Update, IF, Book 1, Chapter 5
Title: If
Author: Arachne002 with (my Pillocks) pinknightfaerie and butterbean3
Genre: AU Adventure-Romance
Rating: G - R overall
Pairings: Many: We can’t tell you just yet. (H/D down the track)
Summary: What if Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin?
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Silliness, Slash, Smut, Violence, WIP, etc.
Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns the characters, settings and various plot devices: we plan to borrow them for our own nefarious purposes but intend no offence and make no money.
A/N: in books and chapters . . . we might never finish but we’ll have fun trying . . . promise no cliff-hangers in case we stop writing.
This Chapter G-rated
For a few minutes after he woke up Draco couldn’t remember where he was or why, then he heard Harry’s voice and he remembered the events of the previous day.
“But I have to go. I have to meet Marcus; he’s going to explain about Quidditch.”
“Settle down, Mister Potter; Quidditch can wait a while. I’m sure Professor Snape has already explained things to . . .”
“But he wouldn’t explain, Madam Pomfrey, he’d let Marcus think that I stayed away on purpose. He’d let him think I was too . . . that I was . . . he won’t explain properly because he hates me.”
Draco heard glass breaking somewhere in the room. Madam Pomfrey was talking again and didn’t seem to notice.
“Mister Potter, if you think Professor Snape would jeopardise Slytherin’s Quidditch prospects through mere dislike of a student you have a lot to learn about human nature.” She had a wry smile in her voice. “You will stay here until I am satisfied with your state of health. And at the moment I am far from satisfied.”
“But, Madam Pomfrey . . .”
“And you have to eat, Mister Potter; you’re very underweight.”
“I’ve always been skinny. I promise I’ll eat; I’ll eat in the Hall with everyone else. I can’t stay here, please don’t make me . . .” Harry sounded like he was trying not to cry and Draco buried his head under the pillow - he didn’t want to hear any more.
“Now, now, Mister Potter, maybe you can talk to Flint tomorrow.”
“But I wanted to see Hagrid, and Draco was going to come with me and I promised Shepherd I’d talk to him today. They’ll think I’m a liar . . .”
These pillows must be very poor quality, thought Draco as he sat up again and coughed to let them know that he was awake.
Madam Pomfrey was still starched and efficient but Draco thought she looked rather upset. “Mister Malfoy, you can shower through there,” she pointed at a door across the room.
Harry was pale except for a sudden flush of pink across his cheeks when he looked at Draco then away then back again. “Thank you for staying with me. I’m sorry . . .”
“I want to talk to Harry.” Draco thought that if he left something bad might happen. He thought about writing home and asking Mother and Father to fix everything. “I want to . . .”
“You can talk to him in a little while, Mister Malfoy,” she picked up a bundle of fresh clothing and a towel from a chair beside the bed and put them in his arms, “afterwards.”
So he went and showered and dressed and combed his hair. And when he came out there was a small table with fruit and buttered bread laid on a white tablecloth between the beds.
“Hello, Harry, are you feeling better now?” He sat down carefully on the chair. “I was worried about you.”
“They were right. Everything about me is rubbish. I feel like such an idiot, Draco. Do you hate me?”
He didn’t know who ‘they’ were but that didn’t matter. “Why would I hate you? I think we should have breakfast, Harry.” Draco picked up a slice of watermelon and pushed it into Harry’s hand. “And later on we’ll go and see the m . . . Hagrid . . . and meet the spitty dog. I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you’re great - you’re my friend, Harry.”
“She won’t let me go. She says I’m not well - but I am, Draco; I’m fine and I want to leave now. I need to meet Marcus.” Harry’s hands were shaking and he dropped the melon on the white bedspread.
The little table shook and the dishes rattled; Harry closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, “Am I doing that, Draco?”
“Yes, Harry. I think we should tell Madam Pomfrey what really happened in the Potions corridor.”
“No! I didn’t mean to do it! They’ll send me away. Please, Draco, don’t tell . . .”
One of the tall diamond-paned windows shattered and the shards caught the pale sunlight as they fell to the floor; then another and another. The empty lead frames were bent out of shape.
Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room with her wand in her hand, “Somnus!”
Harry’s eyes opened wide flickered and closed and he fell back against the pillows. Things stopped shaking and breaking and Draco couldn’t stop the little fearful noise that escaped him; he looked at the Matron and she looked back at him.
“A Sleeping Charm, Mister Malfoy. Are you all right?” Draco nodded and the woman turned towards the windows and cast Reparo three times. Then she put her wand away and carefully pinned her hair where it had come down, “Did you know about this?” She didn’t sound angry as she leant forward and gently removed Harry’s glasses.
Draco wondered if he’d be punished. “I didn’t know what to do . . . I was going to . . . I didn’t want Harry to get into any trouble.”
“Eat your breakfast.” Madam Pomfrey patted his shoulder; "I need to speak with the Headmaster and Professor Snape. Don’t look so worried, Mister Malfoy, you have not done anything wrong.” She disappeared into her small office and the door swung back and forth behind her.
Draco looked at the food in front of him; he wasn’t very hungry but he picked up a piece of bread and nibbled on it.
Harry was fast asleep but there was a crease between his dark brows and his lips were moving: Draco wondered what he was dreaming about.
* * *
When Madam Pomfrey came back, the Headmaster and Uncle Severus were with her. Dumbledore was wearing a garish orange quilted dressing gown and blue fluffy slippers.
“Good morning, Mister Malfoy.” The old wizard peered over his half-moon spectacles at Draco, “Perhaps you’d like to go back to your House now.”
“I want to stay with Harry. He thinks you’re going to send him away.”
Dumbledore had turned to look at Harry with an odd unreadable expression on his face but he glanced up at that, “And what do you think, Mister Malfoy?”
“I don’t know, Sir; I hope you don’t send him away.” Draco looked at his godfather then, “It wasn’t his fault. Why can’t I stay?”
“You heard the Headmaster and I agree with him; there’s no good reason for you to stay. Go back to the dungeons, Draco.” Uncle Severus was opening a polished wooden box with runes that Draco didn’t recognise carved into the lid. “Perhaps you can come back later when Mister Potter is more . . . himself.”
Draco turned and left the room reluctantly. He heard Madam Pomfrey saying something sharp as he closed the door but couldn’t catch the words.
He’d just reached the top of the first flight of stairs when he saw Neville Longbottom approaching from the opposite direction, walking quickly and looking over his shoulder every so often.
“What are you doing, Longbottom?”
The other boy gave a guilty start, “Oh, it’s you, Malfoy; I was going to the Infirmary to see if Harry’s all right - do you know? Have you been there?”
“Yes, I was there. He’s . . .” Draco stopped. Harry was helpless under the influence of a Sleeping Charm and he was with Uncle Severus, who didn’t like him at all, and Albus Dumbledore, who, Draco supposed, was thinking about the welfare of the School and who hadn’t expected the Boy-Who-Lived to be sorted into the Dark Lord’s old House. He should have stayed, he should have . . .
“Malfoy? Are you okay?”
“I have to go back.” He ran back to the Infirmary, with the blood pounding in his ears and aware that Longbottom was running beside him.
The door was locked and Alohomora didn’t work so Draco thumped on the heavy oak until his hands were bruised, “Let me in . . . let me in . . .”
The door opened and a very annoyed-looking Madam Pomfrey stood there with her hands on her hips.
“What is the meaning of this uproar, Mister Malfoy?”
“They’re going to do something to Harry.” It sounded ridiculous as soon as the words were out and he realised that he was all sweaty and rumpled. Draco drew a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey, please don’t send me away again.”
Longbottom was watching him and shifting from foot to foot, and then he looked at the Matron who had pulled the door to behind her, “Madam Pomfrey, I just came to see how Harry’s doing. We were there when he fainted and I . . .” The Gryffindor boy faltered under her incredulous stare but stood his ground.
“Mister Longbottom, your concern does you credit; I’m a little surprised to see a Gryffindor asking after the health of a Slytherin . . . that has not happened for a long time.” Her eyes lost that hard scary look and she almost smiled. “Mister Potter is resting comfortably. Go away now; you may visit this afternoon. Mister Malfoy, you wait here.”
The door closed behind her and Draco found that Longbottom was watching him again, his round face full of worry. “Er . . . Malfoy, I met Harry on the train and he seemed really nice and then he stood up for me in Potions and . . . well, he’s a Slytherin and all that but . . . and you are too, so . . . anyway . . . I’ll see you around.” He walked back the way they’d come leaving Draco alone in the corridor.
* * *
It seemed like a long time before the door opened again and Draco was allowed to come back into the ward. He’d heard nothing through the thick door and wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
There was no sign of the Headmaster or Uncle Severus and Harry was sitting up in the small white bed drinking a glass of pumpkin juice. There was a book lying on the bedside table.
“I thought you’d gone, Draco.” Harry put down his glass. His hand was still shaking a bit but not as badly as before.
“I wanted to stay, Harry, but they said I should go” He sat on the chair, “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine; I can’t believe I made such a fuss about everything. Professor Dumbledore promised to talk to Marcus about Quidditch and Snape - er - Professor Snape said I can make up the classes I missed . . . he said I could do that for detention instead of scrubbing floors.”
Draco tried to think but Harry was smiling as though there was nothing wrong at all; “I have to make up those classes too; we can do them together. He gave you a detention?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I’m not sure; he might have been talking about detentions I’m going to get later, I don’t know. I have to take a special potion for a while so that I don’t break any more windows or . . . or hurt anyone.” Harry’s unnatural calm wavered for a moment and Draco glanced towards the windows and saw that they were spattered with rain drops.
“Is that why you’re like this, because they gave you a potion?”
“I didn’t want to take it, but then Dumbledore said I had to if I wanted to stay here.” Again there was a tiny tremor in the air and Draco felt the short hairs prickle on the back of his neck.
Madam Pomfrey had been standing quietly while they were talking but now she spoke, “I’m sure the Headmaster never said any such thing, Mister Potter; the potion is a mild calmative draught and quite specific, Mister Malfoy, there’s no need for more upsets.”
“What do you mean ‘specific’?” asked Draco.
“I mean that the potion will not prevent Mister Potter from attending classes and performing wanded magic; nor will it interfere with his flying - once he becomes accustomed to it in a day or so.”
“Will Harry be back in classes on Monday?”
“All being well,” said Madam Pomfrey, she was being deliberately vague, guessed Draco.
When she’d gone Harry said, “I’m sorry, Draco. It must be boring being stuck here on your first weekend and the others will be missing you - you don’t need to stay.”
“No, Harry, I don’t need to.”
* * *
By late morning it was raining heavily. Madam Pomfrey brought in some sandwiches and a potion for Harry. It was still raining when Longbottom came to visit and brought chocolate frogs. Draco was surprised that he’d actually come because he’d already made the gesture that morning. He didn’t stay long and said very little.
Pansy, Greg and Daphne arrived soon after that with more chocolate.
“We can’t all visit at the same time, Harry, we had to draw straws.” Pansy looked bright and cheerful in her pink ribbons but Draco could tell that she was worried.
They chatted quietly for a while about the lessons Draco and Harry had missed: “ . . . nothing very exciting,” said Greg, “we had double DADA and Quirrell was even worse than usual. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Pans dropped her textbook.”
“But Charms was fun,” said Daphne, “I levitated a glass paperweight for thirty seconds.”
“Yeah, before you dropped it on my foot,” Greg laughed.
“Did you get your essays done for Professor Snape? I’m going to be so far behind.” Draco had suddenly remembered that he needed to write his own thirty inches on Inclemens and it was already late; he’d left his books in the Potions corridor yesterday and hadn’t thought about them since. “Did you pick up my books and Harry’s?”
“Your books are safe, Draco, and your ink and your quill and your comb,” smiled Pansy. “We finished the essays last night; Inclemens is quite interesting actually - but we promised not to tell, Professor Snape said that you two have to do your own work and we’re not allowed to help.”
“Is it something to do with the weather?” Harry prompted.
“Not telling.” Pansy winked.
Harry fell asleep with his hand in Daphne’s and woke up tousled and disoriented half an hour later. The book on the bedside table slid onto the floor but no-one except Draco seemed to notice.
Madam Pomfrey came in with another potion and shooed the visitors away.
* * *
Harry was quiet and drowsy all afternoon. Draco had picked up the book from the floor: it was called The Silver Serpent. “Do you want me to read to you Harry?”
“I’d like that, Draco. Dumbledore gave it to me, he said I’d enjoy it; he said it was a made up story based on Salazar Slytherin’s real adventures when he was a boy before Hogwarts.” Harry’s voice was a little slurred. “I never had any books of my own but Dudley had a whole shelf full . . . I don’t think he ever read them . . . I borrowed them sometimes . . . when no-one was watching. Have you read Treasure Island, Draco?”
“Yeah! That was a great book; Greg’s mum gave it to me for my birthday. She said it was written by a Muggle and I thought Mother was going to take it away but she didn’t.”
The Silver Serpent was very exciting and Draco was thrilled to discover that his great-however-many-times ancestor Dewart Black figured in many of Salazar’s adventures.
“We could have adventures just like them, Draco,” said Harry; “we could solve the Gringotts break-in . . . and . . . and save Pansy from the giant squid and be heroes.”
“And we could go on a quest with Greg and Vin and Blaise . . .”
“And Daphne . . .”
“ . . . and Daphne to find Salazar’s Book.” Draco was sprawled across the end of Harry’s bed with his feet in the air. “Father says the Lost Book’s hidden somewhere at Hogwarts.”
“Did he look for it when he was here?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
Blaise and Vinny came to visit but Madam Pomfrey only let them stay for ten minutes; they said Millie, Teddy and Marcus Flint were outside and weren’t allowed to come in.
Draco had to leave with the other Slytherins. Harry was almost asleep again but the lamps flickered.
* * *
Draco sat in the Great Hall and it felt strange although he’d only been away for little while. It felt strange because he knew that Harry was somewhere else in the castle on his own.
At the staff table Quirrell was talking to Madam Hooch and she was making swooping gestures with her hands as though describing a Quidditch play. McGonagall was talking to Uncle Severus and laughing and shaking her finger at him when he sneered at her.
The Bloody Baron sat down next to Daphne - well, he bent as though he was sitting and hovered over the long bench - and started to tell her all about how misunderstood he was in life and death. Daphne went to pat his misty sleeve and made a face when her hand passed through his arm.
“I was very kind to animals,” said the Baron, “I always gave alms to the poor . . . you would think that people might remember that.”
“Well,” said Blaise, “you also disembowelled your enemies and stuck their heads on pikes.”
“But everyone did that back in the old days, it was de rigueur; the Friar never did anything except drink himself to death and Nick . . . Ha! And I would not willingly impugn the reputation of a lady but believe me, children, that Ravenclaw strumpet was worse than all the rest of us. At least I had a certain style.”
“And the Pox,” whispered Blaise but the Baron heard him anyway.
“That was de rigueur too. I might go and see that little Potter boy; he’s quite interesting compared to the rest of you. Not you, my dear,” he made as though to kiss Daphne’s hand and she didn’t even flinch. Teddy did - on her behalf.
“Don’t upset him.” Draco leaned across Daphne. “He’s . . . ill.”
The Baron stood up all motley silver blood spatters on the decayed grey lace at his throat and with his wide-skirted coat swirling, “Potter and I have an understanding, he will be very pleased to receive a visit.”
“He said you told him he was a disgrace to Slytherin.” Draco glared at the ghost.
“Yes. He was on his knees scrubbing the floor . . . I was appalled. But I have spoken with him since then and I think he might do very well with the proper guidance.”
“When did you speak to him, Baron?” Daphne asked.
“Later the same night; he’s a restless child.” The Baron drifted away through the wall.
* * *
That night Draco dreamed that he and Harry were standing in a Hall of Mirrors and the Bloody Baron was telling Harry not to kneel to anyone; Mother was pouring tea; and then he was back in that familiar dark place with dust and spiders . . . someone was crying.
He woke up with tears in his eyes and sat in front of the fire in the common room until people started to get up and then he went to shower and dress.
It seemed that most people slept in on Sunday; the Hall was more than half empty and Draco hurried through breakfast and then went to see Harry.
He had intended to go straight to the Infirmary but the Hogwarts staircases had other ideas and he found himself in a corridor he didn’t recognise. There were pictures on the walls: a red-faced man in a velvet doublet embroidered with gold thread, a thin-faced woman with a book on the writing desk at her right hand, and an olive-skinned boy with brown curly hair and a wooden flute and sheep.
“Oh!” said Draco, “You must be Shepherd.”
“I don’t remember you,” the boy smiled; “Have we met?”
“No, I’m Draco; I think you might have talked to a friend of mine, Harry? He meant to come and see you yesterday, I think, but he couldn’t.”
“Oh well,” said Shepherd, “I’m sure he’ll visit when he can.”
“I’m Sir Roger Oldcastle,” said the red-faced man, “Did your friend tell you that I invented a spell when I was in third year?”
“Yes, he did. Were you a Ravenclaw?”
“Hufflepuff,” said Sir Roger with a smirk. “You don’t have to be a Ravenclaw to have a brain.”
The thin-faced woman laughed quietly but said nothing.
“It was nice of you to come, Draco,” smiled Shepherd; “people are usually in too much of a rush to stop and talk.”
“Well . . . I . . .” Draco couldn’t quite bring himself to confess that he was an accidental visitor; “Harry said you didn’t have a name; were you a student here too?”
“Oh no,” laughed Shepherd, “I was a Muggle street rat; a man told me that he’d give me food and a place to sleep if I let him paint me. He was a Wizard but I didn’t know that then.”
“How . . . how . . . interesting; I’ve never talked to a Muggle before.” Draco thought that perhaps Shepherd was not the sort of person he ought to know but then again the boy was only a painting.
“You’re a Malfoy aren’t you,” said a new voice from somewhere behind Draco. It was a dark, deep voice and it sent a chill up Draco’s spine. He whirled around and found himself looking at another picture of a man standing in a bare room with a candle and a black dog. “You look like a Malfoy.”
“Yes, I’m Draco Malfoy. Who are you?”
“I’m the man with the black dog, Draco.”
Draco remembered Harry telling him that he’d met a man with a dog who wouldn’t tell him his name. “Does the dog have a name?” he asked.
The man laughed; he had a dark, deep laugh, “his name is Cul.”
“Well it’s been nice meeting all of you. I have to go now.” Draco turned to retrace his steps.
“Don’t worry about him, Draco, he’s a poet; it makes him gloomy and theatrical.” Shepherd sat down on a rather mossy rock, lifted the flute to his lips and blew a few notes; “I can’t play this you know, it was just a prop.”
“All right, thanks. I’ll come back with Harry some time.” He walked quickly to the stairs and tried to remember which way he should go to reach the Infirmary.
* * *
When Draco finally reached his destination Harry was dressed and sitting on his bed reading The Silver Serpent; “Draco, you’re here.” He dropped the book and stood up; “Madam Pomfrey says I can leave, I was waiting for you because I thought you’d come and fetch me. Can we go now?”
“Not so fast, Mister Potter,” the Matron seemed ruffled; she pushed a phial into Harry’s hand; “take this now before you go; I’ll arrange for the potion to be delivered when you need it and you will see me after lessons tomorrow.”
Harry drank the potion with a grimace of distaste, “I said I would.” He placed the empty phial on the table. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”
“No flying until I say so, Mister Potter,” the Matron frowned and Harry grinned, “I’m serious.”
“Yes, Madam Pomfrey. When do I get my wand back?” Harry shoved The Silver Serpent into his pocket.
“That’s a matter you should discuss with your Head of House. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
“So, what do you want to do, Harry?” Draco felt a little strange. He was glad to have his friend back and Harry seemed alert and cheerful but he couldn’t help remembering Friday in the Potions corridor and yesterday when the windows shivered into fragments and Uncle Severus frowning and opening the polished wooden box with strange runes carved into the lid.
“I want to see Greg and Vin and Daphne and . . . I want to see everyone. And maybe we could go and see Hedwig and Thor, and I still have to visit Hagrid . . . but now he’s not expecting me.” Harry’s smile faded.
“After lunch we could go for a walk down to Hagrid’s . . . er . . . house and see if he’s home,” suggested Draco.
Harry grabbed Draco’s sleeve. “That’s a great idea. We can say that we were just passing and then if he doesn’t want to see me it won’t be so horrible.”
“I met Shepherd and Sir Roger and the others today . . . the stairs took me for a bit of a ride and there I was and there they were. How weird is that? You have some very odd friends, Harry.” Draco bumped his friend’s shoulder gently.
“They’re not so odd,” said Harry, bumping back, “well, they are, but that might be because of being stuck in picture frames for years and years.”
“Shepherd’s nice.”
“Yes, he’s nice. I think something really bad happened to him in the end.”
They had reached the dungeons and the hidden door; “Serpo,” said Draco. The wall opened and then they were surrounded by excited faces and hugs and thumps on the back as though Harry had been away for weeks instead of a few days.
Author: Arachne002 with (my Pillocks) pinknightfaerie and butterbean3
Genre: AU Adventure-Romance
Rating: G - R overall
Pairings: Many: We can’t tell you just yet. (H/D down the track)
Summary: What if Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin?
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Silliness, Slash, Smut, Violence, WIP, etc.
Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns the characters, settings and various plot devices: we plan to borrow them for our own nefarious purposes but intend no offence and make no money.
A/N: in books and chapters . . . we might never finish but we’ll have fun trying . . . promise no cliff-hangers in case we stop writing.
This Chapter G-rated
For a few minutes after he woke up Draco couldn’t remember where he was or why, then he heard Harry’s voice and he remembered the events of the previous day.
“But I have to go. I have to meet Marcus; he’s going to explain about Quidditch.”
“Settle down, Mister Potter; Quidditch can wait a while. I’m sure Professor Snape has already explained things to . . .”
“But he wouldn’t explain, Madam Pomfrey, he’d let Marcus think that I stayed away on purpose. He’d let him think I was too . . . that I was . . . he won’t explain properly because he hates me.”
Draco heard glass breaking somewhere in the room. Madam Pomfrey was talking again and didn’t seem to notice.
“Mister Potter, if you think Professor Snape would jeopardise Slytherin’s Quidditch prospects through mere dislike of a student you have a lot to learn about human nature.” She had a wry smile in her voice. “You will stay here until I am satisfied with your state of health. And at the moment I am far from satisfied.”
“But, Madam Pomfrey . . .”
“And you have to eat, Mister Potter; you’re very underweight.”
“I’ve always been skinny. I promise I’ll eat; I’ll eat in the Hall with everyone else. I can’t stay here, please don’t make me . . .” Harry sounded like he was trying not to cry and Draco buried his head under the pillow - he didn’t want to hear any more.
“Now, now, Mister Potter, maybe you can talk to Flint tomorrow.”
“But I wanted to see Hagrid, and Draco was going to come with me and I promised Shepherd I’d talk to him today. They’ll think I’m a liar . . .”
These pillows must be very poor quality, thought Draco as he sat up again and coughed to let them know that he was awake.
Madam Pomfrey was still starched and efficient but Draco thought she looked rather upset. “Mister Malfoy, you can shower through there,” she pointed at a door across the room.
Harry was pale except for a sudden flush of pink across his cheeks when he looked at Draco then away then back again. “Thank you for staying with me. I’m sorry . . .”
“I want to talk to Harry.” Draco thought that if he left something bad might happen. He thought about writing home and asking Mother and Father to fix everything. “I want to . . .”
“You can talk to him in a little while, Mister Malfoy,” she picked up a bundle of fresh clothing and a towel from a chair beside the bed and put them in his arms, “afterwards.”
So he went and showered and dressed and combed his hair. And when he came out there was a small table with fruit and buttered bread laid on a white tablecloth between the beds.
“Hello, Harry, are you feeling better now?” He sat down carefully on the chair. “I was worried about you.”
“They were right. Everything about me is rubbish. I feel like such an idiot, Draco. Do you hate me?”
He didn’t know who ‘they’ were but that didn’t matter. “Why would I hate you? I think we should have breakfast, Harry.” Draco picked up a slice of watermelon and pushed it into Harry’s hand. “And later on we’ll go and see the m . . . Hagrid . . . and meet the spitty dog. I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you’re great - you’re my friend, Harry.”
“She won’t let me go. She says I’m not well - but I am, Draco; I’m fine and I want to leave now. I need to meet Marcus.” Harry’s hands were shaking and he dropped the melon on the white bedspread.
The little table shook and the dishes rattled; Harry closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, “Am I doing that, Draco?”
“Yes, Harry. I think we should tell Madam Pomfrey what really happened in the Potions corridor.”
“No! I didn’t mean to do it! They’ll send me away. Please, Draco, don’t tell . . .”
One of the tall diamond-paned windows shattered and the shards caught the pale sunlight as they fell to the floor; then another and another. The empty lead frames were bent out of shape.
Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room with her wand in her hand, “Somnus!”
Harry’s eyes opened wide flickered and closed and he fell back against the pillows. Things stopped shaking and breaking and Draco couldn’t stop the little fearful noise that escaped him; he looked at the Matron and she looked back at him.
“A Sleeping Charm, Mister Malfoy. Are you all right?” Draco nodded and the woman turned towards the windows and cast Reparo three times. Then she put her wand away and carefully pinned her hair where it had come down, “Did you know about this?” She didn’t sound angry as she leant forward and gently removed Harry’s glasses.
Draco wondered if he’d be punished. “I didn’t know what to do . . . I was going to . . . I didn’t want Harry to get into any trouble.”
“Eat your breakfast.” Madam Pomfrey patted his shoulder; "I need to speak with the Headmaster and Professor Snape. Don’t look so worried, Mister Malfoy, you have not done anything wrong.” She disappeared into her small office and the door swung back and forth behind her.
Draco looked at the food in front of him; he wasn’t very hungry but he picked up a piece of bread and nibbled on it.
Harry was fast asleep but there was a crease between his dark brows and his lips were moving: Draco wondered what he was dreaming about.
* * *
When Madam Pomfrey came back, the Headmaster and Uncle Severus were with her. Dumbledore was wearing a garish orange quilted dressing gown and blue fluffy slippers.
“Good morning, Mister Malfoy.” The old wizard peered over his half-moon spectacles at Draco, “Perhaps you’d like to go back to your House now.”
“I want to stay with Harry. He thinks you’re going to send him away.”
Dumbledore had turned to look at Harry with an odd unreadable expression on his face but he glanced up at that, “And what do you think, Mister Malfoy?”
“I don’t know, Sir; I hope you don’t send him away.” Draco looked at his godfather then, “It wasn’t his fault. Why can’t I stay?”
“You heard the Headmaster and I agree with him; there’s no good reason for you to stay. Go back to the dungeons, Draco.” Uncle Severus was opening a polished wooden box with runes that Draco didn’t recognise carved into the lid. “Perhaps you can come back later when Mister Potter is more . . . himself.”
Draco turned and left the room reluctantly. He heard Madam Pomfrey saying something sharp as he closed the door but couldn’t catch the words.
He’d just reached the top of the first flight of stairs when he saw Neville Longbottom approaching from the opposite direction, walking quickly and looking over his shoulder every so often.
“What are you doing, Longbottom?”
The other boy gave a guilty start, “Oh, it’s you, Malfoy; I was going to the Infirmary to see if Harry’s all right - do you know? Have you been there?”
“Yes, I was there. He’s . . .” Draco stopped. Harry was helpless under the influence of a Sleeping Charm and he was with Uncle Severus, who didn’t like him at all, and Albus Dumbledore, who, Draco supposed, was thinking about the welfare of the School and who hadn’t expected the Boy-Who-Lived to be sorted into the Dark Lord’s old House. He should have stayed, he should have . . .
“Malfoy? Are you okay?”
“I have to go back.” He ran back to the Infirmary, with the blood pounding in his ears and aware that Longbottom was running beside him.
The door was locked and Alohomora didn’t work so Draco thumped on the heavy oak until his hands were bruised, “Let me in . . . let me in . . .”
The door opened and a very annoyed-looking Madam Pomfrey stood there with her hands on her hips.
“What is the meaning of this uproar, Mister Malfoy?”
“They’re going to do something to Harry.” It sounded ridiculous as soon as the words were out and he realised that he was all sweaty and rumpled. Draco drew a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey, please don’t send me away again.”
Longbottom was watching him and shifting from foot to foot, and then he looked at the Matron who had pulled the door to behind her, “Madam Pomfrey, I just came to see how Harry’s doing. We were there when he fainted and I . . .” The Gryffindor boy faltered under her incredulous stare but stood his ground.
“Mister Longbottom, your concern does you credit; I’m a little surprised to see a Gryffindor asking after the health of a Slytherin . . . that has not happened for a long time.” Her eyes lost that hard scary look and she almost smiled. “Mister Potter is resting comfortably. Go away now; you may visit this afternoon. Mister Malfoy, you wait here.”
The door closed behind her and Draco found that Longbottom was watching him again, his round face full of worry. “Er . . . Malfoy, I met Harry on the train and he seemed really nice and then he stood up for me in Potions and . . . well, he’s a Slytherin and all that but . . . and you are too, so . . . anyway . . . I’ll see you around.” He walked back the way they’d come leaving Draco alone in the corridor.
* * *
It seemed like a long time before the door opened again and Draco was allowed to come back into the ward. He’d heard nothing through the thick door and wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
There was no sign of the Headmaster or Uncle Severus and Harry was sitting up in the small white bed drinking a glass of pumpkin juice. There was a book lying on the bedside table.
“I thought you’d gone, Draco.” Harry put down his glass. His hand was still shaking a bit but not as badly as before.
“I wanted to stay, Harry, but they said I should go” He sat on the chair, “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine; I can’t believe I made such a fuss about everything. Professor Dumbledore promised to talk to Marcus about Quidditch and Snape - er - Professor Snape said I can make up the classes I missed . . . he said I could do that for detention instead of scrubbing floors.”
Draco tried to think but Harry was smiling as though there was nothing wrong at all; “I have to make up those classes too; we can do them together. He gave you a detention?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I’m not sure; he might have been talking about detentions I’m going to get later, I don’t know. I have to take a special potion for a while so that I don’t break any more windows or . . . or hurt anyone.” Harry’s unnatural calm wavered for a moment and Draco glanced towards the windows and saw that they were spattered with rain drops.
“Is that why you’re like this, because they gave you a potion?”
“I didn’t want to take it, but then Dumbledore said I had to if I wanted to stay here.” Again there was a tiny tremor in the air and Draco felt the short hairs prickle on the back of his neck.
Madam Pomfrey had been standing quietly while they were talking but now she spoke, “I’m sure the Headmaster never said any such thing, Mister Potter; the potion is a mild calmative draught and quite specific, Mister Malfoy, there’s no need for more upsets.”
“What do you mean ‘specific’?” asked Draco.
“I mean that the potion will not prevent Mister Potter from attending classes and performing wanded magic; nor will it interfere with his flying - once he becomes accustomed to it in a day or so.”
“Will Harry be back in classes on Monday?”
“All being well,” said Madam Pomfrey, she was being deliberately vague, guessed Draco.
When she’d gone Harry said, “I’m sorry, Draco. It must be boring being stuck here on your first weekend and the others will be missing you - you don’t need to stay.”
“No, Harry, I don’t need to.”
* * *
By late morning it was raining heavily. Madam Pomfrey brought in some sandwiches and a potion for Harry. It was still raining when Longbottom came to visit and brought chocolate frogs. Draco was surprised that he’d actually come because he’d already made the gesture that morning. He didn’t stay long and said very little.
Pansy, Greg and Daphne arrived soon after that with more chocolate.
“We can’t all visit at the same time, Harry, we had to draw straws.” Pansy looked bright and cheerful in her pink ribbons but Draco could tell that she was worried.
They chatted quietly for a while about the lessons Draco and Harry had missed: “ . . . nothing very exciting,” said Greg, “we had double DADA and Quirrell was even worse than usual. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Pans dropped her textbook.”
“But Charms was fun,” said Daphne, “I levitated a glass paperweight for thirty seconds.”
“Yeah, before you dropped it on my foot,” Greg laughed.
“Did you get your essays done for Professor Snape? I’m going to be so far behind.” Draco had suddenly remembered that he needed to write his own thirty inches on Inclemens and it was already late; he’d left his books in the Potions corridor yesterday and hadn’t thought about them since. “Did you pick up my books and Harry’s?”
“Your books are safe, Draco, and your ink and your quill and your comb,” smiled Pansy. “We finished the essays last night; Inclemens is quite interesting actually - but we promised not to tell, Professor Snape said that you two have to do your own work and we’re not allowed to help.”
“Is it something to do with the weather?” Harry prompted.
“Not telling.” Pansy winked.
Harry fell asleep with his hand in Daphne’s and woke up tousled and disoriented half an hour later. The book on the bedside table slid onto the floor but no-one except Draco seemed to notice.
Madam Pomfrey came in with another potion and shooed the visitors away.
* * *
Harry was quiet and drowsy all afternoon. Draco had picked up the book from the floor: it was called The Silver Serpent. “Do you want me to read to you Harry?”
“I’d like that, Draco. Dumbledore gave it to me, he said I’d enjoy it; he said it was a made up story based on Salazar Slytherin’s real adventures when he was a boy before Hogwarts.” Harry’s voice was a little slurred. “I never had any books of my own but Dudley had a whole shelf full . . . I don’t think he ever read them . . . I borrowed them sometimes . . . when no-one was watching. Have you read Treasure Island, Draco?”
“Yeah! That was a great book; Greg’s mum gave it to me for my birthday. She said it was written by a Muggle and I thought Mother was going to take it away but she didn’t.”
The Silver Serpent was very exciting and Draco was thrilled to discover that his great-however-many-times ancestor Dewart Black figured in many of Salazar’s adventures.
“We could have adventures just like them, Draco,” said Harry; “we could solve the Gringotts break-in . . . and . . . and save Pansy from the giant squid and be heroes.”
“And we could go on a quest with Greg and Vin and Blaise . . .”
“And Daphne . . .”
“ . . . and Daphne to find Salazar’s Book.” Draco was sprawled across the end of Harry’s bed with his feet in the air. “Father says the Lost Book’s hidden somewhere at Hogwarts.”
“Did he look for it when he was here?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
Blaise and Vinny came to visit but Madam Pomfrey only let them stay for ten minutes; they said Millie, Teddy and Marcus Flint were outside and weren’t allowed to come in.
Draco had to leave with the other Slytherins. Harry was almost asleep again but the lamps flickered.
* * *
Draco sat in the Great Hall and it felt strange although he’d only been away for little while. It felt strange because he knew that Harry was somewhere else in the castle on his own.
At the staff table Quirrell was talking to Madam Hooch and she was making swooping gestures with her hands as though describing a Quidditch play. McGonagall was talking to Uncle Severus and laughing and shaking her finger at him when he sneered at her.
The Bloody Baron sat down next to Daphne - well, he bent as though he was sitting and hovered over the long bench - and started to tell her all about how misunderstood he was in life and death. Daphne went to pat his misty sleeve and made a face when her hand passed through his arm.
“I was very kind to animals,” said the Baron, “I always gave alms to the poor . . . you would think that people might remember that.”
“Well,” said Blaise, “you also disembowelled your enemies and stuck their heads on pikes.”
“But everyone did that back in the old days, it was de rigueur; the Friar never did anything except drink himself to death and Nick . . . Ha! And I would not willingly impugn the reputation of a lady but believe me, children, that Ravenclaw strumpet was worse than all the rest of us. At least I had a certain style.”
“And the Pox,” whispered Blaise but the Baron heard him anyway.
“That was de rigueur too. I might go and see that little Potter boy; he’s quite interesting compared to the rest of you. Not you, my dear,” he made as though to kiss Daphne’s hand and she didn’t even flinch. Teddy did - on her behalf.
“Don’t upset him.” Draco leaned across Daphne. “He’s . . . ill.”
The Baron stood up all motley silver blood spatters on the decayed grey lace at his throat and with his wide-skirted coat swirling, “Potter and I have an understanding, he will be very pleased to receive a visit.”
“He said you told him he was a disgrace to Slytherin.” Draco glared at the ghost.
“Yes. He was on his knees scrubbing the floor . . . I was appalled. But I have spoken with him since then and I think he might do very well with the proper guidance.”
“When did you speak to him, Baron?” Daphne asked.
“Later the same night; he’s a restless child.” The Baron drifted away through the wall.
* * *
That night Draco dreamed that he and Harry were standing in a Hall of Mirrors and the Bloody Baron was telling Harry not to kneel to anyone; Mother was pouring tea; and then he was back in that familiar dark place with dust and spiders . . . someone was crying.
He woke up with tears in his eyes and sat in front of the fire in the common room until people started to get up and then he went to shower and dress.
It seemed that most people slept in on Sunday; the Hall was more than half empty and Draco hurried through breakfast and then went to see Harry.
He had intended to go straight to the Infirmary but the Hogwarts staircases had other ideas and he found himself in a corridor he didn’t recognise. There were pictures on the walls: a red-faced man in a velvet doublet embroidered with gold thread, a thin-faced woman with a book on the writing desk at her right hand, and an olive-skinned boy with brown curly hair and a wooden flute and sheep.
“Oh!” said Draco, “You must be Shepherd.”
“I don’t remember you,” the boy smiled; “Have we met?”
“No, I’m Draco; I think you might have talked to a friend of mine, Harry? He meant to come and see you yesterday, I think, but he couldn’t.”
“Oh well,” said Shepherd, “I’m sure he’ll visit when he can.”
“I’m Sir Roger Oldcastle,” said the red-faced man, “Did your friend tell you that I invented a spell when I was in third year?”
“Yes, he did. Were you a Ravenclaw?”
“Hufflepuff,” said Sir Roger with a smirk. “You don’t have to be a Ravenclaw to have a brain.”
The thin-faced woman laughed quietly but said nothing.
“It was nice of you to come, Draco,” smiled Shepherd; “people are usually in too much of a rush to stop and talk.”
“Well . . . I . . .” Draco couldn’t quite bring himself to confess that he was an accidental visitor; “Harry said you didn’t have a name; were you a student here too?”
“Oh no,” laughed Shepherd, “I was a Muggle street rat; a man told me that he’d give me food and a place to sleep if I let him paint me. He was a Wizard but I didn’t know that then.”
“How . . . how . . . interesting; I’ve never talked to a Muggle before.” Draco thought that perhaps Shepherd was not the sort of person he ought to know but then again the boy was only a painting.
“You’re a Malfoy aren’t you,” said a new voice from somewhere behind Draco. It was a dark, deep voice and it sent a chill up Draco’s spine. He whirled around and found himself looking at another picture of a man standing in a bare room with a candle and a black dog. “You look like a Malfoy.”
“Yes, I’m Draco Malfoy. Who are you?”
“I’m the man with the black dog, Draco.”
Draco remembered Harry telling him that he’d met a man with a dog who wouldn’t tell him his name. “Does the dog have a name?” he asked.
The man laughed; he had a dark, deep laugh, “his name is Cul.”
“Well it’s been nice meeting all of you. I have to go now.” Draco turned to retrace his steps.
“Don’t worry about him, Draco, he’s a poet; it makes him gloomy and theatrical.” Shepherd sat down on a rather mossy rock, lifted the flute to his lips and blew a few notes; “I can’t play this you know, it was just a prop.”
“All right, thanks. I’ll come back with Harry some time.” He walked quickly to the stairs and tried to remember which way he should go to reach the Infirmary.
* * *
When Draco finally reached his destination Harry was dressed and sitting on his bed reading The Silver Serpent; “Draco, you’re here.” He dropped the book and stood up; “Madam Pomfrey says I can leave, I was waiting for you because I thought you’d come and fetch me. Can we go now?”
“Not so fast, Mister Potter,” the Matron seemed ruffled; she pushed a phial into Harry’s hand; “take this now before you go; I’ll arrange for the potion to be delivered when you need it and you will see me after lessons tomorrow.”
Harry drank the potion with a grimace of distaste, “I said I would.” He placed the empty phial on the table. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”
“No flying until I say so, Mister Potter,” the Matron frowned and Harry grinned, “I’m serious.”
“Yes, Madam Pomfrey. When do I get my wand back?” Harry shoved The Silver Serpent into his pocket.
“That’s a matter you should discuss with your Head of House. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
“So, what do you want to do, Harry?” Draco felt a little strange. He was glad to have his friend back and Harry seemed alert and cheerful but he couldn’t help remembering Friday in the Potions corridor and yesterday when the windows shivered into fragments and Uncle Severus frowning and opening the polished wooden box with strange runes carved into the lid.
“I want to see Greg and Vin and Daphne and . . . I want to see everyone. And maybe we could go and see Hedwig and Thor, and I still have to visit Hagrid . . . but now he’s not expecting me.” Harry’s smile faded.
“After lunch we could go for a walk down to Hagrid’s . . . er . . . house and see if he’s home,” suggested Draco.
Harry grabbed Draco’s sleeve. “That’s a great idea. We can say that we were just passing and then if he doesn’t want to see me it won’t be so horrible.”
“I met Shepherd and Sir Roger and the others today . . . the stairs took me for a bit of a ride and there I was and there they were. How weird is that? You have some very odd friends, Harry.” Draco bumped his friend’s shoulder gently.
“They’re not so odd,” said Harry, bumping back, “well, they are, but that might be because of being stuck in picture frames for years and years.”
“Shepherd’s nice.”
“Yes, he’s nice. I think something really bad happened to him in the end.”
They had reached the dungeons and the hidden door; “Serpo,” said Draco. The wall opened and then they were surrounded by excited faces and hugs and thumps on the back as though Harry had been away for weeks instead of a few days.