White Lies (4/?)
Title: White Lies (4/?)
Author: Cassis Luna
Rating: PG-13 for now
Warnings: ignores DH, EWE, AU, adult themes, profanity
Chapter Word Count: 7,265
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made out of this.
Note: I got the idea about the Restoration Potion from the Troyjeinen Potion found here, so that's not mine either.
Summary: Eight year. Draco drinks a potion that makes him know if a person is lying, and Harry, apparently at fault that Draco is this way, is forced to 'help' him throughout the effects of the potion. For the first time, they deal with each other with no lies to hide behind.
Alternate Summary: In which Draco's a Potions experiment gone bad, Hogwarts wants to eat Harry (oh, but does it really?), and everyone thinks they're shagging each other. (Yes, even the house-elves.)
CHAPTER 4
Social Affairs
If Harry was looking forward to a peaceful sleep after an exhausting day, then he was sorely disappointed. When he woke up, it was still dark outside, the room was deathly cold, and his shoulder was telling him how much of an arse he was for not taking care of it sooner. Stubbornly, he burrowed back under the covers and promptly ignored the pain.
Or he tried to.
It didn’t even hurt that much, just… a throbbing itch. One that he couldn’t scratch because it only hurt when he touched it. Or moved it.
Disgruntled, he sat up and shoved his glasses on his face, casting a quick Tempus.
Barely six in the morning. With a grumble, he got off the bed and into the bathroom, wanting to look at least presentable when he barged into the infirmary and deprived Madame Pomfrey of her beauty sleep.
He looked pale and horribly sleepy, but that was nothing new. What was new, however, was the small bruise on his right cheek and he winced as he touched it. He must have hit it when he fell through the wall.
Sighing, he washed his face and since he hadn’t changed his school robes from the night before, he quickly rushed off to the infirmary.
-
When Harry graduates, he’s going to make a shrine dedicated to Madame Pomfrey, the woman who never tired of re-growing his bones every week for the past eight years. (Sort of.)
Somehow, even though he was already on his way towards the infirmary, he couldn’t find it in himself to wake her up so he decided to just wait on one of the beds (and maybe catch a few more minutes of sleep.) but when he got there, he found that he didn’t need to.
Madame Pomfrey was already up and fussing over another student lying down on one of the beds, and when she saw him, it just proved that he’d been there way too many times that she didn’t even look surprised. “Mr. Potter,” she acknowledged.
A groan came from the bed and resounded in the room. “Potter,” the student said dryly, voice scratchy and rasping. “Couldn’t wait to see me, I suppose.”
“Malfoy,” Harry replied, just as dryly even though he couldn’t help the concerned tone from his voice as he continued. “What are you doing here?”
Madame Pomfrey moved aside so he could get a better view of the bed. Draco had his eyes closed and he looked normal enough, though Harry wasn’t sure if he’d gone a tad bit paler. (He was already so very pale to begin with.)
“It happened again, I’m afraid,” Madame Pomfrey provided, frowning at Draco. “I’ve just given Mr. Malfoy here something for his throat. I’ll have to talk to Professor Snape.”
Harry started at that. “Oh, err,” he mumbled, feeling as if he were being an inconvenience. “It’s okay, you can talk to Sn - Professor Snape now. I can wait.”
At that, Draco’s eyes fluttered open, now curious as to why Harry was in the infirmary.
“Nonsense, Mr. Potter!” she huffed, now turning towards him. She blinked at the bruise on his cheek. “Is that all then?”
“Oh! Err, no,” Harry replied, fidgeting nervously under Malfoy’s gaze. “My shoulder,” he supplied.
Madame Pomfrey nodded, giving her wand a few flicks. An invisible force hit Harry’s shoulder and knocked the breath out of him, almost toppling him over as he let out a grunt. It still caught him by surprise every time.
Another few flicks, and Madame Pomfrey nodded, satisified. “The swelling will go down in a while. Now, I want you to get yourself something for the pain - you know where those are, of course - and get yourself into bed. If I don’t see you in bed when I return -“
“I’ll get into bed,” Harry replied quickly and meekly, already having suffered her wrath before during some of his lesser-brained moments. (Rule of thumb: Pomfrey is law… and he was still sleepy.)
Madame Pomfrey nodded again, giving him one last firm stare, before promptly walking out of the infirmary.
Harry caught Malfoy’s questioning look, and he shrugged. Then he remembered that his shoulder didn’t like him very much at the moment and he quickly made the decision to get that pain-relieving potion. He crossed the room towards the cupboards, wishing that Malfoy wouldn’t ask because that would be awkward and just very -
“Okay, Potter, what happened?”
Harry hit his head on the ceiling of the cupboard he was currently rummaging in.
“Ow,” he said.
“Yes, I see,” Malfoy said.
Harry glared at him. “You’re supposed to be sick. Preferrably sleepy and too weak to talk,” he mumbled.
Malfoy looked amused. “So? What happened?”
Pointedly not looking at him, Harry reached to grab hold of a particularly nasty looking potion. “Trip jinx,” he muttered.
“You forget I can tell you’re lying,” Draco replied smoothly.
And Harry realized that oh, right, shite. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said instead, with no heat. He sighed as he finally turned to Malfoy who was now sitting up on the bed, regarding him with a cool expression. “I’m just really sleepy.”
“Not surprising. You look like a troll.”
Harry glared at him again. “Less talking, more being sick. You? What happened to you?”
-
“You’re supposed to be sick. Preferrably sleepy and too weak to talk,” Potter mumbled.
The light around him stayed gold.
Draco resisted the urge to grin at that, because that meant that maybe, Potter cared enough to at least not want him to be sick. Of course, it was Potter and his hero complex again, but it was something. “So? What happened?
“Trip jinx,” Potter muttered as he finally retracted himself from that cupboard he was rummaging in.
The golden light that blurrily lit his form even in the darkness of the infirmary quickly turned black.
“You forget I can tell you’re lying,” Draco replied smoothly, not surprised that Potter lied to him and adamantly ignoring the twist in his gut at that realization.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Potter replied, sounding tired.
Gold. True.
“I’m just really sleepy.”
Gold.
Draco almost pitied him. He was also almost worried.
Almost.
(…Err.)
“Not surprising. You look like a troll.”
The glare that Potter sent him almost made him relieved because that meant that Potter wasn’t too tired.
“Less talking, more being sick.”
Black.
Draco was amused yet again.
“You? What happened to you?”
-
“Why? Are you worried, Potter?” Malfoy asked, a smirk in place as if he found the thought funny.
Harry paused, fingers playing with the small bottle, before shrugging - and wincing at the action. “Yeah, I am,” he muttered, because he was.
He couldn’t deny that Malfoy was, git or not, somehow… his - dare he say it? - friend. Or, err, at least something close to that. And he did already admit to himself just a day or two ago that he wanted to be Malfoy’s friend, now that he realized that Draco Malfoy wasn’t all bratty and snotty.
(Perhaps they’ve all changed because of the war.)
The silence that greeted him was unexpected, and he felt vaguely awkward. To resist fidgeting in his place, Harry busied himself with the potion instead, downing it in one go and immediately regretting it.
“Potter,” he heard Malfoy say in a serious tone.
Taking away the grimace off his face and swallowing the disgusting aftertaste in his mouth, he looked at Malfoy, immediately awkward again. “Yeah?”
“Stop flirting with me,” Malfoy sighed in mock-swoon.
Harry flushed and flipped him the finger.
-
Oh, how Harry wanted to sleep. How he wanted to slumber peacefully and jump over fences together with the sheep he was counting in his head. It was also cold and he very much wanted to stay under the blankets.
Snape had other ideas.
With a sullen glare and a whole lot of grumbling, Harry pushed the covers off him and got off the bed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. One bed over sat Malfoy who looked as disgruntled as he was. He was probably forced out of bed as well.
“What happened, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked, expression almost concerned. He looked as prim as always, as if it weren’t some ungodly hour of the night. (It probably wasn’t. Breakfast would most likely be served soon.)
“Same thing as yesterday,” Draco replied, mumbling through his half-asleep state. He rubbed his eyes to keep them open.
At that, Harry had to hide a grin.
Snape continued. “And what’s this I hear about… vomiting?”
Draco paused, staring at his godfather who probably already knew everything from Madame Pomfrey. “Blood,” he muttered.
Harry’s grin fell. Nobody said anything about blood.
While Snape muttered more things under his breath about Dragon’s Blood, Harry looked at Malfoy pointedly, who looked back at him and shrugged. Nobody said anything about blood.
Suddenly, Snape turned to him. “And where were you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he was surprised when he heard Malfoy sigh exasperatedly. “He was sleeping, Professor Snape. Surely you’re not going to fault him for that?”
And even more surprisingly, Snape just nodded and mumbled more to himself about Erumpent Exploding Fluid. (Harry wished he could talk back to Snape without the risk of losing house points. Just once.)
There was a silence that enveloped the infirmary, which Harry took advantage of to wonder when the world turned over and made it so that Malfoy was now actually defending him.
Finally, Snape and Madame Pomfrey shared a look, which did not go unnoticed by both boys. Draco blanched, because he knew that anything they share could not possibly be good.
“There’s nothing else for it, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, maintaining his cool expression.
“What?” Draco squeaked out. He groaned. “What are you going to make me do this time?”
“We’re not going to detain you in the infirmary, but you’re going to have to retire here for the night,” Madame Pomfrey told him gently. “Your necessities will be sent here later in the morning.”
Draco stared at her. “I can’t even go back to my own bed?”
Harry felt bad for him. He knew how lonely and boring nights at the infirmary were.
“As much as it pains me, I can’t send Potter to Slytherin to watch over you -“ Snape paused, just to appreciate the looks of horror that both boys sent him. “Nor you to Gryffindor.” The horrified expressions stayed. “The Headmistress won’t allow that. Nevertheless, we need someone to monitor you -“ Here, he stopped, as if hesitating.
Draco waved it off impatiently. “In case it gets worse, right?”
Snape nodded stiffly.
This time, it was Harry who blanched, because he didn’t really think that this was going to get worse, or that it was that bad to begin with. They were in Hogwarts! Pus-oozing warts suddenly appearing all over your body and falling down stairs because they kept on moving was a normal daily occurrence.
Snape looked uncomfortable, and Draco softened at that. “Alright,” he said finally, showing nonchalance. Snape was the only one closest to a family he had left, and he knew that it also applied the other way around.
Madame Pomfrey nodded at his reply. “You’ll still have to go to classes, and you can take your meals in the Great Hall. All I ask is that you be here by curfew.”
Draco nodded.
Snape turned to Harry. “And you, Potter,” he started, though with surprisingly no malice. “Your post stays.”
And Harry found himself nodding too.
“Well, off you go, then!” Madame Pomfrey started, waving for the door. “Breakfast’s already started and I imagine we’re all famished!”
-
“Was it really that bad?” Harry asked suddenly as soon as they were out of the infirmary and walking towards the Great Hall.
As they passed some of the suit of armors, Harry took the chance to look at his reflection. As Madame Pomfrey said, the swelling had already gone and he tentatively touched his shoulder, relieved when it didn’t hurt. It must have gone away when we has in bed, trying to sleep. (And Harry had wondered why Snape didn’t comment on it.)
Draco, who was still pondering on what was said in the infirmary, didn’t look up and responded almost by reflex. “Why? Are you worried, Potter?”
Harry looked at him confusedly, if not a bit annoyed. “I thought we’d already established that. Yes, I’m worried about you, Malfoy,” he said dryly.
At that, Draco’s head snapped up and he looked at Potter.
Gold.
Unlike earlier when Harry very determinedly stared at the floor when he made the same declaration, this time he saw Malfoy’s expression and he stared, surprised, as Malfoy flushed red.
“Stop flirting with me in public, Potter,” Malfoy said in mock-sigh, pointedly looking away. “I have a reputation to keep.”
At that, Harry just shrugged and grinned. “Sure, you have. Draco, the bouncing ferret.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened and he thought, panicking, if he’d overstepped a line.
Draco watched as the grin turned into a panicked expression and couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed… And, well, Harry just said his name. (Pathetic, Draco, his inner Pansy told him.)
“Very cheeky, Potter,” he said haughtily instead. “And just because you’re our Golden Boy,” he shot back, just so they were even.
And Harry realized that too, and he relaxed visibly but still looked sheepish. “I hate that name,” he said, shrugging.
Gold.
“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not the attention-seeking, media-hogging hero we’ve all come to know and love?”
Harry flushed. He glared at the other boy. “Snape would beg to differ,” he muttered.
“Really,” Draco was amused. “I thought you and Professor Snape had already put aside your differences, Potter.”
Harry shrugged. “Old habits die hard,” he said, sighing mournfully. “Plus, he really does make it a point to make my life hell.”
Draco couldn’t disagree to that.
They finally reached the Great Hall, and they pushed the doors open, not realizing that all heads whipped towards them because they were too busy nodding their goodbyes to each other. The noise that filled the Great Hall may have quieted down before fluctuating again, but neither boy noticed as they walked to their respective tables.
“Harry,” Hermione greeted, nodding to him as he sat down across from her.
It was like automatic. Everyone near him on the Gryffindor table kept watch over him out of the corner of their eyes and the conversation around him all sounded very much forced in an effort to remain discreet, but he remained blissfully oblivious.
“Mate,” Ron greeted and nodded as well, albeit a little more stiffly. Beside him, Ginny may or may not have coughed as Harry scooped himself a great heaping of mashed potatoes.
“Where were you, Harry?” Hermione asked, calmly pouring Ron a glass of pumpkin juice.
“Infirmary,” Harry replied, grinning at her sheepishly. “Trip jinx,” he offered, knowing that both Hermione and Ron will easily see through his lie, as was his intention. It was also a message that Harry will tell them the truth later. The problem was: Harry didn’t really know what to tell them.
Hogwarts wants to take revenge on me for destroying nearly half of it in the Battle of Hogwarts and is trying to eat me didn’t seem like a very proper thing to say.
At that, Ron choked on his pumpkin juice and Hermione gave him a look. After getting his breath back, he nodded weakly at Harry, face pale.
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad, Ron.” Because before the war, Ron always overreacted whenever Harry would say that he had something to ‘tell them’ and would instantly think it was because of Voldemort. (Which, well, most of the time, it was.)
“Okay, mate,” Ron said meekly, fidgeting. Hermione elbowed him. “Ow! I-I mean, okay. I trust you,” he finished, more firmly this time.
Harry blinked, peering at him with a raised eyebrow. “Um, thanks… I think.”
“So, Harry,” Hermione started coolly. She smiled at him innocently. “You seem happy today. Did something good happen?”
“Really?” Harry asked, shrugging. Nothing particularly good happened today, with his lack of sleep and Malfoy coughing out blood and generally Snape, but - “I just found out something funny,” he said, laughing a bit.
Hermione nodded. “Do share.”
“Don’t think of me as mental or anything,” Harry continued, still chuckling to himself as he lowered his voice. Ron and Hermione had to lean over the table to hear him. “But Malfoy actually blushed earlier! Can -“
Ron then promptly proceeded to choke on a treacle tart.
Ginny squeaked, face flushed as red as her hair as she very pointedly not looked at Harry. Hermione sighed, stood up with a roll of her eyes, and performed the Heimlich maneuver on her boyfriend.
Harry stared. He knew that it did sound completely mental, but he didn’t think that Malfoy blushing was worth choking for.
Their fellow Gryffindors, irked at having not heard what Harry said that prompted Ron to choke to his seeming death, abandoned all discretion and whipped their heads to look at the scene.
With a wheeze, Ron slammed his hands down on the table and looked at Harry squarely in the face. He looked determined, but then again, he also looked like he just vomited slugs again for the second time in his life. “Mate, I’m with you a hundred percent,” he squeaked out, but very firmly. “No matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter who… you -” At this, Harry feared that he was going to start choking again. “- love,” Ron finished with great effort.
Hermione looked at him with beaming pride, tears in her eyes.
Ginny looked like as if her face didn’t know whether to turn red or blanch as she still very pointedly Not Looked at Him.
Everyone who was anyone that sat near him (even the ones from the other tables) all shut up into silence.
And promptly collapsed into applause.
Thing was, Harry was pretty sure that they should have been applauding Ron, not congratulating himself on…
“Congratulations, Harry!”
“Can’t say I expected it, but you show ‘em, Harry!”
“I didn’t know you were a… a…”
“I gotta say, I kind of saw it coming.”
“Took you two long enough!”
…whatever he did.
Then Neville turned to him and beamed.
“I wish you and Malfoy all the best, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes bulged out of their sockets at the same time that a loud noise was heard in the direction of the Slytherin’s table.
He looked up and caught Malfoy’s own horrified ones. Looked like Malfoy found out at the same time he did.
He could almost hear the other boy’s voice from across the room, mirroring his own words.
“What the bloody hell?!”
-
“Malfoy and I aren’t - well - whatever you think we are!” Harry spluttered indignantly, face a bright red as he finally comprehended the reason why all his friends were acting so weird.
Everyone who heard him didn’t look convinced.
“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said quickly, soothing. “We really don’t mind. In fact, we’re actually really happy for you -“ Ron squeaked but slapped a hand to his mouth when Hermione elbowed him. “And, well, we only wish that you would have told us or something -“
“No,” Harry said firmly, staring at his two best friends with incredulity. “I swear, Malfoy and I aren’t… Well, we just aren’t!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione waved it off with a beaming smile. “Ron and I aren’t mad at you or anything! And well, it was pretty obvious, I suppose, considering how you’ve been obsessed with Malfoy since we were eleven -“
Various gasps surrounded them as this little piece of news flittered all over the Gryffindor table, eventually reaching the Hufflepuffs.
Harry looked aghast. “Oh, God - no, just no.”
“But -“ Ron started weakly. “Yesterday - during dinner - and - you weren’t in bed last night, and Malfoy’s friends came in today without him, then we see you two coming in together -“
Harry shook his head furiously. “We both have a perfectly good explanation for that! We were in the infirmary.”
It was only when Ron turned as red as his hair that Harry realized the wrong implications of his words. Maybe Malfoy was right when he said that Harry needed speech lessons. “No, not like that, Ron - please don’t think about that - oh, Merlin, don’t imagine it!” Ron cried out in dismay. “I mean, we were both injured - in two separate situations, okay? That’s why we were in the infirmary, not the… other…” Harry stuttered out.
“But, yesterday -“ Ron continued, but less stricken now. “You and Malfoy went to the library, and who the hell goes to the library when it’s only October? Merlin knows that the only reason why two people go to the library in October is to - to -“
“Ron!” Hermione glared at him. “I’ll have you know that there are a lot of students who go to the library to actually study.”
Ron scrunched his nose up, but was wise enough not to reply. He peered at Harry closely. “So… you’re really not…?”
“No!” Harry quickly hissed out for what seemed the umpteenth time, and breakfast wasn’t even done yet.
“Well,” Hermione started, flipping her bangs away from her eyes with a sniff and peering closely at Harry. “Even if you were, we wouldn’t mind, right, Ron?”
Ron nodded quickly but still looked quite pale.
With his friends calmed down, Harry finally realized the amount of attention he was receiving. The Great Hall, if they weren’t looking at Harry, they were looking at Malfoy. Harry sneaked a peek at the professors’ table and quickly looked away. He blanched. “Um,” he started very eloquently as always. “Don’t tell me everyone’s been… talking about this… since…?” he squeaked out, words failing him when Ron nodded with a sympathetic look on his face.
“Dinner last night,” Ron said mournfully.
“Oh, God.”
-
“Well, you can’t really blame us, Draco,” Pansy scoffed, sniffing haughtily. “You were the one who went with Potter to the library- yes, the emphasis is deliberate- yesterday and then Blaise here tells me that you weren’t in bed this morning.”
“I was there that night! Before curfew!” Draco hissed.
“I wouldn’t know, I sleep early,” Blaise shrugged, smirking behind his glass of pumpkin juice.
“Goyle!” Draco growled, glaring towards the boy who was currently hunched over his breakfast.
Goyle shrugged. “They didn’t ask.”
Draco slapped his forehead. “Nott,” he let out, almost pleadingly.
Nott shrugged as well, looking like he didn’t care much for Draco’s mortification. He probably didn’t. “You might have sneaked out in the middle of the night.”
Draco groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“I don’t see why you’re so worked up over this, Draco, dear,” Pansy quipped, smiling slyly. She sidled up closer to him and wrapped her arms around him to whisper in his ear. “I thought you’d be jumping up and down over this.”
“What, everyone thinking that I’m shagging Potter? Oh, yes, very excited,” Draco mumbled mournfully against his hands. “There’s just one problem: it’s not true.”
He looked up suddenly, and glared at the rest of his table who were all staring at him with curious, wide eyes. “Fuck off, goddamn it!” he growled.
Everyone suddenly became very interested in the ceiling, which showed the very gray weather outside.
The Great Hall, just like yesterday, was filled with flickering gold and black lights. Draco didn’t need to ask to know that everyone was talking about him and Potter, either spreading purposively false rumors or spreading false rumors that they believed were true.
Oh, bloody hell.
“So where were you then?” Blaise asked innocently, but Draco knew better.
“Shagging Longbottom,” he replied dryly.
Blaise sent him a dirty look.
“I was in the infirmary,” Draco said instead, shrugging nonchalantly.
Pansy immediately sent him a furrowed-eyebrow look. “What for?” she asked worriedly.
“I would have told you the reason why, but then everyone started all this shagging Potter crap,” he muttered sarcastically, unable to help himself.
Pansy raised an eyebrow at that. “Is shagging Potter really all that crap?” she quipped.
“It is when I’m not the one doing the shagging,” Draco replied sulkily under his breath.
“Then pin him down to his godawful Gryffindor table and just do it,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes, not remembering to lower his voice.
The two fifth-years next to him squeaked and their eyes turned big and round. Draco showed off his colorful vocabulary and clutched his wand. The fifth-years doe-eyed expression turned panicky, and in an instant, they were off their seat and limping painfully out the Great Hall.
Everyone else seemed to move away an inch or two after that. Or ten.
“You know, Draco, honey,” Pansy started soothingly, turning to him and blinking her long lashes at him. “You’re not really denying it to anyone,” she said sweetly, but a sly grin was on her face. “That you’re not shagging Harry Potter.”
Draco scoffed, poking his breakfast and looking over at the Gryffindor table, where Potter was busy explaining to his little friends that he was Not Having Sexy Escapades with Draco Malfoy in the Library.
It was just too bad that the light around him wasn’t even showing any signs of black.
He shrugged. “Of course not,” he said haughtily. “Where’s the fun in that?”
-
Harry was almost scared to talk to Malfoy again, expecting the awkwardness and maybe more of the ‘Potter, you bloody git, I’ll sic my father on you, just you wait!’.
Okay, maybe not. Malfoy didn’t talk about his father anymore. In fact, when he stayed in Grimmauld Place, whenever the Order would talk about Lucius Malfoy, his face would twitch a bit into a sneer but would nevertheless remain as his cool façade. It took Harry a long time to realize that the sneer wasn’t directed at the Order talking badly about his father, but towards the thought of Lucius himself.
Harry was curious just when Malfoy stopped hailing his father and started sneering at the very mention of him.
The Great Hall was more or less starting to swerve away from the gossip that was ‘Harry and Draco’s Illicit Love Affair’ (dubbed by Lavender Brown) and turning into more normal conversations, like, Snape’s hair for example and Lupin looking like he was going to be sick again. Of course, there were some people that just couldn’t move on and Seamus had been peering at him in a very non-discreet manner for the past ten minutes now.
Ginny was still Not Looking At Him and he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or a good thing. Good thing because maybe Ginny will finally consider the fact that Harry really didn’t want to get together anymore, but bad thing because Ginny was his friend too and he kind of liked talking to his friends, which was hard to do when they were Not Looking At Him. And Ginny thought he was doing the nasty with Draco Malfoy.
Harry’s face colored at the image that thought produced.
“Potter,” said a very familiar and most unwelcome voice from behind.
The Great Hall immediately hushed into silence.
“Err,” Harry said, feeling the itch growing at the back of his neck because Everyone - yes, Everyone - was now looking at him. Even Ginny, who was Not Looking At Him earlier, and even - oh, God, Merlin, fucking Dumbledore - Professor Snape.
I’m going to fucking kill you, Malfoy, Harry promised as he let out a very feeble reply. “Yes?”
“I’m going to the library to go through my homework,” Draco said coolly, unable to resist the slight turning up of his lips into a small smirk. “Are you coming?”
Everyone held their breath.
Harry wanted to cry.
“Uhm,” he replied.
Snape looked like he wanted to Avada Kedavra him.
Go with Malfoy, have Snape - God forbid - think that Harry really was shagging his godchild or don’t go with Malfoy and have Snape Sectusempra him anyway because he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to be doing, which was be with Malfoy (more or less) 24/7.
Well, easy enough decision.
If Harry was going down, then he was going to make sure that he left Snape with an ulcer just thinking about all the things Harry was doing to his godchild.
(Harry pushed down the inappropriate images that popped up with that.)
“Okay,” he said, and stood up.
And almost fell back down at the unguarded grin that Malfoy sent his way.
Harry thought that Malfoy looked better that way.
-
“What the hell was that?” Harry asked, all wide-eyed, flabbergasted and accusing.
“What do you mean?” Draco replied, giving him his most innocent expression.
Harry faltered. Get a grip, Harry, he told himself sternly. Damn it, all the gossip in the Great Hall was getting to him! He scowled, but only succeeded in looking sulky. “You know what I mean.”
Draco shrugged, dropping the innocent act as he grinned widely. “I just love knowing that I’m your cause of distress, Potter.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “This is all your fault,” he mumbled depressingly.
“Mm, oh, yes,” Draco agreed.
“Are we really -“ Harry started, looking like he was going to be sick. “- going to the library?” He said the last word like Neville saying ‘potions’.
“To check on my homework, yes,” Draco said. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, amused. “Unless you’d rather we do other things.”
Harry flushed. “I don’t have my stuff,” he said instead, mumbling. “I’ll meet you at the library.” With one last glare at Malfoy’s gleeful expression, he turned the other way up to Gryffindor Tower in an effort to save himself from further embarrassment.
Draco was smug.
Draco really didn’t have his books either since he had rushed to the infirmary when he woke up earlier in the middle of the night, but since the dungeons was closer than the Gryffindor Tower, he made no move to hurry.
He hadn’t actually planned on going through his homework again, but Potter was just too easy.
-
After a very torturous twenty minutes in the library where Draco laid his verbal innuendo arsenal on the table and Harry tried to stop himself from imagining up all sorts of things that he wasn’t supposed to imagine, it was finally time for their first class.
For Harry, this meant relief because Harry had Transfiguration while Draco had Arithmancy, and that meant no more matter-of-factly said innuendos.
He was more relieved at the fact that he was saved from the whisperings and stares because his eight-year classmates were more mature than the rest of the school population. They also knew Harry better.
But while there were no pointed fingers at him, there was, however, an influx of painful bluntness.
“Hiya, Harry,” Seamus quipped cheerfully, wagging his eyebrows, when Harry entered.
Professor Holly Bridgewood took one look at him, squeaked, turned a gracious shade of red, and promptly Not Looked at Him. Well, that was becoming such a hobby these days, Not Looking at Him.
Bridgewood took up McGonagall’s place as Transfigurations professor when the latter became Headmistress. She was a thin, tall lady with the same demeanor as Professor Trewlaney without the big glasses, and instead of the bushy hair, Bridgewood’s was long and straight.
…Too long, Harry thought, seeing as it almost reached her knees.
He kind of missed having the stern and uptight atmosphere of the classroom when McGonagall taught Transfigurations.
Now Seamus had no problems jumping out of his seat and throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulder as they walked to the latter’s desk.
Ron and Hermione both gave him sympathetic looks as he passed.
“So, Harry,” Seamus said. “I hear you’re playing for the other side of the fence.”
(Ron blinked and looked at Hermione. “Playing for what?” he whispered.
“Muggle thing,” Hermione replied.)
“No, I’m not, Seamus,” Harry said, dryly. He sighed, looking at his friend almost pleadingly. “Whatever you’ve been hearing, it’s not true.”
“Sure, Harry,” Seamus nodded. “For the record, I hear that Malfoy’s a great kisser.”
Harry spluttered.
“Oh, you haven’t done it yet?” Seamus blinked at him, before nodding once again, this time in humble understanding. He grinned brightly at him. “Well, now you’ve got a heads-up!” And he blissfully skipped back to his seat.
Harry looked at Ron, dumbfounded. ‘What the hell was that?’ he mouthed.
‘Bet,’ Ron mouthed back, pointing to Seamus, then to Dean.
The class started with Harry thinking what wonderful friends he had.
-
“Okay, tell me everything,” Pansy said, as soon as their professor started droning about the charts on the board.
Draco made a face at her. “Must you always know everything?”
The room was lit golden, no hint of shapeless black tint in sight. If Draco thought that the Great Hall was beautiful with its lightshow of gold and black, then this was even more so. It was relaxing, somewhat.
Now if only Pansy could stop disturbing him.
“I’m the only female friend you have,” Pansy shrugged. “So yes.”
“No, you’re not,” Draco said. “There’s…” He thought very hard. “Millie,” he said triumphantly.
Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow. “So you’d rather tell Millie?”
Draco’s triumph was cut short. He blinked. “Good point.”
Pansy was smug.
“Can’t we talk about this some other time, though?” He tried again. “I’m kind of behind.” He motioned to the class where half were either at the edge of their seats listening aptly, or slumped against their desks, blinking their eyes into wakefulness. Some were like them, talking to their seatmate while pretending to take down notes, except Pansy and Draco had mastered the art of multitasking since second year.
“You’re lying,” Pansy said without missing a heartbeat.
Draco paused. He peered at her suspiciously. “How do you know?”
“I can tie you to your bed for a week and you’ll still ace all our quizzes,” Pansy pointed out, frowning.
“Oh, right,” Draco said, feeling foolish. He had thought that since he could tell if other people were lying, maybe other people could see if he was lying too. Maybe warts would appear on his forehead and shape the word ‘LIAR’ or something. He frowned. That wasn’t a very nice picture.
Then he realized what Pansy said, and that the light around her didn’t even darken a tad. “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.
Pansy smiled at him anyway.
Now, why couldn’t he have fallen in love with Pansy instead? It was public knowledge that Pansy fancied him, at least until fifth year. Here was a charming girl right next to him, ready to listen to his woes and mishaps, but no.
He had to be bloody smitten with Harry fucking Potter instead, who hated him (okay, maybe not anymore.), wasn’t even gay and was probably going to end up living a happy ever after with the She-Weasel.
Okay, he was depressing himself.
He sighed and told Pansy everything.
-
As soon as Transfiguration was over, Harry pulled Hermione and Ron aside and quickly dragged them into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
“Okay, first of all, I don’t want to hear anything about fancying Malfoy,” he said firmly.
Hermione and Ron looked at each other, and then shrugged. “Alright.”
“And I dragged you here because we won’t have time alone after this,” Harry started, feeling uneasy as he prepared himself for the question he knew was about to come.
“Why?”
It was Hermione who asked, so Harry took that as an excuse to avoid looking at Ron.
“Because I’ll be, uh, somewhere else.”
“Where?”
Harry closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. He had no proper answer to that, except - “Wherever Malfoy is.”
A squeak sounded to his left, and Harry made a mental note to have a talk with Ron later about masculinity and squeaking. “Remember yesterday? When I was telling you about having to look after Malfoy after I allegedly poisoned him with our Restoration Potion that ended up not a Restoration Potion?”
Hermione nodded, catching on quickly. She looked curious, all thoughts about Harry’s illicit love affair with Malfoy forgotten. “You haven’t told us what exactly happened to Malfoy.”
Harry relaxed a bit, sensing that they were steering into more comfortable ground. “Snape thinks that our Restoration Potion got mixed with Veritaserum. That’s what Malfoy drank in Potions the other day, so now he sees this… light thingy around people that turns black whenever they tell a lie.”
“You don’t say,” Hermione murmured thoughtfully.
Ron stared at her. Then he looked pleadingly at Harry. She’s going to drag me to the library after this, was the unsaid thought. Harry gave him a sympathetic look.
“So why do you have to look after Malfoy?” Hermione asked, oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal distress.
“Well,” Harry started, feeling uncomfortable now. The worry that plagued him earlier when he learned that Malfoy was drawing up blood as a side-effect slowly seeped back into him. “Snape says that the Dragon Blood from the Veritaserum and the Erumpent Exploding Fluid from the Restoration Potion reacted badly,” he said, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember what Snape had been mumbling to himself about. “So Malfoy gets this really bad coughing fit from time to time. This morning, when I went down to the infirmary, Malfoy was there because he’d coughed out… well, blood,” he finished grimly.
Hermione let out a small gasp.
Ron frowned. “That’s horrible, mate,” he said, honestly.
Harry nodded.
“I’ll look up on it,” Hermione said earnestly. Harry and Ron let out a small chuckle, because they both knew that without Hermione having to say it.
And Harry realized that time spent in Grimmauld Place made them closer to Malfoy than they originally thought. Maybe.
“So,” Hermione started coolly. “Why were you in the infirmary, Harry?”
Harry winced. Trust Hermione to never miss a thing.
Ron crossed his arms. “You weren’t in bed when I fell asleep, and when I woke up. If you weren’t with M-Malfoy-“ He made a face, which Hermione elbowed him for.
Harry quickly cut that thought short. “Remember when I told you that Hogwarts wanted to eat me?”
Hermione blinked. “When?”
“The other day,” Harry said, still annoyed that they hadn’t taken him seriously. He couldn’t blame them though. He still wasn’t taking himself seriously. “Well, not that Hogwarts really wants to eat me, but I think when they rebuilt the school, they added some new… things or something.”
Ron nodded. “Dad was telling us about that during summer. Nothing big though.”
“I’ve been getting into all sorts of traps,” Harry let out slowly, feeling embarrassed to admit it. “Walls, floors,” he said, shrugging. “Yesterday I fell through the wall in the sixth floor corridor -“ He paused. “Actually, I blasted it to bits to get out. The mess should still be there. I didn’t pass by it when I went up earlier, so I’m not sure if Filch already cleaned it up.”
“Let’s check,” Ron said eagerly.
“No,” Hermione hissed out, but looked undecided herself. “We’re already late for class as we speak -“
“History of Magic, Hermione,” Ron reminded her. “Do you really think Binns is going to notice us gone?”
“He might!” Hermione replied huffily.
“He’s a ghost, ‘Mione -“
“I heard that!”A whimpering voice resounded from above them, sounding like all it wanted was to wail and sob. “You think ghosts are stupid, do you?”
Hermione blanched. She gave her most winning smile towards Moaning Myrtle, whose puffy face looked back at them accusingly. “Of course not, Myrtle! Ron was just kidding around, weren’t you, Ron?”
Ron nodded quickly, face pale. “Y-yeah, ‘course, I was!”
Myrtle gave a big sniff. “I’ll have you know, ghosts have feelings too!”
Harry looked at his friends helplessly. He turned to the ghost, trying to placate her. “We know that, Myrtle. We didn’t mean anything by it.”
At that, Myrtle’s face seemed to swell a little less. She swerved down towards them, making Harry jump as she invaded his personal space and peered closely at him. Then she smiled shyly. “If you say so, Harry.”
Harry nodded, stepping back quickly to put a little distance between them.
“Did something happen to Draco?” Myrtle asked him, hovering still as she wiped silver tears away. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and I do worry about him. He doesn’t come by anymore like before.”
“I’ll, err, tell him that,” Harry said earnestly, though a bit taken aback by the sudden change of subject. Then amusement settled in as he thought that Malfoy had a lot of people caring for him after all.
Myrtle nodded, giving out a small smile of her own. “Did something happen then?”
Harry caught Hermione and Ron’s eyes. “Well,” he started nervously. If he lied and Myrtle realized that, then they were in for a flooding of the girls’ bathroom yet again. So he told her, though less detailed.
“That’s easy,” Myrtle said when he finished. She smiled widely, which looked off considering it was her, but it must have really made her happy to be able to help. “You can just keep on giving Draco a Blood-Replenishing Potion! Peeves was talking about it the other day. Oh! I remember during my time, those were rather famous. Everyone stocked up on those, when someone suggested that the monster inside the Chamber of Secrets was a vampire,” she sniffed, remembering. “As if, really.”
“But -“ Hermione started, nervous to disagree with Moaning Myrtle. She looked at Harry questioningly. “Didn’t Madame Pomfrey administer that to Malfoy this morning?”
“I didn’t see,” Harry shrugged. But a smile was on his face, and he grinned brightly at Myrtle who was busy glaring at Hermione. “But that’s a good idea, Myrtle! We could make Malfoy stock up on Blood-Replenishing Potion, just in case. I mean, okay, so Snape told me to look after him, but what do I do when he finally goes through that coughing fit again?”
Myrtle beamed. She floated away, humming happily to herself.
-
“So you’re going to talk to Snape?” Ron asked when they were finally out of the bathroom and walking towards Professor Binns’ classroom. He looked at Harry sympathetically.
Harry froze. And promptly slapped his forehead. “Right. Snape has the potion,” he muttered.
“I’m sure Snape would gladly give it to you, Harry,” Hermione comforted him. “Seeing as its about Malfoy.”
“Oh, he’ll give it to me, alright,” he said, sulkily. “I’m just not sure about the ‘gladly’ part.”
“Really, mate,” Ron said thoughtfully. “You’re really taking this Malfoy thing seriously.”
Harry flushed.
Then Ron realized the implications of what he just said and he, too, turned red. “I-I-I didn’t mean it like that - well, unless - unless you do, which -“ he trailed off weakly. “You don’t, right?”
“Oh, honestly, Ronald!” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why can’t Harry be concerned over a friend? I mean, even you’re worried, aren’t you?”
Ron’s shoulders slumped as he grumbled under his breath but made no move to deny it.
Hermione looked triumphant.
As they continued walking, Harry realized that yeah, maybe he was more worried about Malfoy than he thought he’d be.
But that was only normal though, seeing as they were now kind of, sort of friends.
Yeah, that must be it.
Chapter 5
Author: Cassis Luna
Rating: PG-13 for now
Warnings: ignores DH, EWE, AU, adult themes, profanity
Chapter Word Count: 7,265
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made out of this.
Note: I got the idea about the Restoration Potion from the Troyjeinen Potion found here, so that's not mine either.
Summary: Eight year. Draco drinks a potion that makes him know if a person is lying, and Harry, apparently at fault that Draco is this way, is forced to 'help' him throughout the effects of the potion. For the first time, they deal with each other with no lies to hide behind.
Alternate Summary: In which Draco's a Potions experiment gone bad, Hogwarts wants to eat Harry (oh, but does it really?), and everyone thinks they're shagging each other. (Yes, even the house-elves.)
CHAPTER 4
Social Affairs
If Harry was looking forward to a peaceful sleep after an exhausting day, then he was sorely disappointed. When he woke up, it was still dark outside, the room was deathly cold, and his shoulder was telling him how much of an arse he was for not taking care of it sooner. Stubbornly, he burrowed back under the covers and promptly ignored the pain.
Or he tried to.
It didn’t even hurt that much, just… a throbbing itch. One that he couldn’t scratch because it only hurt when he touched it. Or moved it.
Disgruntled, he sat up and shoved his glasses on his face, casting a quick Tempus.
Barely six in the morning. With a grumble, he got off the bed and into the bathroom, wanting to look at least presentable when he barged into the infirmary and deprived Madame Pomfrey of her beauty sleep.
He looked pale and horribly sleepy, but that was nothing new. What was new, however, was the small bruise on his right cheek and he winced as he touched it. He must have hit it when he fell through the wall.
Sighing, he washed his face and since he hadn’t changed his school robes from the night before, he quickly rushed off to the infirmary.
-
When Harry graduates, he’s going to make a shrine dedicated to Madame Pomfrey, the woman who never tired of re-growing his bones every week for the past eight years. (Sort of.)
Somehow, even though he was already on his way towards the infirmary, he couldn’t find it in himself to wake her up so he decided to just wait on one of the beds (and maybe catch a few more minutes of sleep.) but when he got there, he found that he didn’t need to.
Madame Pomfrey was already up and fussing over another student lying down on one of the beds, and when she saw him, it just proved that he’d been there way too many times that she didn’t even look surprised. “Mr. Potter,” she acknowledged.
A groan came from the bed and resounded in the room. “Potter,” the student said dryly, voice scratchy and rasping. “Couldn’t wait to see me, I suppose.”
“Malfoy,” Harry replied, just as dryly even though he couldn’t help the concerned tone from his voice as he continued. “What are you doing here?”
Madame Pomfrey moved aside so he could get a better view of the bed. Draco had his eyes closed and he looked normal enough, though Harry wasn’t sure if he’d gone a tad bit paler. (He was already so very pale to begin with.)
“It happened again, I’m afraid,” Madame Pomfrey provided, frowning at Draco. “I’ve just given Mr. Malfoy here something for his throat. I’ll have to talk to Professor Snape.”
Harry started at that. “Oh, err,” he mumbled, feeling as if he were being an inconvenience. “It’s okay, you can talk to Sn - Professor Snape now. I can wait.”
At that, Draco’s eyes fluttered open, now curious as to why Harry was in the infirmary.
“Nonsense, Mr. Potter!” she huffed, now turning towards him. She blinked at the bruise on his cheek. “Is that all then?”
“Oh! Err, no,” Harry replied, fidgeting nervously under Malfoy’s gaze. “My shoulder,” he supplied.
Madame Pomfrey nodded, giving her wand a few flicks. An invisible force hit Harry’s shoulder and knocked the breath out of him, almost toppling him over as he let out a grunt. It still caught him by surprise every time.
Another few flicks, and Madame Pomfrey nodded, satisified. “The swelling will go down in a while. Now, I want you to get yourself something for the pain - you know where those are, of course - and get yourself into bed. If I don’t see you in bed when I return -“
“I’ll get into bed,” Harry replied quickly and meekly, already having suffered her wrath before during some of his lesser-brained moments. (Rule of thumb: Pomfrey is law… and he was still sleepy.)
Madame Pomfrey nodded again, giving him one last firm stare, before promptly walking out of the infirmary.
Harry caught Malfoy’s questioning look, and he shrugged. Then he remembered that his shoulder didn’t like him very much at the moment and he quickly made the decision to get that pain-relieving potion. He crossed the room towards the cupboards, wishing that Malfoy wouldn’t ask because that would be awkward and just very -
“Okay, Potter, what happened?”
Harry hit his head on the ceiling of the cupboard he was currently rummaging in.
“Ow,” he said.
“Yes, I see,” Malfoy said.
Harry glared at him. “You’re supposed to be sick. Preferrably sleepy and too weak to talk,” he mumbled.
Malfoy looked amused. “So? What happened?”
Pointedly not looking at him, Harry reached to grab hold of a particularly nasty looking potion. “Trip jinx,” he muttered.
“You forget I can tell you’re lying,” Draco replied smoothly.
And Harry realized that oh, right, shite. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said instead, with no heat. He sighed as he finally turned to Malfoy who was now sitting up on the bed, regarding him with a cool expression. “I’m just really sleepy.”
“Not surprising. You look like a troll.”
Harry glared at him again. “Less talking, more being sick. You? What happened to you?”
-
“You’re supposed to be sick. Preferrably sleepy and too weak to talk,” Potter mumbled.
The light around him stayed gold.
Draco resisted the urge to grin at that, because that meant that maybe, Potter cared enough to at least not want him to be sick. Of course, it was Potter and his hero complex again, but it was something. “So? What happened?
“Trip jinx,” Potter muttered as he finally retracted himself from that cupboard he was rummaging in.
The golden light that blurrily lit his form even in the darkness of the infirmary quickly turned black.
“You forget I can tell you’re lying,” Draco replied smoothly, not surprised that Potter lied to him and adamantly ignoring the twist in his gut at that realization.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Potter replied, sounding tired.
Gold. True.
“I’m just really sleepy.”
Gold.
Draco almost pitied him. He was also almost worried.
Almost.
(…Err.)
“Not surprising. You look like a troll.”
The glare that Potter sent him almost made him relieved because that meant that Potter wasn’t too tired.
“Less talking, more being sick.”
Black.
Draco was amused yet again.
“You? What happened to you?”
-
“Why? Are you worried, Potter?” Malfoy asked, a smirk in place as if he found the thought funny.
Harry paused, fingers playing with the small bottle, before shrugging - and wincing at the action. “Yeah, I am,” he muttered, because he was.
He couldn’t deny that Malfoy was, git or not, somehow… his - dare he say it? - friend. Or, err, at least something close to that. And he did already admit to himself just a day or two ago that he wanted to be Malfoy’s friend, now that he realized that Draco Malfoy wasn’t all bratty and snotty.
(Perhaps they’ve all changed because of the war.)
The silence that greeted him was unexpected, and he felt vaguely awkward. To resist fidgeting in his place, Harry busied himself with the potion instead, downing it in one go and immediately regretting it.
“Potter,” he heard Malfoy say in a serious tone.
Taking away the grimace off his face and swallowing the disgusting aftertaste in his mouth, he looked at Malfoy, immediately awkward again. “Yeah?”
“Stop flirting with me,” Malfoy sighed in mock-swoon.
Harry flushed and flipped him the finger.
-
Oh, how Harry wanted to sleep. How he wanted to slumber peacefully and jump over fences together with the sheep he was counting in his head. It was also cold and he very much wanted to stay under the blankets.
Snape had other ideas.
With a sullen glare and a whole lot of grumbling, Harry pushed the covers off him and got off the bed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. One bed over sat Malfoy who looked as disgruntled as he was. He was probably forced out of bed as well.
“What happened, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked, expression almost concerned. He looked as prim as always, as if it weren’t some ungodly hour of the night. (It probably wasn’t. Breakfast would most likely be served soon.)
“Same thing as yesterday,” Draco replied, mumbling through his half-asleep state. He rubbed his eyes to keep them open.
At that, Harry had to hide a grin.
Snape continued. “And what’s this I hear about… vomiting?”
Draco paused, staring at his godfather who probably already knew everything from Madame Pomfrey. “Blood,” he muttered.
Harry’s grin fell. Nobody said anything about blood.
While Snape muttered more things under his breath about Dragon’s Blood, Harry looked at Malfoy pointedly, who looked back at him and shrugged. Nobody said anything about blood.
Suddenly, Snape turned to him. “And where were you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he was surprised when he heard Malfoy sigh exasperatedly. “He was sleeping, Professor Snape. Surely you’re not going to fault him for that?”
And even more surprisingly, Snape just nodded and mumbled more to himself about Erumpent Exploding Fluid. (Harry wished he could talk back to Snape without the risk of losing house points. Just once.)
There was a silence that enveloped the infirmary, which Harry took advantage of to wonder when the world turned over and made it so that Malfoy was now actually defending him.
Finally, Snape and Madame Pomfrey shared a look, which did not go unnoticed by both boys. Draco blanched, because he knew that anything they share could not possibly be good.
“There’s nothing else for it, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, maintaining his cool expression.
“What?” Draco squeaked out. He groaned. “What are you going to make me do this time?”
“We’re not going to detain you in the infirmary, but you’re going to have to retire here for the night,” Madame Pomfrey told him gently. “Your necessities will be sent here later in the morning.”
Draco stared at her. “I can’t even go back to my own bed?”
Harry felt bad for him. He knew how lonely and boring nights at the infirmary were.
“As much as it pains me, I can’t send Potter to Slytherin to watch over you -“ Snape paused, just to appreciate the looks of horror that both boys sent him. “Nor you to Gryffindor.” The horrified expressions stayed. “The Headmistress won’t allow that. Nevertheless, we need someone to monitor you -“ Here, he stopped, as if hesitating.
Draco waved it off impatiently. “In case it gets worse, right?”
Snape nodded stiffly.
This time, it was Harry who blanched, because he didn’t really think that this was going to get worse, or that it was that bad to begin with. They were in Hogwarts! Pus-oozing warts suddenly appearing all over your body and falling down stairs because they kept on moving was a normal daily occurrence.
Snape looked uncomfortable, and Draco softened at that. “Alright,” he said finally, showing nonchalance. Snape was the only one closest to a family he had left, and he knew that it also applied the other way around.
Madame Pomfrey nodded at his reply. “You’ll still have to go to classes, and you can take your meals in the Great Hall. All I ask is that you be here by curfew.”
Draco nodded.
Snape turned to Harry. “And you, Potter,” he started, though with surprisingly no malice. “Your post stays.”
And Harry found himself nodding too.
“Well, off you go, then!” Madame Pomfrey started, waving for the door. “Breakfast’s already started and I imagine we’re all famished!”
-
“Was it really that bad?” Harry asked suddenly as soon as they were out of the infirmary and walking towards the Great Hall.
As they passed some of the suit of armors, Harry took the chance to look at his reflection. As Madame Pomfrey said, the swelling had already gone and he tentatively touched his shoulder, relieved when it didn’t hurt. It must have gone away when we has in bed, trying to sleep. (And Harry had wondered why Snape didn’t comment on it.)
Draco, who was still pondering on what was said in the infirmary, didn’t look up and responded almost by reflex. “Why? Are you worried, Potter?”
Harry looked at him confusedly, if not a bit annoyed. “I thought we’d already established that. Yes, I’m worried about you, Malfoy,” he said dryly.
At that, Draco’s head snapped up and he looked at Potter.
Gold.
Unlike earlier when Harry very determinedly stared at the floor when he made the same declaration, this time he saw Malfoy’s expression and he stared, surprised, as Malfoy flushed red.
“Stop flirting with me in public, Potter,” Malfoy said in mock-sigh, pointedly looking away. “I have a reputation to keep.”
At that, Harry just shrugged and grinned. “Sure, you have. Draco, the bouncing ferret.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened and he thought, panicking, if he’d overstepped a line.
Draco watched as the grin turned into a panicked expression and couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed… And, well, Harry just said his name. (Pathetic, Draco, his inner Pansy told him.)
“Very cheeky, Potter,” he said haughtily instead. “And just because you’re our Golden Boy,” he shot back, just so they were even.
And Harry realized that too, and he relaxed visibly but still looked sheepish. “I hate that name,” he said, shrugging.
Gold.
“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not the attention-seeking, media-hogging hero we’ve all come to know and love?”
Harry flushed. He glared at the other boy. “Snape would beg to differ,” he muttered.
“Really,” Draco was amused. “I thought you and Professor Snape had already put aside your differences, Potter.”
Harry shrugged. “Old habits die hard,” he said, sighing mournfully. “Plus, he really does make it a point to make my life hell.”
Draco couldn’t disagree to that.
They finally reached the Great Hall, and they pushed the doors open, not realizing that all heads whipped towards them because they were too busy nodding their goodbyes to each other. The noise that filled the Great Hall may have quieted down before fluctuating again, but neither boy noticed as they walked to their respective tables.
“Harry,” Hermione greeted, nodding to him as he sat down across from her.
It was like automatic. Everyone near him on the Gryffindor table kept watch over him out of the corner of their eyes and the conversation around him all sounded very much forced in an effort to remain discreet, but he remained blissfully oblivious.
“Mate,” Ron greeted and nodded as well, albeit a little more stiffly. Beside him, Ginny may or may not have coughed as Harry scooped himself a great heaping of mashed potatoes.
“Where were you, Harry?” Hermione asked, calmly pouring Ron a glass of pumpkin juice.
“Infirmary,” Harry replied, grinning at her sheepishly. “Trip jinx,” he offered, knowing that both Hermione and Ron will easily see through his lie, as was his intention. It was also a message that Harry will tell them the truth later. The problem was: Harry didn’t really know what to tell them.
Hogwarts wants to take revenge on me for destroying nearly half of it in the Battle of Hogwarts and is trying to eat me didn’t seem like a very proper thing to say.
At that, Ron choked on his pumpkin juice and Hermione gave him a look. After getting his breath back, he nodded weakly at Harry, face pale.
Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad, Ron.” Because before the war, Ron always overreacted whenever Harry would say that he had something to ‘tell them’ and would instantly think it was because of Voldemort. (Which, well, most of the time, it was.)
“Okay, mate,” Ron said meekly, fidgeting. Hermione elbowed him. “Ow! I-I mean, okay. I trust you,” he finished, more firmly this time.
Harry blinked, peering at him with a raised eyebrow. “Um, thanks… I think.”
“So, Harry,” Hermione started coolly. She smiled at him innocently. “You seem happy today. Did something good happen?”
“Really?” Harry asked, shrugging. Nothing particularly good happened today, with his lack of sleep and Malfoy coughing out blood and generally Snape, but - “I just found out something funny,” he said, laughing a bit.
Hermione nodded. “Do share.”
“Don’t think of me as mental or anything,” Harry continued, still chuckling to himself as he lowered his voice. Ron and Hermione had to lean over the table to hear him. “But Malfoy actually blushed earlier! Can -“
Ron then promptly proceeded to choke on a treacle tart.
Ginny squeaked, face flushed as red as her hair as she very pointedly not looked at Harry. Hermione sighed, stood up with a roll of her eyes, and performed the Heimlich maneuver on her boyfriend.
Harry stared. He knew that it did sound completely mental, but he didn’t think that Malfoy blushing was worth choking for.
Their fellow Gryffindors, irked at having not heard what Harry said that prompted Ron to choke to his seeming death, abandoned all discretion and whipped their heads to look at the scene.
With a wheeze, Ron slammed his hands down on the table and looked at Harry squarely in the face. He looked determined, but then again, he also looked like he just vomited slugs again for the second time in his life. “Mate, I’m with you a hundred percent,” he squeaked out, but very firmly. “No matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter who… you -” At this, Harry feared that he was going to start choking again. “- love,” Ron finished with great effort.
Hermione looked at him with beaming pride, tears in her eyes.
Ginny looked like as if her face didn’t know whether to turn red or blanch as she still very pointedly Not Looked at Him.
Everyone who was anyone that sat near him (even the ones from the other tables) all shut up into silence.
And promptly collapsed into applause.
Thing was, Harry was pretty sure that they should have been applauding Ron, not congratulating himself on…
“Congratulations, Harry!”
“Can’t say I expected it, but you show ‘em, Harry!”
“I didn’t know you were a… a…”
“I gotta say, I kind of saw it coming.”
“Took you two long enough!”
…whatever he did.
Then Neville turned to him and beamed.
“I wish you and Malfoy all the best, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes bulged out of their sockets at the same time that a loud noise was heard in the direction of the Slytherin’s table.
He looked up and caught Malfoy’s own horrified ones. Looked like Malfoy found out at the same time he did.
He could almost hear the other boy’s voice from across the room, mirroring his own words.
“What the bloody hell?!”
-
“Malfoy and I aren’t - well - whatever you think we are!” Harry spluttered indignantly, face a bright red as he finally comprehended the reason why all his friends were acting so weird.
Everyone who heard him didn’t look convinced.
“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said quickly, soothing. “We really don’t mind. In fact, we’re actually really happy for you -“ Ron squeaked but slapped a hand to his mouth when Hermione elbowed him. “And, well, we only wish that you would have told us or something -“
“No,” Harry said firmly, staring at his two best friends with incredulity. “I swear, Malfoy and I aren’t… Well, we just aren’t!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione waved it off with a beaming smile. “Ron and I aren’t mad at you or anything! And well, it was pretty obvious, I suppose, considering how you’ve been obsessed with Malfoy since we were eleven -“
Various gasps surrounded them as this little piece of news flittered all over the Gryffindor table, eventually reaching the Hufflepuffs.
Harry looked aghast. “Oh, God - no, just no.”
“But -“ Ron started weakly. “Yesterday - during dinner - and - you weren’t in bed last night, and Malfoy’s friends came in today without him, then we see you two coming in together -“
Harry shook his head furiously. “We both have a perfectly good explanation for that! We were in the infirmary.”
It was only when Ron turned as red as his hair that Harry realized the wrong implications of his words. Maybe Malfoy was right when he said that Harry needed speech lessons. “No, not like that, Ron - please don’t think about that - oh, Merlin, don’t imagine it!” Ron cried out in dismay. “I mean, we were both injured - in two separate situations, okay? That’s why we were in the infirmary, not the… other…” Harry stuttered out.
“But, yesterday -“ Ron continued, but less stricken now. “You and Malfoy went to the library, and who the hell goes to the library when it’s only October? Merlin knows that the only reason why two people go to the library in October is to - to -“
“Ron!” Hermione glared at him. “I’ll have you know that there are a lot of students who go to the library to actually study.”
Ron scrunched his nose up, but was wise enough not to reply. He peered at Harry closely. “So… you’re really not…?”
“No!” Harry quickly hissed out for what seemed the umpteenth time, and breakfast wasn’t even done yet.
“Well,” Hermione started, flipping her bangs away from her eyes with a sniff and peering closely at Harry. “Even if you were, we wouldn’t mind, right, Ron?”
Ron nodded quickly but still looked quite pale.
With his friends calmed down, Harry finally realized the amount of attention he was receiving. The Great Hall, if they weren’t looking at Harry, they were looking at Malfoy. Harry sneaked a peek at the professors’ table and quickly looked away. He blanched. “Um,” he started very eloquently as always. “Don’t tell me everyone’s been… talking about this… since…?” he squeaked out, words failing him when Ron nodded with a sympathetic look on his face.
“Dinner last night,” Ron said mournfully.
“Oh, God.”
-
“Well, you can’t really blame us, Draco,” Pansy scoffed, sniffing haughtily. “You were the one who went with Potter to the library- yes, the emphasis is deliberate- yesterday and then Blaise here tells me that you weren’t in bed this morning.”
“I was there that night! Before curfew!” Draco hissed.
“I wouldn’t know, I sleep early,” Blaise shrugged, smirking behind his glass of pumpkin juice.
“Goyle!” Draco growled, glaring towards the boy who was currently hunched over his breakfast.
Goyle shrugged. “They didn’t ask.”
Draco slapped his forehead. “Nott,” he let out, almost pleadingly.
Nott shrugged as well, looking like he didn’t care much for Draco’s mortification. He probably didn’t. “You might have sneaked out in the middle of the night.”
Draco groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“I don’t see why you’re so worked up over this, Draco, dear,” Pansy quipped, smiling slyly. She sidled up closer to him and wrapped her arms around him to whisper in his ear. “I thought you’d be jumping up and down over this.”
“What, everyone thinking that I’m shagging Potter? Oh, yes, very excited,” Draco mumbled mournfully against his hands. “There’s just one problem: it’s not true.”
He looked up suddenly, and glared at the rest of his table who were all staring at him with curious, wide eyes. “Fuck off, goddamn it!” he growled.
Everyone suddenly became very interested in the ceiling, which showed the very gray weather outside.
The Great Hall, just like yesterday, was filled with flickering gold and black lights. Draco didn’t need to ask to know that everyone was talking about him and Potter, either spreading purposively false rumors or spreading false rumors that they believed were true.
Oh, bloody hell.
“So where were you then?” Blaise asked innocently, but Draco knew better.
“Shagging Longbottom,” he replied dryly.
Blaise sent him a dirty look.
“I was in the infirmary,” Draco said instead, shrugging nonchalantly.
Pansy immediately sent him a furrowed-eyebrow look. “What for?” she asked worriedly.
“I would have told you the reason why, but then everyone started all this shagging Potter crap,” he muttered sarcastically, unable to help himself.
Pansy raised an eyebrow at that. “Is shagging Potter really all that crap?” she quipped.
“It is when I’m not the one doing the shagging,” Draco replied sulkily under his breath.
“Then pin him down to his godawful Gryffindor table and just do it,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes, not remembering to lower his voice.
The two fifth-years next to him squeaked and their eyes turned big and round. Draco showed off his colorful vocabulary and clutched his wand. The fifth-years doe-eyed expression turned panicky, and in an instant, they were off their seat and limping painfully out the Great Hall.
Everyone else seemed to move away an inch or two after that. Or ten.
“You know, Draco, honey,” Pansy started soothingly, turning to him and blinking her long lashes at him. “You’re not really denying it to anyone,” she said sweetly, but a sly grin was on her face. “That you’re not shagging Harry Potter.”
Draco scoffed, poking his breakfast and looking over at the Gryffindor table, where Potter was busy explaining to his little friends that he was Not Having Sexy Escapades with Draco Malfoy in the Library.
It was just too bad that the light around him wasn’t even showing any signs of black.
He shrugged. “Of course not,” he said haughtily. “Where’s the fun in that?”
-
Harry was almost scared to talk to Malfoy again, expecting the awkwardness and maybe more of the ‘Potter, you bloody git, I’ll sic my father on you, just you wait!’.
Okay, maybe not. Malfoy didn’t talk about his father anymore. In fact, when he stayed in Grimmauld Place, whenever the Order would talk about Lucius Malfoy, his face would twitch a bit into a sneer but would nevertheless remain as his cool façade. It took Harry a long time to realize that the sneer wasn’t directed at the Order talking badly about his father, but towards the thought of Lucius himself.
Harry was curious just when Malfoy stopped hailing his father and started sneering at the very mention of him.
The Great Hall was more or less starting to swerve away from the gossip that was ‘Harry and Draco’s Illicit Love Affair’ (dubbed by Lavender Brown) and turning into more normal conversations, like, Snape’s hair for example and Lupin looking like he was going to be sick again. Of course, there were some people that just couldn’t move on and Seamus had been peering at him in a very non-discreet manner for the past ten minutes now.
Ginny was still Not Looking At Him and he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or a good thing. Good thing because maybe Ginny will finally consider the fact that Harry really didn’t want to get together anymore, but bad thing because Ginny was his friend too and he kind of liked talking to his friends, which was hard to do when they were Not Looking At Him. And Ginny thought he was doing the nasty with Draco Malfoy.
Harry’s face colored at the image that thought produced.
“Potter,” said a very familiar and most unwelcome voice from behind.
The Great Hall immediately hushed into silence.
“Err,” Harry said, feeling the itch growing at the back of his neck because Everyone - yes, Everyone - was now looking at him. Even Ginny, who was Not Looking At Him earlier, and even - oh, God, Merlin, fucking Dumbledore - Professor Snape.
I’m going to fucking kill you, Malfoy, Harry promised as he let out a very feeble reply. “Yes?”
“I’m going to the library to go through my homework,” Draco said coolly, unable to resist the slight turning up of his lips into a small smirk. “Are you coming?”
Everyone held their breath.
Harry wanted to cry.
“Uhm,” he replied.
Snape looked like he wanted to Avada Kedavra him.
Go with Malfoy, have Snape - God forbid - think that Harry really was shagging his godchild or don’t go with Malfoy and have Snape Sectusempra him anyway because he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to be doing, which was be with Malfoy (more or less) 24/7.
Well, easy enough decision.
If Harry was going down, then he was going to make sure that he left Snape with an ulcer just thinking about all the things Harry was doing to his godchild.
(Harry pushed down the inappropriate images that popped up with that.)
“Okay,” he said, and stood up.
And almost fell back down at the unguarded grin that Malfoy sent his way.
Harry thought that Malfoy looked better that way.
-
“What the hell was that?” Harry asked, all wide-eyed, flabbergasted and accusing.
“What do you mean?” Draco replied, giving him his most innocent expression.
Harry faltered. Get a grip, Harry, he told himself sternly. Damn it, all the gossip in the Great Hall was getting to him! He scowled, but only succeeded in looking sulky. “You know what I mean.”
Draco shrugged, dropping the innocent act as he grinned widely. “I just love knowing that I’m your cause of distress, Potter.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “This is all your fault,” he mumbled depressingly.
“Mm, oh, yes,” Draco agreed.
“Are we really -“ Harry started, looking like he was going to be sick. “- going to the library?” He said the last word like Neville saying ‘potions’.
“To check on my homework, yes,” Draco said. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, amused. “Unless you’d rather we do other things.”
Harry flushed. “I don’t have my stuff,” he said instead, mumbling. “I’ll meet you at the library.” With one last glare at Malfoy’s gleeful expression, he turned the other way up to Gryffindor Tower in an effort to save himself from further embarrassment.
Draco was smug.
Draco really didn’t have his books either since he had rushed to the infirmary when he woke up earlier in the middle of the night, but since the dungeons was closer than the Gryffindor Tower, he made no move to hurry.
He hadn’t actually planned on going through his homework again, but Potter was just too easy.
-
After a very torturous twenty minutes in the library where Draco laid his verbal innuendo arsenal on the table and Harry tried to stop himself from imagining up all sorts of things that he wasn’t supposed to imagine, it was finally time for their first class.
For Harry, this meant relief because Harry had Transfiguration while Draco had Arithmancy, and that meant no more matter-of-factly said innuendos.
He was more relieved at the fact that he was saved from the whisperings and stares because his eight-year classmates were more mature than the rest of the school population. They also knew Harry better.
But while there were no pointed fingers at him, there was, however, an influx of painful bluntness.
“Hiya, Harry,” Seamus quipped cheerfully, wagging his eyebrows, when Harry entered.
Professor Holly Bridgewood took one look at him, squeaked, turned a gracious shade of red, and promptly Not Looked at Him. Well, that was becoming such a hobby these days, Not Looking at Him.
Bridgewood took up McGonagall’s place as Transfigurations professor when the latter became Headmistress. She was a thin, tall lady with the same demeanor as Professor Trewlaney without the big glasses, and instead of the bushy hair, Bridgewood’s was long and straight.
…Too long, Harry thought, seeing as it almost reached her knees.
He kind of missed having the stern and uptight atmosphere of the classroom when McGonagall taught Transfigurations.
Now Seamus had no problems jumping out of his seat and throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulder as they walked to the latter’s desk.
Ron and Hermione both gave him sympathetic looks as he passed.
“So, Harry,” Seamus said. “I hear you’re playing for the other side of the fence.”
(Ron blinked and looked at Hermione. “Playing for what?” he whispered.
“Muggle thing,” Hermione replied.)
“No, I’m not, Seamus,” Harry said, dryly. He sighed, looking at his friend almost pleadingly. “Whatever you’ve been hearing, it’s not true.”
“Sure, Harry,” Seamus nodded. “For the record, I hear that Malfoy’s a great kisser.”
Harry spluttered.
“Oh, you haven’t done it yet?” Seamus blinked at him, before nodding once again, this time in humble understanding. He grinned brightly at him. “Well, now you’ve got a heads-up!” And he blissfully skipped back to his seat.
Harry looked at Ron, dumbfounded. ‘What the hell was that?’ he mouthed.
‘Bet,’ Ron mouthed back, pointing to Seamus, then to Dean.
The class started with Harry thinking what wonderful friends he had.
-
“Okay, tell me everything,” Pansy said, as soon as their professor started droning about the charts on the board.
Draco made a face at her. “Must you always know everything?”
The room was lit golden, no hint of shapeless black tint in sight. If Draco thought that the Great Hall was beautiful with its lightshow of gold and black, then this was even more so. It was relaxing, somewhat.
Now if only Pansy could stop disturbing him.
“I’m the only female friend you have,” Pansy shrugged. “So yes.”
“No, you’re not,” Draco said. “There’s…” He thought very hard. “Millie,” he said triumphantly.
Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow. “So you’d rather tell Millie?”
Draco’s triumph was cut short. He blinked. “Good point.”
Pansy was smug.
“Can’t we talk about this some other time, though?” He tried again. “I’m kind of behind.” He motioned to the class where half were either at the edge of their seats listening aptly, or slumped against their desks, blinking their eyes into wakefulness. Some were like them, talking to their seatmate while pretending to take down notes, except Pansy and Draco had mastered the art of multitasking since second year.
“You’re lying,” Pansy said without missing a heartbeat.
Draco paused. He peered at her suspiciously. “How do you know?”
“I can tie you to your bed for a week and you’ll still ace all our quizzes,” Pansy pointed out, frowning.
“Oh, right,” Draco said, feeling foolish. He had thought that since he could tell if other people were lying, maybe other people could see if he was lying too. Maybe warts would appear on his forehead and shape the word ‘LIAR’ or something. He frowned. That wasn’t a very nice picture.
Then he realized what Pansy said, and that the light around her didn’t even darken a tad. “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.
Pansy smiled at him anyway.
Now, why couldn’t he have fallen in love with Pansy instead? It was public knowledge that Pansy fancied him, at least until fifth year. Here was a charming girl right next to him, ready to listen to his woes and mishaps, but no.
He had to be bloody smitten with Harry fucking Potter instead, who hated him (okay, maybe not anymore.), wasn’t even gay and was probably going to end up living a happy ever after with the She-Weasel.
Okay, he was depressing himself.
He sighed and told Pansy everything.
-
As soon as Transfiguration was over, Harry pulled Hermione and Ron aside and quickly dragged them into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
“Okay, first of all, I don’t want to hear anything about fancying Malfoy,” he said firmly.
Hermione and Ron looked at each other, and then shrugged. “Alright.”
“And I dragged you here because we won’t have time alone after this,” Harry started, feeling uneasy as he prepared himself for the question he knew was about to come.
“Why?”
It was Hermione who asked, so Harry took that as an excuse to avoid looking at Ron.
“Because I’ll be, uh, somewhere else.”
“Where?”
Harry closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. He had no proper answer to that, except - “Wherever Malfoy is.”
A squeak sounded to his left, and Harry made a mental note to have a talk with Ron later about masculinity and squeaking. “Remember yesterday? When I was telling you about having to look after Malfoy after I allegedly poisoned him with our Restoration Potion that ended up not a Restoration Potion?”
Hermione nodded, catching on quickly. She looked curious, all thoughts about Harry’s illicit love affair with Malfoy forgotten. “You haven’t told us what exactly happened to Malfoy.”
Harry relaxed a bit, sensing that they were steering into more comfortable ground. “Snape thinks that our Restoration Potion got mixed with Veritaserum. That’s what Malfoy drank in Potions the other day, so now he sees this… light thingy around people that turns black whenever they tell a lie.”
“You don’t say,” Hermione murmured thoughtfully.
Ron stared at her. Then he looked pleadingly at Harry. She’s going to drag me to the library after this, was the unsaid thought. Harry gave him a sympathetic look.
“So why do you have to look after Malfoy?” Hermione asked, oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal distress.
“Well,” Harry started, feeling uncomfortable now. The worry that plagued him earlier when he learned that Malfoy was drawing up blood as a side-effect slowly seeped back into him. “Snape says that the Dragon Blood from the Veritaserum and the Erumpent Exploding Fluid from the Restoration Potion reacted badly,” he said, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember what Snape had been mumbling to himself about. “So Malfoy gets this really bad coughing fit from time to time. This morning, when I went down to the infirmary, Malfoy was there because he’d coughed out… well, blood,” he finished grimly.
Hermione let out a small gasp.
Ron frowned. “That’s horrible, mate,” he said, honestly.
Harry nodded.
“I’ll look up on it,” Hermione said earnestly. Harry and Ron let out a small chuckle, because they both knew that without Hermione having to say it.
And Harry realized that time spent in Grimmauld Place made them closer to Malfoy than they originally thought. Maybe.
“So,” Hermione started coolly. “Why were you in the infirmary, Harry?”
Harry winced. Trust Hermione to never miss a thing.
Ron crossed his arms. “You weren’t in bed when I fell asleep, and when I woke up. If you weren’t with M-Malfoy-“ He made a face, which Hermione elbowed him for.
Harry quickly cut that thought short. “Remember when I told you that Hogwarts wanted to eat me?”
Hermione blinked. “When?”
“The other day,” Harry said, still annoyed that they hadn’t taken him seriously. He couldn’t blame them though. He still wasn’t taking himself seriously. “Well, not that Hogwarts really wants to eat me, but I think when they rebuilt the school, they added some new… things or something.”
Ron nodded. “Dad was telling us about that during summer. Nothing big though.”
“I’ve been getting into all sorts of traps,” Harry let out slowly, feeling embarrassed to admit it. “Walls, floors,” he said, shrugging. “Yesterday I fell through the wall in the sixth floor corridor -“ He paused. “Actually, I blasted it to bits to get out. The mess should still be there. I didn’t pass by it when I went up earlier, so I’m not sure if Filch already cleaned it up.”
“Let’s check,” Ron said eagerly.
“No,” Hermione hissed out, but looked undecided herself. “We’re already late for class as we speak -“
“History of Magic, Hermione,” Ron reminded her. “Do you really think Binns is going to notice us gone?”
“He might!” Hermione replied huffily.
“He’s a ghost, ‘Mione -“
“I heard that!”A whimpering voice resounded from above them, sounding like all it wanted was to wail and sob. “You think ghosts are stupid, do you?”
Hermione blanched. She gave her most winning smile towards Moaning Myrtle, whose puffy face looked back at them accusingly. “Of course not, Myrtle! Ron was just kidding around, weren’t you, Ron?”
Ron nodded quickly, face pale. “Y-yeah, ‘course, I was!”
Myrtle gave a big sniff. “I’ll have you know, ghosts have feelings too!”
Harry looked at his friends helplessly. He turned to the ghost, trying to placate her. “We know that, Myrtle. We didn’t mean anything by it.”
At that, Myrtle’s face seemed to swell a little less. She swerved down towards them, making Harry jump as she invaded his personal space and peered closely at him. Then she smiled shyly. “If you say so, Harry.”
Harry nodded, stepping back quickly to put a little distance between them.
“Did something happen to Draco?” Myrtle asked him, hovering still as she wiped silver tears away. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and I do worry about him. He doesn’t come by anymore like before.”
“I’ll, err, tell him that,” Harry said earnestly, though a bit taken aback by the sudden change of subject. Then amusement settled in as he thought that Malfoy had a lot of people caring for him after all.
Myrtle nodded, giving out a small smile of her own. “Did something happen then?”
Harry caught Hermione and Ron’s eyes. “Well,” he started nervously. If he lied and Myrtle realized that, then they were in for a flooding of the girls’ bathroom yet again. So he told her, though less detailed.
“That’s easy,” Myrtle said when he finished. She smiled widely, which looked off considering it was her, but it must have really made her happy to be able to help. “You can just keep on giving Draco a Blood-Replenishing Potion! Peeves was talking about it the other day. Oh! I remember during my time, those were rather famous. Everyone stocked up on those, when someone suggested that the monster inside the Chamber of Secrets was a vampire,” she sniffed, remembering. “As if, really.”
“But -“ Hermione started, nervous to disagree with Moaning Myrtle. She looked at Harry questioningly. “Didn’t Madame Pomfrey administer that to Malfoy this morning?”
“I didn’t see,” Harry shrugged. But a smile was on his face, and he grinned brightly at Myrtle who was busy glaring at Hermione. “But that’s a good idea, Myrtle! We could make Malfoy stock up on Blood-Replenishing Potion, just in case. I mean, okay, so Snape told me to look after him, but what do I do when he finally goes through that coughing fit again?”
Myrtle beamed. She floated away, humming happily to herself.
-
“So you’re going to talk to Snape?” Ron asked when they were finally out of the bathroom and walking towards Professor Binns’ classroom. He looked at Harry sympathetically.
Harry froze. And promptly slapped his forehead. “Right. Snape has the potion,” he muttered.
“I’m sure Snape would gladly give it to you, Harry,” Hermione comforted him. “Seeing as its about Malfoy.”
“Oh, he’ll give it to me, alright,” he said, sulkily. “I’m just not sure about the ‘gladly’ part.”
“Really, mate,” Ron said thoughtfully. “You’re really taking this Malfoy thing seriously.”
Harry flushed.
Then Ron realized the implications of what he just said and he, too, turned red. “I-I-I didn’t mean it like that - well, unless - unless you do, which -“ he trailed off weakly. “You don’t, right?”
“Oh, honestly, Ronald!” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why can’t Harry be concerned over a friend? I mean, even you’re worried, aren’t you?”
Ron’s shoulders slumped as he grumbled under his breath but made no move to deny it.
Hermione looked triumphant.
As they continued walking, Harry realized that yeah, maybe he was more worried about Malfoy than he thought he’d be.
But that was only normal though, seeing as they were now kind of, sort of friends.
Yeah, that must be it.
Chapter 5