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Where the Heart Moves the Stone	By : Hanakai Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1936 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
Where the Heart Moves the Stones
~ Verse Nine of the J. Alfred Prufrock Arc ~
- Hanakai Mikakedaoshi
10.7.2003

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

~ Chapter Two ~
The Wary Crown

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

�For the house of Israel and the house of Judah
have dealt very treacherously against me, saith the Lord.
They have belied the Lord and said,
It is not he; neither shall evil come upon us;
neither shall we see sword, nor famine:
And the prophets shall become wind,
and the word is not in them:
thus shall it be done unto them.
Wherefore thus saith the Lord God of hosts,
Because ye speak this word, behold,
I will make my words in thy mouth fire, and this people wood,
and it shall devour them.�
- Jeremiah 5:11 � 14

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Dumbledore had decided, in his mysteriously effective unilateral way, that Trelawney and Firenze would alternate the days they each taught classes. Thus it was that Harry and Ron found themselves sitting in Trelawney�s old, poorly lit tower, inhaling the thick, incense-laden air. Not one to be outdone by an �over-grown horse,� the flaky Divinations Professor had decided to kick off the year with Tribal Divination.

After over four weeks of chicken bones, animal blood, two moonlight dances (fully clothed, despite the old bat�s complaints, thank Merlin), and various types of innards, most of the students couldn�t wait to start Tarot readings. Much to his year mates� surprise, Harry had actually gotten a head start on Tarot, selecting a deck and starting his journal, and had now worked his way up to the Woven spread. When asked, the boy had merely shrugged and muttered, �I like it,� before turning back to his book.

Harry had also been reading more often. A lot more often. And he hadn�t really been talking to anyone, either. Ron and Hermione were trying to give him his space, but�

�Now class, we have spent the last two periods discussing the merits of the Vision Quest. The pipes that Professor Sprout�the poor dear�has been so kind to prepare for you will aid in you in your spiritual journey. I want all of those who will be traveling the Misty Beyond today to try to remember your lessons and allow the vision to flow. Partners, it will be your job to closely monitor our wanderers and report to them the physical appearance of their soul�s journey. Now, I want one of you to pick up the pipe and inhale deeply three times.�

Ron eyed the smoking pipe laying on their table warily as Trelawney drifted around the room, simpering in her muted tones as she tried to coax people to smoke the odd-smelling pipes. �So what is this stuff called again?�

Harry looked up from his textbook and grinned faintly at the look of trepidation on his best friend�s face. �Professor Sprout made it. It�s not peyote, but it has the same general affect�minus the days of running about the woods starkers.�

�Riiiiiight . . .� The redhead settled back in his chair and his eyes flickered back to Harry. He briefly felt a twinge of guilt as he watched the other boy read and looked back to the blue smoke that had begun to float about the classroom from the various pipes. Maybe �Mione was wrong. Maybe they were going about things poorly . . .

Ron frowned as Harry turned the page. Harry would be the one to go on the Quest today. Next class it would be Ron. The redhead hadn�t wanted it to be that way, but Trelawney had insisted. Personally, Ron didn�t think it was a good idea. He and Hermione would be the ones left to pick up the pieces if something went wrong.

And lately everything had been going wrong.

Green eyes flickered up to meet blue ones and Harry offered his friend a faint half smile. �Alright?�

Ron grinned in reply and leaned over to whisper conspiratorially to Harry. �So what? We just get hopped up on blue smoke until we see the stuff that we want?�

Harry snickered over the top of his textbook.

�Actually, Mr. Weasley, you rarely see what you want.� Trelawney swooped down onto their table with a bat impression that would have done Snape proud. Her enormous insect-like eyes latched onto Harry and she leaned forward, suffocating them with her heavy perfume. �You rarely see what you want,� she repeated in a misty voice. �But you always see what you need.�

She plucked the pipe off the table and held it out to the green-eyed wizard. �Well, Mr. Potter?�

Ron scowled. �I��

�Alright.� Harry reached out and took the pipe. He smiled at Ron. �You ready?�

Trelawney turned away to the rest of the class. �Now on the count of three, everyone. One.�

Ron dug out a quill hurriedly as Harry raised the pipe to his lips. �You�re sure about this, mate?�

�Two.�

Harry nodded and exhaled deeply.

�Three.�

Harry�s eyes fluttered shut. He breathed in deeply; once, twice, three times.

Immediately the world began to sway sickeningly. The perfume in the air was too intense, too cloying, and it felt like his stomach was trying to crawl up his esophagus. The temperature seemed to drop and when he coughed, his chest burned painfully.

�You alright, mate? Harry? Harry?!�

He was spinning�falling.

Ron?

Was this supposed to be happening?

�Harry . . . Professor . . .!�

Down . . .

Down . . .

Down . . .

Falling . . .

Harry opened his eyes slowly.

He was lying on a cold stone floor on his back, stark naked. Above him wheeled a thousand stars, but he couldn�t find any constellations that he knew. A bird cried somewhere in the distance: �Find me. Find me.� There was no moon. The stones of the floor . . . ground were poorly fitted together and dug painfully into his flesh. It was cold and he was somewhat embarrassed to find himself sporting an erection, despite the fact that he didn�t feel the least bit aroused. So much for the starkers part . . .

Blushing furiously, Harry pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and looked around cautiously. All that he could see was an uneven field of stones stretching out to the end of his sight. There was no horizon, only a thin line where the starry sky met the ground.

�You are quite late, boy. Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Decide.�

Harry jumped at the sound of the voice and whirled around, hands lowered to cover his nudity. He blinked out into the empty night. There was no one there.

�You�re late!� the voice repeated peevishly. It sounded tired. Perhaps it was angry. �Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Hurry.�

Harry�s brow furrowed. He knew that voice . . .

�When are you going to learn? We�re running out of time!�

The boy looked around in a fruitless attempt to discover the source of the voice. �Hello?�

�Time! Time!� it continued. Either the speaker couldn�t hear him, or it was ignoring him. �There is no time, boy! Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Choose now!�

Harry turned again and glared at the empty night. �Who�s there?�

�What will you give, boy? An eye? A hand? Your very life? And for what? Do you think that they will weep for you when you sit by Hel�s hearth? Choose!�

�Who�s there?�

�Well, go on then! I have said my piece! You�ve made your bed; now lie in it. But don�t expect pity from me! Pick the path, if you�ll do nothing else. Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Choose while you have a choice, boy.�

�Wait! I don�t understand what you mean!� Harry turned in a slow circle, trying to catch the voice�s owner. �Who are you? Where are you?�

The voice did not answer again and Harry growled in anger, momentarily forgetting his discomfort. He tried to remember what Trelawney said about dream symbolism, but class suddenly seemed distant and unimportant.

This is only a dream, he reminded himself. A wind blew and, dream or no, it was damn cold against his bare skin.

Harry shivered, once more mindful of his state of undress, and began to walk. He didn�t recognize any of the constellations and time didn�t seem to move, so he had no idea of where he was going or how far he was walking. He hummed as he went, some old Christmas tune that Aunt Petunia liked to sing every June. Harry didn�t remember all the words, though, and the last line seemed to consistently elude his memory. For some reason that irritated him more than it should have.

Occasionally he heard the bird crying in the distance. �Find me. Find me.� But the wind distorted and carried the sound in such a way that it was impossible to identify the source. There were no trees on which a bird could perch and no clouds in the sky to hide anything, yet the bird�s location remained a mystery. Harry began to sing loudly as he walked, increasingly desperate to drown out the creature�s distant, insistent cries.

�Angels we have heard on high��

�Find me. Find me.�

�Singing sweetly o�er the plains,�

�Find me. Find me.�

Harry began to sing a bit more loudly. �And the mountains in reply��

�Find me. Find me.�

�Echoing their . . . something something��

�Find me. Find me.�

Abruptly Harry stopped, irritated by his lack of progress, his inability to remember the words, and the bird�s insistent cries.

�Where are you?�

The night did not reply and once more the boy found himself growling in frustration at his apparent isolation.

�Where are you?� This time his voice was a whisper. The bird still did not respond, but now he knew that that was only because he was talking to himself.

Harry dropped his head and stared blankly at the cracked, starved ground beneath his bare feet. The wind blew once more and he sighed. �I don�t think this stuff is working,� he reported to the earth.

He shivered at another gust and for the briefest instant he thought he heard someone laughing and whisper somewhere nearby. �I am no easy meat.�

The sound made his skin crawl and he immediately resumed walking, refusing to look behind him to see if there really was anyone there. �This is only a dream.�

He didn�t stop again for a long time.

Eventually, though, Harry�s legs began to get tired. His feet hurt. Yet he continued going. Somehow walking seemed better than staying still. He had the distinct impression that staying still would be exceptionally bad. Trust your instincts, he remembered Trelawney�s misty voice saying. So he kept moving. It could have been an hour or a day. In any case, it hardly seemed to matter; the landscape never changed and the sky grew neither lighter nor darker to indicate the end of the night. Finally, the boy stopped, annoyed, and looked around once more, searching for any indication of progress.

It was a futile effort.

�Bloody marvelous Vision Quest this is. I�ve had more fun watching Death Eater meetings.� He flinched as soon as the words left his mouth and the wind blew again as though to chastise him.

�Little boy lost?�

For the second time, Harry jumped in alarm and once again jerked to hide his nudity. This time, however, when he whirled around, there was definitely a name to put to the voice. It was Dumbledore.

The Headmaster stood a few yards away from him, swathed from head to toe in robes so black, he looked more like a man-shaped hole cut into the night than an actual person. A heavy hood hid his face completely and his hands were tucked into the sleeves of his robes in the old fashion of monks and druids.

�Sir?� Harry squinted and took a step forward, suddenly acutely aware that he did not have his glasses. How had he not noticed that before? �Sir?�

It was terribly cold suddenly.

�Little boy lost?� the old man repeated, hissing slightly.

Harry froze. That was not Dumbledore.

�How,� the figure continued, �do you expect to get there if you don�t know where you�re going?�

The boy swallowed hard. �Voldemort . . .� His body seemed to twist in the wind of its own volition, frantic to conceal itself. It was terribly humiliating to be aroused in front of this man. Harry hadn�t really thought to be embarrassed before, but now he simply wished that the earth would swallow him whole.

�Silly child. Do you know nothing yet?�

The hissing tone to the voice hadn�t vanished, but somehow Harry knew that the man was not Voldemort. Nor was he Dumbledore . . . He was both. And neither. Harry didn�t understand, but he desperately wanted to see the man�s face. For reasons that he didn�t know, it seemed terribly important to recognize this man for what he was. Harry took an uncertain step forward.

The man spoke again, ignoring the boy�s action. �Poor Barabas. Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Where are you going, boy? You can only choose one path. Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Choose.�

Harry stopped a foot or two away from the man. �Who are you?�

The man seemed to sneer beneath his hood. �Why do you ask me questions, boy, when you are the one with all the answers? Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Choose, Barabas.�

Harry�s hands clenched into fists. He�d had enough of this. He wanted to wake up now. �That�s not my name.�

�Does it matter what your name is, boy? Barabas? You are the formless void. Now choose or the choice will be made for you.�

�I don�t understand what you�re asking of me!�

�Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun,� the man repeated. He sounded like he was laughing.

Harry snarled and lunged forward. He half expected the man to jerk away or strike him, but it was shockingly simple to grab the man�s hood and jerk it back to reveal�

Himself.

Harry froze.

The dark-cloaked Harry smiled down at himself, a bizarre parody of human expression, and wrapped his arms around his other self�s waist, pulling the naked boy close. �Poor Barabas. Hu. Sia. Heka. Nun. Choose.�

The other, younger Harry, the Harry who was naked and shivering and lacked the empty, insane deadlights that shone through his twin�s eyes, gaped and tried to pull away in revulsion. �What the hell is this?�

�Choose.�

The man smelled sickening�the cloying, sweet odor of something rotted and decaying. Harry began to struggle wildly, unable to bear that scent or the feel of those cold, clammy arms wrapped around him. �Let me go.� His voice came out as a weak gasp; he couldn�t breathe. �Please . . .�

�Choose.�

A scream began to build within him and the older figure pulled him tighter, his leg sliding between Harry�s in a twisted parody of lust. A shock of pain went through him as the leg came in contact with his genitals.

�Choose . . .� the man hissed and Harry suddenly realized why the other�s voice sounded like hissing and why the other voices had not answered him: he was speaking in parseltongue.

�Choose!� the man barked, squeezing him tighter.

�Sirius!� The wail leapt from his lips before he could contain it and Harry�s head tipped back, searching the heavens for a sign that he could not see.

It was cold.

Drawing on nothing but adrenaline, Harry kneed his alter-image in the groin, suddenly thankful for all the experience Dudley had given him when it came to escaping. The creature shrieked and threw him down, immediately crumpling into a protective ball. Harry stumbled back, unable to stand again, but frantic to escape this horrid creature that was not�could not�be him.

�There is a snake within your belly, boy,� the man hissed suddenly from his position on the ground. A gnarled hand snaked out and grabbed his ankle.

�Let me go!�

�There is a snake in your belly, boy,� it snarled again. �And he is trying to get out.�

�Let me go!!!� Harry kicked viciously at the thing�s head, only the face that snapped up to glare at him was no longer his own.

It was Petunia Dursley. And she was painted like a circus clown.

Harry took one look at that face (which had never seemed as cruel or insane as it did right then) and lashed out. There was no grace or skill involved; he fought like a wild animal cornered, with teeth and claws, and snarls and as soon as the grip on his ankle let up, he fled. Harry stumbled to his feet and ran blindly into the night, not daring to look behind him, lest he see that awful, bloated face coming in pursuit. The air smelled sickeningly like sugar, rot, and burnt bacon fat.

�Harry?�

Wakeupwakeupwakeup.

Tea and roses. Wormwood and soot.

�Harry!�

Wakeupwakeupwakeup. He couldn�t focus like Dumbledore had taught him and it was so cold and he couldn�t concentrate and Trelawney had lied and he couldn�t wake up and�

Arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him up off the ground in mid stride. His back impacted hard with a strong, unyielding chest and the fetid scent of death gave way to blood, chamomile, and peaches.

Severus.

All Harry�s resistance melted and his panic gave way to an exhausted kind of relief as he slumped backwards. �Anhur.� He meant to say �Severus,� but all that he could think was �Anhur.�

�Anhur. Anhur,� he whispered breathlessly as leaned back into the comfort of familiar dark robes.

He pulled himself out of his Professor�s grip and whirled around to embrace the older man. He felt something cold and metal press into his left hand and a strange, biting warmth pooled in his stomach as he threw himself forward, but by this point in time he simply didn�t care. Severus was here. With him. And he wasn�t angry anymore.

Something hard was between them, preventing the embrace. Harry pulled back slightly and looked down, bewildered. Clutched tight in his left hand was the hilt the Sword of Gryffindor. The blade was buried in Severus�s abdomen.

�Wha . . .� A choked moan left Harry as he stared down at the bloody length of silver. Panicked green eyes looked up, desperately seeking Severus, but instead of finding the hard, familiar planes and bold, over accentuated angles of the man�s face, Severus appeared pale and waxen.

Harry whimpered. The hand holding the Sword refused to let go. �I . . . I don�t . . .�

Severus lifted an eyebrow and his lips twitched towards what could have been a smile. �It�s alright. I�ll take care of you.� A long, potions-stained hand raised to gently brush his cheek. As the fingers touched his skin, they turned to dust.

Severus turned to dust.

�Anhur!�

�I�ve got you.� The wind blew again and before the words had even fully left his mouth, the other man dissolved into an angry cloud that spread itself across the plains.

The green-eyed teen stared, shocked.

�I�ve got you.� Severus�s words hung in the air like an epitaph.

�No . . .� The sword clattered to the ground. His hand was covered in blood. Harry looked down with a distant growing horror. He was bleeding. Badly. The sword had pierced Severus, but he had stabbed himself.

Thick red blood flowed steadily down his front, over his now lax penis, and soaked into the dusty gray stones. Severus was a part of that dust . . .

A sigh left Harry�s lips, taking the sound of a quiet �Oh . . .� and his legs folded gracefully beneath him.

Severus was a part of that dust. He didn�t mind so much, knowing that.

As he fell to the ground, suddenly, insignificantly, the forgotten line from the Christmas carol came back to him. Gloria in Excelsis Deo. HHu. Sia. Heka. Nun.

And then everything melted into darkness.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Draco started awake as he heard footsteps and voices entering the hospital wing. The motion sent an agonizing throb through his head, but he barely took notice of it. With Crabbe and Goyle as Beaters and Draco occupied with finding the Snitch, accidents were bound to happen. Eventually, one even got used to them.

The sound grew more distinct as Draco shook off the final layers of sleep and sat up in his enclosed bed.

�Good heavens! What happened?� Madame Pomfrey demanded.

�We don�t know!� The Weasely. �We followed all the instructions��

�Step back, boy, back! He�s going into convulsions!�

Shuffling. Footsteps. The sound of a gurney being wheeled somewhere. Choked gasps. Bottles clinking. And then . . .

�ANHUR!!!�

Draco cringed at the cry. It was a sound of mourning: the cry of one utterly bereft and torn by anguish. His mother had sobbed like that when his father had been imprisoned and she thought he was asleep. He hated the sound.

�What�s wrong with him?� The Weasel once more.

Draco stood, swaying slightly beneath a wave of dizziness, and gently pushed aside the hospital curtain to peer out. Weasley and a girl that Draco barely recognized were hovering anxiously near a bed. They blocked the blond�s sight of the occupant, but it didn�t take a genius to figure out that Potter was now the infirmary�s latest guest.

�Run and get Professor Snape, boy! Tell him I need him to tailor a HemoPurge potion to Potter immediately. And don�t you let Filch get in your way!�

�But��

�Now!� the petite mediwitch barked.

Weasley took off at record speed and Madame Pomfrey continued to putter around the bed that held Potter�s thrashing form. The girl who had accompanied the two Gryffindors was whimpering pathetically.

After securing Potter to the gurney, Pomfrey looked up at the young woman with a tight expression of anger. �Ms. Patel, you will go fetch that . . . that woman from her tower and you will bring both her and the Headmaster down here immediately.�

Patel shuddered as though she was about to fall over. �But, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Trelawney��

�Is a menace!� the older woman snapped. �Every year, sobbing Third Years coming to me in a panic! Now this? I will not stand for it! You will bring her down here along with Headmaster Dumbledore and she will face up to this! NOW!�

Draco couldn�t contain his amusement as the girl squeaked in fear and tore out of the hospital wing at a dead run. He had never seen Pomfrey so worked up, even when that idiot Lockheart had removed Potter�s bones. Whatever had happened must have put a real bee in her bonnet.

The door to the hospital wing opened with a bang and Snape swirled in, looking intensely irritated. Weasley came skulking in behind him, his face a pasty white color. Snape was scowling thunderously, and he immediately made his way to Potter�s bedside. Draco�s eyes narrowed at the furious expression on the other man�s face.

�What happened?� his Head of House demanded, his deep voice rolling in a way that simply demanded attention. He took in a sharp breath when he looked down at the Gryffindor.

At last Madame Pomfrey moved, allowing Draco a clear view of Potter�s face. The normally pale skin had a strange bluish hue and Potter�s breath came in a wispy, choked gasps. His lips were parted and the tip of his tongue protruded slightly as though it was too large for his mouth. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face, augmenting his deathly pallor, and strange red welts with white centers had arisen on the boy�s skin. Madame Pomfrey had secured his arms to the bed so that he could not thrash about and cause himself harm.

Weasely apparently had also caught sight of Potter because he immediately made an odd choking noise.

Madame Pomfrey didn�t even turn around to look at him. �Return to your Common Room, Mr. Weasley.�

�But��

Snape turned on him with a snarl. �Fifty points from Gryffindor. Go!�

Draco would have given a good deal to see the man�s expression because Weasely took one look and shot out of the hospital wing once more. Snape wheeled around to the busy mediwitch and favored her with a particularly frightful glare. �Poppy, what happened?� he snapped, sounding more agitated than usual.

�What happened,� the mediwitch fairly snarled, �was that charlatan, that�s what happened! She sent him into anaphylactic shock, that�s what happened!� She grabbed hold of one of Potter�s arms and pressed a small glass vial against the vein. �Did you bring the potion? Get me that anti-inflammatory over there,� she demanded, nodding towards a corner before Snape could reply. �His tongue and lips have swollen. How much blood do you need?�

Snape moved over to the cabinet and fished out a blue potion with surprising speed. �Yes. And an ounce and a quarter.�

Pomfrey muttered a spell and the little vial in her hand began to fill with blood. Snape set the anti-inflammatory down and removed a small Erlenmeyer flask filled with a clear fluid from his robes. He tugged off the stopper, poured in the vial of blood that Pomfrey thrust at him, and watched with a critical eye as the mixture immediately turned a sickly green color. While he swirled the fluid about in the flask, Pomfrey set about trying to coax some of the anti-inflammatory into Potter�s swollen mouth and down his throat without choking him.

Snape moved to the head of the bed and pressed a hand against Potter�s forehead to keep him still. �He�s cold.�

�He�s in shock,� Madame Pomfrey responded curtly. �Stupid woman. Prop him up very gently for me, Severus. I don�t need him to asphyxiate on us. Careful now! That�s right . . .�

The Potions Master obeyed, settling down on the bed so that he could better support the small figure in his arms. Draco avidly watched the drama through his barely parted curtains. Gently, Pomfrey coaxed the blue fluid down Potter�s throat with a minimum of gasps and choking. A bit of the sapphire colored mix slipped down the teen�s cheeks and chin to stain the bed and Snape�s robes. The older man seemed not to notice, completely absorbed in the pinched, sickly face resting on his chest.

�That�s a good lad,� Madame Pomfrey cooed to the unconscious boy. Once she was satisfied with the amount Potter had swallowed, she moved to the foot of the bed and propped up his feet.

�Stay there, Severus!� she snapped when the man shifted.

Snape frowned. �Is it safe enough to wake him to take the HemoPurge?�

�It�s safer than letting him suffocate on the fluid building up in his lungs.� She whipped out her wand, ignoring the ferocious glare her colleague leveled at her, and pointed it at Potter. �Enervate.�

The boy shifted feebly and Snape held stock-still. Draco leaned forward a bit, parting the curtain a bit wider so that he could watch Potter�s swollen green eyes flutter open painfully and lock with Snape�s.

�Anhur?�

Snape blinked, looking perplexed at his student�s words. Pomfrey bustled up, once more blocking Draco�s view.

�He�s delirious,� she said as she pressed the flask against Potter�s lips. �Drink,� she ordered when it looked as though her patient were struggling.

�Anhur . . .�

Snape gripped Potter a bit more securely and shifted so that Draco could no longer see his face. �Drink it, Potter. It will make you feel better.�

There were a few more moments of silence as Pomfrey poured the potion down Potter�s throat.

Just as Madame Pomfrey stood upright again, the door opened once more to admit Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Trelawney. The Divinations professor was pale and agitated looking, her hair appearing haphazard from rushing down from her tower, her shawl and numerous beads in disarray. Dumbledore entered at her heels, for once looking less than effervescent.

Shockingly blue eyes latched onto the bed that Draco occupied and stared at the young Slytherin�s hiding spot. Draco froze, painfully embarrassed that his spying had been discovered, and Dumbledore smiled at him gently. The blond immediately closed his curtains and slipped back into bed. He lay down quietly, careful to make no sound.

�Is he alright?� he heard Dumbledore ask.

�No thanks to her,� snarled Pomfrey. Draco could only imagine the expression on the matronly woman�s face. �If it wasn�t for Severus��

�I did nothing wrong!� Trelawney broke in shrilly. She sounded oddly the way she had when Umbridge had tried to cast her out. �He was fine when we tested the mix and his records��

�Allergies rarely manifest on the first exposure,� raged Pomfrey in response. �And his records are incomplete. I told you��

�Now, now, now, ladies,� interrupted Dumbledore in a soothing voice, �perhaps we had best move this to my office��

�The only other student here is a Seeker who took a bludger to the head during practice, Headmaster, and he�ll be out for at least another��

�Still,� the man insisted in a no-nonsense tone, �I must insist that we do not disturb the students� rest. Severus?�

Snape, who had remained strangely silent until now, didn�t answer immediately. Draco desperately wished he could see what the man was doing.

�Is everything well?� Dumbledore asked.

�Quite, Headmaster,� Snape responded coolly. It sounded as though he had moved. �Shall I . . .?� His voice trailed off suggestively and Draco gripped his bedclothes, frustrated with his inability to figure out what was happening.

�That�s quite alright, my boy,� Dumbledore responded congenially. �Thank you for your aid. Ladies, if you will please follow me?�

There was the sound of footsteps and then the door opened and closed, leaving Draco alone in silence. After a few more moment, the blond Slytherin arose from bed and crept towards the curtain again. When he eased them aside, he was shocked to see that Snape was still there.

The Potions Master was standing next to Potter�s bed, staring down at the boy with an expression as intense as any Draco had ever seen the man wear. One pale, stained hand was resting on Potter�s forehead, the thumb gently gliding back and forth over the famous scar. Draco stared, hardly daring to breath, lest he be discovered. The hand on Potter�s face lifted after a moment and Snape turned to gently pull the covers over Potter�s thin body.

Suddenly coal black eyes snapped up and bore into Draco. Snape straightened, his face completely devoid of emotion and his hands frozen in place where they were adjusting Potter�s covers more comfortably. The Slytherin hesitated under his professor�s gaze and then lifted the curtain fully, revealing himself to the older man. He felt terribly awkward to be in his hospital clothes under the Snape�s unforgiving stare.

�Mr. Malfoy.� It was an acknowledgement�nothing more, nothing less.

�Sir.�

For a long moment the two stared at one another across the room, neither willing to break eye contact. Finally Draco looked away, ashamed of the weakness but unable to bear the man�s scrutiny a moment longer. Satisfied with his victory, Snape smoothed the covers seemingly without noticing and walked around Potter�s bed. His black robes swirled menacingly about him as he strode towards his student. Draco seemed to cringe slightly, barely resisting the urge to shy back, and looked back up as the man approached. Black eyes locked onto silver ones and they stared at one another once more for a moment. Then a potion-stained hand reached out and closed the curtain again, effectively shutting Draco out again.

Draco swallowed hard and lay back down. The door closed quietly a moment later and for a long while afterward Draco stared at the crisp, white curtains and wondered.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

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Where the Heart Moves the Stone