Gilded Soul

Chapter 27 Penance

Draco hadn’t seen Harry in any of their classes and a quick look in Hermione’s direction confirmed that she knew what had happened between them that morning. Her glare was like piercing blades, but luckily she didn’t deem him worthy to look at too often. He was struck by how unexpected the loss of Hermione effected him. He had always thought that he merely tolerated her, and vise versa, to make things easier for Harry, but he now saw he had counted the Know-It-All as a true friend. ‘Another one bites the dust’ he mumbled to himself.

When Snape came over and asked him where Harry was, Draco merely shrugged and Snape turned away with a knowing sneer. “If anyone sees Mr Potter today, please inform him he has detention with me tonight.”

The morning classes drug onward at a snails pace and finally it was time for lunch. It had been easy enough to fall into a faked friendship with the other Slytherin’s, they were all merely pretending to be friends with one another anyhow, but he ached to be rid of them and back with Harry. He resisted the urge by doing the next best thing and headed out to tree by the lake.

As he made his way over, he noticed the vast difference in the lake and that it looked like it was thawing out, only lakes thawed from the middle, not from the edge. As he came closer to the spot he noticed the ground and the tree were scorched as if exposed to extreme heat or fire. “Harry,” he whispered to himself. He looked at the water and the great distance that was left unfrozen and shuddered. This was a wizard that he would never want to cross, never wan to be on the wrong side of all this power, yet here he was, doing just that, and on purpose no less.

He ran his fingertips along the burned bark of the twisted tree. The tree where Harry once stood and caught Draco’s attention so thoroughly that it caused his whole world to turn upside down. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he whispered to the wind.

“Well you should be.”

Draco turned startled, not having heard anyone approach. “Hermi… Granger,” he almost slipped. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How dare you ask me that?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Really Granger, unless there is something I can help you with, I would prefer if you left me alone,” he said, gesturing her to flee with a flick of his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you did that to Harry, you insolent little ferret!” she growled through gritted teeth.

Draco nearly smiled to himself, but quickly caught it and turned it into a smirk. He was going to have to watch himself more closely. He hadn’t realized how many new habits and mannerisms he had picked up over the last several weeks, and Hermione’s words reminded him of when she would reprimand them for getting hurt in the maze, or when he and Harry would whine about studying.

He and Harry.

Not anymore.

Hermione must have seen the change in expression though, because hers grew cautious and confused.

“It’s for the best,” he said simply, hoping his voice was steady enough and wouldn’t betray his true feelings.

Her eyes flickered in what looked like amusement at first, then she glared at him knowingly. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Draco.” Then she turned on her heel and left.

“Me too, Hermione,” he muttered when she was out of earshot.

--

Days went by in anguish for the Slytherin. He had managed to switch seats in every class, and to go back to sitting with his other housemates, in all but potions. Even though it had been Snape’s idea to leave Harry alone, he still refused to let the boys split up until their joint potion project was complete, which would be a little more than a week away. It was unbearable.

Draco expected Harry to be mean and scathing and revert back to his old way of treating the Slytherin. He had many retorts saved up for such circumstances, but what Harry did instead, was worse. He was silent.

If Draco asked for something, he would hand it to him without a word or glance. If he asked a class related question, Harry would just point to the answer in their text or in his notes. If Draco asked a non-class related question, Harry just ignored him outright. He would have assumed Harry wasn’t even there beside him if it weren’t for the scorching heat that lashed out at him on occasion. Once it even caught the arm of his robe on fire and Draco squealed and rushed to put it out. He looked to Harry for any emotion, even laughter at his own expense would have been better than the dead look Harry had in his eyes as he barely looked up at Draco’s plight, then promptly looked back down at his own work.

It was torture, slow and thorough.

At the end of class he would gather up his belongings and exit swiftly. Sometimes he would see him there at the Gryffindor table, flanked by Hermione and the Weaselette, who rumor had it, thought he had gotten over his ‘faze’, and moved back to girls. It was quite pathetic the way she acted around him; lounging against him, running her fingers through his soft hair and whispering Merlin knows what in his ear. Nothing she or anyone else did for that matter made him show any emotion whatsoever. It was heartbreaking.

--

It wasn’t until the following week that Draco’s world shattered into bits. It was lunchtime and Draco had just walked into the Great Hall and did a casual scan for Harry. He found him in his usual spot except on his right, instead of the fiery red head, was Anthony Goldstein. ‘He isn’t even a Gryffindor,’ Draco mentally shouted to himself.

What made matters worse, was the fact that Harry was smiling at him. It was the first time the Golden Boy had shown any emotion of any kind and it was toward this Ravenclaw. Draco hissed the last word scathingly to himself.

“It looks like your ex has moved on.”

Draco whipped his head around and glared at Pansy, who was watching the interaction between Harry and Anthony acutely. He didn’t say a word as he went back to watching them himself.

Harry never even looked in Draco’s direction the entire lunch period, and though he didn’t seem like his normal jovial Gryffindor self, he certainly wasn’t giving Anthony the cold shoulder. Draco begrudgingly left the Great Hall and finished out his classes then moped around the common room before going to bed.

--

Draco had discovered that sleep deprivation directly correlated with bad grades, so he decided to test some dreamless sleep draught to see if that would keep him out of the maze. It was fairly successful, so he kept it by the bed to drink every night.

He would still go to that now familiar place in his mind every night, like he was being sucked there through a straw, but instead of how it normally was, everything was gray and hazy. Even himself. It was as if he were just a ghost wandering through the maze, chasing after Harry as a gray mist.

Harry was the only thing with any vivid color in the maze. He took these nightly opportunities to watch the Gryffindor as he made his way alone through the dark paths. He felt a little voyeuristic, but it couldn’t be helped. He had no idea what the Gryffindor would do if he just showed up in their dreams as if nothing had happened.

That night was no different, he watched Harry walk the previously un-trodden path, however there was a slight difference in Harry. He was less zombie-like then previous nights. This both thrilled and irked the Slytherin. He wanted Harry happy, but not if that that happiness excluded him. It was his own fault of course, but that didn’t make Draco any happier that Harry was moving on.

--

Breakfast the following morning saw Anthony and Harry together again. Draco tried to contain his hurt and rage because the Slytherin’s were eyeing him closely. He had to appear aloof, which hadn’t been an issue just a few short months ago, but was now one of the hardest emotions he could muster. He wanted to strangle Anthony for daring to touch his Gryffindor.

He watched as the boys left the Great Hall, Anthony’s hand placed possessively on the small of Harry’s back and Draco almost lost it. He crumbled the slice of toast he held firmly in his grasp. “Alright then, Draco?” Pansy asked him. He just sneered at her, grabbed his books and left.

By the time Draco reached potions, Harry was already there, looking once again like an inferi. He had hoped that a trickle of the cheerfulness he had seen at breakfast would have followed him into potions. Draco had been looking forward to working with a slightly less walking dead version of Harry. To no avail, Harry’s eyes were dull with dark circles underneath and his face slightly sunken as if he hadn’t been eating or sleeping.

Draco took his place beside him, watching carefully as Harry inched his chair to the furthest possible place at the desk, angling away from him. Draco sighed and the Gryffindor tensed as if waiting for Draco to speak or move, but he didn’t.

He tried to restrain himself, but he only made it halfway through the lesson before he could no longer contain the hurt building up inside his chest. “Quick to move on, huh Harry?”

He felt rather than saw the Gryffindor tense, flexing his hands in and out of fists, little flares of power licking at the edges of Draco’s chair. Draco preferred the anger to the dead silence, so he continued. “I mean, for someone who claimed to be so enamored with me…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Harry looked at him then and his normally brilliant green eyes were almost black with power and rage.

Draco was captivated, like a small rodent caught in the sight of a much larger predator. He looked away; back down to his notes but he new it was too late. “What. Right,” Harry spat, enunciating each word clearly, “do you have to comment on my love life? What right do you even have to talk to me?”

Hermione was watching them now, completely on edge. Draco wasn’t sure what, if anything she could do to calm Harry down. What could anyone do for that matter? Harry’s power surpassed even that of Snape’s. Draco had pushed things too far and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered so that only Harry could hear him.

“Sorry?” The power flared at once, singing the hairs on the small exposed patch of Draco’s arm closest to Harry. The Gryffindor gritted his teeth and the power receded slowly. His jaw set in a tight line, he looked over at Draco, his eyes not yet back to their emerald shade, but no longer black either. “Don’t you dare speak to me again, or I might not bother controlling myself next time,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Draco merely nodded and went back to work. ‘Well that went well.’

--

The day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game started bright and sunny. Both teams were thrilled for the change, because it had been gloomy and wet all week. Quidditch games in the rain were hardly fun at all. It had been a little more than a week since the incident in potions, and Draco hadn’t spoken to Harry since.

He continued to pretend-date Pansy, while Harry continued to real-date Anthony. It was quite pathetic the way his stomach still churned when he caught the boys kissing in between classes. He was hoping to get over Harry, as Harry had gotten over him rather promptly. He felt the chances of him one day making things up to the Gryffindor now out of reach.

He was still thinking about the dark haired boy as he made his way onto the pitch. When he looked up, Harry was doing circles around the stadium on his broom, already dressed in his form fitting gear. Draco had always loved the sight of Harry dressed for the game. The Gryffindor seemed to embody the ideal Quidditch player, the way he moved, and the way he flew. Even as a novice the boy could out fly Draco, but now Harry was anything but a novice, and Draco knew he had little chance of winning the game.

Draco was right.

Eight minutes into the game Harry took off like a bullet, heading toward a small golden flicker on the horizon. Draco took off after him but couldn’t keep pace as the Gryffindor did a series of feints and loops. Draco could feel the cool wind on his face paired with the flaming heat coming off of Harry’s body ahead of him.

Harry reached out and grabbed the snitch, and just as Draco was about to slow and concede defeat, Harry howled and released it. Draco took advantage of Harry’s distraction and started to grab for it. A quick look at Harry stopped him though.

The Gryffindor was still flying along, though not as fast as before, but he was clutching his hand in pain. He looked up to find Draco watching him and his eyes darkened. Draco merely nodded toward the snitch, which was still hovering between them, as if telling him to take it.

Harry quirked a dark eyebrow at the Slytherin, questioning. “You can take it, Malfoy. I let go, it’s fair game now.”

Draco shook his head. “No, it’s yours, you already got it.” He didn’t wait for Harry to argue, he just turned around and flew in the other direction.

The game ended with loud cheering, mixed with groans of defeat coupled with disappointment at such a short game. There hadn’t even been any points made before Harry grabbed the snitch. Luckily everything took place so high up that no one on the Slytherin team knew what Draco had done. Though, it didn’t make them less angry about losing.

--

It was late when Draco left the changing rooms. His housemates were more comfortable than before, but it didn’t seem to stop them from moving to the other end of the room from Draco in order to change. So he went and showered first, luxuriating under the heated water. It reminded him of Harry’s power, flowing like hot steam across his skin.

When he came out of the shower all of the other boys had left, so he quickly changed and stepped out into the night air surrounding the pitch. He only took three steps before a dark figure stopped him in his tracks, slamming him roughly against the wall. He knew instantly who it was and he was both frightened and ecstatic to have Harry pressed against him.

“I don’t need your pity, or your charity, Malfoy,” Harry hissed.

Draco tried to shrug, but Harry was holding him too tightly. He wondered briefly when the Gryffindor had gotten stronger than him. “It was just the right thing to do.”

Harry huffed, his warm breath mingling with the cool air made the fine hairs on Draco’s body stand on end. “Since when do you care what’s right?”

“You have no idea,” Draco muttered.

Harry stood there for another moment, pressing the full length of himself against Draco. The Slytherin realized with a satisfied smirk that Harry was getting hard. That knowledge filled him with lust and a sense of relief and before he realized what he was doing, he was kissing the Gryffindor. His lips crashed harshly against Harry’s and he moaned against him, vibrating their lips and tongues.

The kiss was broken roughly and without emotion as Harry shoved the Slytherin away from him. “What are you playing at, Malfoy,” he growled.

Draco didn’t have a real answer for him. “You’re compelling,” he said simply, as if explained everything. He could feel Harry’s palms pressed against his own, as he pinned him to the wall, and there was something off about the way it felt. He twisted in Harry’s grasp until he held the left hand open to examine.

The intricate golden design adorning the snitch was now burned into Harry’s palm like a brand, the heat of Harry’s own power causing a mark his skin. “The snitch burned you.” It wasn’t really a question because the evidence was plain.

Harry laughed harshly. “I think it was more me that burned the snitch.”

Draco ran his fingertips lightly over the raised pattern that would forever mark Harry’s warm flesh, and he felt him shudder beneath the soft movement. A moment later the Gryffindor was standing several paces away, out of Draco reach. “Just leave me alone,” he sighed and walked quickly from the pitch.

Draco waited until he was gone, before collapsing on his knees, unable to breathe properly.

--