uncomfortable. Theo refused to break the staring contest he was engaged in with his plate, and Blaise's cup wasn't covering his face for a total of two minutes the entire time. Pansy sat in silence throughout dinner; not one inkling of gossip left her lips. Silence hung awkwardly around them.
Harry didn't mind. He wasn't particularly keen on any awkward conversations, or unpleasant heart to hearts. Slytherins found emotions other than jealousy or anger rather difficult to appreciate, and this would stop any mocking of Draco for being weak.
Harry didn't consider having love weak. And he was ready to obliterate the first idiot to make a comment about Draco's red nose. But it seemed like his intention wasn't as subtle as he thought, for no one made a sound anywhere within earshot. Even a few Ravenclaws whipped around at the sight of them, not wanting to invoke his wrath.
Maybe he did still possess some magic.
The week passed without any commotion, though little differences were certainly noticed.
One major difference, for starters, was the changed the seating arrangements in class. They were at charms early, for once, and entered the room first. Harry had stalked to his usual chair, to be grabbed and dragged to the back corner. He had been literally boxed in by Slytherins. The disgruntled Gryffindors had moved without remark, but plenty of scowls were given out during the class.
The same occurred during Defence, and Transfiguration.
The Gryffindors, namely Dean and Seamus, had tried to reclaim their desks, but scurried away quite quickly after Pansy spoke to them in hushed whispers. Harry didn't know what was said to drain their faces of blood, but it was certainly effective.
The new seating arrangement wasn't a mystery. By being at the back of the room, and surrounded by Slytherins, there was a less chance of being hit by a stray spell.
Draco didn't use magic anywhere near Harry. He usually warmed his sheets as they readied themselves for bed, but the sheets had been cold the entire week. He didn't practise in class. He would stand up and walk across the room to retrieve his quill, or his book, when he would usually spell it to him.
There was no magic when Harry was present.
He had caught several fourth years practicing for a test, but they had hastily pocketed their wands when Harry had entered the common room. And no persuading could convince them to continue.
The last change was the absence of Draco in the early mornings, or the middle of the night. He probably thought Harry hadn't noticed, but how could he not? They went to sleep with arms hung over shoulders, or feet entwined. The departure of warmth was noticed immediately.
It had woken Harry moments earlier.
He blinked at the darkness, watching the silhouette of Draco disappear through the gloomy archway. The third time this week.
Sighing, Harry found himself rolling over to fumble at his bedside table. He knocked something to the floor with a loud thump, but the snores of the room didn't waver. Harry wouldn't care if they did wake; they would be a source of light.
It took several seconds of grasping air before he found the parchment, and several minutes before he summoned enough energy to pull himself from bed. His legs didn't want to shuffle down the stairs; they ached. Harry didn't know if it was pain, or exhaustion. Perpetual pain had become common place.
The room was deserted, so Harry shuffled towards the dying embers of the fire. The chilly air clung to any exposed skin, biting away at him. Honestly, why was the Slytherin common room underground, besides the lake? Who thought up that brilliant idea?
He sat beside the cinders of the fire, unfurling the map. He couldn't say the words to hide it without risking himself, so it remained opened. Fortunately for Harry.
He scanned the parchment in the fading light, squinting at the route he usually…
Ah. There he was.
The dot marked 'Draco Malfoy' had entered the library, and was heading towards an occupied table.
Harry sighed at the second dot, fatigue forcing away the fear or anger he should have felt.
Hermione. Again.
He watched numbly as Draco took his usual position at the table. He could just imagine him reaching for thick books, nodding curtly at Hermione. Of all the unimaginable study sessions.
She knew, and she had reacted as he had predicted. Spending her nights locked away in the library, searching for impossible cures. He had kept this secret, and it was still going to consume her.
So for the third night this week, Harry watched the map besides the dying fire. They stayed at their table for hours, neither moving. Hermione must have placed spells around the table, because Filch shambled past each night and they were never discovered.
It was usually around five that Draco returned to the common room. He didn't seem worse for wear, or tired in the slightest. It was only a matter of time. He couldn't keep scurrying off at the early hours of the morning; people, even wizards, couldn't function on minimal sleep.
Harry shifted closer to the fire, shifting so he could curl his hands into the sleeves of his pyjamas. Christ, it was cold tonight. The chill of the tiles seemed to seep into his very bones. His wrists and feet were already burning.
An armchair caught his attention, and held it. He didn't want to sneak back to bed; there was no warmth in the emptiness.
Harry folded up the map, and shuffled to the chair instead. It had a blanket nestled on its arm; perfect.
He didn't know how long he sat like that, eyes focussed on the only dot that mattered. He jumped, however, at the sudden appearance of light in the room. It took him a moment to realise Braxton was standing before an abruptly roaring fire, pocketing his wand slowly as he frowned at Harry. When the hell had he entered the room? And why hadn't Harry noticed him?
"You know it's almost four, right?" Braxton seemed bewildered that anyone would be awake at this time, despite the hypocrisy. He held a book under one arm, and his own blanket draped over the other. His face turned bright red when he noticed Harry staring at it.
"Do I need to point out the obvious?" Harry asked instead, curling deeper into his blanket. It was still freezing, despite the fire.
"I couldn't sleep." He replied tiredly, shrugging. "Came down to read."
"Me too." Harry glanced at his map, taking in the little dots still occupying the library. Neither had moved. He turned back to the kid, raising his eyebrows at him standing with his arms crossed before the fire. "It's going to be a bit hard to read standing over there with your book closed."
Braxton shuffled uncomfortably instead of answering, slowly heading towards the closest chair.
Harry turned back to the map. The light made it a hell of a lot easier to read, despite his targets being immobile. He didn't know why he had this compulsion to watch them every time Draco snuck out…it wasn't calming. In fact, it was almost numbing. Draco and Hermione rendezvousing in the library; he couldn't think of an alliance more problematic.
"It was dark." The odd statement drew Harry out of his tracking, forcing him to tear his eyes from those two unpredictable dots.
"I…what?"
"It was dark when I came down." He elaborated, his book disregarded on the seat beside him. "You can't read in the dark. One; its impossible. Two; its not good for your eyes."
"Unless it'll deteriorate my eyes within the next few…" When? Months? Weeks? How long until his magic became too much? "…I don't think I have to worry about my eyesight."
The first year's stare was unrelenting. "Well, shouldn't you be resting?"
A small glimmer of amusement struggled to the surface, twitching at Harry's lips. This kid really thought he had the right to hand out commands; he was eleven, and was trying to order Harry Potter to bed.
"Is this just a ploy to get the room to yourself?" Harry asked, amused as the eyes across from him narrowed dangerously. "Am I in your favourite chair?"
"Don't be ridiculous." He sniffed, rolling his eyes. "Who would waste their energy over a chair?" Gryffindor, on multiple occasions. The puffy chairs near the fire were the best. "I was just wondering how…you were. You've seemed run-down lately." Ah, emotions were always his undoing. Braxton's face had flamed red at the sentence, and his words turned into mumbles by the end.
"Nothing to worry your little head about." The scowl was back, much to Harry's enjoyment. "It's not your responsibility to track my health. I'll just keep going the way I have been; I made six months, who's to say I won't make another six?" Harry pulled his blanket tighter around himself, as the chill settled right in the pit of his stomach. Six? Just the thought of another six months of this made him want to roll over and cry. He wouldn't be able to do it.
His miniature smile had vanished, so he turned back to his map. It was getting harder and harder to pretend, even with people he barely knew.
"It's not fair."
"No, it really isn't." Harry's voice trailed off as movement caught his eye. Professor Flitwick was walking through the library, strolling up and down the aisles without hesitation. Maybe he couldn't sleep either. It seemed a lot of that was going around; there were several Ravenclaws in their own common room, huddled around desks and tables. There were two Hufflepuffs in the kitchen at the moment, and several Gryffindors up the astronomy tower. The castle was never still, even at four in the morning.
Flitwick had paused, however. For a moment he did nothing, then he strolled directly up to the desk Hermione and Draco were at. Unlike Filch, he could probably notice the anti-detection spells. A paradox if Harry ever saw one. He stood at the table for a moment, obviously talking to them. Then, he left.
The two dots didn't move.
They were breaking several school rules, yet Flitwick hadn't sent them back to their respective houses. Christ, what were they up to?
"What are you looking at?" If this had been a Gryffindor, the first year would be behind his shoulder already and searching the map with eager eyes. Braxton's eyes shone with curiosity, but he remained in his seat. His own book, along with his blanket, remained untouched besides him.
"Aren't you cold?" Harry demanded, staring at horror at the kid's bare feet and lack of a nightgown. "Put a jumper on, or something." He could feel his chest shaking with each painful breath; his toes and fingers were ice, and numb. He tried to wriggle his toes, and experienced nothing but pain. How could this kid be sitting there with his eyebrows raised, and a blasé expression on his face?
"It's not that bad tonight." He replied easily. His eyes drifted towards the map, but it was as if he forced himself to return his gaze towards Harry. It was as if he didn't want to seem too eager. "You're overreacting."
Did Slytherins simply not feel the cold? Did they practise in their family's dungeons before they came to Hogwarts?
Harry felt immediately guilty by the thought; it was that which made him gesture the first year over.
"You can look, if you like."
Braxton was on his feet and leaning over the armchair a second later, scanning the map. At first he frowned, and the disappointment was clear in his face. But then his eyes widened. "Is that…Malfoy and…I don't know her…in the library? That's…you're using this to stalk him?"
"No."
"You are too!"
"Just…look at it." Christ, his hands hurt as he pulled them from the chill of the blankets to the absolute ice of the room. He unfolded the map with shaking hands, amused as a hand came from nowhere to point at the small corner of the Slytherin Common Room.
"We're there!" His voice was enthusiastic, but still quiet. It was bubbling, but he was keeping a tight lid on his excitement. "Wow, this is amazing. You could stalk anyone you wanted."
"I'm not stalking anybody." Harry knew his denial was useless, but it escaped anyway.
"Not just anybody, only Draco Malfoy." His quips were too fast for an eleven year old. "You could do so much with this…why's Professor Flitwick just standing there? Is it broken?"
Harry's gaze lifted from the library, where he was not stalking, to find Flitwick. Sure enough he was standing in a corridor, facing the moving staircase. He didn't move, just stood there. Harry could picture him with his eyes shut, hand on his forehead with worry. What had Hermione and Draco told him to cause this reaction?
"It's not broken."
"…Maybe he's talking to a ghost. Do ghosts show up on it?"
"No. Here, take it. Stare at the sleeping students. Be a creeper. It's therapeutic for sleepless nights." Braxton's expression was as if Christmas had come early. He eager accepted the map, holding the edged gingerly as if he didn't want to break it.
Well, even if he was destroying everyone else left, right, and centre…he had caused a little happiness today. He knew it wouldn't redeem himself, but it was a start.
Harry hastily returned his hands to the blankets, rubbing them together in the cold air. It took him a moment to realise Braxton hadn't moved. It was as if he had frozen, and with this weather it was certainly a possibility. The map was in his gentle hands, extended and ready. He had taken a half step back to his own chair…his eyes were glued to Harry. If he didn't blink, he would resemble a statute.
"You alright?" Harry asked from this huddled ball. He hoped he was, because he really didn't want to get up…
"…You're cold." Came the hesitant reply.
"…Yeah, I am." Seriously, what was wrong with the kid? It was like 2 degrees in here! And he was walking around without socks, as if his toes weren't about to fall off. "It's fucking freezing."
"No, I mean…you're cold." The map was dropped on the chair, forgotten, as Braxton brought a hand up to Harry's forehead. He frowned, touching his cheek, neck, and shoulder before Harry could shrug him off.
"…Uh, what are you-?"
"It's not that cold." He continued, snatching his own blanket from the couch. He basically threw it at Harry, wrapping it around his shoulders. "But you're freezing. Like, you're ice. Just…stay here." He turned around and ran, ran, down the stairs to the dormitories.
…
Not cold? It was freezing in the dungeon; Harry half expected little clouds of air to waft through the air at each puff of breath. He pulled his arm out from under the blankets, staring at the goose-bumps that littered his skin. He was shivering. If he wasn't cold that wouldn't be happening.
Despite him trying to shrug off Braxton's claim with incredibility...his heart dropped to his stomach. What was his magic doing to him this time? And how could they stop it, without using magic of their own?
He wished Draco was here.
He could do nothing but sigh, and rest his head on his aching knees. Voices echoed up the staircase; an audience to his newest shame. Christ, he couldn't keep doing this.
He heard them enter the room, but no one said a word. They wouldn't, not with Harry's obvious vulnerability laid out before them. They were probably embarrassed.
"Morning." Harry managed to speak, somehow, and rise his head. "Sorry about doing this. Again."
It was Theo, surprisingly, who spoke first. He yawned, rising a hand to his mouth to smother it as he stumbled across the room. "Not your fault." Well, that was unexpectedly nice.
Blaise followed his friend, but didn't speak. His face was tired, but guarded. For once there was no humour in his eyes, and it hurt quite a bit. Braxton stood anxiously besides him; Harry didn't think he was aware he was biting his lip.
He noticed immediately that none wore anything of warmth. Great.
Theo leant over the armchair, and touched Harry's forehead with the back of his hand, much like Braxton had moments earlier. It was a little worrying having such a gentle touch by an often indifferent Slytherin; Harry would openly admit it was a little awkward.
"You're ice cold." He eventually said, dropping his hand and crossing his arms. He looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt. "Uh…what do we do?"
His guess was as good as Harry's. "I don't know." It hurt to say it.
"Is it your…?" Harry was nodding before he could ask the question. Of course it was his magic; it was always his magic.
Silence filled the room again, the four boys exchanging glances, each as bewildered as the next. Nobody knew what to do.
"Is it…bad?" Blaise finally spoke, shrugging at the eyes now focused on him. "I'm not trying to be rude, but does it matter? I mean, does the cold really hurt someone? It's an odd thing for your magic to do, considering the incredibly violent reactions we've seen before."
"Of course it matters." Braxton was the one to reply, and he didn't seem perturbed by the narrowing of his senior's eyes. "What happens if he gets colder and colder, and his heart stops beating?"
"I don't remember asking you." Blaise's tone was easy, but even Harry could see the irritation flair into his eyes from across the room.
"You asked the room." The kid snapped back, crossing his arms. It was quite amusing to see him take on an eighth year. "I'm in the room."
"Freezing friend on the couch." Theo interrupted, cutting across Blaise's next snarl. "You can pulverize him at breakfast. Help me warm Potty up first." Harry visibly jumped, then avoided the glances. Nott had just referred to him as a friend. Nott.
"Drag him closer to the fire." Braxton commanded, mouth twitching as Blaise's expression hardened. But the tanned boy followed the directive as a pillow was hurled across the room curtesy of Theo. If the first year kept it up he was going to have a very irate Slytherin after him in the morning.
Being within touching distance of the fire didn't seem to help; the warmth seemed to flitter off before reaching Harry. His toes still hurt.
"Is that better?" Braxton asked as if he were responsible for the move. Despite the odd little power play happening in the room, he seemed genuinely worried. He kept biting his lip, and his arms were wrapped awkwardly around his chest as if he was regretting leaving the warmth of his bed.
"Yeah…it's a bit better." The cold curled around his bones, nestling in places Harry didn't know could sting. He pulled the blanket closer, blinking at the numbness of his fingers. Brushing them against the blanket revealed no different result; he had lost feeling in his fingers. "You guys can probably go back to bed. Like you said…what can you do against the cold?"
"…But it's not cold." Blaise stated, "For fuck's sake, Potter, if you see a bright light stay the hell away from it."
"He's not dying!"
"Well, dying people often say they're cold, don't they?"
"It was cold." Harry concurred tiredly, staring at the fire to avoid their sudden stares. "Only for a moment, though. After that it was actually nice." Silence answered him, forcing him to lift his gaze. Theo seemed guarded, Blaise was worried…Braxton's eyes were as wide as Harry had ever seen them. "…What?"
"You sound…nostalgic." That came from Theo, looking as uncomfortable as ever.
"I thought people were supposed to get all sentimental when-"
"It isn't your time."
"Isn't it?" Harry didn't ask to be mean. How much longer was he going to get? The thought plagued his mind most nights, now. Months? Weeks? How much longer?
"I'll say it again," There was no humour in Blaise's voice, "If you see a bright light-"
"I'll run from it kicking and screaming." Harry sighed, nodding. He tried give a reassuring smile, but it didn't seem to work. "I have too much to lose at the moment to give in." It was certainly a thought he entertained, but they didn't need to know that. It unquestionably was an alluring ideal, but he could never pull it off. There was a blonde twit that would pull him back by the scruff of his neck if he tried.
He barely blinked as a hand brushed against his forehead again, appearing from nowhere. He hadn't even seen Theo move. "I'm getting more blankets." He declared, hurrying back down the stairs. He probably just wanted out of the suffocating room, and Harry didn't blame him. He wanted out of this room, and the attention.
Blaise stood back, as if he wanted to avoid being noticed, and Braxton…
Was standing right beside his arm. When had that happened?
"You died?" He asked outright, frowning. "How could you have died?" He seemed to have forgotten that Harry had a disease that was slowly trying to obliterate his body and mind. How odd.
"Because Voldemort killed me." Harry replied quietly, watching as the kid jumped at the name. He blinked owlishly, and shook his head. He thought Harry was teasing him.
"But you won-"
"Yes."
"Then how did…You-Know-Who kill you?"
"Because I let him." Now he looked properly confused, if his frown and gaping mouth were any indication. He spluttered, turning to Blaise for help. The still irritated Slytherin, however, shrugged and gave none. Like he could have anyway. "Don't worry; I'm alive, aren't I? I got a second chance. It's been brilliant." He snorted at that, then laughed. The mirth pulled away from his lips like it had been trying for days. Because he actually meant it. He had a betraying body and lack of friends and the Slytherins of all people had taken him in. And for the most part, it had been brilliant.
"What have you done to him?" Theo had returned, with several blankets. There were probably numerous disgruntled Slytherins behind him.
"Spoke about his death." Blaise answered evenly, shrugging. "Apparently it was funny."
Theo answered by chucking several blankets at Harry, eyebrows raised. "Did you have a stupid accident, or something? Tripped on your shoelaces type mishap?"
"Oh no, it was You-Know-Who actually." Blaise was trying too hard to keep his tone blasé. Theo turned back to Harry with his eyebrows raised, as if he was questioning his sanity.
"You wouldn't understand." He ended up smiling, though. The little laughing session had cleared his mood quite remarkably.
"Of course not." A hand came up again, resting against his forehead. "You're still ice. Should we try something else? It's not working."
"I only know spells, which we can't use." Blaise replied rather unhelpfully. He shrugged. "Maybe if we put him in some hot water?"
"Prefect's bathroom?" Theo asked, as baffled as the others. "Do you know the password?"
"You can't put him in water." Braxton thought this was a good time to speak up, crossing his arms rather arrogantly. "You're supposed to keep cold people dry, and water cools quicker than air. If you toss him in water, he'll get worse." Harry didn't think they were supposed to hear the muttered 'morons' after his little outburst. Either way, now he had two Slytherin eighth years after his blood.
"We can't use spells, and the fire isn't working." Theo wasn't impressed by the first year. "What do you suggest, then?" His mutter of "shitty little snitty snot nosed bastard" was barely audible.
"I don't know! Body warmth?" Harry snorted again as all three suddenly took a rather large step away from him.
"If you want to cuddle up to Potter-"
"I didn't say that!"
"By all means, here's your chance-!"
"I just meant I've read about-!"
"But I'm not snuggling Potter, not if he was the last human on earth, and I got a bit lonely!"
"You're completely underestimating his nuzzling abilities, Blaise." Harry's smile stretched a bit wider as Draco entered the room, voice drawling as if he was ready for every possible remark. "I suppose he's a bit bony, but one look at his eyes and you'll be swimming in emeralds, and not really caring if he's latched himself onto your neck." He finally came into view of Harry's craning neck, eyebrows raised and head cocked to the side as he took in the several blankets piled atop of Harry, and then the precariously close range to the fire. "Do I need to ask?"
"He's cold." Theo decided to answer, as Braxton was bright red and Blaise not far behind him. They looked mortified.
"Imagine that." Draco replied dryly, eyes drifting around the room, hesitating on the opened map for a second, before landing back on Harry. He was covered in blankets from head to toe, with only his nose and eyes sticking out. "Well, scoot over."
"What?"
"If no one else wants to take advantage if your bony arse…"
It was very amusing to see the physical struggle of the other Slytherins. Theo was staring longingly at the staircase, while the other two exchanged wary glances. A truce was established as they bore their discomfort silently towards one another.
"How long are you going to make me wait?" Draco was ripping the blankets from Harry's numb fingers before the sentence had finished. He didn't wait for Harry to wriggle over, either, before sinking into the chair. He was more on Harry than the seat.
"And you say I've got the bony arse." Harry mumbled, twisting around until he was comfortable, and Draco's hip wasn't digging into him.
"They look rather embarrassed." Draco's voice was low as he gestured to the other mortified members of the room. He tucked the multitude of blankets back in place, and curled his arm against Harry's back. It was the first bit of warmth this night had offered. "Do we want to see how red they'll go?"
All it took was a twitch of Harry's lips for Draco to learn closer and brush the softest of pecks against his frozen cheek.
"I'm out." Blaise declared, speaking to the ceiling. The others quickly followed his lead and scurried back down the stairs without a backwards glance. Braxton's book was forgotten on the other couch.
"Amateurs." Draco scoffed, sighing with contentment. He shifted closer to Harry, leaning so their heads were touching. He curled his hand under Harry's shirt, splaying his hand against his back. "My, you are rather cold, aren't you? Did you go for a stroll through the grounds?"
"No." How could he explain without bringing up his magic? He opened his mouth to throw out a valid excuse, but nothing came to mind. Find a reason. Come on! Find a plausible excuse!
The silence trickled by as Harry's mind failed him.
Draco hummed besides him, his thumb caressing against his cool skin. He must have understood the suggestion, or lack of, but he barely tensed. He didn't reply, either.
Harry sighed to himself, glad that Draco couldn't see his expression. He was tired of his magic. Tired of this entire situation. He didn't want to keep doing this; he ruined everything. Every fun moment or content circumstance.
Even now, he didn't know whether his throat was constricting because he was upset or if it was the iciness his magic had bestowed upon him, creeping further under his skin. "Draco, I'm sor-"
"It's nothing a few blankets and a nice fire won't cure; you can always get rid of the cold."
"I'm-"
"I actually don't mind you being a bit cool; it's refreshing."
"Why won't you let me apologize?"
His voice didn't change from its soft murmur. "Because I don't know what you're apologizing for. Are you contrite about lying to me, or about the progression of your illness?"
Harry didn't have say the answer they both knew.
"Exactly. Besides, you don't have anything to apologize for. You're the sick one."
"It's not an excuse to hide behind," Harry argued, "I can't just throw out the 'I'm dying' card whenever I feel like it."
"Yes, you can. That's why the card exists in the pack. You are sick, and you have that card at your full disposal. How is anyone else supposed to throw in the 'I'm hurting' card when you've patented it? If you look up 'pain' in the dictionary, there is no definition. Just your face."
"That's not exactly making me feel any better."
"It's your body; your decision." Draco sounded as if muttering the sentence caused him physical pain. His heart sank; it seemed like every conversation he held ended up with someone angry or upset. The cold clawed its way through Harry's muscle to rest at the bone; he was ice.
Draco's hand swept against his back, pressing against the skin. He hummed again, and abruptly changed the conversation. "Can you imagine the others trying to warm you up?" He asked, amusement magically conjured into his tone. "Can you imagine Theo trying to give you some body warmth?" And, despite his horrible mood, a smile cracked its way onto Harry's face. "How close do you think he'd be able to go before he called it quits? Arms touching? Hips?" Harry could easily imagine Theo bounding from the chair, his face a bright red, and storming back down the stairs. He wouldn't even say anything; his embarrassment would have a corporal form. "Hand holding?"
Draco's free hand crawled through the blankets to find Harry's. His thumb began that hypnotizing stroking.
And for whatever reason, Harry didn't feel so cold anymore.
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"Harry's been withholding information from you." The words left Draco's lips before Trainee Harris had finished closing the door to the office. He didn't have the luxury of waiting for the right moment; they had taken Harry into his room, and so the torture was about to begin. He needed to get back to him. "It's worsened; using magic on him could trigger a reaction. I…suggest you go tell the other Healers before they kill him." And she left the room again.
Draco sighed, crossing over to one of the chairs and sinking into it. He was tired, but it was nothing compared to Harry's exhaustion. He didn't care about his grades anymore, so that was one stress from his weary mind. But his midnight escapades were taking their toll on him. And Harry. There was always a fear for Harry.
There was so much to do, and an indefinite amount of time.
"You know, that's sort of the first thing that you should say when you arrive." Draco straightened up in the chair, pretending his chest didn't constrict at her words. "Don't worry, he's fine. They had only just changed him into his robes." She didn't look fine. She had the faintest of bags under her eyes.
She reached the desk and plonked herself down, as if they had all the time in the world. She even held up a finger to stop Draco from speaking, as she shuffled around in a drawer to waste more time. "Have some chocolate." Draco stared at her blankly for a moment before reaching over and taking the bar. He didn't eat it. He didn't think this was a chocolate situation. "So, how are you?"
"I'll repeat myself because I don't think you've heard me correctly; Harry's magic is getting incredibly more difficult to control. If you use magic near him it explodes. It's started to just do things; it was reacting to his emotions the other day. It he was happy, his temperature was normal. If he was upset, it was freezing him. It's a time bomb."
"We know." She didn't seem perturbed by his glare. "Even if he lies to us, we use diagnostic spells on him when he comes in. It's pretty obvious when on the first day he only had a few problems, but last week he had several more…I'll say intricate issues. We are trained to see a pattern." She didn't seem happy about it though.
"How are you going to run a diagnostic spell on him today?"
"We'll do either muggle examinations, or use generalist potions. It's the best we can do at the moment; and, of course, the machine will tell us. That's why you're here; it'll tell us where the magic is focused at the moment. But, more importantly than all that…how are you?"
"I'm fine. So, what's the next-?"
"Malfoy, if you could give me an honest answer for just a moment." Trainee Kelly interrupted while fishing a chocolate out for herself. "How are you doing?"
It really was an effort not to shout at her. Couldn't she see that Harry was alone right now? That these pointless questions were wasting precious time? "In the current scheme of things I don't matter." It was a blow to any Malfoy's pride, but the truth nonetheless.
But the trainee scoffed instead of believing it. "Of course you do. You matter to him."
"I would advise against counselling me." Draco warned instead, glancing at the door. How long had they been in here? "It won't do either of us any good."
"My job today is to look after you." Draco finally turned to look at her; her tone had been strained, with a soft undertone of frustration. He didn't think the annoyance was directed towards him; neither of them wanted to be in this room at the moment. "You're just as significant as Potter is." And neither believed her lie. "You look just as tired. It can be exhausting looking after-"
"Exhausting is not a word I associate with Harry," Draco replied quietly, glancing at the clock quickly. They wouldn't have done more than ask him the routine questions by now, and get him into bed. There was still time. "And the only reason I'm warning you not to use it again is because Harry seems to tolerate you. I will not."
"Either way, a few minutes break will do you both some good."
"Those aren't your words." Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair. "And can I just state, for the record, that I sincerely doubt them. If this is why you pulled me into this room, you're wasting your time."
"Indulge me." Trainee Harris reached for another chocolate, offering a second for Draco. He took that one too, but placed it on his lap. "Sometimes it's just nice to have some quiet time without the stress or pressure hanging on your shoulders. So, you can stop staring at the clock because you're having ten minutes apart." Draco snapped his eyes away from the clock, but he had already been caught.
"He can't do it alone."
"He has the best Healers in the hospital attending him."
"He doesn't care about those; they're not me, and they're not you. You're the only one he seems to be comfortable with, and you're just a trainee. Status means nothing to him."
"It'll be ten minutes."
"Of stress on both our accounts." Draco muttered, watching her grip on the chocolate tighten. She knew he was right, too. Harry needed as much comfort as he could get right now, and they were both locked away in this room. How was this going to help?
"You know," She muttered back, picking up yet another chocolate. She didn't even offer Draco one this time; she hurled it at his shoulder. He was detecting a smidgeon of irritation in her. "This is supposed to be giving you time to unwind and have a moment to yourself and you've spent the entire time talking about Potter. Come on, what do you like to do? Give me a rundown of your day. Talk about nothing if that's all you want to do."
Draco picked up the third bar from the floor, and returned to his previous position. He had never been particularly fond of this woman, and she was pushing his buttons yet again. She had leaned back on the chair now, and was swivelling around. Tch.
Draco glanced at the clock again; they had to have started the treatment by now. They were always rather punctual here. "I wake up with my limbs tangled with Harry's." He replied quietly. Trainee Harris glanced back at him, as if she hadn't expected an answer. Pity. He was rather hoping the shock would make her fall from her chair. "We stay in bed as long as possible before we head down to breakfast, together, and then attend our classes, together. We box Harry in a corner, now, so no stray spells can get to him. We try to herd him back to the Slytherin common room as soon as we can, where we can assure no spells will be cast in his vicinity. I spend my afternoons and nights with him, and we go to bed together. The only time Harry and I are apart in a day block is when I sneak out of bed to visit the library, and I read up on miraculous, inane, impossible cures. Happy? I talk about Harry because my day is Harry."
Draco braced himself as the trainee straightened up; he had just given her plenty of ammo. Possessiveness, a lack of dependence, the admittance of their relationship. She had a free reign. Instead, she chose –
"Why is he sleeping in Slytherin?" This seemed most perplexing to her. "He's a Gryffindor, right?"
"They kicked him out." He watched her eyebrows raise with an approving nod. "Didn't like his attitude because he was avoiding them. He was avoiding them because he didn't want to hurt them with the news of his ultimate demise; funny, isn't it? He's the one that's sick, and he was more worried about how it would affect everyone else. His loneliness, however, pulled him towards me, which then dubbed him a 'traitor'; how dare he hang around the Death-Eaters and other scum? Hence, he's living in Slytherin."
"He had nowhere else to go, huh?"
"Or he's found somewhere he can be himself." Draco drawled instead of snapping, but it was a near miss. "The entire Slytherin cohort knows he's sick, and yet there hasn't been a whisper to the paper."
"You're chatting an awful lot, Malfoy. There seems to be a distinct lack of conversation centred around yourself, though." Damn her. "You keep swerving the topics back to Potter."
"Your point?" There was a knock on the door. "Well, this has been riveting." Draco stood, ignoring the frown from Trainee Harris. The knocking would be a Healer to collect him, because the precious little wizarding saviour wasn't coping alone.
A head popped in; no one noteworthy. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need Mister Malfoy in the main room."
Sometimes being perceptive was downright boring.
Draco passed the Healer without a glance, heading down the corridor to the room they had designated. That had been a complete waste of time, with very little reward. His only recompense was a fist full of chocolate. Salazar, he would be having a word with Healer Brown. He knew it was protocol to care for the guardians, carers, or partners of the extremely ill patients; if they couldn't look after themselves, how were they supposed to care for someone that was tremendously fragile?
But it was ridiculous; asking how Draco was?
He shoved the door open with a bang, eyes locking onto the bed.
Harry was ridged in the bed; his hands and feet were curled into balls around the mattress, as if he was trying to anchor himself. His jaw was jutted out, his teeth clenched. And yet he somehow managed to force his thin lips into a smile at Draco's entrance.
"They tried to have an impromptu therapy session with me." Draco explained, strolling over to the bed. "So I spoke about you instead. Told them about how you sleep with your mouth open, and you dribble all over me."
"That was…one…time." It was incredible that he could seem exasperated during torture. "Stop…bringing….it up."
"You ruined my best shirt; I'm never letting it drop. Here, I stole you some chocolate."
Draco's feelings didn't even register compared to Harry's agony.
.
.
.
"Granger." It had become courtesy to acknowledge her existence during these situations. He hadn't particularly wanted to, but if he didn't at least mutter her surname upon arrival he would be subjected to teeth grinding and frequent glares. One word resulted in quiet and being ignored; it was worth it.
"Malfoy." Salazar fucking Slytherin! Why was she replying?
Draco slid into his allocated chair and pulled out the volumes he had been studying this week. It was only after placing them on the table, and setting up the parchment for notes, that he graced her with a disapproving glance. She was waiting patiently, if a little coolly. Oh, fantastic. Her quill had been placed on the table. She wanted to talk.
He should have opted for the teeth grinding.
"Are you going to speak, or are you content with wasting my time?" He sneered, turning back to his own book. If she wanted to waste time, that was her prerogative. He didn't have that luxury.
She didn't snap back at him like she used to. Instead, she forced her word to be calm. She had realised he found her insults amusing, and so she had stopped altogether. Smart arse.
"I have a volume here about controlling magic; do you think you could look over it while I research these ones?" Ah. They had come full circle.
Granger thought she was going to pull a miraculous cure from thin air; she was certainly conceited enough to believe it was possible for a witch with no medical, and barely any magical, background to whip up a treatment for an incredibly rare and horrible illness. She delved into medical books.
Draco disagreed. He refused to touch those inadequate volumes. Mainly because he had already searched through them when he first discovered Harry's ailment. They were useless. When they mentioned Succorbentis, if at all, it was to add to the stigma around it. No, Draco read about magic.
Mainly, how to get rid of it.
At the end of the week they would mail their ideas to Trainee Harris, and she would send them more books. So far everyone had come up empty.
"He can't control it anymore." He drawled back, turning the page as if he had any idea about the subject on the previous one. "Try again."
"I'm just thinking that if he had better control over-"
"And while we test this marvellous idea he'll blow off his arm, or leg, or both. Maybe it'll be his head this time. Don't know how we'll reattach that one." He turned to give her a level stare. "As I said; try again."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't give in and storm out like she had the past few weeks. She didn't snap back at him, or insult him. Granger was learning.
Instead, she picked up her quill and calmly returned back to the book before her. "It was just an idea." She said quietly, "Better than getting rid of his magic altogether. More plausible." Or maybe she wasn't.
"So you think." Draco turned the next page, refusing to offer her a glance. They may be speaking in soft tones, but this was a fight as well as the next. One Granger wasn't winning.
"Harry wouldn't want to live without his magic."
"Harry doesn't want to die, either."
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Draco blinked. He hadn't expected that question, and certainly not asked with such poise. Granger was scribbling down a note, apparently, and didn't seem to notice his stare. Such an act. "I know you're friends, but-"
What was she expecting? A confession? For him to shout and beat his hands against his chest?
"I want more time." Why was he even answering her?
"Then why are you wasting it here?" She was edging in dangerous territory, now. "If you want time with Harry…shouldn't you be spending it with Harry."
"If I manage to prolong his time, then nothing has been wasted." Why was he still speaking to her?
"He's bound to notice that you've disappeared."
Draco raised his eyebrows at her, and cocked his head to the side. Finally, some leverage. "It's three in the morning, Granger." He managed to drawl just for effect. "Unless he's camped out under my bed…I don't think he's noticed." At least she had the decency to blush and turn back to her work. Tch, she didn't need to know Harry was probably curled up in Draco's bed with the map splayed on his lap.
"I have another question." What had he done to deserve this? Draco huffed to himself before remembering that this was Granger, and he couldn't show too much emotion. He needed to force the mask back in place. God, what had Harry done to him for the simple act of controlling his emotions to be difficult? Aunt Bellatrix would be turning in her…tch, she wouldn't be impressed.
"What do you want?" Damn it, it sounded more like a whine than a question.
"Do you mind if someone else joins us?"
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