94Chapter 8: Hiding Out
Once again, Harry found himself sleeping fitfully, his mind replaying the scene on the battlement. His lips tingled beneath the pressure of Draco's kiss, and he parted them in response. Even as he gripped the Slytherin's shoulders, he felt the urge to pull him closer, to tangle his fingers in the pale tresses that brushed his shoulders. He could feel Draco's growing want below the waist, and it sent a shiver up his spine.
Harry awakened, touching a hand to his tingling lips, when he heard a beautiful and soul-stirring song, punctuated by an exclamation from his roommate.
"Bloody Gryffindor! Is that—?"
"Fawkes. Yeah." Harry drew back his curtains to find Neville gawking at the phoenix perched atop the back of Harry's desk chair.
"But I thought he'd disappeared!" Neville approached the magnificent bird cautiously. Fawkes spread his wings and he faltered.
"So did I." Harry stroked the phoenix's back and it began to quietly sing again, eliciting broad smiles from both wizards.
"Does this mean he belongs to you now?" Neville asked. Harry shrugged.
"I suppose. He came to me last night when—" Harry suddenly remembered the startling events on the top of the tower. " On—on the parapet."
"Brilliant!" Neville exclaimed. "Well, I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that he would return to you, considering what you and Dumbledore meant to one another." Harry looked at him curiously. "I mean, the connection that the two of you had. He trusted you with everything, yeah?" Neville summoned his kit and made his way to the bathroom.
"Well, if you say so," Harry shrugged. He knew that Neville meant no harm, but of course no one really knew just how much the old wizard had kept from Harry until the final moments of his life, when all was revealed in Snape's memories. Harry was surprised that those revelations still annoyed him. Fawkes continued to sing as Harry too, gathered his things and went merrily to his own shower.
Draco cast another revealing spell before entering his quarters and hurriedly donning fresh robes. He'd slept on one of the sofas in the common room. He drank his potions, and once again added an Invigoration Draught to steady himself before checking his appearance and gathering his books. As he made his way to the Great Hall, he nervously checked over his shoulder, jumping slightly every time he heard voices behind him. When he wasn't anxiously checking his six, Draco's mind drifted back to the incident on the balcony, the lingering rush of the kiss, and the feel of Harry's body beneath his. He'd been rash and foolish, but he was surprised that the Gryffindor hadn't hexed him in response. In fact, Draco was wondering whether he'd imagined the nudging against his own visceral response, or if it had really happened.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy? Do you have a moment?"
Startled out of his musings, Draco tensed, pausing in his trek across the Entrance Hall, and turned to the gentleman striding towards him.
"Erm, Professor…"
"Onwachimba. Defense Against the Dark Arts." He smiled genially.
"Oh, yes, of course. Please forgive me."
"It is of no consequence. I realize that you weren't quite yourself when you arrived."
"No. No, I wasn't. What may I do for you, sir?"
"Actually, I was rather thinking that I may be of some assistance to you."
"Oh?"
"Well, as I understand it, you've suffered an injury which may have had some effect on your mental acuity."
"Yes. I believe that I will soon be back to myself and I do hope that it will not adversely affect my academics."
"That is quite an optimistic approach, and it is why I am hoping you will accept this opportunity that I'd like to offer. I was in the Headmistress' office with your other tutors, discussing accommodation to help you stay abreast of your assignments without causing you too much stress, when Professor Snape indicated that you are a rather prodigious chess player."
"I do enjoy the game, yes."
"Well, muggle research studies have suggested—" he began. Draco gave a snort.
"If you will hear me out, Malfoy, I think you will change your mind. As I was saying, muggle medical studies have suggested that engaging in activities which require strategizing and higher-order thinking, such as chess, have aided in greater rehabilitation results for persons who have suffered brain injury," said Onwachimba. Draco raised a skeptical brow, but allowed the professor to continue. "Well, I am assisting Professor Flitwick in organizing the competition and selection of champions to represent Hogwarts in this year's International Magical Schools Wizard's Chess Championship. Slytherin qualifiers are in a few weeks. Based on Professor Snape's assessment, you are a likely contender for house champion."
"I see."
"If you are interested, I've time this evening to arrange a matchup."
"Well," Draco thought about it. Mother would be proud if he were to represent the school in such a prestigious competition. It would also bring honor to the family name in a most positive way. "When is the tournament?" he asked.
"It will take place over the Easter break. You'll have plenty of time to prepare."
Draco scrunched his face. "And you say this was Professor Snape's suggestion?" His tone was still skeptical.
"His portrait had quite a lot to say about your skill, and he seemed most concerned about your well-being." The professor's tone was earnest. Draco pursed his lips. He couldn't think of a reasonable excuse not to give the idea a try.
"Fine then. What time?" he asked.
"Shall we say immediately following dinner? My classroom."
"I will see you then."
"Excellent!" Professor Onwachimba smiled, and offered his hand. Draco shook it and continued into the Great Hall.
The memory of the previous night came back to Harry as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast, and he scanned the Slytherin table for Draco. He was unsurprised, but mildly disappointed to see that the other wizard was not present. He heaved a sigh and continued to the Gryffindor table. As he ate, he absently listened to his friends' conversations, nodding or murmuring at appropriate intervals, while he surreptitiously watched the door.
"Harry?" Ginny nudged him. He looked at her blankly. "Are you even listening at all?"
"Yeah, of course I am," he replied.
"Really? So you agree that McGonagall's new glasses make her look younger?" she asked.
"What?" Harry stared at Ginny, and looked up at the head table.
"That's not what we were talking about at all, Harry!" she gave him an exasperated look.
"Oh, sorry." He shrugged sheepishly.
"Professor Onwachimba is wearing muggle clothing. Look." She pointed to the entrance, where the professor had just stepped into the hall. He wore a brightly colored short-sleeved tunic with blue jeans and desert boots, and carried an ornately carved walking stick in his hand, the top of which featured a figure of a Nundu. A beaded necklace swung from his neck as he strode to the head table, nodding genially to his colleagues.
"Hm." Harry nodded. "It's quite interesting." His attention was immediately diverted by the presence of Draco, who had followed the professor into the Hall. Harry watched as he paused a moment before making his way to the Slytherin table and took a seat at the end nearest the door. Harry knitted his brow. Generally, only First Years sat at the far ends of the tables. Upperclassmen usually gathered near the center of the group where they were less likely to be noticed by professors. Of course, most Ravenclaw upperclassmen were the opposite, stationing themselves such that they might accost their instructors as they entered or exited the Hall, or where they might catch the eye of a particular teacher seated at the staff table.
He watched Draco assemble a sensible plate of food, eating only a small portion, and pour himself a cup of tea. As he sipped, he scanned the room as if looking for someone and their eyes met. Harry gave him a measured look, and Draco's cheeks colored. He choked on his tea and hastily set his cup down, splashing his hand in the process. He snatched up a napkin to clean himself up and got to his feet, hurriedly exiting. Harry made to stand, but was thwarted by a firm hand on his arm.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Ron asked, his teeth clenched and voice tight.
"I—well—" Harry couldn't think of a decent lie and had no intention of telling the truth.
"I can't believe it! You're doing it again!"
"What?" Harry looked at him indignantly.
"Harry, he hasn't even done anything!" Hermione exclaimed. "For Merlin's sake! He's been in the Infirmary for nearly a week!"
"I know that Hermione—"
"What's going on?" asked Neville.
"Harry's stalking Malfoy again!" said Ron.
"I am not stalking Malfoy!" he protested, hotly. "And what do you mean again?"
"Only the last seven years," said Dean. Harry scoffed resentfully.
"Ye were stalkin' him, mate—always watchin' him across the Great Hall," said Seamus.
"In Potions," added Neville.
"In the courtyards, the Quidditch pitch, the castle grounds…" Hermione put in.
"Honestly, if I didn't know ye better, I'd think ye had a crush on 'im," said Seamus.
"Me—a crush on Draco? Bollocks! He made my life a living hell!"
"And yet, it was your testimony which got him acquitted," said Dean.
"That was different. He didn't deserve to go to Azakaban," Harry argued.
"Is that so? Hm. I dunno about you lot, but it did not escape my notice that our Harry just referred to him as Draco." Seamus raised a brow, nudging Deans' shoulder with his own.
"I did notice that!" His friends looked at Harry with expectant gazes. Dean and Seamus giggled.
"Oh, sod off!" Harry scowled, rolling his eyes. He reached for his coffee cup.
"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione. "Dean and Seamus might be taking the Mickey, but it's a bit disturbing. It doesn't look as if Malfoy is up to anything, except trying to get his own life back. We all are. Perhaps that's what we should focus on."
The mail arrived with a flurry of owls, and a literal parliament of owls swooped in, showering Harry with letters and packages. The scene reminded him of the spring before his first year, when his uncle Vernon had attempted to prevent him from receiving his admission letter. In no time, the table was littered to the point of spilling over with mail, inundating those around him as well. Students at the other tables, as well as staff looked on in amazement.
"Bloody hell!" Ron declared. Harry closed his eyes and pinched his brow.
"This is ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed. "Hey, some of these letters are for the two of you," he pointed out, grabbing a stack with Ron's name with one hand, and pushing several others in Hermione's direction. "What am I supposed to do with all of this?"
"Here." Hermione conjured a large sack and cast an undetectable extension charm on it. She pointed her wand again and the letters began to zoom into the bag.
"Ah! You're a lifesaver, Hermione." He gave her a grateful smile.
"Yes, I know," she replied.
"You're back!" Myrtle perched on the edge of the sink in the Second Floor Girls' Lavatory. Draco stood, gripping the next sink as he fought to control his breathing. "And what are we so upset about today, hm?" She crossed her legs and looked over the rim of her glasses as if she were a therapist with a nervous patient.
"I never should have come back!" he panted.
"You're going to pass out, Draco." She chided. "I should know; it used to happen to me loads of times when I'd get upset about being teased. Take a few deep breaths. In through the nose, and out through the mouth." Draco complied. "There. That's better isn't it? Now then, tell me—is it him?" Draco didn't speak, but slumped to the floor and buried his face in his hands. "What happened?" She drifted down beside him, her translucent arm brushing through his and sending a shiver down his spine.
"I kissed him!" he blurted. Myrtle gasped.
"No!"
"I must be mad! I don't know what I was thinking, Myrtle! He hates me! Everyone hates me! Why would I ever think that he would be attracted to me!"
"I don't hate you, Draco," she said.
"Fabulous! My only friend is a bloody ghost!" he muttered.
"And that's such a bad thing? I see you had no qualms about returning to my bathroom for consolation!" she replied, indignantly, floating away from him with a pout.
"Wait! I'm sorry, Myrtle. Please don't leave. You're right. You've probably been the best friend I've ever had, even if you are dead." He shrugged. Myrtle returned to her perch on the sink.
"So, what are you going to do about this unrequited love? The cat's out of the bag now."
"I don't know. He did keep coming to visit me in the Infirmary, even after I was ugly to him. If there was any chance of him changing his mind about me before, I've probably permanently turned him against me now."
"How do you know?"
"You're beginning to sound like Dumbledore," Draco replied.
"And instead of heading to class, you're hiding in the girls' lavatory like Moaning Myrtle! Just who is this wizard who's got you all inside out like this?" she waggled her brow. Draco gave her a baleful look. She crossed her arms challengingly. The clock chimed the hour. "Well?"
"Fine," he huffed, getting to his feet. "Thanks, Myrtle."
"You know where to find me!" She flew up to the ceiling and dove into the toilet with a splash. Draco leapt back before his shoes could be spoiled, and rolled his eyes as he exited.
Draco was relieved to find that the door was still open as he approached, and he hastened to enter the classroom as the door began to close. Professor McGonagall said nothing as the door clicked shut behind him, only nodding as she rose from her desk. He scanned the room for an empty seat. There were only two—Blaise arched a brow as he looked over his shoulder, and Harry appeared too preoccupied with searching for something in his satchel to notice anything else going on around him. Draco stood indecisively for a moment, weighing his options.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Professor McGonagall. Harry raised his head and turned around, as did several other students.
"Erm, no, Professor." He strode purposefully to the empty seat beside Blaise, who grinned smugly. He sat down heavily and retrieved his text, parchment and quill from his bag.
"While Professor Doncaster has taken over the bulk of instruction for Transfiguration, due to the disruption in your education over the last year, I realize that many of you are at varying levels of proficiency in your N.E.W.T. study. I shall therefore continue as your professor of Advanced Transfiguration for this school term." Professor McGonagall flicked her wand at the board and began a review lecture.
"Missed you last night," he whispered.
Draco ignored him, dipping his quill, and began to copy the professor's notes from the board.
"…and we shall proceed to wandless conjuration and move on to human transfiguration…"
"Pansy was most disappointed," Blaise continued.
"…frog-rabbit hybrids, which can be explained by the Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance…
Capitis Dolorem!
"Ah!" Draco gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as a sudden pain gripped him. He clutched the edge of his desk. Blaise gave him a look. Harry whipped his head around to stare at him, fighting the urge to touch his burning brow.
"Mr. Malfoy?" Professor McGonagall looked at him with concern.
Finite Incantatem
"I'm—I'm fine, Professor," he panted as the searing pain abated. The headmistress stared at him a moment longer before continuing her lecture. Every so often, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
Harry was grateful that his friends were seated in front of him, for each time Professor McGonagall looked at Draco, he couldn't help glancing over his shoulder as well. He was relieved when the class period finally ended, and he gathered his things as quickly as possible, hurrying out before anyone could catch up to him. Harry ducked behind a suit of armor and pulled out the Marauder's Map, searching for Draco's dot. He found him entering Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom and set off.
Harry quietly pushed open the door and eased inside. Suddenly, he was met with a scene eerily reminiscent of one he'd witnessed just over a year before. Once again Draco stood with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, head bowed. Moaning Myrtle softly consoled him.
"You have to tell someone. You need help, Draco."
"No one can help me!" Draco declared, tears streaming down his face. Suddenly, Myrtle gasped. He looked up into the mirror and saw Harry standing behind him. Their eyes met in the mirror and his face paled, remembering the tragic duel they'd had in the boys' lavatory a year earlier.
"Harry!" Myrtle exclaimed, moving between the two wizards, as if to shield Draco. Harry spread his hands, indicating that he held no wand.
"I'm not here to fight, Myrtle. I promise. I just need to talk to Draco." He turned to Draco. "Please."
Draco swiped his face with the back of his hand and glanced at Myrtle. Although he had come to trust her, he knew the ghost had a propensity for spilling secrets when it was to her advantage. Harry looked from him to her and the same thoughts went through his mind.
"N-not here." He swept out of the room without another word.
Harry rushed out into the corridor, to find it empty. He hurriedly made his way to the seventh floor corridor, desperately hoping that Draco would be there. The stretch of corridor outside of the hidden room was also empty. Harry paced in front of the wall across from the tapestry of the dancing trolls.
"I need to be in the room where Draco is hiding," he thought to himself. On his third pass, a door appeared, and he pushed it open.
Draco was curled up in a deep chair, his knees drawn up to his chest. A second chair appeared as Harry approached and he sat down across from him.
"Well?" he said after several minutes of silence had gone by.
"I don't know," Draco replied.
"Yes, you do, Draco."
"No, I don't!" Draco leapt to his feet. "I don't know why I did it! Just forget about it, Potter!" He began to pace, rubbing his temples as he walked back and forth.
"You kissed me! How do I forget that? I'm trying to understand, Draco!"
"I told you to stop calling me Draco!" He spun around, fists clenched.
"Why? Why do you care what I call you?" Harry leapt to his feet. "Why did you try to kill yourself? Why won't you say what happened on the train? What are you afraid of?" Harry demanded.
"Because you never call me Draco! It's not right! Because it changes everything!" Draco yelled.
"What are you talking about?" Harry let out a huff of exasperation. He lowered his voice. "How does my calling you by your given name change things?"
"Because—because it means you see me! You—you care." Draco slumped back into his chair. Harry fell into his own, staring dumbfounded at the wizard in front of him.
"I don't—Y-you mean—"
"It's all I ever wanted. Didn't you know? Hoping with everything that I had that you would actually notice Draco, not just sodding Malfoy! All of the mocking, the provocation—it was just to get your attention—to get you to see me!" He pulled open his shirt. The silvery white scars that marred his torso seemed almost to shimmer against his pale flesh. Harry looked away.
"Look at them." Draco said in a voice that was insistent, but soft. "You didn't do this. I did. I made you do this. I deserved this. I deserved to die that night. I wanted to die—I wanted to be free of my past, my father, the Dark Lord…and I would've happily stepped through the veil…" He blinked several times to rid himself of the water in his eyes. "…because finally one of my wishes would have come true…finally, you touched me." Draco went on as Harry continued to stare at him in stunned silence.
"I wanted to tell you! I wanted to tell you so many times, Harry! I was mad with jealousy when you chose Weasley over me. And then you were so convinced that I was no good—and I wasn't! I was supposed to be better than everyone else; that's what Father always taught me, but I wasn't. I could never be greater than you were! You were the heir of Slytherin! You were the Tri-Wizard Champion! Hell, even that bloody giant chicken liked you better than me." He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Then the goddamned war became all too real, and any possibility of you seeing my true feelings died on that motherfucking bathroom floor!" Draco sat up in his chair.
"Everything changed that night, Harry. Everything! I was trapped! I thought we were finished! Then they brought you to the manor, and—Auntie Bella—Father—I lied for you, Harry! I gave you my wand! You think I couldn't have stopped you from taking it if I wanted to? I just let go." He let out a sigh and stared down at his hands. "You have no idea how my soul shattered when Hagrid laid your body before us and the Dark Lord declared you dead." Draco raked his hands through his hair and got to his feet again, turning away from Harry. "What does it matter anyway? You're not bent, and the entire wizarding world is waiting with bated breath for you to propose to the Weas—to Weasley's sister," he muttered.
"I—I don't know what to say," Harry stammered. He too, rose to his feet and began to pace. "I—I—I need some time to—to process all of this."
"Of course you do! I knew I never should have told you!" Draco snatched up his bag and started for the door. "Just forget we had this discussion, Potter! We'll be late for potions—"
"No. Draco, wait!" Harry grabbed his arm. "I just meant that—well, I need a little time, that's all. Meet me here after dinner."
"I can't. I have a meeting with Professor Onwachimba."
"Okay, well…I'll wait. Come to the common room when you're finished. I'll see you there."
"Not the common room. People will wonder what we're doing together," said Draco. "The Quidditch pitch. No one will be suspicious if they see one of us headed out there."
"You're right. I'll wait for you there." The clock chimed the hour and they looked up. "Potions."
"Potions!" Draco's eyes grew large. He couldn't be late for this class. Everything depended on the outcome of his Potions N.E.W.T. more than any other. He bolted out of the room as quickly as he could without losing his balance. Harry pulled on his invisibility cloak and hurried after him.
Draco was only a few steps ahead of him when he reached the dungeons, ducking into an alcove to remove his cloak without being seen. They reached the door at the same moment.
"What's your hurry, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Is Potages offering you a stipend to test the durability of their new stock? What's your average for destroying a cauldron these days—three—four labs?" He smirked, Harry was taken aback momentarily, before realizing that Draco's expression did not meet his eyes. It was a ruse for the benefit of their classmates, who made no secret of watching with interest.
"Piss off, Malfoy!" He rolled his eyes and brushed past him into the room.
"Ah! Harry, my boy!" Professor Slughorn gushed, pumping Harry's hand with enthusiasm. "And yes, yes, Mr. Malfoy, good to see you. Good to see you. Well, ah…" the potions master anxiously tugged the lapels of his robes. "I'm afraid there's only one work station remaining. Ah…you'll have to work together."
Professor Slughorn indicated the table at the front of the room. Harry looked from the professor to Draco, who appeared to be focused on a point over his shoulder. He looked back to see Blaise Zabini engaged in a heated whispered argument with Hester Burke, another girl from Slytherin. He looked back at Draco.
"I've no problems sharing with Draco, Professor. It's entirely up to him."
"Perhaps now your dismal potioneering will improve beyond troll level," quipped Draco. With a toss of his hair, he strode purposefully to the front of the room and began to organize his belongings on the table. Harry rolled his eyes and went to join him.
Professor Slughorn moved to the front of the room and began his lecture. He gestured to a series of cauldrons simmering on the front table.
"We shall begin with a review of the potions which are most likely to appear on your N.E.W.T. exam. You will be required to identify and successfully brew each of these potions."
Harry wrinkled his nose and inhaled deeply. A hauntingly familiar feeling washed over him as he slowly breathed in the heady vapors.
"Oh, shit!" Draco whispered, closing his eyes, a scowl spreading across his countenance.
"Now then," Professor Slughorn lifted the lid from the first cauldron, and immediately, Harry realized the source of Draco's unease. "Mr. Potter, do you recall the name of this potion?"
"Ahem," Harry cleared his throat and took another unbidden deep breath. He gazed half-heartedly at the pearlescent liquid that bubbled in the pewter vessel. "That would be, erm, ahem—Amortentia, Professor."
"Excellent! Excellent! Twenty points to Gryffindor!" Professor Slughorn beamed. He turned to Draco. Harry looked at him, noting that his face had drained of what little color it had. "Mr. Malfoy, please expound on the nature of this brew."
The relief on Draco's face was difficult to ignore. He took a breath before answering. "Of course, sir. Amortentia is a powerful and highly dangerous potion. Intense infatuations can be induced by an expert potioneer. However, Amortentia does not create actual love. It's impossible to fabricate or imitate love. The drinker will only hold an obsession for the person who administered it."
"Well done, young man! Twenty points to Slytherin! And the aroma?"
"Ahem, sir, the aroma varies from person to person. It reminds the individual of the traits they find most attractive in the object of their affection, regardless of whether they are aware of or choose to acknowledge him or her."
Harry noticed that Draco was tightly gripping his pestle in one hand while the nails of his other were scratching grooves into the tabletop.
"Excellent! Excellent! And what do you smell?" the professor asked. Draco looked as if he was about to faint.
"Erm—ahem—well, fresh soap, treacle tart…" he studiously avoided Harry's gaze. Harry held his breath. "and…erm…broomstick polish," Draco mumbled.
"Ah, very interesting," said Slughorn. "And you, Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked up sharply, startled out of his curious musings about Draco's remarks.
"I'm sorry?"
"What do you smell?"
"Oh, erm—yes—erm—" he stammered. "Well, let's see…clouds and fine—ahem—" Harry was startled by his response. He expected to be describing traits that identified Ginny, and he heard Hermione quietly gasp as he continued to speak. "—l-leather, and…erm…chocolate," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Professor Slughorn went on with his lesson, oblivious to the obvious discomfort of his most prominent students. The two said little to one another beyond what was necessary to complete their assignment, and the moment the class was over, Draco hurriedly gathered his belongings and moved purposefully towards the dungeon's exit. Harry barely took the time to look back when Professor Slughorn summoned the Slytherin to his office, and hastened from the room.
"What the hell, Harry?" Ron grabbed his arm as he crossed the Entrance Hall, and pulled him into the broomstick closet. He lit his wand, holding it menacingly close to his best friend.
"What?" Harry stared at him, nonplussed.
"You know what! Who is she?" Ron demanded.
"What are you talking about, Ron?"
"I'm talking about the girl you described in Potions! Since when does my sister smell like fine leather?"
"Since I bought her a new kit with Quidditch Armour for this season," Harry replied in an exasperated tone. While it was true that he'd purchased Ginny a new broom and armour, he knew as well as Ron was implying, that the aromas he identified in the Amortentia were not those he'd previously associated with her. Still, to his surprise, Ron seemed to accept his lie.
"I suppose I have to take your word for it. As far as I know, Amortentia doesn't lie." Ron regarded him warily.
"No, it doesn't. Now, what lie will you come up with as to why we're huddled in this broomstick cupboard?"
"As if anyone will even notice. We've been huddling in cupboards and hidden passages for seven years. Besides, haven't you got your cloak?" Ron replied. Harry rolled his eyes and pulled the invisibility cloak from his satchel.
So Sorry for the confusion in some of the plot line. I accidentally skipped several chapters. That's what I get for posting while editing. If you go back to the new Chapter 3-Ill Winds and read the new chapters, things will make better sense. Thanks to JM2010 for alerting me to my oversight.