Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: So, this chapter takes a little bit of a dive to the dark side.

Just a heads up, this is the first real glimpse into the themes of child abuse and violence, sometimes a bit graphically. If you are not okay with that - which is very understandable; I mean, who really is - please tread lightly. I don't mean to offend anyone, and if you think that such depictions may be triggering, please don't read.
Wow... I can't believe I'm actually telling people NOT to read my work.

Chapter 5: The Curiosities That Haunt Us
The turn of the month saw Harry heading into Defence Against the Dark Arts early once more. Such was not unusual, but had rather become a habit. By unspoken consensus, both Harry and Draco naturally fell into the rhythm of starting their partnered class early. Draco claimed it was easier to talk about anything Harry wished to discuss when in the quietude of an empty classroom.
Well, he didn't quite say it as such. 'You're terrible enough at Defence as it is; you'll need all the time you can get and it's less tiresome when other people aren't around' was a more accurate description of his words. And despite the tone of condescension – that Harry secretly found quite amusing in its pompousness – he was right. Harry felt he learned nearly as much from their brief conversations in the quiet before class as he did from observing the practical components of the lessons.
Even more than simply the learning aspects of Draco's long-suffering 'tutelage', Harry found he rather looked forward to their time together. The realisation was at once shocking and not altogether unwelcome. Unlike the triggering interactions with Parvati and Lavender, or the laid back conversations with Neville and Ron that he could not entirely lose himself in, when with Draco he felt much the same ease as with Hermione. Perhaps more so, even. There was none of the good-natured intrusiveness, and when he sunk into muteness neither forced him to converse.
Working alongside Draco was a curious experience. He was obviously talented, and new it too. The repertoire of spells he conducted with apparent ease, revelling in the admiration radiating from his fellow Slytherins and barely concealed resentment from everyone else, were simply magical to behold. Harry found himself looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts if only to bear witness to the taller boy's artful display of enchantments. Between the blonde-haired boy's rapids, graceful movements and bursts of forceful colours and Hermione's logical, practical yet oddly artistic interpretation of wand-movements, the class at times appeared to have taken on the guise of a dancing lesson.
More fascinating, however, was the performance that Harry bore witness to like an audience at a stage play. In addition to an endless surplus of spells the Slytherin boy flicked through with apparent ease, his repertoire of expressions was equally elaborate. It was a study in itself. As though deliberately setting his face for the desired response, the boy would rearrange his brows and set his jaw with deliberation rather than allowing it to slide into whatever shape felt most natural. For Harry, who had lived the majority of his life behind a shapeless mask of nonchalance, it was fascinating to behold the constant, calculated play of expressions. He silently and unobtrusively marvelled at the other boy's ability to shift his face into so many forms without nary a trembling slip up. Harry couldn't imagine the years of practice that had gone in building that façade.
It took a whole two lessons of Defence Against the Dark Arts for Draco to realise that Harry was not fooled by his admirable acting abilities. Harry didn't particularly know how he was so aware of it, and was hardly one to confess to knowing as much, but it was undeniable nonetheless. When they were both aware of this realisation, their rather rigid partnership became infinitely less awkward. Harry even dared to fathom that comfortable was an adequate description of their practice.
Over the weeks to come, Harry and Draco fell into a routine that steadily became the norm. Harry would partner with Draco in every Defence class, and after a rather fascinating discussion that spanned the entire first-to-sixth year Defence curriculum would then proceed to be little more than a punching bag for the spells Draco threw at him. True to his word, Draco rapidly put his reversal skills into practice, banishing the effects of the hexes almost immediately. Harry was becoming all too familiar with the incantation Finite Incantatum.
Similarly, in a display that bordered on kindly as far as a Slytherin was concerned, the blonde boy seemed to restrain himself from the more damaging or lasting hexes. Instead, he settled for an array of spells that repeatedly left Harry skidding through the air, dropping to the floor or clutching at desks to maintain his feet as his legs turned to jelly.
Harry didn't particularly mind being the victim of the spells. After all, it wasn't like they really hurt, and every student was required to lather themselves in a lemon-scented balm before leaving the darkness of the room that reportedly eradicated rising of bruises and eased aching muscles. Hermione, however, despite this precaution, could barely contain her distress.
The Gryffindor girl initially hovered protectively at his side throughout every Defence class, scowling at Draco each time he sent a jinx his was and coaxing Harry encouragingly into retaliating. Her protective instinct were both astounding and admirable, despite their unwarranted nature. Neville and Ron, her constant companions, both glared daggers at the Slytherin from behind their friend's back. The Gryffindor trio barely bothered to pretend they were practicing spells as they seemed to focus all of their attention on their hatred of Harry's tutor.
Draco, for his part, seemed none the worse for wear for being subjected to their visible loathing. He maintained his own sneer, lip curled and eyelids dropping in that bored expression he seemed to favour, but Harry could discern the amusement that bubbled beneath the surface. Draco seemed to actually enjoy taunting the Gryffindors, and even more to leave them with the possibility that he could, at any moment, hit Harry with a fatal spell.
Harry shared the good humour of his Defence partner, though for entirely different reasons. It was completely unfamiliar to have the continued and unasked protection of people he was beginning to see as friends. Yes, uncomfortable though it may be, it felt oddly… warm. In an attempt to reassure Hermione, he simply replied with his usual blank-faced frankness that he was perfectly fine and having her stand guard over him would be unlikely to assist adequately should the need arise.
After nearly two weeks, it was only after an accident-driven incident that Hermione begrudgingly agreed to leave her charge to the Slytherin.
Observing with heated anger as Draco launched another sparkling spell Harry's way, the Gryffindor girl folded her arms across her chest and tapped her wand on her elbow threateningly. Even from Harry's newly acquired position clutching to the edge of a table, he could feel the fury radiating towards the blonde boy across from him.
'Perhaps attempting to actually teach him something instead of simply launching hexes at him would be more helpful, Malfoy.'
Draco smirked sardonically, raising an eyebrow over heavy lidded eyes. 'Shut your trap, Granger. We know what we're doing. Harry is learning this way. As him, he insists.'
The eyes of Hermione and her ever-present Gryffindor friends turned towards him as though seeking clarification of the assumed accusation. Harry, fighting his exasperation over Draco's pretence – he could positively see the amusement radiating from the other boy at Hermione's suggestion – only shrugged. 'Just watching helps, I think.'
'See?' Sending a shimmer of blue sparks towards his partner, Draco reversed the spell that had sent tingling vibrations down Harry's limbs and effectively incapacitated him. Harry hauled himself to standing once more, placing feet firmly on the ground, none the worse for wear.
'Malfoy, you could at least work on defensive spells a little. If Harry is trying to repel your attacks, he can't very well reciprocate with offensive-type spells. You're effectively teaching him nothing.'
'That's because he's a selfish git who enjoys watching others fall when he pushes them,' Neville growled, Ron nodding in agreement.
'True, Longbottom, but if it works for both of us I hardly see a need to change the circumstances.' The blonde boy raked fingers gently through his hair, the picture of ease and aloofness in the face of the Gryffindor's loathing. Harry was fairly certain only he saw the slight smirk for what it really was; if only Hermione, Neville and Ron knew just how much Draco thrived on their anger, they would surely strive to avoid such confrontations.
The Slytherin waved a hand at the trio, dismissing them as one would recognised inferiors. Turning back to his punching bag, his lips twitched in what Harry could only assume was recognition of his own amusement, mirroring that of Draco's. Surprising, that; Draco often seemed as perceptive of Harry's emotions as Harry was himself. 'You might want to take a step forwards for this one, Harry. You'll likely go flying backwards a few feet.'
A hiss from the onlookers turned both partner's heads. 'Dammit, Malfoy, any sort of propulsion charm directed towards another person is dangerous indoors. You know that, you bloody idiot.' Neville had taken a step forward, placing himself at Hermione's side and glaring menacingly at the object of his loathing.
Draco snorted, waving his hand again at the seething Gryffindors. 'Oh, do be quiet, Longbottom. I, unlike some, know exactly what I'm doing when I raise my wand.'
Twin growls emitted from both Gryffindor boys. Ron was the one to voice his complaint this time. 'Yeah, I'm sure. At least you have something, right, since you so marvellously fail at sitting a broom. It must be embarrassing that the Slytherin quidditch team had to keep you on. How much do you have to pay them for their continued allowance, Malfoy?'
Harry couldn't quite make the connection between Draco's claim at academic skill and broom-riding abilities but even he knew that Ron had just stepped on dangerous territory. Draco usually focused solely upon course material when Harry talked to him, but even he could tell from the brief references to the baffling Wizarding sport that the Slytherin adored the game. He took great pride in him inclusion into the school team.
It was hence no surprise that Harry watched the veild anger boil slowly to the surface. Draco still maintained his relaxed smirk, yet the rigidity of his expression spoke anything but calm. The amusement had spluttered and faded like a dying lightbulb. 'Is that honestly the best you could come up with, Weasley?'
Sneering, Draco turned his attention back to Harry. 'You ready, Defaux?'
Harry should have known from the use of his surname that Draco was improperly focused. But even had he recognised as much immediately he did not even have the time to shift forward the paces Draco had suggested before the blonde uttered a spell in clipped tones.
'Propello!'
A force like a horse kicking him in the gut wrenched Harry from his feet. The gasps of the Gryffindors were jumbled with the whip-cracking snap of air rushing past his ears as he was thrown backwards into the air. Weightlessness, however brief, is always a horrifying feeling. In that split second, the brief moment he glimpsed the stacked desks and chairs approaching him at breakneck speed, he thrust outwards with a mental push while tucking his body protectively inwards.
The weightlessness of air-bound suspension abruptly ceased as Harry tumbled into the ground. The landing was remarkably soft, given the expected collision with hard, wooden furniture. It was more akin to the feeling of stumbling and crashing to the ground, which he was rather familiar with these days. Opening his eyes, which he hadn't realised he had closed, Harry glanced around his surroundings.
A sneeze met his newly acquired vision. He seemed to be cocooned in a bed of fine sawdust. Blinking rapidly, and raising a hand unconsciously to clear the dust from his glasses, Harry shook his head and rained wooden shavings from his fringe. Propping himself up upon his hand, he glanced at his surroundings. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Where there had been half a dozen desks stacks with obsessive precision now lay only a haphazard mound of sawdust, speckled with finely ground glitters that Harry could only assume were the nails that had so dutifully held the sturdy tables together. Until now, at least. Ducking his chin to his chest, cringing, Harry gradually, awkwardly, clambered to his feet. Silence met his slow movements, a silence of the whole room. He couldn't quite bring himself to raise his eyes.
Finally, a strangled voice broke through the silence. 'Harry, I… Are you alright?'
Glancing briefly towards the blonde Slytherin boy that stepped with increasing speed towards him, Harry shrugged in reply. 'Fine, I'm fine. But, um… the desks are, um…' He dropped his chin more firmly onto his chest. How did that even happen? Why does it so often happen when I don't want it to?
The sharp click of shoes striding towards him rung through the frozen stage of students with deliberate force.
'Potter. What was that?'
The emotionless monotone was the only sound that filled the room. It seemed to echo in the hollowness of the open space. With physical effort, Harry forced himself to turn his eyes towards the darkly clad professor above him. A faint sneer curled Professor Snape's lips, eyelids drooping heavily, a single eyebrow raised.
'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to. I swear I'll have more control of myself from now on. I was just a little unprepared and so…your desks, um… I don't think I'll be able to fix-'
'I was not referring to the state of my classroom, Potter. I am inquiring as to the spell you just conducted. Where did you learn such?'
Harry's nerves, though still strung as tightly as a wound bowstring, halted in their gradual attempt to send him into a panic attack. Snape's words were, if not kindly, lacking in the malice and coldness they had previously been interlaced with in his criticisms. Though disconcerting, coupled with the mild curiosity that glinted in the otherwise flat blackness of his eyes, Harry felt somehow eased.
'I don't really know, sir. I just… when I was hit by the spell it felt like the best option.'
'Not to simply cast a protective charm around yourself?'
Harry shrugged slightly. 'It was a little late to be thinking of that, Professor.'
Snape frowned, nose twitching as though tingling with an itch. 'Yet you had the presence of mind to cast an impressive Reducto on my furniture and reduce it to smithereens.'
Harry opened his mouth to reply but found himself at a loss for words. How did one reply to such a statement? He remained silent, his fingers rising unconsciously to dig nails into his collarbones in a gesture of nervousness he barely even registered, and simply worked at maintaining an expression of composure.
'Were you even aware that such was the spell you were conducting, Potter?'
Another shrug. 'Draco and I have discussed a number of offensive spells, Professor. I'm not sure. Maybe.'
Snape turned to look at the blonde boy standing at his side. Behind them both, frozen as though captured in a Muggle photograph, the entire class watched the exchange in rapt attention. He wasn't sure if it was because of the spell itself or because he'd dared to reduce Snape's tables 'to smithereens' as he'd described, but for whatever the atmosphere of mixed foreboding and awe only caused him to cringe further. Hermione had adopted an expression of shock that held nothing on the astonishment that played across Ron's face, while Neville stared at Harry with a barely suppressed smile of approval. For Draco's part, the young Slytherin was evidently in turmoil. His grimaced in an attempt to maintain his ever-present composure while something akin to worry threatened to spread across the smooth, angular planes of his face. 'Draco, you were discussing high level curses with the new student?'
With perceivable effort, Draco shifted his gaze from Harry to his Head of House. The calm collectedness of the older man seemed to restore some of his frazzled control. He stroked a hand loosely through his hair, sweeping the fringe from his eyes and adopting an arrogant smirk.
'We are permitted to discuss as much, Professor, so long as we don't practice it. And given Harry's evident inability to cast offensive spells against others, I felt it held no harm.' He shrugged. 'Besides, Reducto is hardly an unknown spell.'
'Indeed.' The professor turned his attention to the fine coating of dust-like shavings that coated the floor. Harry shifted uncomfortably as the attention of every student in the class turned towards the mess. 'Well, perhaps you would do well to remember when explaining the Dark Arts that Potter holds no such compunctions upon enacting them upon inanimate objects.'
With a wave of his wand, the sawdust slithered like a streaming river into a neat pile, compressed firmly and abruptly popped into a cloud of oaken-scented dust before dissipating. The Defence professor turned his piercing stare once more on Harry. Oddly, it was bereft of the anger or malice that Harry had been expecting. 'Please refrain from attacking my furniture in future, Potter.'
At Harry's hasty nod, Snape turned a scowl upon the rest of the classroom. 'I don't believe I permitted anyone to stop. Class is not yet half finished.' Tapping feet and anxious whispers met his words, nearly drowning out the continued reprimand. 'And Granger, unless you desire to forfeit your marks for this component of the coursework, I suggest you focus more upon your own studies than your endeavour to assume the role as a mother hen to our new student.'
An impressive sweep of his cape accompanied the turn of the tall man's heel as he swept to the front of the classroom. The man seemed to effectively brush off the slight hiccup in Harry's overwhelming incapability to perform Defensive magic and dropped himself back into his high-backed chair, head bowing over a bundle of papers. Harry and Draco turned towards one another, a faint, relieved smile and an amused smirk adorning each face respectively, before falling back into the rhythm of their classwork.
After that, though she still dragged her feet anxiously, Hermione and her Gryffindor bodyguards eventually agreed to allow the Slytherin and her charge the space needed for adequate practice. Harry suspected it was likely due more to the threat of failing in her own studies than any acceptance on her part.
As the weeks progressed, Harry felt himself become more and more comfortable with the routine of his Hogwarts life. Though Defence Against the Dark Arts sat at the top of his ladder of interests, rivalled only by Care of Magical Creatures for simply fascinating, he found himself developing a fondness for the art of studying magic in and of itself. What confused McGonagall to no ends, though Harry barely even deemed worthy of consideration, was how successfully he grasped the theory of many concepts yet seemed to fail completely in the practical, or conversely turned a trick on a high-level spell without an ounce of prior knowledge while his fellow classmates waded through practice as though slogging through mud.
Most prominently in his mind, however, was the constant presence of people around him that was gradually becoming less and less distressing and intrusive and more the norm. Though Harry doubted he would ever feel completely relaxed when in the midst of countless people, the breathlessness and jittery nerves that habitually accompanied forced interactions for his entire life had notably lessened since attending Hogwarts. He had even taken it upon himself to venture into the unnerving field that breached the boundaries of simply asking questions and, even more terrifying, continuing a conversation when initiated rather than remaining a hesitant recipient of questions and statements. Hermione herself had said it perfectly, though through gritted teeth; perhaps his partnership with Draco Malfoy was indeed beneficial to his education. He thought he saw it as such for slightly different reasons, however.
Harry truly did believe their companionship was educational. Not only from a magical and social development perspective but also from the viewpoint of simply learning through the eyes of one who, self-admittedly, differed so vastly in perceptions to the Gryffindors. Draco perceived the world around him through a very different filter to the ever-enthusiastic and positive-minded Lions. He appeared to view Gryffindors with distaste bordering on hatred, Ravenclaws with disgruntlement yet wary respect and Hufflepuffs with downright disdain. That was not to say it was all negative; Harry would have been disturbed had he been so prejudiced, but even Draco seemed to recognise that his fellow students did not fall so neatly into the categories of the houses. The turn of the first month saw Harry feeling comfortable enough with their relationship that he could quietly comment on the Slytherin's statements without fear of degradation.
'All I'm saying is, had Slytherin been unavailable to me I would have undoubtedly been sorted into Ravenclaw. I know I'm smart. Maybe not up to the Raven's standards, but smart enough. Thank Salazar he suited a house to me, though. I don't think I could handle the bloodthirsty search for knowledge of the know-it-all blues.'
Harry cocked his head at the statement. He couldn't for the life of him determine why Draco seemed to wish to hold discussions during their practice sessions but he let his curiosity slide into acceptance. The blonde youth often made such simple statements that seemed to require no response – his verbalisations appeared driven solely by the desire to talk. A lot. Harry was at first a little alarmed at how readily Draco seemed to disregard any form of contribution at times, though at times he could swear he saw a faint flicker of something like approval flare when he did respond.
'What exactly do you find so distasteful about Hufflepuff?' Raising his wand, Harry practiced a sweep of the polished holly in a graceful arc, marvelling once more at the pointlessness of the motion to accompany the spell. The function still made no more sense to him than it had four weeks prior.
Draco snorted in reply. 'Seriously, Harry? I know you're all accepting of that fluffy camaraderie the yellows seem intent on fostering in everyone, but surely you can also see how sickeningly sweet it is. Makes me shudder.' Which he did, in exaggerated dramatics.
Harry felt his lips twitch in amusement. He frequently found himself responding as such in his conversations with the Slytherin. 'Sickly sweet? That's not exactly how I would describe it.'
Raising an eyebrow, Draco waved his wand in an intricate swirl with a muttered 'Pedes lubricum' before thrusting it forcefully towards his partner. 'How would you describe it, then?'
Sinking inelegantly to the floor as his feet immediately assured him they were skating on ice, Harry clutched a nearby table. He no longer felt surprised at the feel of magic striking his body. Draco had so kindly assisted him in growing accustomed to such, accompanied as always by the ever present and more often than not disdainful comments. Well, at least Draco seemed to know he was being a bit of a prat. 'I don't really know. They seem sort of more…caring, I guess. Loving? I would bet that the Hufflepuffs have trouble casting offensive spells, too.'
A high giggle met his words. 'Oh, too right, Potter! Ha, maybe you are a Hufflepuff after all?'
Turning in unison, both boys fixed quizzical eyes upon the dark-haired Slytherin witch watching their interaction with amusement. Pansy slouched lazily on the bench behind her, idly twirling her ebony wand between loose fingers and pointedly ignoring the resigned boredom emitting from Blaise Zabini. It appeared that the dark-skinned boy was familiar with the ease with which his partner lost focus.
'You see something wrong with Hufflepuff too?'
Pansy shook her head at Harry's question, though not necessarily in denial. 'Wrong? Well, how can you really call it wrong when it's a character flaw on such a fundamental level? The term 'wrongness' carries weighty connotations, that perhaps such wrongness can be righted.' The girl shrugged, a predatory smile curling her lips. 'Though I can't say I wouldn't try to warp a Hufflepuff if I was given the opportunity.'
She nodded her head, as though agreeing with herself in much the same way that Blaise slightly tilted his head and even Draco mimicked in dubious consideration. It was not the first time the witch had interrupted their practice session, nor in fact the tenth, but Harry still found her aggressive contributions disconcerting. Had she not been so obviously striving to insert herself some way into the conversation, by any means possible, he would have been downright disturbed.
'You'd change them? To, what, become more vicious?'
Smirking as one would towards a particularly foolish child, Pansy shook her head. 'No, not vicious. Cunning. There is a difference, my dear little ignorant. I would simply,' she waved her free hand artfully in the air, as though casting a spell, 'train their priorities onto a more suitable focus.'
'And you think that cunning and pride is more important than caring, consideration and loyalty?' Harry wasn't sure exactly what he was saying. His words rung hollow in his ears and he felt like a marionette, speaking as though directed with no say in the matter.
Silence met his reply. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened on the wooden desk behind him, though the sudden absence of his incoordination informed him the hex had been reversed. The Slytherins frowned slightly, Draco's face assuming an expressive curiosity that Harry had come to realise only ever appeared unintentionally on his face. He was obviously baffled. Harry was somehow saddened by the notion.
'Potter, family is important – I mean, of course it is; society hinges on blood status. But in the end the most important priority is self-preservation, self-progression. Even the exultation of one's family is ultimately with the purpose of maintaining one's own status. I don't know about your family but mine would always promote the character traits that most lent themselves to such progression.' The girl had worked herself up like a coiled spring. Surrounded by largely like-minded Slytherins, it was evident that opposition of such opinions was a rarity and did not sit comfortably.
Harry dropped his gaze from the fiery stare. He did not dislike Pansy. She simply unnerved him and he immediately felt himself put on edge when he felt himself pinned by her gaze. She seemed to be trying for something, striving, as though forcing herself towards a goal, a persona, that fit her as well as a tennis ball in a triangle. Yet even knowing such, he couldn't help the unexpected feeling of intimidation arose whenever the girl broke into his and Draco's practice sessions. He would do his utmost to avoid her predatory stare, yet now, met by her coldness and conviction…
'Self-preservation… You'd prioritise your own societal status, your progression, over affection for your family.' He paused, swallowing down an unexpected upwelling of sadness. 'But…what's the benefit of living if you haven't got anyone to protect, or anyone to protect you? What is the point of having skills that help you survive if you have no one to survive for?' He dropped his chin further into his chest. 'It seems a very empty life to me.'
The ring of Slytherins stared at him silently. Harry couldn't determine their response as he kept his eyes glued fixedly to his shoes. Unexpectedly, his own words looped in painful cycles around his head. They seemed more of a self-reprimand than an accusation to his classmates. He had unknowingly punched himself brutally in the gut and was having difficulty recovering. He believed the words whole-heartedly, and the absence of such meaning in his life was…
A snort brought his chin back up. Pansy shifted her position uneasily on the desk, as though it had somehow grown uncomfortable in that brief moment of silence. Turning towards Draco, who stared with an oddly conflicted expression in Harry's direction, she huffed and flipped her hair. 'Definitely a Hufflepuff you've got yourself here, Draco.' She smiled a tight-lipped grin as though seeking approval for her statement.
Draco barely spared her a glance. His eyebrows drew down slightly over grey eyes, the small line on his forehead appearing in contemplation. 'I don't mind. It's good to have a different perspective sometimes.'
Both Blaise and Pansy snorted this time. Incredulity widened eyes and dropped jaws as they looked upon their friend in indignant confusion. Pansy was the first to recover. 'Draco, my dear, I believe the new boy is corrupting you.'
Stepping forward, the Slytherin witch placed herself between Draco and Harry, effectively blocking their line of sight. 'Right, Potter, obviously Draco's methods aren't provoking any results. You don't even look put out when he knocks you over. I take up the challenge of drawing your offensive side out. Well,' a forced smirk painted her face, ugly in its falsity, 'if it exists at all. I have an idea. So, will you allow it?'
He wasn't likely to admit his hesitancy aloud, but Harry felt himself shiver in the uneasy shadow Pansy cast him under. She was not a large girl, yet her self-assuredness seemed to set her looming ominously above him. Still, he swallowed and faintly nodded his head, attention focused rigidly on maintaining his guise of calm. 'Sure, why not. If you think it will help.'
Pansy smiled in terrifying brightness, yet there was something nervous about her expression. She seemed… uneasy. 'I'm sure it will.'
Harry was not assured.
Shrugging off the whispered scolding of her blond-haired friend, Pansy pushed Draco from the immediate vicinity and thrust the sleeves of her robe up around her elbows, arms raised majestically. Harry took a step backward before he felt grounded enough to hold his position.
'You're not even going to raise your wand to try and defend yourself?'
Harry shook his head briefly. 'It wouldn't do any good anyway.'
A bark of amusement pealed from the Slytherin girl's smirking mouth. 'So Hufflepuff, giving up before you even start.' Without another moment she uttered her spell.
'Visio timora.'
For a moment, nothing happened. Harry felt himself nearly trembling in anticipation. Not a forceful thrust jolted him from his feet, nor the helpless weakness of the knees as his legs gave way. Not even, and in Harry's opinion the most terrifying, the gradual lethargy that weighed the body down to the ground in utter helplessness, tugging even eyelids closed into forced immobility. For a moment, nothing happened.
Until the world shattered.
It was all so abrupt, like frozen fingers thrust suddenly into boiling water.
Pain blossomed on old scars.
New welts arose from the harsh sting of a leather belt.
Angry yells of Uncle Vernon as he spat warm spittle into his ear, hand forcefully crushed his head to the floor.
The faint yet familiar agony of singeing skin, crisped enough to shred the outer layer but too shallow to scar.
A resounding crunch of broken fingers, the excruciating and gut-wrenching pain as fractured bone protruded through punctured skin.
Jeering, prodding, shrieks of morbid delight: 'freak', 'disgusting', 'worthless', 'can't pull your own weight'.
The words resounding in echoing shouts that sharply contrasted to the surrounding darkness.
Without the need of vision, Harry recognised the dank smell, the dusty timber, the cold chill that embraced him at winter as he huddled in the cupboard beneath the stairs. Even though he knew he was alone, dreadfully yet blessedly alone, he could somehow still feel the sting of a slapping hand, the booted foot connecting with his kidneys, the warm slither of blood as it dribbled over inflamed skin. His vision turned from the darkness of forced isolation to a vivid, pulsing red.
And worse yet, punctuating the brutal strikes… the soft – too soft – gentle caresses.
The warm wetness of a tongue on trembling skin, the heated puffs of breath on his neck.
His thighs ached as his knees were pressed to his chest and the depths of himself assaulted.
Again and again, whispered breaths of possessiveness were broken by accusations of worthlessness, the hushed tones of sweetened malice contrasting in a violent symphony with outraged cries.
Piled, one atop another, in an ever-growing mountain of a lifetime's worth of memories, relived in the span of seconds that lasted hours.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't suppress the violent shudders that wracked his body as shadow lips kissed and leather struck his body. The conflict of sensations, the aching torture of caress versus cuss, pain and possessiveness, nearly ripped him in half.
It was too much, too much, all at once and too much-!
'…it, stop it, STOP IT!'
'Dammit, Pansy, drop the bloody spell!'
Time stopped. Pain stopped. The phantom attacks stilled. For the span of a breath or the endlessness of a millennium, Harry didn't know. Neither did he care.
Everything was frozen. Abruptly, without warning, leaving a painfully ache relief like a dislocated shoulder finally popped back in place. The blood red of his vision swam in roiling pools in his eyes before gradually drawing back to reveal a dim, blurry light. Someone was panting heavily, wracking sobs breaking the gasping breaths. Only when he realised the pants sounded in time with his own heaving chest did Harry realise they were his own.
Images began to form from the shapeless light shed into his bleary eyes. He was on the floor, the coldness of stone pressing firmly against his entire length. Tucked in a protective ball, his hands clutched tightly to his chest. Fingernails bit with familiar force into the skin of his collarbone, and his knees were drawn nearly to his chin. Through the curtain of his damp fringe, Harry could make out the sharp angles of the classroom tilted on its side, desks pressed against walls and dark curtains draped over windows.
His head pounded in booming beats, the residual echo of pain throbbing in his temple and distorting his surroundings. They were wrong, skewed and broken, furniture fractured in mosaic-like pieces in a strange dull kaleidoscope of fractures. Figures dotted the desks, some atop and some beside, but all twisted impossibly as though cast like knucklebones from a clenched fist. It would have been almost comical to behold if his head didn't hurt so much.
The edges of the curtains that shrouded the windows were slouched haphazardly on their rungs, as though torn in half, and allowed a faint brightness to seep into the room. Harry had the energy to formulate the thought 'ah, so that was where the light was coming from,' before he thrust his surroundings forcefully from sight and sunk into the quietness of unconsciousness.

A/N: Once again, thank you for the comments and reviews! I love every review so much I can't even say! I might not sound like it, but I really do appreciate them :)

I hope you enjoyed. I'll be posting again in another couple of days.
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The Masks of Real Heroes