Author's
note:
Many thanks to Signe most of all, for giving the challenge. Additionally, my
intrepid betas, Kattiya, Kel, Gary and Ximeria, plus Carla for the Briticisms,
and my wonderful audience who read chapter after chapter and put up with my
whingeing when it wouldn't finish up.
Love
is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
-Iris
Murdoch (1919 - 1999)
Chapter
1
In
Which We Explore the Evils of Inattention, and Its Consequences
"If
you would all take your seats, we could begin at something resembling the
scheduled time." Snape's voice sounded bitter, tired. He'd been spreading
his energies between Hogwarts and Voldemort for over three years now, and they
were getting so thin even Harry could see it.
Harry
Potter slid into his seat. The class held barely a dozen seventh-years, mostly
in Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and each of them got their own lab station now, no
partners to watch your back or help you out. He had a spot in the back, one
table over from Draco Malfoy, his oldest enemy at Hogwarts, which usually kept
him focused on his work. Yet with the end of the term so near, what weighed on
his mind most was preventing what had happened to the Slytherins last year --
all of them vanished from the Leaving Feast, recruited to be Death Eaters. Those
that had refused were found later, mad or tortured or simply dead.
Harry
shook himself. Now was not the time to worry about Malfoy and his cronies. In a
way, it seemed like everyone, including Voldemort, was waiting for Harry to
finish school before starting the war in earnest. There had been feints, and the
annual scheme to attack or kill or simply undermine Harry, yet none of it was on
the kind of grand scale they all knew the Dark Lord was capable of, and now had
the manpower for. In just over a month, Harry would be out of Hogwarts and in
the real world, doing god knew what, but mainly trying not to die.
It
had been a long week for everyone, and this was the last class before Harry
could finally give in to his own morbid thoughts. He'd surprised himself by
getting an O in his OWL, and continuing on with Advanced Potions even after he
could have seen the last of Snape. He found he had a certain fascination with
the smell of the ingredients, the methodical weight and measure of it, the way
three drops of clover dew would turn a certain potion useless, but four would
make it stronger. He'd even mostly solved his concentration issues now that
Snape was making them test everything they made -- on themselves.
Harry
carefully laid out all the ingredients for today's healing potion and tried to
concentrate on what Snape was saying. "If you will notice, I have outlined
here the similarities between this, a complex and all-purpose healing potion,
and one of the milder love potions of old. This particular potion is said to
inspire, not lust, but actual love in the drinker, opening them to care for
someone they might have otherwise dismissed. I would advise you, therefore, to
work carefully, lest you be ensnared."
Harry
began carefully chopping and measuring the herbs involved. He kept glancing up
as Snape swept by, eager to get this done and get out. His cauldron was bubbling
gently, a soft green that smelled faintly of rosemary, despite having none in
the mixture. He glanced over at Malfoy and saw the same gentle green roil of
liquid, saw deft hands scooping up ingredients with the small knife and sifting
them in. Malfoy leveled a glare in Harry's direction, and he went back to his
own work, reassured.
A
part of him still measured himself against Malfoy, at least in Potions class.
Draco had shown an aptitude for the subject that Harry had thought was cheating
in his early years, but later had realized was simply talent. Harry could still
fly circles around the other Seeker, though, he thought reassuringly. He tipped
in his little pile of chopped herbs and watched the green deepen, then go
faintly blue. He glanced up at the chalkboard, checking ingredients, but Snape
was in the way, leaning over another student's work.
He
leaned to the left, barely making out the last few things on the list. He
carefully got out his tiny vial of unicorn's tears and dripped in the requisite
7 tears, then added the three whole dove hearts with a slight shudder. Most
potions ingredients were dried or powdered, but sometimes it was just... yuck.
Snape was talking again, something about making sure to get the right amount of
cypress bark or the potion would be ruined. He leaned around again, but Snape
had erased much of the board to do a diagram for Blaise Zabini.
He
shrugged and glanced over at Malfoy, whose potion had turned translucently
lavender, and was now cooling. Harry sprinkled the ground-up bark over his
pink-tinged cauldron, and was relieved when it, too, went clear and lavender. He
thought his might have been a bit more iridescent than Draco's, but it could
just be a trick of the light. He stirred it carefully, 13 times clockwise and 3
counter, then set it aside to cool.
He
shrugged and put everything away in his ever-growing personal ingredients kit,
then said the charm that would reduce the case to a manageable size and stuffed
it into his bag. "All right, class," said Snape abruptly, "who
can tell me why we use cypress bark in this potion?"
Hands
went up. This was the part Harry usually hated, because although he knew the
facts cold when Hermione quizzed him, he could never quite manage to get them
right with Slytherins watching. There was something about the eager look in
Malfoy's face whenever Snape called on Harry, like the greatest pleasure in
Draco's life was to watch him fail. He sighed, then raised his hand anyway,
fairly sure he knew the answer.
Snape's
eyes glinted with anticipation, and he managed to somehow voice doubt that Harry
even knew his own name as he said, "Potter?"
"The
cypress binds the disparate ingredients together, allowing the potion to heal
different types of physical maladies rather than just one thing, as a lesser
potion might." He let his eyes flicker to Malfoy who looked... not
disappointed, precisely, but sort of intrigued.
"And
what might the cypress do in the other version of this potion, the love
potion?" Snape sounded vaguely annoyed, which boosted Harry's confidence.
"Binding
the heart of the drinker," said Harry.
Snape
looked decidedly put off and said, "Malfoy. Who will the love potion bind
the drinker to?"
Malfoy
looked thoughtful. "Well, since there's no part of the maker in the potion,
the frog's eyes direct the binding to the first person the drinker sees."
"Correct.
And what do the frog's eyes do in the healing potion?" Snape sounded
pleased, and Harry was grateful he'd moved on, because he hadn't known that.
He'd just assumed that there was another step involved that Snape hadn't told
them about since personal ingredients were usually the last step in any potion.
And, of course, since love potions were rather illegal.
"They
allow the potion to heal maladies of the senses, like blindness or
deafness." Malfoy was looking both smug and thoughtful, and Harry was
beginning to worry that Snape really had taught them how to make and use a love
potion. Harry decided he'd better watch what he drank for awhile, or he might
end up mooning over Millicent Bulstrode.
Snape
moved on, and Harry checked his cauldron for coolness. It had stopped boiling
almost as soon as he took it off the heat, but there seemed to be a pulsing
light at the centre, and he gave another worried glance at Draco. He was pouring
his potion into a vial, and the liquid caught the light with a magical sheen as
it fell. Harry shrugged and began to decant his own potion into a reusable
bottle, mouth just the size for easy drinking.
Like
many potions, you ended up with a surprisingly small dose at the end of the
process, and he figured he'd have just about three good gulps to find out if
he'd done it right or not. He twirled it thoughtfully, watching the way it
refracted the light in soft, slow swirls like the surface of a bubble. Such a
small thing, to be able to heal almost any physical ill, but some of the
ingredients were prohibitively expensive, making it a rare and precious potion
indeed.
Harry
spent the rest of the lecture idly wondering how many of these little doses his
fortune would buy for the Aurors, and if they'd do any good when most wizarding
wars were fought with spells that did much more subtle damage. He was surprised
when he realized Snape himself had just made a very similar point, and seemed to
be about to wrap up. Harry shuffled his things together until all that was left
on his table was a small silver knife and his potion. He was ready to test and
run.
"All
right, class, we'll test the potions all at once. Take your knives and make a
small cut to your hand or arm, just enough that I can see from here you've
actually wounded yourself."
Harry
met Draco's challenging gaze, and they both set their knives to their left
wrists, just above where the blood flowed closest to the surface. One quick
slice and blood was seeping out, dripping down his arm to hit the floor. He
hadn't even felt the pain yet when Snape said, "All right, take your
potions."
Harry
grabbed the small bottle, eyes on Draco, and drank it. Three swift gulps, just
as he'd thought, and he felt a warm tingle run through him from head to toe.
Draco's wrist had closed like magic, even the blood vanishing from the pale,
flawless skin. His eyes dropped to Harry's wrist and went wide, but Harry didn't
tear his gaze away from Draco's face. Something flickered across it that seemed
almost like concern before Draco's most sarcastic voice drawled, "Potter
seems to have failed again, Professor."
Harry
looked down to see blood pooling in his hand, pulsing out of the wound ever
faster as his heart began to race. He set the jar down and fumbled in his pocket
for a handkerchief, wondering suddenly what he'd just dosed himself with. He was
pressing the white square to the surprisingly large wound when Snape stalked
over, brandishing a small flask of familiar lavender fluid.
"Well,
Mr. Potter, it's lucky for you that I happen to have one of these already made
up. Let's hope all you've done is mildly poison yourself with your latest
mistake."
Harry
blushed. He'd done something, but god knew what, and he wasn't about to admit it
to Snape. "Thanks, Professor, I am kind of queasy." His stomach felt
odd, fluttery and tight, and he kept glancing over at Malfoy. Downing the
healing potion fixed his arm and gave him a very similar wash of warmth, but it
didn't fix the struggling-bird sensation in his chest. He handed back the vial
and removed the handkerchief to show his now-clean arm.
"Very
good. Rather than take points from Gryffindor, I will require you to come in
tonight and assist myself and any volunteers in making as many batches of this
potion as we have the ingredients for. Donations of personal ingredients would
be welcome, as this is the last legitimate use for unicorn's tears that you will
have this term."
Snape
swept out, dismissing the class simply by not being there. Harry carefully
capped his mostly-empty bottle in case he suffered any more effects, and needed
it later to be analyzed. He shuffled over to where Malfoy was packing up. "Er,
what time?"
Malfoy
looked up at him, eyes frosted over like grey shards of ice. "If you can
drag yourself away from practice, we're starting right after dinner."
Harry
nodded. He felt like apologizing, although he didn't know why. Malfoy had looked
somewhat outraged when Snape had made his little announcement, and Harry
wondered just what else Malfoy had had planned for their little potion-making
session. Something stabbed through him, making him gasp at the absurd idea that
there might be something going on between student and teacher.
Still,
it wasn't like Malfoy hadn't glued himself to Snape's side during their sixth
year when his parents -- and the rest of the Death Eaters -- had gone completely
into the Dark Lord's service, openly defying the Ministry instead of working
from within. He repressed a shudder. Death Eater parents had not, as expected,
pulled their kids out of school to serve Voldemort; instead they'd literally
kidnapped all the Slytherin graduates from the Leaving Feast last year. He
glanced again at Malfoy, who was angrily shoving bottles into his ingredients
case.
"Let
me help you," Harry heard himself saying. He walked around the desk, gently
rearranging the contents until everything fit. He was struck with the thought
that Malfoy had to be a lot more worried than Harry about what would happen when
the end of term came around. He wasn't sure where the notion sprang from, but he
let Malfoy snatch the last bag of dried bats' tongues out of his lax hand,
barely getting his fingers out of the way before it was snapped shut and shrunk.
"Thanks
for nothing, Potter," sneered Malfoy, stalking out. Harry watched the
familiar glide, blond head held arrogantly high, slim shoulders tense as if
waiting for a blow. Harry shook his head again, and sat heavily on the stool.
He'd been developing some sympathy for the Slytherin students lately, but this
was ridiculous.
Chapter
2
In
Which We See the Subtle Difference Between Doors and Windows
Draco
lashed out like he was so full of pain it had to spill over on those around him,
or he'd be consumed. That was Harry's very odd thought at dinner that night,
watching Malfoy lording over the huddled Slytherins. Everyone looked like that
now, either filled with bravado or curled up in fear, their eyes haunted. Two
more of the stolen Slytherin graduates had been returned to them this week,
nailed to the gates of Hogwarts like macabre scarecrows. They'd been alive --
barely -- and their bodies had held signs of torture, new and old.
Evidently,
there were some that Voldemort had tried harder to break to his service than
others. Harry looked over at the current members of Voldemort's old house, and
thought that Draco would be one of those. If Harry wanted to break the rest of
them, he'd take Draco first, and they'd crumble at the loss of their shining
leader. Looking around the rest of the hall, he saw that same pattern in each of
the houses, one strong leader holding the rest of them together by a thread of
hope. It hadn't been this obvious last week, but last week the threat had still
seemed distant, unreal.
Harry
picked at his dinner, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach. He'd already
begged off Quidditch practice, leaving his fellow teammates to fend for
themselves. As Seeker, he really had the least to do, anyway, just fly high and
hone his speed and perception to a dangerous edge in anticipation for the final
match. The Slytherins had acquired a new taint, and the rest of the school
rallied under Gryffindor's banner. Even those students who had been friendly
with the Slytherins last week were now acting like it might rub off.
In
reality, Draco was the only other Seeker who ever gave Harry much of a challenge
anymore. Draco got up and Harry's eyes followed his movements, stomach giving a
sharp little twist as some part of him observed that Draco was lithe and
graceful even on the ground. Harry himself generally felt awkward these days,
like his body had gone and grown just to spite him. Draco had taken to his
growth spurt like he did everything else, with an arrogant smugness at finally
being taller than Harry. That longer reach had almost got Harry in trouble a
time or two.
"What's
the matter with you tonight, Harry?" said Ron from his left. "You
aren't eating."
Harry
started, tearing his eyes away from the now-empty doorway. "Sorry, I'm
still a little queasy from earlier."
Ron
looked concerned, then faintly angry. "Snape should never have made you
take that potion, the slimy git!"
Harry
snorted. "As a seventh-year Advanced Potions student, I should be able to
brew things that aren't hazardous to my health." Snape had made it crystal
clear at the beginning of the class that every single potion they made would be
tested in such a way that mistakes would bring very personal disaster.
Ron
grumbled but let it drop. They'd had this argument before, and were leaving more
and more of their disagreements unresolved these days. Ron didn't see what Harry
saw, didn't understand why he should care what happened to the Slytherins, and
they had both grown tired of trying to explain. Harry shook his head sadly and
got up, abandoning dinner as a lost cause. "I've got to get to my
non-detention."
"Don't
drink anything else, eh?" Ron's eyes held something he wouldn't recognize
if he didn't see it in the mirror all the time, a kind of resigned, helpless
concern. Harry tried not to feel the weight of it adding to the rest of his
burdens, instead straightening his shoulders and heading for the dungeons.
He
was surprised to find Draco loitering just outside the Great Hall, and even more
surprised when he drawled, "It's about bloody time, Potter, can't you take
a hint?"
"Since
when have you ever been hinting at me, Malfoy?" It felt odd to call him by
his last name. Somehow in the last week he'd become 'Draco' in Harry's mind, as
if watching the way he handled his terrified housemates had humanized him
somehow.
"I
suppose you do have a point. Do you also have your ingredients?" Draco was
already leading him off, down towards the dungeons. Harry hefted his book bag
silently, which he'd been lugging around since Potions. He'd added the extra
vial of unicorn's tears out of his personal stash of magical oddments, blushing
at the thought that he could always get more. Being the Boy Who Lived didn't
leave a lot of room in his life for being the Boy Who Got Laid.
Draco
skipped down the steps, light of foot enough to make Harry feel positively
ungainly as he stomped after him. The silence was starting to unnerve him as
they traversed the dim, cool hallways, and finally he blurted, "Why are you
angry that I'm helping?"
Draco
stopped in his tracks, suddenly enough that Harry almost ran into him. "Why
do you think I even care, Potter?" he said, his voice unusually even.
"Pull
the other one, Malfoy. I saw your face. I would think you'd be happy to have the
help, even if all I can do is chop herbs." He didn't say what he would have
said even a few months ago, that he figured Draco would be happy that Harry was
being punished.
Draco
still hadn't turned around, and Harry desperately wished for a look at his face.
"I had hoped to discuss a personal matter with the head of my house, which
will be impossible with you there."
"Oh."
He knew that Draco had grown close to Snape even as he'd grown away from his
father. Everyone had watched their painful family drama unfolding like it was
entertainment, Lucius and Draco screaming on platform 9 3/4 at the end of term
last year. No one knew where Draco had gone that summer, but they all knew it
hadn't been with Lucius.
From
the quiver in Draco's shoulders, he thought perhaps the other shoe had finally
dropped. He wondered if the two mutilated students, both prefects in their time
much like Draco, had been a more personal message to Draco than anyone had
guessed. "Er, I can sod off for a bit, if you'd like."
Draco's
head whipped around, eyes wide. "Why would you do that? You know Snape will
punish you."
"Some
things are worth being punished over," said Harry with a painful little
half-shrug. He'd always felt that way, since his first year, that some
sacrifices were too important not to be made.
Something
must have shown in his face, because Draco's eyes went cold. "I don't need
your pity, Potter."
Harry
flinched. He'd offered Draco a lot of things over the years, from the hot fire
of his hatred to the end of his wand, but never pity. Even when watching Draco's
life fall apart, he hadn't really cared what happened to him. It was only since
he'd started seeing him as a real person that Draco's pain suddenly tugged at
his heartstrings, and deep down he knew his pity was the last thing Draco
needed. "Who said anything about pity, Malfoy? I just don't want to look at
your face any longer than I have to."
Draco's
spine stiffened even further. "Fine," he said coldly, "Half an
hour should suffice." He stalked off without waiting for a reply, and Harry
sagged against the stone wall.
He
sometimes wished he still had someone to talk to, but nowadays no one was safe.
No one understood how responsible he felt. He'd lived when others died once, and
then again and again, his parents, Cedric, Sirius, and countless others since.
Ron had just stopped understanding, putting a rift between them nothing could
really bridge anymore. Hermione was so wrapped up in doing research for the
Order that he hardly ever saw her these days, and that left him just as he was.
Alone.
He
shook off the self-pity and instead found a long stone bench in one of the quiet
side-corridors to sit on. He got out his Advanced Potions text and flipped
through it, looking for the healing potion. Although he generally relied on his
memory and Snape's notes when making potions in class these days, he did crack
the book to study. He skimmed the ingredients list, checking measurements, and
came up short when he reached the very end.
1
tear from a unicorn
3
hearts of newt, fresh
Then
the sprinkling of cypress, and stirring, cooling and bottling.
But
he'd been so sure the board said dove's hearts, and seven of the precious tears,
that he hadn't bothered to check. He'd almost think he'd made the love potion,
but he certainly didn't feel the irresistible urge to shag Draco, their little
moment just now told him that. He shook his head. He'd been too distracted, and
he'd messed up. Snape would tell him just how badly, if he ever got up the nerve
to ask, but as the only side effect so far was the lingering feeling of
butterflies in his stomach, he would wait before that charming confrontation.
He
packed his things away and stood up. He figured it had been just about long
enough, and the night wasn't getting any younger. He stomped along the corridor,
despairing of ever relearning the fine art of sneaking, envious of Draco's
effortless grace. He took a deep breath when he reached the door to the Potions
classroom, and slipped as quietly as he could inside.
"I
do not want you attempting my role, Draco. You saw what happened to the last
students who tried." Snape's face was strangely earnest, his cheeks flushed
with enough colour to make him look less sallow, more real somehow. "This
letter from your father is just one last attempt to sucker you in before the
final battle."
Harry
held his breath. "I know," said Draco bitterly. "I just... I
can't sit by and helplessly watch while he does those things to someone
else."
"No
one but the three of us knows that your father is the one that... harmed those
boys."
Draco's
laugh was sharp, like the scatter of a broken window across his eardrums.
"Raped and tortured, you mean." He went very still, and suddenly
looked small. "It was a message, as sure as yesterday's note. I
don't..." his voice broke, and Harry stifled a gasp. "I can't let him
do that to me again, Severus."
Again?
Harry felt his chest contract, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He'd heard
rumours that Draco didn't screw around, that he, like Harry, didn't participate
in the desperate pairing off that most of the students had done in an attempt to
keep the darkness at bay. He would never have guessed that his reasons were so
unlike Harry's as to be almost alien.
Snape
had an arm around Draco's shoulders. "It's been years since that madness
overcame him. Once he regained his senses, he swore never to touch you that way
again."
Draco
shrugged painfully. "That was when he was still thinking of me as his heir.
That was what this was about, Severus. This was his way of telling me that what
happened... That it can happen again."
Harry
felt ill in a way that had nothing at all to do with his earlier mistakes. How
young had Draco been? Oh god, how would Draco feel if he knew Harry was here,
listening to his deepest pain? Harry closed his eyes, tried to unfreeze his
limbs enough to back away, just leave. "I stand by my promise," said
Snape softly. Harry was almost back to the door, and he barely heard the last.
"I'll kill you before I let him touch you again."
Harry
fled. He knew that a part of him had seen the wounded students and thought that
he'd rather die than end up that way, but to hear that Draco had made Snape
promise to kill him, to end his life rather than give it back into the hands of
his own father... Harry's stomach heaved, and he headed for the closest loo. He
barely made it into one of the stalls before losing what little dinner he'd
managed to keep down.
He
sat on the floor of the stall, leaning his head against the cool stone wall, and
tried to make himself breathe. Now he knew something was wrong, really wrong,
something besides Lucius Malfoy's screwed-up idea of family loyalty. He'd have
to try and talk to Snape about the potion without telling him the reason he'd
thrown up in the first place.
He
felt a wash of shame eating away at the remaining nausea as he realized once
again how private of a moment he'd intruded on. He had stayed and listened
instead of leaving when he saw they weren't done, and he was paying for it. He
staggered up and washed out his mouth as best he could, wishing for toothpaste.
He splashed the cool water over his face and looked at himself in the cracked
mirror.
Hair
its usual unruly black tangle, green eyes wide and shocked, dark circles under
them emphasizing the pallor that never seemed to leave him anymore. Shoulders
wider now, muscles from Quidditch and good nutrition at least part of the year,
robes askew and sour breath fogging up the image. He shook his head sadly. His
own busy schedule was obviously not the only reason he couldn't get a date.
That
wry thought carried him back to the classroom, where he contrived to burst in,
looking flushed and late. Draco looked as pale as Harry had, but he'd managed to
compose himself a little better. Snape was busy at the ingredients cupboard,
both of them looking testy and impatient. "It's about time, Potter,"
drawled Draco, his arrogant stance only marred by Harry's memory.
"Yes,
Potter, so kind of you to grace us with your presence. Did you bring the
tears?" Snape walked over, all the other necessary ingredients balanced on
a tray.
Harry
nodded. "I almost forgot my extra bottle, and had to go back for it."
It seemed as plausible an excuse as any.
Snape,
surprisingly, didn't push the issue. "How did you come to have an extra
bottle of something so rare as unicorn's tears, Mr. Potter?"
Harry
blushed, but gave only the truth. Even if Draco didn't know that Harry was privy
to his past, he couldn't bring himself to hide something so trivial behind lies.
"I collected them myself. I, er, the unicorns were very generous to
me."
Snape
and Draco both looked surprised at that, but the professor had a put-down for
everything. "Ah, well, I suppose your brand of purity must be very tragic
to them."
"It's
a shame you didn't think to get enough for the whole Order while you could,
Potter," sneered Draco.
"I,
er... do you really need more?" Harry's blush deepened.
"You're
not implying that our resident celebrity has made it through his entire Hogwarts
career with his virtue intact?" Draco looked far too interested in the
state of Harry's virtue for Harry's comfort.
"Er,
yes?" He looked down, unable to stand their gazes any longer. "Look,
I've been busy, all right?"
"Well,
be that as it may, it has no bearing on what we're doing here tonight. If you do
get a chance, though, Potter, unicorn's tears are an invaluable resource that
the Order could put to a myriad of uses." Snape set the tray down on the
work table with a definitive thunk.
Harry
rummaged through his bag, still blushing, and pulled out the full bottle of
tears. It was considerably larger than the vial he kept in his class kit.
"This is the full one," he said, thrusting it towards them silently.
The other one was almost empty, and he honestly didn't think they had a cauldron
big enough to mix that many doses anyway.
Cool
fingers brushed against his as they took the bottle, and he looked up, startled
to find Draco looking at him intently. "I, um, is that enough for
tonight?"
Draco
handed it wordlessly to Snape, who stared at it in disbelief. "This
container holds more unicorn's tears than I have ever seen in one place in my
entire career as a Potions Master, Potter." He set it down carefully,
looking at Harry with something bordering on respect. "It will certainly be
more than enough for tonight."
Harry
let his breath out with a sigh, then took it back in to speak. "I, er... I
think I've done something awful to myself," he said quietly, not looking at
either of them.
"I
would think your hairstyle alone counts as a personal tragedy," said Draco.
"Shut
up, Malfoy. I meant with the potion. I, uh, I threw up just now, and I've been
queasy since I took it."
Snape
was suddenly alert, moving towards Harry. "Have you figured out your
blunder yet?"
"I,
er, I think I put in too many tears," he said, then looked down at his
hands, unsure of why this was so hard. "And the wrong kind of hearts."
He
looked up into eyes narrowed and glittering with curiosity. Snape rolled the
words around in his mouth like he was tasting them as he repeated, "Too
many tears and the wrong kind of hearts, you say? It almost sounds like you were
brewing yourself a love potion."
"Are
you that desperate, Potter?" said Draco, pulling some herbs out of the pile
and beginning to finely chop them. Harry found himself staring at the way his
hands fairly flew, gleaming white skin and the glitter of the knife.
"Yes,
Draco," he said nastily, "I'm so desperate for a shag I'd try and make
myself fall in love with you. If that doesn't work, it's off to Hagrid's hut to
have a go at the hippogriffs next."
That
actually surprised a laugh out of Draco, who went back to chopping up his herbs
in silence. "Well, Mr. Potter, you certainly don't seem smitten with Mr.
Malfoy, and there was no question at all that you only had eyes for him when you
drank the potion. I shall have to do some research and see if I can figure out
what you've done to yourself. What kind of hearts were they?"
Harry
was staring at Draco, watching the way his face had grown lighter, a smile still
lingering on his thin coral lips. "Er, I..." He tried to think, but
all that came to mind was the way Draco had held his gaze as they both drank.
"I can't remember."
Snape
held out his hand imperiously, snagging another small knife off the table.
"I shall have to take a sample of your blood."
Harry
stood very still for a moment, then shrugged. He'd sliced himself six ways to
Sunday only a few hours ago, why should this be any different? He held out his
arm mutely, baring a wrist that didn't even have a scar to show where he'd been
cut. Snape raised one eyebrow and took Harry's hand in surprisingly warm
fingers, led him over to the table. "Malfoy, can you hold a clean flask
under our hero's arm?"
Harry
glowered, because it was expected of him, because he couldn't seem to think of
how else to react. Draco held a wide-mouthed flask under his arm, and Snape's
grip tightened. The cut was shallow but painful, and he held his lips tight as
the wound dripped a thin crimson line into the flask, first a few vivid
splatters, then covering the whole bottom. "Stay like that," ordered
Snape, wandering off.
He
returned, not with any kind of healing potion or ointment, but a simple bandage.
"I don't want to add anything new to your system. I can only hope we didn't
do any further damage earlier." His words were oddly sincere, and the
moment was becoming more and more surreal. He looked away, unable to face Snape
without his usual sneer between them, only to find Draco watching him with that
same odd intensity.
"Dove
hearts," said Harry suddenly. "I think they were dove hearts." He
remembered how they'd felt in his hands, warm and red and slick. He swallowed,
grateful there was nothing left in his stomach.
Snape's
head snapped up from where he was bandaging Harry's wrist with surprising skill.
"Three dove hearts?" Harry nodded. "And seven drops of unicorn's
tears?" Snape and Draco shared a shuttered glance. "And you're
positive your feelings for Mr. Malfoy haven't changed?"
Harry
looked up at Draco and sighed. "Look, I haven't... I mean, he's good for
his house, I can't deny that, and he defied his father in front of the whole
school. I can't just blindly hate him like I used to, but that's been going on
for ages now. And I also don't feel like shagging him senseless, so it mustn't
be the love potion, right?"
Draco
was putting a stopper in the flask of Harry's blood, looking carefully down.
Snape glanced from one boy to the other before explaining, "If you had paid
attention in class, you would know that it is not a lust potion, but instead a
potion that engenders real emotion, true love if you will. It does not shove the
feeling down your throat, but instead opens the door and points the way for you
to see the other person as someone worthy of being loved."
Harry
felt himself going softly numb, and groped for a stool. "You think I'm
actually falling in love with Draco? "
"That's
the first time you've called me by my first name," said Draco softly.
"You're
not upset about this?" snapped Harry, helplessly lashing out.
Draco's
posture stiffened, but it was Snape who answered. "The one oddity to this
particular potion is that, by its very gentle nature, it cannot guarantee the
kind of love it produces: eros, philia, or agape."
"You
mean, I could just end up wanting to be his friend?" Harry looked at Snape
desperately. Snape nodded. "Er, would that be all right with you, Draco?"
Draco
turned back to them, his face so carefully composed in its usual arrogant mask
that Harry could only wonder what hid behind it. "If you're going to start
following me like a puppy, Potter, at least promise I won't have to clean up
little messes."
Harry
snorted. "Don't worry, I'm paper-trained."
Draco's
eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had a momentary thought that this might turn
out all right until Draco replied, "That explains your homework."
Harry
rolled his eyes, and Snape interrupted before he could think up a good retort.
"Regardless, I will still test this, since the love potion, if properly
prepared, still wouldn't account for the vomiting." He picked up the flask
and said, "Draco, I trust you can keep Harry's mind on the task at hand
long enough to mix up a ten-dose batch, as we discussed."
Snape
swooped out of the room before either of them could respond. They looked at one
another warily, then Harry shrugged and said, "I'm game if you are. Just
tell me what to chop, because I'm even more distracted now than I was the last
time I tried to make this."
Draco
smiled slow and dark, and drawled, "Why, Harry, I didn't know the potion
would take effect so soon. I mean, I know I'm fascinating and all that, but to
drive you to distraction with my very presence?"
This
time Harry gave in to his baser instincts and punched Draco in the shoulder.
"With an attitude like that, Draco, it's no wonder I never see you getting
snogged."
"Perhaps
I'm just more discreet than you are observant," he replied testily.
Harry
winked, which seemed to completely throw Draco off his game. "Let's mix
healing potions now and worry about our equally desolate love lives later,
huh?"
"Yes,"
said Draco, pulling his old arrogance around him like a blanket.
"Let's."
They
got down to potion-making, Harry chopping and measuring while Draco mixed, oddly
content to be taking instruction from his old rival. A part of him kept
wondering if this or that thought was potion-induced, and he was dismayed to
find his butterflies had returned, and brought their larger, more active
cousins. He barely noticed the time passing until he found himself counting
thirty still-warm newt hearts out of the special container that kept them
magically 'alive' right until the moment of addition.
"Where
d'you think Snape's been all this time?" asked Harry, passing the slick
pile to Draco in careful handfuls.
Draco
shrugged eloquently and dropped them in one by one. "I think he's probably
using this excuse to discuss... other matters with Dumbledore."
There
was another long silence as Draco cleaned his hands before carefully dripping in
precisely 10 unicorn's tears. They watched the potion go a delicate, clear
periwinkle that Harry was sadly positive his own potion had never been.
"Did you really collect all these yourself?"
Harry
blushed and nodded, handing Draco the small measure of ground cypress, holding a
stirring-stick at the ready.
"D'you
even fancy guys?" Draco asked, face carefully intent on his task.
Harry
started to shake his head, then stopped. He really hadn't had the time or energy
to fancy anyone since Cho Chang in his fifth year, and that had worked out
splendidly enough to discourage any such thoughts since. "Er, you know, I
have no idea."
Draco
gave him a look at odds with the withering glare Harry had expected to receive.
"Well, who was the last person you thought about when you... er, y'know."
He made a lewd hand gesture totally at odds with his usual aristocratic bearing,
and Harry had to suppress a laugh.
"I'm
not sure the potion's quite got me besotted enough yet to be confiding that sort
of thing," said Harry lightly. He was struck by wave of guilt over his
earlier eavesdropping, so before Draco could reply, he added, "But mostly I
don't."
"Don't
what?" asked Draco, wiping the stirring stick. Harry quickly moved to help
him, extinguishing the small magical fire beneath the cauldron and starting to
clean up.
"Don't,
er, y'know," he made the hand gesture halfheartedly. "I don't get a
lot of privacy, so I generally just, er," he blushed, then forced himself
to finish, "wake up sticky."
Draco
laughed, but it had a lot less malice in it than it would have even a year ago.
"I'll just bet the house elves love THAT."
Harry
snickered, then laughed along with him. Dobby had never mentioned anything, but
he'd got the impression that he considered it some kind of really strange
honour. "Well, I'm pretty much stuck with Dobby at this point, and he's...
er..."
"A
total perv," finished Draco for him. "He was weird even when he was
with us," he said conspiratorially. "I think my dad used to do things with him."
"Oh,
eew," said Harry, his mind suddenly assailed by images. "That's going
to make me sick again!"
They
both laughed this time, and he felt it. The unmistakable tug of friendship.
"You know," he said softly, "I don't think this potion thing's so
bad after all."
Draco
looked up from where he'd been replacing bottles on the tray, startled.
"You... er..."
Snape
chose that exact moment to come bustling back into the room, robes billowing
around him like black wings. "I've spoken with Dumbledore about a few
things. He seems to think that a public bond of philia or agape between you two
would help to strengthen the school and the wizarding community in general, and
has encouraged me not to try and cure you."
Harry
was shocked. "There's a cure?"
Snape's
frown grew into a scowl. "There is no known cure, but I might have
tried."
Harry
looked from Draco to Snape, and back again. "And if it turns to eros?"
Draco's
ears grew pink, then a light flush of rose suffused his face, and Harry couldn't
help but answer with a blush of his own. Snape's scowl became positively
menacing. "You will not ever lay a hand on Mr. Malfoy in that manner,
Potter, or I will have that hand for potions ingredients. Am I making myself
very clear?"
Draco
stepped forward and laid a hand on Snape's arm. "I don't need you to
protect me from Harry," he said softly. "He doesn't know the meaning
of non-consensual."
Harry
blanched, but managed to keep his gaze steady. "Are you implying I would
try to force myself on Draco? I thought this was about love."
Both
their heads turned slowly to stare at him, Snape's expression one of utter
disbelief, Draco's much harder to fathom. "Love does strange things to a
person," said Draco, his voice stretched thin over some unnamed emotion.
Harry
flinched. Snape's gaze grew dangerous, almost angry. "Do not disappoint me
in this, Potter."
Harry
looked past Snape to where Draco had gone all still and small beside him.
"It's Draco that we should both try not to disappoint, don't you think,
Professor?"
Draco
blinked, slowly, as though those were the last words he'd expected to hear
tonight. Harry sympathized -- it was certainly the last thing he'd expected to
be saying. Snape's face grew shuttered and cold, but Draco stepped forward and
laid a cool hand on Harry's arm, just above the bandage. The gesture blocked
Snape out of the conversation completely, and made his next words strangely
intimate. "I don't think it's bad at all," he said softly.
It
took Harry a moment to realize what he meant, but the phrase finally clicked and
he laid a hand over Draco's. "Good," he replied, then grabbed his
backpack and stalked out, leaving Snape's cold fury behind him.
Chapter
3
In
Which We See What Happens to Contents Under Pressure
Harry
sat down next to Hermione in the library, and she acknowledged him with a
half-hearted wave. He'd thought about going to Ron, but he knew it would
inevitably turn into another of their halfhearted fights, and he just wasn't in
the mood for it. His friendship with Ron these days was something that added to
that hollow place in his chest instead filling it, and made him feel helpless
and alone. He sighed, and Hermione patted his shoulder absently, nose still
buried in her book.
Hermione
seemed to be coming to the end of something; he could practically see her mind
swimming up out of the book to try and break the surface of the world again. She
snapped the book shut rather authoritatively, jotted a few notes down on the
parchment next to her, and then leaned back in her seat to look at Harry
critically. "All right, what's happened now?"
He
snorted a laugh and said, "I'd protest that I just wanted to see you, but
we both know better by now." Once they'd been close friends, but these days
neither of them really had time for the trappings of simple friendship. There
was a war brewing, and soon there would be fighting in earnest. Hermione's
formidable mind was being put to use by the Order to research anything that
might help them fight Voldemort, and Harry was being groomed by pretty much
everyone to be the visible leader, Dumbledore's right hand.
She
shook her head sadly and said, "We don't have a lot of time for fun
anymore, do we?"
He
smiled wistfully, thinking back to the times when Ron and Hermione had been the
first thing he thought about out of bed, and the last when he went to sleep.
"No, we don't. And now I've gone and done something impressively
stupid."
She
raised one eyebrow at him and said, "Do I even want to know?"
He
sighed. "We made healing potions in class today, the one that's a cure for
any physical ailment?" She nodded, and he went on. "Well, Snape had
written a few notes on the board about the potion, and a few more about how the
potion was only a couple of ingredients away from being..." God, it was
hard to say.
"You
dosed yourself with a love potion." Her voice was flat, almost emotionless.
"And who is it that's now tugging at the heartstrings of the great Harry
Potter?"
Harry
shot her a look, but her face was closed, eyes shuttered. "Snape and
Dumbledore think that because of the nature of the potion I should be able to
keep it at a friends level, but..."
She
rolled her eyes. "You're falling in love with Malfoy, aren't you?"
He
laughed, the sound slightly desperate. "How did you get to be so damned
right all the time?"
"Let's
just say I've seen you in Potions enough to know who you'd be looking at when
you drank the thing." She shook her head, and some of that coldness melted
when she put her hand on his arm. "Oh, Harry, I hope they're right and it's
just friends. Because I've always known that when you fell, you were going to
fall hard."
He
saw something else in her face just then, and he laid a hand over hers.
"I'm sorry it was never you."
She
looked away, cheeks reddening. "I always knew it wouldn't be, but I think
we all sort of hoped that Ginny would eventually get through to you."
Harry
shook his head sadly. "I'm too stubborn to fall for her. Besides, even I'm
not dumb enough to start dating a girl with the entire Weasley clan looking
after her virtue!"
They
shared one last honest laugh, and then he stood. "If you can, find out more
about just what I've done to myself?"
She
nodded, then picked up the next heavy tome from the pile next to her. It was
dusty with neglect, but by now Harry was pretty sure that she'd been given free
access to every nook and cranny of the library, and was making good use of it.
She'd unearthed all kinds of odd spells that had gone out of favour before their
great-grandparents were born, and her efforts were making life easier for
everyone, from house elves to Aurors. She'd even been teaching a night class on
simple spells that could be cast with the will alone, no wands or words.
"Thanks,
Herm." He gave her shoulder a friendly pat, then left the library, heading
finally to the common room and some rest.
***
Draco
caught his arm as he walked towards the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, pulling him
into one of the many odd little nooks and crannies that littered the castle. He
spoke softly, almost apologetic. "Snape wants you to get more tears
tonight, if you can. He's tacking it on to your detention, 'cos you were late,
and making me go along for backup."
Draco
seemed mostly tired and irritable, and Harry felt bad for dragging him into
this. "I can go alone, if..."
Draco
shook his head. "No way, can't go letting the Boy Who Lived get eaten by a
giant bat or something, can we?"
Harry
snorted. "Fine. But I've got to get some things out of my room. Meet me at
the front doors in ten minutes?"
Draco
nodded, and Harry hurried up to the Tower. Ten minutes later, he was bundled up
against the cold and carrying a lantern and two crystal vials. Draco was
lounging by the door, looking very put-upon and glaring at anyone who looked
like they might be considering trying to make small talk. "Took your sweet
time, didn't you, Potter?"
"I'm
sure you were terribly inconvenienced," said Harry snidely. He thrust the
lantern at Draco. "Here, you take this, and keep your wand out." Harry
drew his own wand, and they walked out into the night.
They
made a beeline for the forest, and as they approached the dark shapes of the
trees, Draco said nervously, "Er, how will you get the unicorns to
show?"
Harry
blushed. Last time, he'd ended up singing an odd little charm that called the
unicorns to a clearing, which was where he was headed now. "There's, um, a
spell. I have to do it, on account of... er, unless...?"
"No,
Potter, I'm most definitely not a virgin. I do have a social life, unlike
you." Harry blushed deeper, wondering suddenly just who Draco's social life
had been with, and when. What they'd done.
He
nearly tripped on a root, he was so distracted. "Watch it," sneered
Draco from behind him.
"Hold
the lantern higher," he snapped back, ashamed of his line of thought. He
was pretty sure he knew when Draco had lost his purity, and it hadn't been at
all pleasant, or even voluntary. He disguised his shiver as cold, and walked on
in silence.
"Much
further?" asked Draco after a few minutes of tromping, trying to disguise
the fear in his voice under arrogance. "I haven't got all night."
Harry
ignored him, stepping through the trees to reveal a moonlit clearing, complete
with the rock in the middle that always reminded him a bit of an altar.
"We're here."
"Oh,"
said Draco softly. "Now what?"
Harry
sighed. "Now, I have to do the sodding spell. If you tell anyone, ever,
that you saw me do this, I will hex you so hard they'll have to put you in St.
Mungo's." Draco's eyebrows went up, and Harry trudged reluctantly over to
the rock.
He
got up on top of it, just like the last time, and spread his arms wide. Took a
deep breath of the crisp night air and tried to put Draco out of his mind,
instead to connect to the forest, to throw his sorrows out onto the night air
and draw the unicorns to his pure heart. Or at least get them to show up and
give him potions ingredients. He opened his mouth, and sang softly.
He
didn't know what the words meant, or even what language they were in, but the
song was haunting, and Firenze had made him practice it until it was like a part
of him, automatic and natural. His mind wandered through all the tragedies of
his life, which was the hardest part, far worse than any embarrassment at having
Draco watch him singing on top of a bloody rock in the middle of the night. To
have to relive all the death, to lose them all again, his parents, Cedric,
Sirius. To have to acknowledge that he was still alone, might always be alone.
He
was crying quietly, the song still going on even through his grief as the first
white shape moved in the trees, and he barely remembered to tap the vials with
his wand, activating the charm that would carefully draw their precious tears
into the waiting vessels. He sat down cross-legged on the altar, cradling the
vials in his lap. The unicorns crept up to him, nervous of Draco's
near-forgotten presence at the edge of the clearing, but still there, and still
weeping for his pathetic life. One by one, they nuzzled him, waited patiently as
he stroked their silken manes, whispered his thanks.
When
they'd all left, he carefully capped the vials and wiped his own tears from cold
cheeks. Draco's face was unreadable as Harry walked back over, handing him the
two nearly-full bottles. "I hate doing that," he said softly, trying
to pull back inside himself, pack the pain away in its carefully labelled boxes
and get back to getting the bloody hell on with his life.
"What's
the song about?" asked Draco, carefully pocketing the vials.
"Y'know,
Firenze never told me. It's really just a focus, I think." Harry shoved his
hands in his pockets and started walking towards the school, shivering with more
than cold.
"Focus
for what?" Draco caught up with him, making sure the lantern lit their path
back.
"All
my personal bloody tragedy," spat Harry bitterly. "Every single horrid
moment in my life, and of course the capping horror of being a
seventeen-year-old virgin."
Draco
was silent for long enough that Harry was worried he'd offended him somehow, but
then he said softly, "There are worse things to be than still untouched,
you know."
Harry
went cold with shame for his own self-pity. At least he'd had people that really
loved him, once. He put a hand on Draco's arm carefully and said, "I
know."
***
They
parted with nearly friendly farewells, Draco to return to the dungeons and Snape,
precious ingredients in hand. Harry made his way up to the top of one of the
less-used towers, a place he often went to be alone. They'd talked more as they
walked this time, about trivial things, daily life, and Harry found the slow
ache of longing had pushed out the sharp bite of grief. For that, he could only
be grateful. The last time he'd done the ritual, he'd cried for hours
afterwards, lying awake in his lonely bed.
He
leaned against the parapet, breathing in the crisp night air, and tried to
organize his thoughts. As much as he'd like to think so, he knew that not
everything he was feeling was about spells or potions. He'd been watching Draco
for nearly seven years now, first warily, then with the fire only bitter enmity
can kindle, but eventually it had all burned down so that there were only the
warm coals of familiarity left.
He'd
watched Draco change just as he had changed, growing into something more than
Lucius Malfoy's spoiled brat. He'd become de facto leader of his year group in
Slytherin back in their first year, but instead of just abusing his power for
seven years, Draco took on the mantle of responsibility when the world went and
got serious around him. He did it quietly, and mostly for the benefit of his own
friends and house, but he took care of his own when no one else would. Harry had
spent enough time on the wrong end of people's opinions to know that what people
thought didn't often have anything to do with reality.
His
cheeks flushed as his mind chose that precise moment to remind him of the other
parts of his conversation with Draco, about fancying and, er, taking care of
one's bodily needs. He felt a bit odd that he was seventeen and he couldn't
think of a single person he thought of that way, now that Cho was long gone and
mostly forgotten. There was no use thinking about her, either; he already knew
she mostly made him feel damp, guilty and confused. Although it felt a bit like
tempting fate, he decided to try and see if he could find any spark of desire
he'd been hiding from himself.
First
he rifled through the girls he knew, shuffling them like a deck of cards in his
head. Hermione had never affected him that way, he'd got too close to her too
young. The Patil twins, and Lavender Brown with them, were lovely in their own
way, but like the moon held in a puddle, shallow and elusive. He might have had
some thoughts about Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, but even
before they'd graduated, he was too intimidated by their status as Chasers. As
he flipped through names and faces, they all became a blur and he realized that
there was just no heat.
He
switched his mental pack of cards for the boys, and began rummaging through. He
got a flash of something when he thought of Dean Thomas, but it was buried
beneath years of sleeping in a dorm two beds away from him. He got another flash
when he thought of Remus Lupin, of all people, and a much stronger pulse of it
when he let his mind wander past an image of Oliver Wood. Harry could only
wonder just how he'd managed to live in denial for quite this long, but he
supposed it had to do with the complete unavailability of the objects of his
affections.
He
finally let his mind wander over to Draco -- the tall, arrogant line of his body
when he was tossing out insults, the cold grey of his eyes like silver covered
in hoarfrost. The hair that was always perfectly in place but still looked
touchably soft, strands so pale they almost seemed woven of colourless spider
silk. He felt himself growing hot and heavy in his trousers, a flush crawling up
from his chest to burn at his cheeks. Draco's lips were like a cupid's bow,
perfectly curved and always carrying just that touch of pink. Harry imagined
himself kissing them, and felt a jolt of desire so hot it was almost painful.
Well,
that answered that. The question he couldn't answer was if these feelings had
been there all along, or if the potion had pointed other parts of his body as
well as his heart in Draco's direction. Snape maintained that the potion didn't
automatically turn the drinker to lust, and if he was honest with himself, once
he'd opened himself up to the idea, that path had seemed well-worn. His mind had
supplied him with images of startling clarity, unlike the vague desire he'd felt
for Lupin or Wood.
He
opened that box in his head again, letting the images flow this time. The smooth
column of Draco's neck, pale skin just begging to be decorated with love bites.
The flash of his eyes when he was angry, and the hidden depths Harry had only
glimpsed in unguarded moments. His hands, so long and dexterous, the hands of an
artist or a musician, capable of such fine control, that Harry suddenly longed
to have touching him.
He
let his own hand wander downward, sliding a palm against himself, the touch
making him gasp even through his trousers. He wondered if Draco's kisses would
be tentative or passionate, and let his fingers undo button and zipper. He
practically fell out of the opening, straining against the tent of his boxers,
the damp head cold in the night air. He imagined what Draco might look like,
inches taller than Harry, head thrown back as Harry nibbled at one sharply
defined collarbone.
His
hand seemed to have a will of its own, pushing his boxers down and curling
around his length. He felt hot and heavy, almost unfamiliar, and he got a flash
of Draco's slim fingers performing the same task. He could almost see the smooth
line of Draco's body, jutting hipbones, graceful legs, tiny, pale nipples almost
the colour of his lips. Those lips gone red and swollen with the force of
Harry's kisses, the nipples hard in the cold night air.
Harry
was panting, his breath rasping harshly through a throat closed with
unacknowledged emotion. He wanted to feel the column of Draco's flesh in his
hand, taste it in his mouth, slide it into his body in ways he only could
vaguely imagine. He was stroking faster, faster, leaning forward to rest his
head on the crenellated wall, forehead hot against the cold, rough stone. He
tried to see Draco's face, those eyes gone dark and stormy with need, and his
lips formed Draco's name even as the image in his mind called out his own.
When
he came back to himself, he was shivering with the cold. Fluid like liquid
pearls streaked the stone, glistening in the moonlight. He tucked himself away
and pulled his robe closer, the sweat chilling on his body and making him
ashamed. He'd violated Draco's confidence by listening in, and now he'd violated
his trust by making him the object of his basest desires. He held himself tight,
hoping that he could avoid ever trying to violate Draco's body, and resolved to
suppress the lust, bottle it up and forget this little interlude ever happened.
Chapter
4
In
Which We Learn That Pandora's Box, Once Opened, Rarely Accepts Returns
Harry
trudged down to breakfast, feeling wrung out and exhausted. He'd spent the night
tossing and turning, sweating and dreaming and generally being tormented by
erotic visions of Draco bloody Malfoy. He'd woken up at dawn damp and chilled,
belted his dressing gown tightly over the evidence and gone to the bathrooms to
take care of the problem before anyone else awoke. He'd briefly considered a
cold shower, but gave in to the hot shower and the temporary respite it gave
him.
Hermione
and Ron were in their usual places in the Great Hall, flanking his empty spot.
He must have spent longer in the bathroom than he'd thought if they had woken up
and come down already. A glance at the ceiling showed pale grey clouds chasing
one another across a sky like blue steel, bright but somehow menacing and
leeched of colour. He'd have a few bites of toast and then head out for a walk,
in the vain hopes that a bit of fresh air, even as windy as it seemed to be,
would clear his mind.
He
plopped down between his friends and grabbed for the toast, adding a liberal
glob of marmalade. "Morning!" he said, trying to keep his voice light
and cheerful.
Hermione
gave him a halfhearted wave from where she was buried in a truly enormous folio,
apparently on the use of magical sigils. Ron grinned at him through a mouthful
of porridge, yesterday's argument water under the nearly-flooded bridge of their
long friendship. They ate in companionable silence, Harry once again putting his
worries about Draco on the back burner in favour of his worries about the
Slytherins in general, wracking his brain once again for ways to anchor them,
protect them, shield them from harm.
Three
untasted slices of toast and a glass of something later, he glanced up from his
contemplation to see Draco arriving, flanked by the still-imposing figures of
Crabbe and Goyle. Against all odds, Draco's blond head now rose an inch or two
past theirs, but they each amassed as much as three of him, all of it muscle and
sinew. They were always up for fighting the good fight, and Harry felt a twinge
as he wondered just whose side they'd be fighting on.
Draco
glanced up at him, and he felt himself flush despite the innocent nature of his
current line of thought. Which of course immediately derailed the train to a
different line altogether, causing his cheeks to burn brighter and his skin to
tighten. His breath left him in a rush, and all sorts of things began to stand
on end, starting with the hair on the back of his neck. Draco raised an eyebrow
at him, and Harry grinned feebly, slouching down in his chair.
Draco
smiled back, and although his lips formed the familiar sneer, there was
something open and almost raw hovering behind his eyes like curtains fluttering
behind a half-open window. Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gaze
never leaving Draco's, pushing the feelings out of himself. His heartbeat slowed
marginally and although he didn't soften, he didn't get any harder. He could do
this, he could take Draco's willingness at face value, he could be a friend.
Draco
sat, leaving Harry blinking as though he'd been staring into the sun too long.
He glanced left and right, and wondered blindly if he even knew how to be a real
friend anymore. "I'm gonna go walk," he blurted, practically stumbling
in his sudden haste to leave the hall.
He
got bare murmurs from the distracted duo, and was obscurely grateful for their
distance. Even if he didn't have them to confide in, they also gave him the time
alone he'd craved so often since the deaths began. He realized he'd become more
and more pensive and withdrawn, and it probably wasn't for the best, but what
could he do. No one else seemed to understand how he felt, the burning need to
keep one more student alive, to stop this terrible parade of death.
Responsibility like an obsession more than a burden, one he bore willingly,
something to fill the aching void that loomed a little larger each time someone
died.
The
wind hit him like a slap in the face, making his skin sting and eyes water. He
pulled his robes closer and stepped out into the merciless sunlight, feet
crunching on grass still frosty from the last cold snap of the season. He was
surprised enough by the sound to really look around him, seeing the world
covered in a silvery veil that reminded him forcefully of Draco's eyes. The
frost was beautiful, but it camouflaged what lay beneath.
He
stalked across the slippery grounds, heading for a path his feet knew well, a
circuit that skirted the edge of danger but never quite made its way into the
Forbidden Forest. He meandered past the few optimistic flowers that edged the
path, their petals now rimed with sparkling white, and tried to find some
metaphor in there for the war. In the end, he had to concede that the blossoms'
beautiful death was its own tragedy, not symbolic of anything but the risks of
optimism.
He
shook his head to try and clear it; he'd found he had a poetic streak that only
really came to the fore when he was thinking about the wrong things, or more
accurately avoiding the things he really ought to be contemplating. It was a
sign from his own mind that the war, no matter how looming, was not the real
reason he'd needed a breath of fresh air. Harry stopped, spread his feet out,
and stretched, arms rising from his sides to reach for the sky, back arched,
eyes closed. He stayed like that for long moments, feeling things move and crack
and pull, muscle and bone, tendon and sinew, grounding him in the physical
world.
He
spared a sad thought for Firenze, who had taught him that trick and many others
before going back into exile, but let it go like all the other errant notions, a
speck floating away on the diligent breeze. He took deep breaths, bringing the
cold into himself and sending it back out, warm and moist from his body. Then he
whirled around too fast and ended up sprawling, listening ruefully to the crunch
crunch of Draco's boots as he moved through the frozen grass to offer Harry a
hand up.
Harry
took it wordlessly, storing away the thrill of skin-to-skin contact for a later
time and instead concentrating on the bite of the air in his lungs, and the
flash of sunlight off of everything silver. Even Draco's clothes were edged with
it, bright metal threaded in where some students might only have a soft grey.
Harry spared a moment to wonder how much of his display Draco had seen, then
gave up. He'd seen what he'd seen, just as Harry had heard and couldn't forget.
"You
trying to catch your death, Potter?" Draco sneered, fingers still lingering
at Harry's wrist, eyes flickering over him like they were afraid to rest on any
one part too long.
"Not
today," he said softly. "Some days, maybe, but today I just
needed..."
"A
breath of fresh air?" finished Draco. "Something got you hot under the
collar, Potter?" Draco's fingers stroked over the pulse point, then he
dropped Harry's hand abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets with practiced
nonchalance.
Harry
smiled, then winked, unable to resist testing their newfound truce just a touch.
"Y'know, dreams."
Draco's
eyes went a bit wide at that, and pink chased across his cheeks. "Still
not," he made the hand gesture again, and again it seemed more elegant than
lewd.
Harry
fought the urge to ask, "How do you do that?" and instead simply
shrugged, then grinned mischievously. "You?"
That
surprised a laugh out of Draco. "I am seventeen," he replied, then
added thoughtfully, "And I doubt our house-elf has the same...
predilections... as yours."
Harry
laughed with him this time, assailed once again by images his mind didn't quite
know how to process. "Thinking of girls or boys?" he asked instead,
pushing the thoughts out of his head.
"Only
if you tell me about your dreams," said Draco mysteriously.
Harry
kicked at the grass and said, "I don't really remember, but I did do a bit
of soul-searching last night." He let it hang, wanting to hear Draco ask
again, to know that he wasn't just that desperate to share that he'd tell the
first somewhat-friendly ear. While same-sex romance wasn't totally unheard-of at
Hogwarts, it wasn't exactly the most socially acceptable preference, either.
Draco's
eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he took a half-step forward, arm outstretched.
Then, much to Harry's surprise, he let his hand drop and cocked his head to one
side. His voice sounded strained, as though it was an effort for him not to
commit whatever act he'd been about to do. "So, did you find you fancy
boys, or is it girls after all?"
Harry
took a deep breath, then looked away, losing himself for a moment in the
silver-laced black of the tree branches overhead. "A bit of both, really,
but lots more, er, boys." He knew he was blushing, and didn't bother to
hide it as he turned to look Draco full in the face, adding, "But I promise
not to, y'know, try and take advantage or anything."
Draco's
face was flushed, although it could be the cold as much as the conversation that
brought the high spots of feverish colour to his cheeks. "I guess we've
more in common than I'd thought," he said softly. He looked down, drawing
meaningless patterns in the frost with his toe before adding, "I think
Snape worries too much."
Harry's
breath caught, but he forced himself to say, "I still think you and I both
might need a friend more than any kind of fancying."
Draco's
eyes shot up, and then he smiled crookedly. It was just about the most honest
expression he'd ever seen on Draco's face, at least that wasn't rage or spite.
"Perhaps you're right."
They
stood in silence for a few minutes, breath streaming away in thin white clouds
as the wind picked back up again. "The forest is so lovely like this,"
said Harry thoughtfully. "It's almost hard to remember what's inside."
Draco
shuddered, either from cold or memory, and Harry offered him a hand wordlessly.
He looked from the hand to Harry's face several times before shrugging
eloquently and fitting his own oddly warm hand into Harry's. They stared a few
minutes more, then Draco gave his hand a tug. He stumbled, shoulder hitting the
taller boy in the chest with a soft oomph. Draco slung a friendly arm around
Harry's shoulders, and Harry steadied himself with a hand on Draco's slender
hip.
"We
look like a couple," said Draco lightly. "Y'know, if anyone were to
look out here."
Harry
glanced up at him, then grinned. "Let 'em wonder."
There
was silence again, stretching out long enough that the shadows were slowly drawn
back into the forest until they huddled against the trees. "You don't
mind?" Draco asked, his voice blank.
"I've
learned that the opinions that count aren't the ones made on rumour and
gossip," said Harry, remembering the students' reactions to him in second
year, fourth, fifth. Over and over again, he'd worried about what people
thought, but with Sirius' death he finally realized that it only mattered what
he thought of himself, and that he had friends who cared by his side.
Draco
looked over at him. "And whose opinions do you care about, Harry
Potter?"
Harry
raised an eyebrow at the use of his full name, then tugged gently until Draco
moved in closer, pressing their bodies together from knee to shoulder, or at
least chest in Draco's case. Harry leaned his head against Draco's chest,
smelling the faint scent of soap and skin despite the wind, which seemed now to
be trying to scour them clean.
"Mine,
my friends'. Yours. Snape's, oddly enough, and of course Dumbledore's." He
turned them around until they could see the castle. "Even though I want to
save them all, in the end it doesn't matter if they praise or hate me for it, as
long as they're alive."
More
silence fell, this time weighted with unspoken arguments, and past mistakes.
Harry had a feeling Draco understood better than most that a person's respect
was, in the end, a small price to pay for their life. "You're sure this
isn't just an excuse for you to get a bit of a cuddle?" asked Harry
finally, retreating to humour when the air grew too thick to breathe.
"Naah,"
said Draco, not missing a beat. "You think I'd snog the likes of you? You
wouldn't know a comb if it bit you. I bet you kiss like a dog, all slobber and
enthusiasm."
Harry
grinned, giving Draco a last squeeze before pulling away and walking back
towards the castle. "I wouldn't know, really. I guess you'd have to teach
me," he shot back over his shoulder. His hands were trembling with
something, lust or nerves or just plain cold, but he was concentrating too hard
on appearing nonchalant to even think about why.
After
a few seconds, he heard Draco crunching along behind him. "What, like
tutoring for poofs? I think I'd start with some basic grooming before I got too
frisky."
Harry
laughed, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets. "I doubt even your
primping skills could make my hair behave," he said, grinning like a fool.
Draco caught up, and Harry's steps faltered when he realized that Draco must
have been as isolated as Harry was to be willing to try this hard, this soon. A
glance showed him that the arrogant mask was back in place as they rounded the
corner and headed for the main entrance.
"Is
that a challenge, Potter?" Draco's eyes were glinting evilly.
Harry
shrugged, suddenly assailed by the butterflies that he'd thought might have
finally left the building, or at least his stomach. "And if it was?"
"I'll
bet you I can make even you look presentable, hair and all." Something in
the way he said it made Harry suddenly wonder about trusting old enemies.
"Only
if we get someone to supervise. I'm not having you shave 'Property of Draco
Malfoy' into my head or anything." He stopped at the door, hand resting on
the handle. "Stakes?"
Draco
looked thoughtful. "I could tattoo it to your forehead, instead. It would
make a nice cover-up."
Harry
snorted. "You know, I think I'm going to reconsider. Love, evidently,
doesn't involve blind and foolish trust."
Draco
laughed, and Harry opened the door, putting them back onto familiar ground. The
laughter slid away from Draco like it had never been, his old mannerisms
settling around him like a second skin. "Probably wise, Potter, we wouldn't
want you starting to think of yourself as even more of a catch."
Harry
snorted at that, and Draco raised one aristocratic eyebrow. "Right, a
catch. I'm the Boy Who Couldn't Get a Date, remember?"
Harry
could see the laughter trying to crack the mask, Draco's eyes sparkling with
suppressed mirth, his lips twitching. Harry looked around the hall and saw that
they were the subject of several sidelong glances and a few open stares.
"Besides, I wouldn't want to end up poncing around like you, worried a
stray draft might muss my perfect locks." He winked, then glanced
meaningfully at the crowd.
Draco
seemed to get the hint, and Harry hoped he understood that whatever they had so
far, he wasn't ready yet to share it with the world. "I could always just
hex you a few times, Potter, it certainly couldn't make you look any
worse."
There
was a fierce joy in Draco's eyes now, burning behind the arrogant front, and it
sent a thrill down Harry's spine and blood rushing to his groin. Harry wracked
his brain for another insult, finding an odd sort of enjoyment in their sparring
now that the malice had been, if not entirely removed, at least dampened in
shared understanding. "Worried I'll get all the girls, and you'll be left
with Goyle for the Leaving Ball?"
Someone
off to their left laughed at that one, and Harry scored a mental point for
himself. "You wouldn't know what to do with a date if you had one,"
said Draco, his voice positively icy. Either Harry had scored an unwitting hit,
or he was a better actor than Harry had realized.
A
glance showed Harry that there were now teachers coming to break them up, a
routine tactic by the faculty since they'd managed to hex a couple of innocent
bystanders last year during a fight. "We'll continue this later, Malfoy,"
said Harry, hoping to convey his desire to meet up in private.
"I'd
wait until you were no longer unarmed to finish our battle of wits, but then
we'd be delayed for eternity." Harry's eyes narrowed, a flush suffusing his
face. He hoped that Draco was still kidding, but it had sounded too much like
the Malfoy of old to be sure.
"Break
it up, you two," said McGonagall, advancing on them with her face twisted
in anger. "Five points from each of you, and shut the bloody door."
Harry
winced and pulled it shut with a heavy thunk, cutting off the cold wind that had
been chilling the entryway. He didn't bother to acknowledge either her
punishment or Draco's last insult, instead turning on his heel and stomping off
toward the Owlery. He vaguely heard Draco making a token argument against the
points loss before he was out of hearing range. Once out of sight, he broke into
a loping run, much to the consternation of the paintings, desperate to get
somewhere quiet so he could sit and shake.
Hedwig
swooped down, hooting softly when he curled himself into the corner by the door.
He petted her gently, then dropped his hand and just let himself tremble,
letting out the tension that had been mounting since Draco walked up. Their
newfound friendship seemed so fragile, and a part of him doubted it was based on
anything real, just smoke and mirrors planted in his mind by guilt and magic.
Eventually his tremors ceased, and he sat, limp and exhausted, inhaling the
dusty smell of owls and hay and parchment.
She
hooted at him again, more impatiently this time, and he returned to scratching
her feathers. He fished a scrap of parchment out of pockets full of oddments,
finally giving up and transfiguring a straw into a ballpoint pen. "D-"
he wrote, unwilling to make the note any more incriminating than it had to be.
"Same place, 3 o'clock. Dress warm. -H"
He
gave Hedwig a few owl treats, then tied the small note to her leg and whispered,
"I know you're going to think this is odd, but can you give that to Draco
Malfoy when no one's looking?"
She
hooted again as though she found, by this point, very little odd in Harry's life
anymore. He smiled softly, and gave her another thorough scratch and some more
treats before sending her off. She gave his hair an affectionate tug with her
beak, then launched into the air and disappeared out a window. He'd have to go
down and visit Hagrid soon, to thank him again for such a lasting gift.
He
sighed, checking the sun for the time, then dusted himself off and headed back
down to the Great Hall for one more go at that eating thing. His stomach was
still tight, and his chest felt as though a broken-winged bird was fluttering
madly where his heart should be, but he felt he owed it to someone to at least
attempt to keep himself healthy. He'd need his strength when the day came, and
the battle began in earnest.
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