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Chapter VIII Draco hardly glanced up as the morning owl post swooped into the Great Hall, hooting and squawking, the occasional feather falling onto the breakfast plates. What had once been a spectacular sight five years ago was now common place. Picking a feather out of his scrambled eggs, while trying to overlook the obvious irony, Draco ignored the birds as best he could, not really expecting to receive anything. Instead, he remained lost in thought, mentally going over the dream he and Harry had shared the night before. It had been intense, talking to Harry so frankly. Draco was never one to divulge his thoughts freely, believing firmly that keeping parts of yourself secret was the best way to hold power over others. In the dreams, however, life felt less real, like he could speak about what he was thinking without consequence. He worried about that. In his B.H. (Before Harry) life, dreams were his own, his thoughts were his own - they were a place where he could work out internal conflicts with himself, in the privacy of his own psyche. Now that someone else had privy to those thoughts, Draco wasn't sure what to do about it and was finding that he couldn't help but fall into old patterns, his attitude in his dreams unchanged, regardless of the change in circumstance. He wondered if keeping Severus in the dark about his connection to Harry was as bad an idea as he believed it to be, if he would tip his hand too soon in the game. They had weeks to go before enacting the Plan. If Harry found out about it, Draco strongly suspected that would be the end of months of hard work. The naive Gryffindor couldn't even understand why Muggles and mixed-bloods were dangerous - how could he understand the magnitude of the situation surrounding them? Draco missed that sort of innocence. He wasn't sure he'd ever had it, actually. And there was yet another thing to be envious about. Great, just great. "Draco. Draco!" Draco looked up, turning to the scowling face of Pansy Parkinson, who's obviously been trying unsuccessfully to get his attention. "Sorry, yes?" Draco asked, blinking out of his thoughts. "Honestly," Pansy huffed, irritated at being ignored. "You are so flighty sometimes. You have post." Again, overlooking the irony in Pansy's statement, Draco turned to where she was gesturing to his right. On the table, picking lightly at Greg's unused napkin, stood a large, unfamiliar crow, a small envelope tied to its leg. "Who would send a crow?' Pansy asked loudly, her eyes narrowing unattractively on her pretty face. "Some... friend you're not telling us about?" Draco raised an eyebrow at her insinuating tone, then shrugged his shoulders, going for nonchalant. "I won't know until I open the letter, now will I?" he informed her, his calm, bored tone of voice hiding the curiosity bubbling in his chest. With deft fingers, he untied the letter from the crow's leg, the bird immediately taking off, flying out of the Great Hall. Draco ran his fingers across the crème-colored envelope, looking intently at the rounded, unfamiliar handwriting in which his name was spelled out in dark black ink. Picking up his breakfast knife, he sliced through the top of the envelope in one smooth motion, removing the letter and unfolding it. He quickly scanned the parchment, his face kept carefully devoid of emotion as he read. Dear Draco, Draco snapped his head up, glancing over at the teacher's table, before pocketing the note. Severus sat with his eyes closed, Lupin chatting in his ear. Even from this distance, Draco could see his godfather's hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. Severus, perhaps sensing that he was being stared at, allowed his eyes to flutter open, meeting Draco's own for a few brief seconds before he turned and growled something to Lupin, which just made the werewolf laugh. Turning back to his own table, Draco picked up his fork, intent on finishing his breakfast. "Well?" Pansy asked. Draco looked up at her. "Well, what?" The girl rolled her eyes. "What was in the letter, of course!" she snapped. "Oh," Draco replied easily. "Nothing of consequence. Just an invite to a society dinner with a friend of my mother's. I've been getting them pretty regularly as of late. I think it has something to do with a number of young ladies who would like to enter into a contract with my family." Pansy set her fork down loudly on the table. "I thought you said your parents weren't arraigning your marriage," she said moodily. "They aren't," Draco drawled. "It doesn't stop others from trying, however." Pansy sniffed. "Aw, lay off a bit, will you, Pansy, darling?" Blaise said from down the table, having overheard the whole conversation. "There's plenty of time for us to worry about marriage contracts and inheritance." "Fat lot you know, Blaise Zabini," came her sharp reply, tempered with a small smile touching the corner of her lips. "Men age gracefully. Women just age." Draco and his dormmates laughed at this, Pansy even allowing herself a quiet snicker. "Amen to that," Blaise chuckled. The sound of something loudly banging on the table a little way from their group startled them all into silence. Draco turned to the source of the sound and, much to his annoyance, found himself looking straight at the hulking, angry form of Bane Relesky, seventh-year Slytherin and all around bad egg. "You're all a bunch of twits, you know that?" he growled. "Wasting your time puttering about and talking about your inane lives when there are much more important things about to happen - you lot disgust me." "Well, we did feel we had to return the favor," Draco said immediately, his friends looking at him with surprise and a little bit of pride. Bane bristled and stood up, Draco also rising from his chair. "You make me want to puke, Malfoy," Bane seethed, getting right up in the younger boy's face. "Interesting," Draco replied, his voice calm and even. "You make me think somebody already did." Bane drew his fist back and Pansy screamed. * * * * * * "Harry, look!" Ron said happily, pointing at the teacher's table as he took his seat. "Professor Lupin's here!" Harry had already noticed and was trying to catch the werewolf's eye, who smiled and waved at him. Snuffles had his paws up on the table, tail wagging furiously as he recognized his godson. Harry started to go over to talk to him, but Remus motioned to him to eat breakfast first, as he seemed to be in a conversation with Professor Snape. Harry nodded in agreement at the silent conversation and took his seat. There would be plenty of time to catch up with the two of them later, when it wouldn't look so unusual if Harry started talking to a dog. The Gryffindor House, finally knowing that half of their Quidditch team wouldn't be benched for the season, was in good spirits. Even though it was Friday, afternoon classes had been canceled for the match against Ravenclaw and everyone was looking forward to it. Hermione's smiling face was a great relief to the entire House, the redness and worry gone from her eyes. The world felt right again. Neville was even grousing about his homework, something he hadn't done in the past few days, not wanting to upset his friends even more. "I don't know what to write about," he mumbled, looking down at the blank scroll set out before him as though it held the answer to the universe. He looked around at his friends. "Somebody tell me why I'm taking Muggle studies again?" "Because you're masochistic?" Dean suggested. "Anserine?" Seamus added. "Insane?" Dean finished. "That's enough," Neville interrupted them before they could continue. "What's the topic?' Hermione asked gently. Neville gave her a grateful look, then shuffled some a few papers. "'The Muggle World versus the Wizarding World: Discuss a Fundamental Difference in Societal Attitudes in a Topic of Your Choosing,'" he read, then looked back at Hermione, distressed. "What's the problem?" came her confused question. Neville sighed. "I just can't think of anything!" he cried. "I don't know anything about muggles! That's why I'm taking this class!" "Seems to me you just need to find something that's different enough to write a long paper about," Dean remarked. "There's lots of differences to choose from." "What about homosexuality?" Harry blurted. Everyone turned to look at him. "What about it?" Ron asked. Harry bit his lip before answering. "Well," he hedged, "it's just that I heard that the wizarding world doesn't have a problem with it." Again, Ron looked confused. "Why would we?" "The Muggle world has big issues with it," Hermione told him, then looked back a Neville. "That might actually be a terrific topic." "What sort of issues?" Neville asked, curious. Hermione started to explain, but suddenly, the relative peacefulness of the Great Hall was shattered by an ear-splitting scream. Harry, along with everyone else, spun around in their chairs, looking for source of the noise. A large Slytherin that Harry didn't know by name was attacking Draco. It took a split second for what was occurring to really register and then, it happened. The Slytherin table exploded with fury. The boys started leaping out of their seats, attacking one another, the girls and the younger students scattering from the melee. Draco was surrounded by three additional seventh-years, but seemed to be holding his own okay, yet a punch or a kick occasionally made it's way past his defenses, causing Harry to cringe. Chairs and plates of food flew around as various bodies slammed them into, the brawl getting louder and rougher with each passing second. Draco finally collapsed under the attack, the largest boy bearing down on him, wrapping his hands around the younger boy's neck. Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini all tried to help their friend, but the rest of the seventh-years met their attack head-on, preventing them from assisting. Draco's face started to turn a ghastly blue. Horrified, Harry realized it was just like watching the dream, only this time in real life. Harry leapt to his feet, determined to help Draco. A hand grabbed him and pulled him back into his seat. "Are you crazy?" Ron shouted at him over the din, his eyes wild with a mix of amusement and horror. "They're killing each other! Let them have at it!" Harry struggled to free himself from Ron's grip, determined to save his... friend?, but it ended up becoming a mute point. As soon as the shock of the situation had worn off, Professor Snape practically flew from the teacher's table, grabbing at the boy assaulting Draco, yanking him off his favorite student in a move of pure adrenaline, his wiry frame easily over-powering the large boy. Remus followed close on his heals, helping with the effort to break up the fight. Professor Dumbledore rose from his chair, raising his wand high above his head. The air erupted with sound, a near-deafening bang filling the air along with a blinding flash of light. Everybody let out shout of surprise, attempting to cover both their ears and eyes at the same time. The fight stopped dead. "ENOUGH!" Dumbledore shouted, his voice magically amplified. The participators on both sides of the fight were backing away from one another, rubbing their aching ears and blinking rapidly. Draco seemed to be having trouble getting up, an obviously worried Professor Snape trying to hold him still, looking at his injuries. "THIS BEHAVIOR IS UNACCEPTABLE," Dumbledore continued, glaring at the offenders. "EVERYONE WILL NOW REPORT TO THEIR FIRST CLASS." The teachers and students started shuffling out of the Great Hall, Harry being dragged along by Ron, trying to see over the herd of people how Draco was doing. The blond Slytherin finally stood up, Professor Snape supporting him as he staggered out the door on the opposite side of the Hall. Harry watched as long as he could until he was out of sight. "That was great!" Ron was saying, pulling Harry along. "Did you see that? Terrific!" Harry felt numb. * * * * * * "Ow," Draco muttered as Madame Pomfrey poked at a particularly painful area on his side. "Ow!" he repeated as she poked him again. "Quit complaining," she snapped, her face twisted in concentration, feeling his chest for broken ribs, pressing into bruised areas without gentleness. "OW!" Draco cried, trying to twist away. It didn't help any that he was cold, dressed only in his boxers and the thin t-shirt he'd been wearing under his robes. The nurse scowled. "I said, 'Quit complaining.'" She stepped back and put her hands on her hips, frowning. "I count three broken ribs, a sprained knee, a small fracture in your collarbone, bruises numbering in the twenties, and a blackened eye. You've done quite a job on yourself." "Yes, I must stop running into peoples' fists like that," Draco remarked dryly, then cringed as a painful spasm shot through his side. "Ow," he mumbled. Madame Pomfrey shook her head, then turned away, walking over to the large cabinet by her desk. Severus swooped into the Hospital Wing, expression angry. Draco gingerly turned his head, meeting his godfather's incensed eyes. "Sorry," he said quietly. Severus shook his head, beyond words. "How could you do this?" he finally managed. Draco sighed. "It was Bane's fault," he said with conviction. "He hit me first!" "You never start fights with fists, only with words," Severus snapped. "You must have said something to set him off. How could you be so careless, especially now?" Draco said nothing, mollified. Madame Pomfrey walked back over to his bedside, a large glass bottle filled with red liquid in her hand. "This should help," she told him, helping him sit up so he could drink the potion. Draco pulled a face at the taste. "What will that do?" he asked, leaning back against the headboard. "Relieve your pain, lower some of the swelling," she replied, putting the cork back on the bottle and setting it on his nightstand. "You're such a bother, Mr. Malfoy. You know your body doesn't respond well to magical healing. I could have sworn we had this conversation two years ago after the Hippogriff incident." She narrowed her eyes at Draco's right knee, still swollen and puffy. "I'll have to make you a brace for that, as well as for your ribs," she said, then walked away again, heading into a backroom. Draco looked over at Severus, feeling some of the pain drifting away. The Potions Master was still glaring at him. "Don't you have a class to teach or something?" he grumbled, hating the disappointment and anger radiating off of Severus. "I asked Lupin to cover it for me." At Draco's incredulous look, Severus added, "I'm just having them write essays. Even he can't screw that up." Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh hell," Severus groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. "Yes, he can." Draco laughed a little, then gasped, his hand flying to his broken ribs. Severus expression went from slightly amused to extremely worried in less then a second, reaching out a hand to rest on his student's shoulder. "Not doing that again," Draco grimaced. Severus sighed, moving his hand to touch Draco's cheek, trying to get a closer look at the slowly fading bruise around Draco's eye. Pulling back, he looked over his shoulder, noting that the nurse was still in the other room. "Are you going to be able to handle tonight?" he asked him, very softly. Draco nodded. "My part's easy," he whispered. Severus smiled and was about to say more, but Madame Pomfrey took that moment to come bustling back into the room. "Try to get to Potion's class," Severus said loudly and with a pointed look. Draco nodded again. The nurse walked over to him, dropping a large array of bandages, splints, and other unnerving items at the foot of his bed. "Heading to class?" she asked Severus, unwrapping a large roll of dressings. "Yes," Severus replied. "I fear if I don't return, Lupin may corrupt my students." Madame Pomfrey playfully slapped him on the arm. "Don't be mean to the poor dear," she chastised him. "He's been through so much." "Haven't we all?" came the Potions Master's dry reply, before he turned around and walked rapidly out of the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey sighed, watching him go. Then, she turned back to Draco, an odd gleam in her eyes, snapping a length of bandages between her hands. "Let's wrap up those ribs, shall we?" she suggested with a wicked grin. Draco swallowed audibly. * * * * * * Severus walked quickly down the hall towards the dungeon, his robes billowing behind him, determine to reach his classroom before Lupin poisoned his students' minds. The stupid man seemed to feel that being friendly and compassionate was a way to inspire students to learn. Maybe that worked in the namby-pamby field of Divination, but it served no purpose in subjects as important and dangerous as Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. The whole concept of an easy going nature when working with hazardous things - utter nonsense to Severus' way of thinking. "Severus!" The Potion Master stopped, gritting his teeth and turning around. Professor McGonagall walked up behind him, strands of her graying hair falling out of her normally neat bun, her expression stormy. Severus fought the urge to sigh. "What?" he asked her shortly. McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "Quite a disgusting display from your House this morning," she told him, soundly oddly triumphant. "The Headmaster asked me to discuss the situation with you so we can determine the course of action we should take." "We?" he repeated. "This was fighting within my own House. I will handle it personally." "It goes beyond you," McGonagall snapped. "Someone could have been seriously hurt, Severus." "Mr. Malfoy has three broken ribs," he informed her. "Precisely," she said, as if she'd proved her point. "If you believe you are so qualified to handle this, tell me what you plan to do." "The best thing to do right now is to just keep them separated and under watchful eyes," Severus said tiredly. "We'll keep them in classes and away from the dorms. I'll make the Quidditch game mandatory so we know where they are at all times." "You can't watch them forever," McGonagall huffed. "What about tonight? They'll have to return to their dorms at some point. Unless, of course, you plan on spending the evening in the Slytherin common room." The Deputy Headmistress seemed to find this amusing and Severus did his best not to raise his hand and flip her off. "Other sleeping arrangements will have to be made," he replied icily. "I'll take care of it after dinner. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to class." He turned and walked away before she could say any more. * * * * * * If was halfway through second period before Draco managed to limp away from the insanity that was Madame Pomfrey. Over an hour of being poked, prodded, taped, and clucked over was more than enough for the young Slytherin. He sighed in contentment as the door to the Potions classroom came into view, silently cursing that the school had so many bloody staircases. As he pushed the door open, the hinges creaked loudly as usual and everyone looked up from where they were huddled over their parchments. Blaise, who'd saved him a seat, gave him a relieved and happy grin with his bloodied lip, a grin that was echoed throughout the Slytherin side of the room, punctuated with the occasional "thumbs-up" and wink. Draco suspected they were two seconds away from applauding. Sinking down onto the stool next to Blaise, he gave his friend an encouraging smile. Severus looked up from his desk. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, good of you to join us," he said easily, walking over to their table. "The class is writing an essay on the fifty uses of Engelmannia pinnatifida in the Healing Class of potions. Because of your late arrival, you may turn yours in to me on Monday." "Thank you, Professor," Draco replied. The Potions Master laid a hand on Draco shoulder, nodding, then walked back to his desk. Draco shifted on the uncomfortable stool, slipping a hand into the pocket of his robes, looking down at Blaise's parchment. The boy had doodled a crude drawing of Bane in one corner, his face contorted in pain, a large sword sticking out of his back. The two boys shared a wicked grin before Blaise continued working on his essay. Suddenly, the crawling sensation of knowing someone was looking at you worked its way up Draco's spine and he glanced around unassumingly. Harry. The Boy Who Lived was looking right at him from where he sat across the room, eyes conveying every thought running through the Gryffindor's mind. Are you okay?, Draco felt him ask. What is happening? In response to his first unspoken question, Draco smiled slightly, then nodded, grimacing a little at his still sore collarbone. As for the second, Draco sent out a silent plea of, "Don't ask me that now," which Harry seemed to accept, if a bit unhappily. Acutely aware that the two of them making eyes at one another would draw unwanted attentions sooner or later, both boys looked casually away. Neither one noticed Hermione's curious and worried look as she watched the scene pass between the two boys. * * * * * * "Finally!" Blaise cheered as they packed up their bags after their third period Charms class. "All that's left is a light lunch, then we can watch the Ravenclaw Team pulverize the Gryffindors into the ground!" Draco smiled at his exuberance. "Mr. Malfoy!" Draco looked up, tiny Professor Flitwick rushing over to them. "Yes, Professor?" he asked. "I just wanted to say how pleased I am at your improvement in this class!" said the little man excitedly. Draco looked to his book bag where the test they'd just had returned to them was stashed. "Your wand movements and general understanding of the concepts covered on the last exam were stellar!" "Thank you, Professor," Draco replied, wondering when they would be free to leave. "If you keep up this level of work, I wonder if you wouldn't mind tutoring some of the younger students," Flitwick continued, not noticing the shuffling and occasional glances being shot at the door by his two students. "Since you overcame your difficulties with the subject, you might be able to empathize with those below you who are having the same problems." Blaise started laughing softly under his breath and Draco glared at him, then looked back the professor. "I'm not sure, Sir," he hedged. "I mean, I am doing research with Professor Snape..." "I'll award ten points to your House for every tutoring session you do with a student," Flitwick added. "Deal," Draco said firmly, sticking out his hand to shake the older man's, trying to ignore Blaise's incredulous gasp of surprise. "Fantastic!" gushed the professor. "I'll get you a list of students right away. You boys run along to lunch!" Blaise grabbed Draco's arm, dragging him away. "Did Bane hit your head this morning?" he asked him once they were safely out of the classroom. "Why did you agree to that?" "We're going to need the points," Draco told him, brushing off his friend's hand, "especially after what happened this morning." "For that sacrifice, I hold you in even higher respect," Blaise said formally, giving a little bow. Draco rolled his eyes. "What 'sacrifice?'" The two boys turned and saw Vincent and Greg, looking confused as usual. "Draco, for the sake of ten points a pop, has sacrificed his sanity to hold the hands of the younger generation and guide then towards higher marks in Flitwick's class," Blaise explained. Greg blinked. "What?" asked Vince. "He means I just volunteered to tutor some younger students in Charms," Draco clarified. "Oh," Greg replied. "Why didn't he just say that?" "Because he's an idiot," Draco deadpanned. "Hey!" "Anyway," Vince said, stalling any further argument, "let's go eat lunch so we can get to the Quidditch pitch early. I hate being in the front of the bleachers." "You guys go ahead," Draco said, reaching up a hand to touch his still-sore side. "I think I need to lay down for a while." "We're not supposed to go back to the dorms," Greg reminded him. Draco yawned. "I know. I'm just going to go sleep on the couch in Professor Snape's office. He won't mind." "Are you coming to the Quidditch match?" Blaise asked. "I might come later," Draco said. "Save me a seat?" he called as he turned away. "Will do!" Blaise replied, he, Vincent, and Greg heading towards the Great Hall. Draco nodded and started to make his way down to Severus' office, slipping his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the small glass vial his godfather had passed to him during their brief talk in Potion's class. Almost sighing, but remembering at the last minute about his broken ribs, Draco walked on, disappearing into the depths of the dungeon. * * * * * * Harry slammed his locker shut after dropping his Quidditch gear onto the locker room floor. All around him, the three other male members of the team were laughing and joking in various states of undress. Fred and George kept attacking their brother with a towel. Harry watched the mock fight as he pulled on his gear and smiled, but worry kept niggling in the back of his mind. Draco wasn't at lunch. When he'd arrived halfway through Potions, Harry had been initially relived, then worried all over again. Draco hadn't looked much better than he did when he'd staggered out of the Great Hall, limping into the classroom in obvious pain, his face still dotted with bruises. Madame Pomfrey had always done a terrific job of healing him, but it hadn't looked like Draco had received more than basic first aid. Harry wasn't sure if it was because he'd been injured while fighting or if the nurse gave out preferential treatment. For whatever reason, Harry didn't like seeing Draco in pain, which, the more he thought about it, also bothered Harry quite a bit. His connection with Draco was getting much deeper than even what the fractured spell prescribed. Sitting down to tie his boots, Harry let his thoughts swim around his head, not liking the direction they were going but not sure if there was anything he could do about it. "Harry!" Harry looked up. Ron was standing over him, frowning. "Hermione has been shouting for you through the locker room door for the past minute and a half!" "Sorry, just going over game plays," Harry said quickly, pulling on his gloves and picking up his broom. "You better hurry getting ready before Captain Bell gets mad. I'll see you guys out on the field," he told them, walking out door. Hermione was waiting for him, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "What's up, Hermio--ack!" The girl wasted to time in latching onto his arm and dragging away under the bleachers. "'Mione, what?" Harry cried after she finally let go of him. "What's going on between you and Malfoy?" she asked bluntly. Harry felt himself go cold. "W-what?" he stuttered. "I don't know what you're talking about--" "Yes, you do," Hermione snapped. "You've been mooning over him for days, staring over that the Slytherin table, your mind wandering in the middle of conversations. I also saw the look you two shared during Potion's class and I've been doing some research on your dreams." "You... have?" Harry had rather hoped she'd forgotten about him telling her when the whole thing with Professor Snape had started. Apparently, she hadn't. "Yes," Hermione barreled on, "I have. When you said in the meeting with Professor Snape that you had aimed for Goyle but hit Malfoy instead, it reminded me of something. I remembered the extra-credit essay I had done for Professor Flitwick on 'Magic Gone Wrong.' Your spell fractured and reflected, Harry! Then, I thought about your dreams and did some research and learned that reflected spells can cause mental connections between caster and castee. Now, this is what happened, right?" "Um..." Harry started, but at Hermione's angry expression, decided it was useless to lie. "Yes," he said with a sigh. "Yes that's what happened." "And you didn't tell us?" Hermione cried, sounding hurt. "How long we're you planning on keeping this to yourself?" "I... don't know," Harry admitted. "I mean, we didn't realize what had happened to us until a couple of days ago. Everything was falling apart with Professor Snape and you were so worried about losing your prefect status - I just didn't want to make waves." "That's not a good enough excuse, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head disapprovingly. "You needed to tell us! You can't trust Malfoy, you know that! It's even worse now that the two of you are sharing a brain!" "We're not 'sharing a brain!'" Harry snapped. "And you don't know Draco." "And you do?" she asked. "He's a Slytherin, for God's sake! Everything he's told you is probably a lie!" "That is not true," Harry said angrily. "You don't understand. He's--" "He's up to something," Hermione cut in. Harry looked at her, silent for a moment. "What?" he finally asked. "He's up to something, Harry!" she repeated. "During breakfast today, he got a letter from a crow. After he read it, he got this funny look on his face. Then, a few minutes later, the fight broke out at the Slytherin table. Finally, during Potion's class today, I saw Professor Snape pass him a vial of some potion! And now, he's not even at the mandatory Quidditch game! It's suspicious!" "I used to get letters with strange birds from Snuffles all the time," Harry reminded her. "His family is... eccentric. It was probably a letter from his mother. As for the potion, need I remind you he was injured pretty badly today? It was probably some restorative. I'm sure that's why he's not at the Quidditch game, too. He's no doubt resting back at the castle! You're seeing things that aren't there, Hermione!" "Or maybe I'm seeing things you've been blinded to," came her angry retort. "I can't believe you're being this careless, Harry! This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about! 'Any means to achieve their ends,' remember? He's using you!" Harry shook his head angrily. "He is not--" "Potter!" came a shout from Katie Bell standing over by the entrance to the field, the rest of the Gryffindor Team suited up and waiting for him. "Come on! We've got a game to win!" "Coming!" Harry yelled back. "We'll talk more about this later, Harry," Hermione told him in a scolding tone usually reserved for naughty four-year-olds. "Good luck with your game." "Yeah, right," Harry replied sarcastically, then turned and walked away, meeting his team on the Quidditch pitch, his mind whirling with questions as he mounted his broom. At the sound of the Madame Hooch's whistle, Harry rose off the ground, flying high above the pitch, his expression troubled, his eyes unfocused. What if Hermione was right? * * * * * * Draco watched the game in progress from a small window in the castle. It was hard to see what was happening, all of the players looking like little specks bouncing around, but every now and then, a loud cheer would sound from the pitch, no doubt one of the teams having scored. Draco hoped Gryffindor was winning - they were much more fun to play against than the Ravenclaws and he really wanted to play them in the finals. With a slight sigh, Draco turned away from the window and resumed his journey through the near-silent halls, the only sounds coming from his own footsteps and the occasional muttering of the paintings lining the corridor. Draco preferred Hogwarts this way - empty and a little frightening. It reminded him of home. "Well, somebody isn't where they're supposed to be." Draco looked up, startled from his thoughts, to see Filch standing over him. Draco frowned. How a squib like him managed to move so silently through the halls and consistently surprise him confused the young Slytherin to no end. At least he classified as a minor annoyance at best. "Mr. Filch," he said formally. The caretaker sneered. "Aren't you supposed to be at the Quidditch game, like all the rest of the vermin?" he asked. Draco started to shrug, but stopped, remembering his injuries. "I missed lunch today because the pain relieving potion Madame Pomfrey gave me knocked me out," Draco explained easily. "I'm on my way to the kitchens to get something to eat. Professor Snape excused me from the Quidditch game. You can ask him yourself." "I'll bet," Filch replied, then inclined his head. "Go on, then." "Thank you," Draco said, then limped on his way, listening every now and then for if the caretaker was following him. As soon as he was sure he wasn't, Draco picked up his pace as best he could. Finally, he made it to the ghastly still-life painting that served as the door to the kitchens, reached up, and tickled the pear. As soon as the fruit stopped giggling, the painting swung open and Draco clamored through. Immediately, he was accosted by almost fifty house-elves. "Ah, is welcome here!" said one, reaching out to tug on his robes. "Is needing anything?" another asked. "We is happy to get anything the Master wants, we is!" And so on and so forth, Draco not able to get a word in edgewise, until... "Is all going away!" shouted a garishly dressed Dobby, pushing the other house-elves aside. "Is Dobby's Master here! Dobby is helping!" The other house-elves wandered off back to their tasks, muttering angrily amongst themselves in their own language. "Hello, Dobby," Draco said mildly. "Dobby is so happy to be seeing Master Draco," he gushed. "Dobby was worried when Master Draco is hurt by other boy." A dangerous twinkle lit the house-elf's eyes. "Is Master Draco wanting Dobby to short-sheet dumb boy's bed this night?" Draco laughed. "Perhaps another time," he said gently. "No, tonight, I need you to do me a favor." "Anything Master Draco wants, Dobby do!" came the enthusiastic reply. "Good," Draco said. "Now, do you remember what I told you about earlier? About the super-secret job I would have you do?" The house-elf nodded vigorously. "Dobby is having good memory, Master Draco," he said. "Dobby is remembering super-secret job Dobby is to be doing for Master Draco." "Wonderful," Draco replied, reaching into his pocket and removing the small glass vial, handing to the house-elf. "You'll do a good job, right?" "Dobby do good," the house-elf assured him. "Dobby do anything for Master Draco. Master Draco kind and good!" "Maybe so," Draco mused. "Master Draco is being hungry, yes?" Dobby asked him. Draco nodded. "Dobby is to be getting food for Master Draco, okay?" "Yes, thank you," the Slytherin replied. Dobby gave a little jump of happiness and disappeared into the kitchen, vial in hand. Draco leaned back against the kitchen wall and smiled. * * * * * * Harry made a lazy circle high above the Quidditch pitch, his mind no where near the game at hand. What if Hermione was right? What if Draco was using him? What if the Slytherin had discovered the bond between them and decided to use it to his advantage, putting Harry off guard, gaining his trust so he could set him up for a fall. Didn't that fit in more with Draco's personality than the beautiful, honest, if troubled, young man he'd come to know in their shared dreams? Could he have been lying to him the whole time? Harry didn't know for sure, but the more he thought about it, the more nervous he became. If Draco was using him, than Harry was in a nasty situation. There was no way out of their bond, except, Harry suspected, through death. Would Draco lead him along until he was no longer useful? Draco hadn't come to the mandatory Quidditch game, like Hermione said. Harry had spent a large part of the game scanning the stands and the blond Slytherin was no where to be found. It was suspicious. If Harry couldn't trust him, then what could he do? Would Draco... DUCK! Harry reacted on instinct at the shouted order in his mind, flattening himself down against his broom, instantly dropping five meters down. The bludger "whooshed" right above him, where is head had been moments earlier. Harry looked up at it, white-faced, heart beating fast in his chest, then immediately started scanning the ground. Standing under one of the bleachers, a sandwich in hand, stood Draco, looking up at Harry. Although he couldn't see the boy's face, Harry guessed he was smirking. What are you doing up there, Harry? Draco continued to think to him. That bludger could have taken your head off! Gryffindor is down thirty points! You better get your head back in the game and catch the damn snitch if you plan on losing to us in the finals! Where have you been? Harry thought back. At that moment, Fred flew past him, shouting a "Sorry 'bout that, Harry," as he went. Sleeping, Draco replied. Harry felt his heart freeze. That was a lie. He could feel it. Draco was lying to him. Oh, God. Harry got angry. He flew up high, searching for the snitch, determined to catch it so the game could end, so he could confront Draco, no, Malfoy about the game he was playing. And to think he'd been defending that bastard to Hermione! Furious, Harry planned to find any way he could to break the bond between him. He should have known better, he should have... Harry angled his broom down toward to the ground, Cho Chang by his side, as he streaked after the small, fluttering, golden ball hovering not twenty meters below him. Reaching out his hand, he scooped up the ball with ease, a loud whistle sounding, the stands erupting with both cheers and groans. Dropping to the pitch, Harry unceremoniously handed the snitch to Madame Hooch, then walked quickly off the field and into the locker room, his expression stormy. * * * * * * The Great Hall was noisy, with the noted exception of the Slytherin table, which remained rooted in distrustful silence. Draco looked around, watching his friends and classmates eat their food, feeling a little queasy. He wasn't very hungry after the ungodly amount of food Dobby and the other House-elves had showered him with. Regardless, he picked up his glass of pumpkin juice, taking a deep draught of the sweet, spiced drink, before setting the glass back on the table. "Good game," Blaise finally ventured softly, taking a small bite of bread. "Not bad," Draco agreed. "Although I only saw the last part of it." "I liked the part where Potter almost got hit by the bludger," Gregory added, sticking his fork into his meal, getting a good amount of it and shoving it into his mouth. The Slytherins around Draco chuckled and he forced a small smile, then tried to look around Vince at Harry. The Gryffindor was facing away from him, hunched over his food. Draco could almost imagine storm clouds gathering around his head. He wondered what had gotten him so upset. "Is anyone else starting to feel really tired?" Pansy asked, pushing back her empty plate. "I know what you mean," Vincent replied, yawning a little. "Where are we going to sleep tonight?" As if on cue, the Headmaster rose from his chair, his normally bright eyes weary, and addressed the room, the Slytherin table in particular. "Those of you whom I have already spoken to know where you will be this evening. The rest of you will report to your dorms." The Headmaster turned to the Gryffindor table and smiled. "Congratulations to both teams for a well played and exciting game!" There was scattered, half-hearted applause all around and the Headmaster sat back down. "Let's go back to the dorm, now," Pansy suggested, yawning. "I'm really worn out. Quidditch days always take it out of me." "At least it's Saturday tomorrow," Blaise said, rising from his chair and stretching. "That means we can sleep in." "Yes," Draco agreed, standing up and looking around. Almost everyone was filtering out of the Great Hall, no doubt towards their dorms. "Yes," Draco repeated, "let's get some sleep." As he and his friends left the hall, Draco caught the alert eyes of his godfather. Draco gave Severus a brief smile, then followed his friends down to the dungeon. * * * * * * "What the HELL?" Harry blinked stupidly, sitting up on an unfamiliar bed. Draco sat nearby, stretched out in an opulent looking chaise lounge chair, giving him a mild, mellow look. "What's wrong?" he asked him, tone calm and even. "I was just sitting in the common room, talking to Ron, and all of the sudden I'm..." Harry trailed off, looking around, confused. "Wait, where the hell am I? Harry found himself in a large, luxuriously furnished bedroom, the huge four-poster bed he was currently sitting on fitted with silky, eggshell colored satin sheets. Two doors led out from the room, one leading to a comfortable looking seating area, the other to what looked like an extensive library with an ornately carved wooden desk. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, while candles flickered on every available surface, a floor to ceiling glass door leading out onto an expansive balcony overlooking a what Harry could tell was a gorgeous view, even though it was nighttime outside. "This is the place I feel safest in the world," Draco explained, "my quarters in the Manor." "Your bedroom?" Harry cried, leaping off the bed as if it had burned him, backing away as far from Draco as he could. "Yes..." Draco said, looking at Harry with concern. "Oh, this is rich!" Harry shouted with a laugh. "I can't believe this! That you would stoop this low..." "Harry, what are you talking about?" Draco asked, rising from his chair and walking towards him. "Don't pretend you don't know!" Harry yelled, pointing his finger accusingly at Draco. "Hermione, she hit it right on the head! You're a Slytherin! I never should have trusted you! You've been using me this whole time!" "What?" Draco shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Granger.. using you... wait, back up. What?" "You lied to me!" Harry told him. "Today! At the Quidditch match! When I asked you where you were, you said you were sleeping, but you were lying to me! I could feel it!" "I didn't--" "Yes, you did!" Harry said, taking another step backwards. "I can feel it when you're lying! Don't you dare do it again!" Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay," he admitted. "I wasn't sleeping. Happy now?" "No!" Harry replied. "I want you to tell me exactly why you weren't at the Quidditch match today!" "I can't," Draco said softly, closing his eyes. "This is just sick, Malfoy!" Harry fumed. Draco cringed at the use of his last name. "Please, I would tell you if I could, Harry, I swear, but it's just too important, and," Draco paused, looking intently at Harry, trying to make him understand. "If you knew, and if it came out that you knew, you'd be in a lot of trouble Harry." "Oh, don't tell me this is for my own good?" Harry laughed, incredulous. "It is, Harry, I swear," Draco insisted. Harry narrowed his eyes. "Stop talking to me like that," he said, voice low and dark. "Like what?" Draco asked. "Stop talking to me like we're friends," Harry hissed. "We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend. I promise you, as soon as I figure out a way to break this bond between us, I will." "Harry.." Draco pleaded. "Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, then turned, walking quickly towards the door leading to the study. "Where are you going?" Draco called after him. Harry looked back over his shoulder, eyes blazing. "To spend the rest of this horrible dream away from you!" he growled, then disappeared into the study, slamming the door behind him. Draco sighed, sitting down on his bed, biting his bottom lip. Blinking back a traitorous tear, he laid down on his side, pulling his knees up to his chest, and wished he would wake up soon. "Damn it," he whispered and closed his eyes. * * * * * * Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. First, that terrible dream, and now, a crick in his neck. Just what he needed. Plus, the floor was really cold. Wait... the floor? Harry sat up quickly, then regretted the action, his hand flying to the back of his head. He felt a bump the size of a goose egg under his fingers, radiating pain through his skull. Looking around, Harry got a bad feeling in his stomach. He was sitting on the floor in the common room, apparently having fallen off the long couch he'd been sitting on the night before. Ron was half-on and half-off the piece of furniture, similarly waking up. Hermione was also on the couch, blinking as she uncurled from her side, confused. "Wha...?" Ron asked, trying to get himself sitting upright. Harry didn't have an answer. A glance out the tower window told him it was well past noon. A quick glance around the common room confirmed that everyone who'd been involved in the post-Quidditch victory party had fallen asleep, very suddenly, where they'd been standing or sitting. Hermione jumped off the couch, panicked. "What happened?" she cried, echoing the question running through everyone's head. "It's so late! How could we fall asleep in our clothes? In the common room?" Before anyone could reply, the portrait door to the room swung open, revealing a very disheveled Professor McGonagall. "Prefects!" she said loudly and firmly. "Gather your Housemates together and bring them to the Great Hall immediately! No dawdling!" "Professor..." started a meek sounding Ginny. "Not now, Ms. Weasley," McGonagall scolded. "Ms. Granger, get everyone to the Great Hall right now!" "Yes, Professor," Hermione replied quickly. The Professor disappeared out the door and Hermione was in her element. "You heard her, everybody! Seamus, go up the boys' side of the dorm and bring anyone there down. Ginny, the same, on the girls' side!" Seamus and Ginny nodded, hurrying up their respective dorms. "Everyone else, follow me!" she finished, leading them out of the common room. Harry and Ron hung back a moment and took up the rear, shuffling along with the rest of their dorm out of the common room. "What do you think happened, Harry?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "It's weird, everyone falling asleep like that," Ron pressed on. "It's like we were drugged or something." Harry stopped short, eyes going wide. The vial! Of course! Malfoy must have... "Harry?" Ron asked him, grabbing his arm to tug him along. "What is it?" "Nothing," Harry said shortly, scowling, determined to talk to Professor Dumbledore at first opportunity. The Great Hall was full of students, all dressed as they were the night before, talking nervously amongst themselves. Even the teachers appeared to have been affected, clothes rumpled in a slept-in kind of way. Professor Dumbledore stood up from where he was seated at the teacher's table, deep in discussion with Remus. "Children!" he called and everyone went silent. "Please take your normal seats!" Harry sat down, facing away towards the wall, Ron on his left. Hermione sat across from them. Suddenly, she gasped. "Harry!" she whispered. "Harry, look!" Harry turned around to where she was pointing and felt his breath leave him. At least half of the students in the Slytherin House were missing. A/N: Heh. prologue, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve back? |