94Chapter 6: First to Fall
Harry returned to the dormitory and sat, gazing out of the window, watching the inky dark sky slip away into the brightness of the Saturday morning sun.
"Oh, Harry!" Neville exclaimed when he parted the curtain surrounding his bed and discovered him sitting there.
"Morning, Neville. Hannah. Good night was it? I must say, the two of you look quite rested. Must have been that nap you had before your pre-dawn romp." He winked.
Hannah's face turned crimson as she held the bed sheet about herself. Neville blanched slightly.
"I told you to be quiet!" she whispered in annoyed embarrassment.
"Not to worry. You didn't disturb me. I happened to already be awake." Harry smiled. Hannah gave him an exasperated look and scurried into Neville's bathroom. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to take the Mick," Harry said, rising from his chair with a yawn.
"Merlin! Have you been up all night?" Neville asked, going to his wardrobe and opening it.
"Just about. I ran in to Ginny when I got back to the castle."
"Oh?" Neville raised a brow as he turned.
"Nah, mate. Nothing like that. We just talked. Did you know that The Harpies had offered her a trial?" He sat down on his bed and kicked off his shoes.
"Really? That's brilliant!" Neville declared.
"Molly and Arthur have insisted that she complete school first. She's not terribly happy about that."
"Oh," Neville made a face. "Well, she's an impressive player. I'm sure they'll still be interested next spring."
"That's what I told her," said Harry. "Neville, have you—does Ginny appear different to you?" Harry asked.
"Different? Like how?"
"Well, I don't know, exactly. I can't quite put my finger on it. Never mind. It's probably all in my head."
"Trouble in paradise?" Neville asked. He laid out fresh clothes on his bed.
"I don't think so." Harry leaned back across his bed, propping on his elbows. "I mean, Ginny's always been a little insecure about other girls who've shown an interest in me. All of the witches giving me attention now that the war has ended haven't helped at all." He rolled his eyes. "Ah, that's probably all it is." Harry yawned again.
"You look right knackered, mate. Perhaps you should have a lie-in," Neville suggested, turning towards his bath.
"Maybe a little nap will do me good. Think you and Hannah can keep it down in there?" he grinned. Neville pointed his wand menacingly, but his mischievous grin belied his annoyance. He gave Harry a wink and disappeared into the other room.
Harry removed his glasses and placed them on the bedside table before rolling onto the bed and drawing his drapes. He tucked his wand beneath his pillow and his eyes fell closed before he could worry that he wouldn't be able to rest.
As his breathing began to even out, Harry found himself standing in the middle of the Great Hall. The entire space was decorated for the Yule Ball, and he was spinning about the floor, waltzing with Parvati Patil. Suddenly, she was gone, and he was dancing with Ginny. When the music changed again, he saw Ginny dancing with a different wizard, but each time they turned, he was unable to see his face. He only saw that Ginny was smiling rapturously at him in the same manner that she had done on the first occasion that they'd met when she was a little girl. So caught up was he in watching her, that he was wholly unaware of his own dance partner until the music abruptly came to a halt, and they tripped over one another. He was startled by the face that gazed at him when he looked up.
"What—you?"
"Merlin's arse!" Draco grumbled as he swayed to the side like a drunkard.
"You're moving too fast, Mr. Malfoy. You've been in bed for three days. Surely, you don't believe that you'd be able to simply leap up and outrun a unicorn, do you?" Madam Pomfrey caught him and helped him to sit without falling. "Now then, you'll have to take things in stages. First, sit on the side of the bed for a moment. There. Now, open your eyes."
Draco complied with her direction.
"How do you feel? Is the room steady?"
"Yes."
"Are you nauseated?" she asked.
"I'm fine."
"Good. Now then, this time, I want you to slowly rise to your feet. Keep your eyes on me." She held out her hands and he took them.
Over the next few hours, Madam Pomfrey put Draco through a number of exercises designed to test and improve his balance. After what seemed to him an eternity, she returned him to bed to rest until lunch. Draco gratefully settled into his pillows as the matron left him to update his records and order lunch.
"Hello, Draco."
Draco looked up to see Astoria Greengrass hesitantly approaching his bed. She held a small box of chocolate frogs.
"Astoria! Hello." He smiled, smoothing out his pyjamas. "What brings you here?"
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," she replied. "Oh, I brought you some chocolate frogs. I know how much you like them." She smiled, passing him the gift.
"How thoughtful! Thank you. Please, sit."
"So, are you well? There's been quite a bit of talk, but of course, one never knows which version is the truth." She folded her hands in her lap as she sat.
"Naturally. I'm certain Potter is at the center of it all?" he scowled.
"Actually, no. He only said that they'd found you unconscious when the house meeting was over, and that you might have injured your head," Astoria replied.
"Oh." Draco was a bit taken aback by this revelation.
"In fact, rumour has it that he and that Ravenclaw, Terry Boot, engaged in a rather heated debate at the pub last night. Ronald Weasley told him off and then Harry took your side and the publican threw Terry out." Her eyes were bright as she related this bit of gossip.
"I sincerely doubt that Weaselby would actually take my part in an argument. Still, I'm not surprised that Rosemerta would toss out anyone who argued with the Golden Trio. She's much less inclined to allow the sort of antics that Aberforth tends to overlook."
"Oh, no, it wasn't Rosemerta! Apparently, she's sold the Three Broomsticks and moved to Yorkshire. There's a new landlord now. He's even renamed the place."
"Really?"
Astoria nodded. "It's now called the Abraxan & Dragon." Draco
"The—the what?"
"Abraxan & Dragon is the new name. Are you alright, Draco? You look pale. Shall I summon the matron?" Astoria asked, her face pinched with worry.
"Oh, erm, no. Thank you, Astoria. I suppose I am only a bit weary. Madam Pomfrey gave me a number of exercises before you came. I am so yearning to be free of this infirmary."
"You will be alright, won't you?" she asked, taking his hand.
"Of course I will," he replied emphatically. Astoria smiled with relief, giving his hand a squeeze. He nervously returned her smile. "I appreciate you thinking of me, Astoria."
"I hope you don't think me too forward, Draco." She lowered her eyes demurely. "I—well, perhaps when you are better, you might fancy having lunch in Hogsmeade? I hear that the fare at the new pub is quite palatable."
"Oh, erm—well…" Draco was taken aback by the invitation. Astoria was a pretty girl, and well-liked, if she was essentially rather shy. Being younger than Draco, as she was completing her fifth year when the Battle took place, he didn't really know much about the sixteen-year-old. He was better acquainted with her sister, Daphne, who was a part of Pansy's inner circle of friends.
"Oh—I—are you and Pansy officially courting? Only, I do recall her mentioning that you were among her list of suitors." Her face turned pink, and she let go of his hand. Draco hid his embarrassment by running his fingers through his hair. He realized at that moment that he must look a sight, with lank, dull hair and more than three-day's worth of beard.
"No. I'm not courting anyone at the present time. Frankly, I am rather disinclined at the moment to concern myself with such matters. If I'm to get the apothecary released from Ministry control, it is imperative that I complete my education and secure a Master's certificate. To be perfectly honest, I find it difficult to believe anyone would be particularly interested in considering me as a suitor to their daughter."
"I see." Astoria bit her lip.
"Nonetheless, I suppose I don't see the harm in sharing a luncheon. Do you think your father would approve?" he asked. He knew that his mother would expect him to behave in accordance with pureblood tradition. Declining a witch of Astoria's social stature would be considered indecorous.
"Father is a bit preoccupied with negotiating Daphne's betrothal to Seth Flint."
"Really? Not Marcus?"
"Honestly, Draco." She grimaced. "I don't have to tell you that Marcus was just this side of a cretin. I overhead Daphne telling Pansy that he's decided he would prefer to while away his time racing brooms on the continent. He's been seen all over France and Monte Carlo, squandering his birthright on some model from the Czech Republic. Daphne says she's known for her multiple appearances in…" Astoria lowered her voice to a whisper. "Warlocks Only magazine."
"Merlin!" Draco exclaimed.
"Seth, however, has just completed his Healer apprenticeship at Ionad Folláine Hospital in Dublin. He's been offered a position at Gorsemoor Magical Hospital in Lancashire."
"Well, I should say that certainly makes him quite a prospect for a proper pureblood marriage."
"Yes." Astoria nodded.
"Oh, hello, Miss Greengrass," said Madam Pomfrey as she approached Draco's bed levitating a tray with a covered dish.
"Matron." She smiled faintly and stood. "Well, I should go. I hope you recover soon, Draco. Enjoy your lunch."
"Thank you for coming, Astoria." He gave her a genuine smile.
Astoria gave Draco a wave as she exited the Infirmary, unaware that she was being watched.
Harry scratched out yet another several lines of writing on his parchment before crumpling the paper in frustration.
"Good day, Mr. Potter. I hope that isn't my essay which has you so vexed, said Professor Onwachimba, as he approached the table on the outermost edge of the balcony above the Victory Tower common room.
"I'm afraid to say that it is, Professor." Harry frowned with embarrassment. The professor took a seat opposite him.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Well, I—erm—might we perhaps continue this discussion in your office?" Professor Onwachimba gave him a curious look, but stood and led him out of the common room.
Harry thought to himself, when he entered the office above the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, that he'd seen far too many alterations to this office's interior, and he fervently hoped that this would be the last.
The office, as Onwachimba had arranged it, had a certain eclectic appeal to it. Behind the desk, the wall was draped with a large woven fabric, featuring a white ground with a black and gold geometric design upon it. On a pedestal in one corner, stood a small sneakoscope. There were various photos of a handsome couple dressed in traditional African robes, smiling and waving at the camera. All about the room were various indigenous sculptures and handwoven baskets. Harry also spied a grouping of small photos from Hogwarts on a shelf. He recognized the young professor, who reminded him of Fred and George's friend, Lee Jordan, taking part in a dueling match, smiling with friends in Hogsmeade, and shaking hands with Bill Weasley at the end of the chess championship, as Professor Dumbledore presented a trophy.
On another wall was a large world map with myriad flashing stars and dots over certain regions. He stared at it curiously.
"It's an ICW security map. The dots indicate areas of high magical activity. Blue represents magical creatures, green is communities with heavy concentrations of mages. Black and red are areas of concern with dark magic. If the dot is red, that is a risk area. If the area is black, there has been an incident."
"An incident?" Harry's voice was filled with alarm, noting the black dots over Eastern Europe and the area of New England, in the United States.
"Not to worry, my friend. These incidents are all under active investigation, and the areas are closely monitored."
"But—"
Harry, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that crime exists everywhere. Dark magic and its arts had been exploited long before the rise of Riddle and even Gellert Grindelwald. It certainly won't cease simply because they have been defeated. What is important at this point is that the magical governments around the world learn from this terrible incident and prepare themselves to take appropriate actions to prevent such a thing from happening again."
Harry reluctantly nodded.
"So, what was it that you wished to discuss?" the professor sat back in his chair, and Harry tore his gaze from the map, taking a chair in front of the desk.
"Well, I believe I understand the basic concept of an Obscurus, but there's something that has been bothering me—a question that none of the books seem to answer."
"Yes?"
"Well, a couple of questions, actually—erm—first is it possible for a witch or wizard to destroy one's obscurus? I mean—well—say a witch or wizard is living in an abusive environment—and…maybe there have been some incidents of uncontrolled magic when one is angry, but—"
"No one dies," said the professor.
"No, no one dies, but perhaps they suffer some other form of magical malady or injury?"
"It has happened, but these cases are often difficult to distinguish from accidental magic, so unless the Obscurial manifests itself at some point after other incidents of the sort you described, one simply cannot be certain."
"I see. I suppose that makes sense." Harry pursed his lips in frustration.
"But you have more questions?"
"Well, I suppose—I'm not certain that it's relevant now—erm—well, not all cases of Obscurials developed from witches and wizards with muggle parents, right?"
"As far as I am aware, all recorded cases of Obscurials have been muggleborn. Are you saying that you have uncovered evidence to the contrary in your research?"
"Not exactly in my research, no. I—well, sir, during the war, I learned about Professor Dumbledore's sister—"
"The headmaster had a sister?" Professor Onwachimba pulled an expression of genuine surprise.
"I take it that you haven't read his biography."
"I make it a point not to read anything penned by Rita Skeeter," the professor replied. Harry grinned in response.
"Trust me; you haven't missed a thing. Anyway, it was widely believed that Professor Dumbledore's sister was a squib, and that is why the family hid her away. However, Aberforth Dumbledore described an incident in which Ariana Dumbledore was attacked by a group of muggle boys. Aberforth said that the episode left her irreparably traumatized. Looking back, his description of how she changed and what ultimately happened to their mother, sounds as if she may have become an Obscurial."
"I see."
"Well, I was curious as to whether one could overcome such an affliction. Can an Obscurus ever be destroyed without the Obscurial actually dying?" Harry asked.
"I don't know if there is any documentation of such. What makes you ask?"
"Only, there was something that happened when I was about thirteen—I mean, I frequently caused things to happen before I turned eleven, and my aunt and uncle ensured that I paid dearly each time—at any rate, when I was thirteen, I blew up my uncle's sister."
"Blew up?" Professor Onwachimba looked at Harry with astonishment.
"Rather, I inflated her like a balloon. Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had to come out and restore her."
"Ah. Well, may I ask what led to this—accident?"
"She was a vile, hateful woman. Every visit, she allowed her dog to attack me. She often would hit me with her walking stick, and she encouraged my aunt and uncle to abuse me. On her visit that particular time, she insulted my parents, calling my father a drunk and a wastrel, and my mother a bad egg for running off with him—all blatant lies that my aunt didn't even bother to refute.
"I just became physically angry, and the next thing I knew, she was expanding like one of those giant inflatables in that American parade every November."
"Were there ever any other incidents like that?" the professor asked.
"Well, I trapped Dudley—my cousin—in the python exhibit at the zoo when I was ten, after he knocked me over—but to be fair, I did release the snake before I replaced the glass." Harry grinned. Professor Onwachimba let out a hearty laugh.
"An Obscurus, Harry, is developed under very specific conditions. For example, an internalized hatred of one's own magic and a conscious attempt to suppress it. There may have been some trauma associated with the use of magic, such as what you described with Professor Dumbledore's sister. In your case, it appears that your family seemed to be somewhat afraid of magic. They denied that you were a wizard before you received your Hogwarts letter, yes?" Harry nodded. "Right. I believe that your aunt and uncle believed that if they treated you badly enough, your abilities might disappear. However, they never taught you to be ashamed of your magic, or that it was wrong, and you never made any attempt to suppress your true nature on your own."
"I never would have thought that to be an option, to be perfectly honest, Professor."
"No, I wouldn't think that it would occur to you. It would be interesting to study such a case, but Obscurials are highly dangerous, and even Dr. Scamander was unable to successfully study the Obscurus that he'd managed to preserve." He shrugged helplessly. "It's likely that the Ministry would attempt to obtain and imprison any living Obscurial over the age of ten. That would, quite honestly, be a tragedy."
"I'm sure," said Harry, thoughtfully.
"Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"
"No. Thank you professor, you've been most helpful. I hope I did not take too much of your time."
"Of course not, my friend. It is after all what I am here for. My grandfather always said that a farmer does not conclude by the mere look of it that a corn is unripe; he tears it open for examination. Now then, the day is bright and beautiful, let not this conundrum deprive you of the opportunity to indulge in it." Professor Onwachimba gave Harry a friendly smile.
Harry felt a bit more settled as he departed, making his way towards the castle's main entrance. As he approached the first floor, he heard a commotion and hurried down to investigate. Ron, Dean and Seamus were leading a small band of students towards the Hospital Wing, and it appeared that they were levitating someone ahead of them. By the time Harry reached the entrance of the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey had rushed forward to receive the injured party.
"What's going on?" Harry asked.
"It's Terry Boot," said Seamus. "He's been attacked."
"What? How?"
Seamus shrugged. "Dean and I found him near the road to Hogsmeade Station."
"What were you doing down there?" Harry looked at him curiously. Seamus gave him an exasperated look.
"Alright then, everyone out!" Madam Pomfrey ordered. "Mr. Weasley, you and Messrs. Thomas and Finnegan are to report to the headmistress' office immediately." With that, she flicked her wand, drawing a curtain around the Ravenclaw's bed.
As the crowd moved out of the infirmary, Harry quietly slipped past the enshrouded area to the next occupied bed, where Draco was perched on the edge, listening in with interest.
"Did you see his face?" he asked softly.
"No." Harry noted the consternation in Draco's expression. "Are you okay?"
"Why do you keep asking me that?" Draco frowned. Harry gave him a pointed look. Draco ignored him and looked over Harry's shoulder as if his gaze could penetrate the stark white curtain that separated them from the next bed. "There were scars all over. So strange!"
"Really? I wonder if—"
"Shh!" Draco hissed snappishly.
Harry looked at him sharply just as he heard clipped footsteps approaching. He leaned close to the curtain to listen.
"Poppy!" they heard Professor McGonagall's voice on the other side of the curtain.
"Minerva!"
"Will he be okay?" the headmistress asked.
"I don't know. I've already alerted St. Mungo's. He'll have to be transferred. His injuries are quite severe. I'm afraid there may be internal organ damage as well."
"His face, Poppy! I've not seen spell damage such as this!"
They heard another set of footsteps approaching and the sound of the curtain being pulled back.
"I came as soon as I heard, Matron." Harry's eyes widened as he recognized the sound of Professor Onwachimba's voice.
"Thank you, Emeka. The headmistress was just commenting on the injuries to Mr. Boot's face."
"I don't know of a spell or curse which causes such damage. The injuries do not seem to be consistent with a werewolf attack either. Should I summon Hagrid?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"It is because they are not caused by spell damage, and Professor Hagrid will not likely be familiar with them because they are not caused by any common beast of the area. I am frankly surprised that the young man has survived."
"Why is that?"
"The only entity with which I am familiar, which leaves such scarring is an Obscurus."
Harry gasped audibly, and the staff members immediately stopped talking. Harry leapt away from the curtain a second before it opened, and perched beside Draco on the bed. The professor, headmistress and matron stared with grim expressions.
"Gentlemen," Professor McGonagall said in a curt tone.
They heard a gong, and Madam Pomfrey looked up.
"That will be the Mediwizards." She bustled off towards her office.
"Thank you for your input, Professor. I imagine we shall confer later, once we have heard from the healers at St. Mungo's." Professor McGonagall nodded to Professor Onwachimba.
"Of course, Headmistress. I think I shall go into Hogsmeade and have a look 'round for myself," he said. "Quietly, of course." He gave her a short bow and left the infirmary.
Professor McGonagall turned her attention back to Harry and Draco, giving them an inquisitive look, her brow cocked. Harry stared at her, nonplussed, before following her gaze. He looked down and realized that his hand was clasped in Draco's. He looked up at Draco, who blushed and released his grip. Harry shifted slightly away from him and fidgeted a moment before finally crossing his arms awkwardly.
"I am pleased to see that you are recovering well, Mr. Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey seems to think that you will be ready to return to your dormitory posthaste."
"Yes, Professor. I am most anxious to get caught up with my studies."
"Well, I am certain that your tutors will accommodate you. I trust that what you two have heard will go no further than this room."
"Yes, Headmistress," Harry and Draco replied in unison.
"Very well, then I shall, ah…leave you to your visit. Good day, gentlemen." She turned on her heel and strode from the room, leaving them alone.
"Visit," Draco said derisively. "Is that what this is?"
"Actually, I was on my way out onto the grounds when I saw all of the activity."
"Curiosity has been known to kill the cat, you know."
"Well, it certainly gets them petrified. Of that I do know," Harry replied tersely.
"What is this all about, Potter?"
"I don't know, Draco." Draco looked at Harry, cocking his head. "What?"
"You called me 'Draco.'"
"So what? That's your name, isn't it?" Harry shrugged.
"In seven years, you've never used my given name," Draco said, softly.
Harry stared at Draco in confusion and surprise. Was he blushing? He narrowed his eyes, and the Slytherin looked away, biting his lip. Suddenly, Harry felt oddly uncomfortable, as if something had passed between them that he wasn't expecting. He waited for Draco to say more, but he was silent.
"Well, there's a first time for everything, Malfoy." Harry stood to go, pausing at the curtain that shrouded Terry's bed for just a moment before continuing on without looking back. Draco sat still, his eyes cast down as he lightly massaged the hand that had just held Harry's.
Harry wandered aimlessly through the castle, his mind turning over the events that had just taken place. Was there an Obscurial in Hogsmeade, or at Hogwarts? Could the odd incidents that took place on the train platform, and in the pub have been the work of such an entity? What could Terry have done to anger him or her, and who had been the target at the station? He shook his head, dismissing his curiosity as fruitless. It could be practically anyone, from a student to a local witch or wizard. It was then that Harry realized Hogsmeade was more than just a high street; it was a village filled with families as well—families with children about whom they knew nothing.
He found himself on the rebuilt covered bridge and leaned against the railing, looking out into the deep gorge below. There were still timbers lodged among some of the rocks, singed from the explosion that Seamus had rigged to bring down the bridge in an attempt to keep the Death Eaters from accessing the castle. His attempt to banish thoughts of Terry Boot, brought him back around to Draco. He tried to recall when he had taken his hand. It didn't seem natural for him to have grabbed the Slytherin's hand when he sat. In fact, Harry wondered what had compelled him to even choose to sit down beside Draco in the first place. He was already caught. It would have made just as much sense, to simply stand aside.
What truly vexed Harry was Draco's response to it all. He'd have thought that the other wizard would have been mortified to find himself holding hands with Harry and make some obnoxious remark about Harry needing a nanny or some such. It was clear that he was embarrassed—his cheeks had revealed as much—but there was something else there that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. When Draco commented on the fact that Harry had used his given name, there was something in his gaze that Harry realized he had seen before—an odd sort of confusion and reluctance to speak up—much the same as when he, Hermione and Ron were brought to Malfoy Manor by the snatchers. Draco had worn a similar expression during his trial when Harry testified on their behalf.
Harry heard laughter and looked back towards the castle. He saw two students passing through the massive doors at the base of the clock tower. The pair dodged one another around the fountain, pointing their wands at one another and firing off harmless jinxes, before they headed back inside. As they entered the castle, the witch lowered the hood of her cloak and Harry caught a glimpse of red hair.
"Ginny?" he called out, jogging to the castle entrance, but when he got there, she was nowhere in sight.