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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 6: Questions Unanswered
His black cape billowing impressively in the wake of his long strides, Severus Snape powered with purpose through the corridors of Hogwarts castle. Only the loud ringing of his flat-heeled shoes striking stone floors accompanied his passage.
Clip, clip, clip
Outwardly, the man exhibited only cool aloofness. His face was a blank slate, eyes half-lidded and staring fixedly before him, mouth a hard line above his pointed chin. His beak-like nose, raised slightly alongside the rigidity of his posture, only enforced the regal nonchalance he emitted.
Yet inside, pacing in frantic circles of anger, his mind raced at a million miles an hour. Questions bubbled and hung in his head unanswered, building in force as they demanded explanation. Alongside the splitting headache that had been a constant companion for the past three hours, Severus was in a mood to tear the throat from anyone who so much as glanced at him sideways.
Clip, clip, clip
Unintentionally yet expectedly, the Defence professor's mind traced back to the events of his sixth year's class. He felt his jaw clench at the memory of both his own distress and his helplessness.
Foolish child, I would at least expect proper grammar from a fifth year. Sighing, Severus touched his wand to the parchment, highlighting the spelling mistake in vibrant, angry red before setting the five-foot long paper to the side of his desk. He rubbed his eyes wearily in a motion disguised as clearing dust from lashes. He had mastered such gestures to mask his true weariness years ago. Yet even so, the desire to drop his head to the desk was growing more and more inviting. Perhaps his reputation would not be quite so tarnished if it were only the sixth years that heard him sigh in exhaustion.
He didn't even have to observe the students before him. He would never admit it, but Severus was more than satisfied with the level of skill the seniors demonstrated, especially given the hurdles of Defence professors they had been confronted with since the initiation of their tutelage. He worked at assigning three new spells a practical lesson and, though he feigned disdain for those that failed to achieve all three, was indeed satisfied with the success of those capable of even one of the spells.
Now, if only he could bring up the pace of the new Potter boy…
As though drawn like a magnet to a lodestone, Severus felt his eyes slide to the dark-haired boy. Potter was slight, undoubtedly the shortest in the class, and had a way of holding himself that made one's eyes graze over his presence in the room unless targeted specifically. The mop of thick, dark hair, so similar to that of his hateful father's, was bundled loosely in a braid that he seemed to adorn himself whenever attending classes. Plain, black-rimmed glasses sat upon his nose and behind those, Lily's eyes.
The initial impression, of the glasses and the hair, had left Severus with the immediate recollection of his schoolyard nemesis, James Potter. It was only upon closer study that he came to the realisation that the boy resembled his father about as much as Severus resembled his own, both in appearance and disposition. Perhaps it was simply the distinct lack of arrogance but, if anything, he resembled Lily more. For that reason if nothing else, Severus found it impossible to maintain his immediate hatred towards the boy. If only his eyes were not so guarded, so wary; it would have been like looking into a window to the past.
Eyeing the boy who stood in stock stillness across the classroom, Severus felt a frown settle faintly on his brow. The boy was tense, more so than usual, and a quick assessment of the situation alerted Severus to just the reason. Pansy Parkinson, one of his own, stood across from him. As he watched, the young witch smirked, raised her arms and spoke a comment inaudible across the buzz of the classroom, to which Potter shook his head. The girl's smirk grew into a broad, predatory grin, and with an elegant sweep of her wrist, she uttered a spell.
Severus could not discern the nature of the incantation immediately; it was not one that he had ordered practiced. The result of the spell was similarly unidentifiable, at least initially.
That is, until all hell broke loose.
Watching in fixated rapture, as though viewing a Muggle movie, Severus observed Potter freeze in sudden petrification. As though the blood were drained from his face, his cheeks became a sickly white that could have rivalled that of a ghost's. Severus had just risen from his seat when an almighty shriek split through then air.
Burning kittens were brought to mind. Or perhaps a lamed bird, cast flightless from the sky to spiral to its inevitable doom. Severus had never heard such a heartfelt scream of absolute pain and terror and the last person he would have expected it from was the quiet, unobtrusive Potter boy. He launched himself from his seat, pushing students that were frozen in shock and shrinking into their shadows under the piercing assault of the cry. Striding in a half-run across the room, Severus watched mind-numbing torture sketch itself across the boy's face.
Prior to that day, Severus had not seen more than a glimmer of emotion grace the immobile features of Lily's child. The drawn brows, wide, terrified eyes, opened mouth and trembling lips; the hands that rose to claw welts into the paper-thin skin of his throat, across his cheeks. A full body shudder shook the boy where he stood, so violent that Severus wondered briefly how he maintained his feet.
Evidently Draco wondered the same, or at least sought to relieve the distress as Severus did. Lurching himself from his own frozen stupor, the Slytherin boy wrenched a similarly petrified Pansy from his path and leapt towards the source of the shrill continuing cry. Reaching an arm out, face contorted in uncharacteristic worry, the boy stretched fingers to lock around the Potter boy's arm-
'NO!' Severus boomed with echoing force to halt his godson's flight, too far away yet to restrain him himself. 'Don't touch him-'
Everything exploded. That was the only description Severus could term what happened next. Like a shockwave, the students in Potter's immediate vicinity were flung halfway across the floor. A ripple effect shook the standing observers from their feet, Severus included. He could only thank the small mercy that cast him from his standing position as, lying on his back, he glimpsed a wave-like burst of flames sear scorching hot through the air where his head had just been. The room trembled as though experiencing an earthquake and Severus could not have regained his footing if he had tried.
The splitting of wood and a faint sizzling noise drew Severus's gaze to the desks lining the walls of his classroom. As he watched through eyes blurred by the turbulent vibrations, furniture split and the metal legs of chairs dissolved into a vaporous mist. The shredding of cloth flooded the room with light as curtains were torn from their rungs.
Only when each desk lay crumpled in pieces and black fabric slumped from windows did Severus become aware that the shriek had muted. In its place, a frantic chanting in babbling sounds replaced it, nearly drowned out by a hurricane of wind that whipped with raging fury about the room. Shifting his gaze wildly once more, hands grasping the ground in an attempt to stabilise himself upon the shuddering floor, Severus struggled to raise his head and scan over the bowed, terrified figures of his students towards the boy now fallen into a protective curl on the floor. His fingers continued to rake bloody claw marks down his cheeks. Eyes clenched tightly closed and dribbled blood and tears onto the stone floor beneath him. His mouth moved in frantic mutters and only as Severus gradually hauled himself across the floor towards the boy could he determine he whispered in French.
'Desole, desole! Je ne vais pas le faire à nouveau. Desole, je jure que je serai mieux, desole. Sil vous plait, arreter, arreter, arreter-' The words resounded in Severus' mind, heard but not comprehended. Dragged with forced slowness over the painfully hard floor, straining against the wailing gale, he croaked a feeble utterance to the Slytherin girl crumpled to the floor as he neared her.
'…ark…in…son. Stop….cease the spell…'
He may as well have been bellowing underwater for all the good it did. Yet once more, Draco appeared to be thinking upon parallel.
'Pansy, stop it! Reverse the spell!.'
Peering at the terrified witch, Severus watched the girl's face plaster into an expression of miscomprehension. Draco may as well have been similarly speaking French for all the good his demands did. Seeming to once again reach the same conclusion as his teacher, Draco gestured wildly at the boy twitching spasmodically on the floor like a cowering rodent huddled in defence. The rapid pointing was followed by a vicious jerk of fingers across his throat. The message could not have been clearer: STOP.
To punctuate the motion, Draco screamed another command that boomed in a wail akin to the howling wind. 'Dammit, Pansy, drop the bloody spell!'
The Slytherin girl sobbed in desperation, but somehow still held the strength of will to point her wand shakily into the eye of the storm. A scattering of blue sparks erupted from the trembling tip of wood, darting like fireflies towards the huddled form and sank into his trembling shoulders.
Abruptly, the wind ceased. Like the turning of a tap halts the flow of water, the pressure of the hurricane shut off as though it had never been. Pausing, spellbound in the sudden stillness, Severus panted in gasps of air before whipping his head around the room. His eyes grazed rapidly over the students, assessing for damage before moving onwards when none was found. Indeed, it appeared the main casualties were the furniture that now lay strewn in pieces like a splintered picture frame around the edges of the room.
Severus took a moment to ponder Potter's aversion to his upholstery before he heaved himself to his feet. His legs felt like they had been struck by a Jelly-legged Charm. Stumbling in an unfamiliar display of awkwardness, the Defence professor made his way the final distance between himself and the fallen boy. Behind him, as though shaken from their terror, faces turned and students eased themselves onto knees and feet hesitantly. Fear and confusion coloured the room in visible shades.
Ignoring the evident distress of his students, Severus crouched over the trembling boy. His face was a deathly pale, the marks his fingernails had drawn down his cheeks oozing dark blood in slow pulses. Faint puffs of breath blew into hands that now clawed at his collarbones in worrying ferocity, as though gripping a lifeline. The boy looked so fragile, so unutterably feeble, that Severus was at once baffled and terrified by the distinct difference between the trembling creature and the display of power. For the first time, he considered the possibility of the boy actually conducting the time-freeze over suburban Paris nearly five months ago. Squatting onto his haunches, Severus made a split decision. Only a moment of hesitancy, his deeply ingrained caution rearing its head, before he touched the boy's shoulder.
No response. A gentle shake similarly failed to trigger a reaction.
Turning towards the trembling Slytherin witch behind him, currently huddling behind Draco who stood positively twitching in agitation, he assumed a tone of calculated coldness. 'Parkinson, what spell did you conduct precisely?'
The girl clenched her eyes shut, trembling more violently even than boy on the floor beside Severus. Her lips blubbered as she struggled to enunciate. 'J-J-Just a Visio timora, Professor. I-It shouldn't have had that sort of r-response. I… Everyone knows it just plays on memories of the p-p-past…' She swallowed audibly. 'It s-shouldn't have been any worse than a Bo-Bo-Boggart!'
Severus felt a scowl twist his lips. It was perhaps beneficial that Pansy kept her eyes clenched tightly as he feared she would lose control of her bowls had any further nudge shaken her. 'Memories of the past… Foolish girl. One does not conduct such a spell without either knowing the subject's past on an intimate level or desiring the possibility of inflicting serious mental damage!' He huffed in frustration, turning from the girl and back to Potter lying helplessly on the stone floor. He had not moved an inch, and the trembling looked to be worsening. He was likely going into shock.
Making a rapid decision, Severus slipped his arms beneath the boy's shoulders and knees and rose once more to his feet. Had he been any larger, coupled with the faint tremors that still shuddered through Severus's legs, he would have been unable to carry him. As it were, the boy weighed barely more than a child half his age. 'Class is dismissed. Be about your way.'
Ignoring the wary glances, the curiosity surfacing in the eyes of the onlookers, Severus swept from the classroom in the direction of the hospital wing. He was unsurprised when Draco, Granger, Longbottom and Weasley followed, but did not shun their accompaniment. He had more important things on his mind. Clip, clip, clip
Severus's scowl deepened as the memory replayed itself in frightening detail; little else had crossed his mind in the last two hours as he had presided menacingly over Poppy Pomfrey, restraining a hiss of distaste as she bustled in clucky protectiveness over the boy lying unconscious in her care. He knew he could have left Potter in her more-than-capable hands without having to watch her every move like some overprotective she-wolf, but something kept him within the silent, white-washed rooms of the hospital wing. Possibly the quartet of sixth years outside the double doors, waiting quietly but with deafening anxiety for any details as the welfare of their classmate.
The Gryffindors Severus could understand. A trademark of their house was persistence to the point of stupidity; such faithfulness to a boy they barely knew was not unexpected. He was, however, startled by Draco's continued presence. It had confused him at first, the all-too-obvious lie his godson had fabricated to cover his offer of assistance to the new boy, but he had gradually let his suspicions die with time as no overt developments were made. True, the blonde boy had shown remarkable amicability for his little punching bag, as much as a Slytherin could while maintaining face. It had amused Severus, not to mention triggered a wave of relief that the gradual descent into depression he observed in his godson was placed at least temporarily on hold.
Still, he hadn't expected the boy to express concern, even terror, on another's behalf; there was simply nothing else the emotion could be labelled with what had driven Draco flying across the room to grab protectively at Potter's quaking figure.
Clip, clip, clip
Shaking his head in disgruntled bafflement, Severus turned the final corner into the wide corridor adorned only with a hulking gargoyle embedded in the wall and candle-bearing sconces. The gryphon-like creature glared menacingly at his approach, disconcertingly following his movements as he approached with granite eyes. Severus allowed no evidence of being cowed to show and simply halted before the hunched statue.
'Butterscotch Beserkers.'
Severus could have sworn the gargoyle smirked at the inane nature of the password before leaping aside gracefully and revealing a spiralling stone stairwell. Taking steps two at a time, he rapidly ascended, accompanied only by the light taping of shoes, and thrust the heavy oaken door inwards without ceremony. The handle collided with a jarring BANG! onto the wall as it swung with unnecessary force.
'Severus. I was beginning to wonder where you were.'
Dumbledore's calm welcome only served to elicit Severus's infamous scowl. The nerve of the man, to expect his presence when he had not even requested his attendance. Striding with deliberate slowness into the room, the Defence professor stationed himself against the wide mahogany desk, looming slightly before the elderly headmaster. He completely disregarded the Gryffindor Head of House that sat silently to the side of the desk, observing his approach from the comfort of her plush red armchair.
'What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?'
The old man dropped his chin, peering pale blue eyes over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Flickering his gaze to his Deputy, the Headmaster and his subordinate exchanged a long stare, holding a silent conversation that only served to heighten Severus' disgruntlement. With a slight nod, Dumbledore held out a hand towards the twin empty armchair across his desk.
'Take a seat. We were just discussing as much.'
Considering at first refusing the offer, Severus finally ceded his rigid pride and eased into the red cushions. Arguing would have only lengthened their unfortunate yet necessary exchange. 'Tell me.'
McGonagall spoke as though continuing a discussion already initiated. 'It took about five minutes for the vibrations to stop. No one was injured, but several shelves had collapsed and cracks crossed the floor. Leaving my classroom, it took me another thirty minutes to identify the source of the occurrence. The dungeons are, after all, at the opposite end of the castle to my own rooms.'
The woman cleared her throat, wetting her lips before she continued. 'When I entered the dungeons, they were in uproar. The students were positively buzzing with excitement, as though Christmas had arrived early. Severus's rooms were in a state, but the children appeared unworried. They are remarkably resilient; as with any display of impressive magic, so long as no one gets hurt it generally leaves most observers more in awe than concerned over their own wellbeing.
'I questioned several of the more rational students. Mr Thomas eventually gave me an adequate explanation. It appears that Harry was struck by a hex of some sort and was affected adversely, releasing a burst of power that effectively dismantled the room around him yet blessedly failed to injure his peers. Mr Thomas seemed quite enthusiastic over his speculations as to the nature of the hex, but I do think he was worried for his classmate.
'Ensuring that all was calmed and the children leaving for their dormitories accordingly, I hastened here. Other than that, I have only my own educated guesses. I did not visit Poppy, as I assumed Severus would have everything in hand.'
Dumbledore was nodding in agreement. 'As I am sure.' Turning towards the Slytherin Head of House, Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. 'If you would, Severus?'
Severus's lip curled at the Headmaster's words; it wasn't really a question, and though he would have relayed his observations anyway it still irked to follow Dumbledore's instruction. 'Minerva is quite right on most counts, save that it was not a hex. Miss Parkinson conducted a Visio timora upon Potter with what I can only assume was the intention of spurring a defensive response from the boy. The results were… rather explosive.'
To both Minerva's and Severus's surprise and disgruntlement respectively, Dumbledore smiled. A small smile, yet one that conveyed his amusement nonetheless. 'I believe such a term is appropriate, yes. Ah, a Visio timora…' The man contemplated the situation, as though attempting to unravel a puzzle that basically spoke for itself
Minerva stated as much. 'Albus, you cannot deny what this means. For such a spell to elicit such a response…'
'Indeed.' Severus nodded, for once in agreement with his fellow teacher. 'The boy was terrified. Minerva, you will attest to his distinct lack of emotion as well as any other, yet the boy was hysterical, so much so that the careful control he constantly maintains upon his magic – even subconsciously, it seems – was shattered.'
Nodding in a mirror of Severus, Minerva continued. 'Obviously, there was a trauma in his past. Something that we have not been aware of and as such will have difficulty discerning the source. But I believe… Perhaps it is too assuming of me, but I believe that it may in some way be inhibiting his capabilities in practical magic.'
The Headmaster was similarly nodding at this point. 'So it would seem.' He sighed, genuine sadness etching into his wrinkled features. 'I feel that we have perhaps done a disservice to the boy. Though it is most likely an unavoidable accident from childhood that has manifested to draw such terror from him, I feel that we are somehow responsible for not ensuring the maintenance of his psychological and physical wellbeing.'
Thrusting her chin forward firmly, Minerva pursed her lips. 'I will remind you, Albus, in the most respectful sense, that I wished for the boy to be placed in magical care until he attended Hogwarts. It would only have been right, given that Neville Longbottom was afforded the same. I am not an advocate of Muggleborn discrimination, yet even I can recognise that a magical child would achieve the most from an upbringing in a magical environment. Perhaps his reluctance to attend the school at eleven could have been circumvented.'
'Quite right you are, Minerva. I too believe as much, yet will remind you of the times and the compromises we had to make. We were unsure as to which boy Voldermort had targeted; the scenes of both households showed his presence and both boys bore the mark of a direct attack. It is fortunate that Frank Longbottom maintained his capacity to care for his son, and that Neville could be raised in a Wizading household, but given the circumstances Harry was not. As the only relatives he had left, the Dursleys were the only appropriate choice.'
'There were others! Remus would have-'
'Can you honestly say that growing up in the household of a werewolf would have left him any better off, Minerva?' Severus punctuated his words with a sneer of distaste for his old schoolyard nemesis.
'Severus, if you would, please refrain from derogatory comments. Yet even saying as much, I do believe he has a point, Minerva.' Dumbledore steeped his fingers before him, gaze rising to peer contemplatively over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. 'Besides, at the time, attention was focused primarily upon Neville, for, though few, the signs indicated he was the primary target of the attack and Harry merely removed as a precaution.
'But I digress. Revisiting the past and the errors of our ways does little for our current circumstances. We must attempt to unwrap the mystery that has presented itself, given that Harry may yet become a key player in the war against the Dark Lord. I know not what such a role should be, but…'
Severus glared at his superior, not even attempting to hide his disgust. The Headmaster frequently referred to his fellows as though pieces on a chessboard and, though he knew his perspective was tarnished by age-old bitterness, Severus could not suppress his loathing of the insinuation. 'Of course. We would not want one of our knights tumbled from his horse, as it were.'
Minerva flashed him a startled glance while Dumbledore smiled faintly in amusement, not even a tinge of regret colouring his features. 'Of course. Perhaps, Severus, if you would trouble yourself…'
'What would you have me do?'
'Pay a visit to Harry's aunt and uncle's house. And that of Stephen Defaux, if you would. Question them in an attempt to determine the nature of Harry's distress.'
Face a blank mask of veiling indifference, Severus stared intensely at the Headmaster. 'Question? Or question?'
'No, Severus, merely the verbal kind. Legilimancy, even in the Wizarding world, is deemed inappropriate if not illegal save for medical or legal cases. To conduct as much on a Muggle is unforgivable. The same goes for the use of truth serums, I regret. Impressing a magical touch upon the mind and inflicting upon the body, there is a high likelihood of inflicting irreparable damage without the shield of a magical core.'
'Naturally. I was unsure whether such a likelihood would withhold you from pursuing such a route.'
Unable to restrain herself any longer, Minerva sat forward in her seat and interrupted their banter, worry etched into her aged face. 'Albus, perhaps I should go instead.'
'Not at all, Minerva. Severus is more than capable of conducting the investigation himself. Besides, you are the professor most familiar with Harry. I believe your continued support would be just as beneficial as attempting to un-fog the mystery of his past. Wouldn't you agree?'
'Of course.'
'Thank you. Then if we have nothing further to discuss…?'
Severus noted with distaste that the Gryffindor head and himself frowned in unison once more. The likeness of their responses was unnerving. 'Headmaster, you seem to have overlooked the severity of the occurrence. Despite Minerva's reassurances that my class was left more curious that disturbed by the event, I doubt all will be as forgiving and complacent.'
'Ah, yes. Nothing to fear, I intend to remedy the fact by informing all students and professors of the incident at dinner. In muted tones, naturally.'
'Naturally. And my classroom?'
'Likely already seen to, Severus.' Another smile crinkled the old man's eyes, friendly yet by no means confusing anyone as to the nature of their relationship. 'You need not concern yourself with the maintenance of the castle. The house elves in employ are truly professional in the highest regard. Rather, if you would be so kind, please attempt to pay a visit to Harry's family at the earliest convenience.'
Rising from his seat, ignoring the twin rising of the Gryffindor head at his left, Severus nodded. 'I shall attend to it immediately.'
Only as both professors were passing through the door did Albus relay his final parting words. 'I would be most keen to gain your perspective on the incident, Severus. Perhaps when you return?'
Severus did not grace the amused words with an answer but instead swept from the room, leaving Minerva in the wake of his resounding retreat.

The faint melody, an odd tinkling of wind chimes and the whirring of a broken record, were only heard on the fringes of Draco's consciousness. If the Vanishing Cabinet had not taken up the entirety of his vision, he would not have seen it at all. Even so, he had done little more than stare at the decorated wooden planes of the structure, eyes fixed on a particularly large splinter, since he had arrived in the room three hours prior. He hadn't even opened the door in an attempt to initiate another likely unsuccessful revival of the antique.
Sighing, Draco resigned himself to the realisation that, as in the days before, he would not achieve anything today. Such an outcome was even more likely today given that he had not even tapped into his sparse list of potential solutions to the mechanical problem. Not for the first time, he was surprised at his disregard for his own impending demise.
Damned Distractions.
Turning from the towering, ornate structure, his feet naturally found the path to the exit with no input from his brain; he had visited the room enough times that the need for attentiveness when seeking the escape from the cluttered room was unnecessary. Though perhaps such stimulation would have been a welcome reprieve from the monotonous tracks his mind seemed to be circling upon.
It was useless – he knew it. Somehow, over the past three days, little else had played on his mind. He had come to the conclusion that, somehow, Harry Defaux had come to mean something to him and the almost obsessive thoughts, the incessant worry that he was entirely unfamiliar with, were likely due to such feelings.
Draco could not remember ever genuinely worrying about another person in his entire life. Save for his parents, perhaps, but such anxieties were a constant when one was basically family of the Dark Lord. It was a package deal. He had never been concerned on behalf of a classmate before, and the experience was unnerving to say the least. Completely, horrifyingly distressing at worst. Even Blaise and Pansy had never elicited such worry from him before. Not that there had ever been adequate cause. An observer's was the more familiar emotion that accompanied any distress on their part.
Heaving another sigh, Draco slipped through the door of the Room of Requirement and into the hallway beyond. Crabbe and Goyle, still garbed comically as wide-eyed first years – both girls today – glanced at him in unconcealed relief. He felt a twinge of sympathy for them, despite the necessity of their plight. It must have been uncomfortable for them to spend hours in another person's skin.
'I'm done for the day. You can go back to your rooms.'
The pair nodded in unison and turned tail, scampering with the eagerness expected of their disguises. Draco was unsure if their silence was merely a product of their natural quietness or a reluctance to speak with the voice of a high-pitched girl. Probably both.
As they seemed to have developed a will of their own today, Draco allowed his feet to lead him towards their desired destination. Contemplation, a revisit of the incident half a week ago, was replaying so vividly once more in his mind that he didn't realise until he was outside the hospital wing to where he wandered. It was only a faint sniff that drew him from his reverie and alerted his to the presence of another.
Raising his head from their fixed gaze upon the floor, Draco felt a flicker of surprise at the sight of Pansy leaning listlessly against the wall opposite from the tall, thick hospital doors. The girl's face was a blank mask, but the paleness of her skin and the faintly glazed sheen to her gaze spoke volumes. She had not been herself since the completely unexpected outcome of her curse and, though Draco was unsure if her snide remarks were entirely unmissed, he did pity her somewhat. It was the most remorse he had seen her express. Ever.
She hadn't noticed his arrival, much as he had been initially unaware of her own presence. Clearing his throat, he afforded her a reserved smile at her comical startling. 'Pansy. What are you doing here?'
The dark-haired Slytherin opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it in an uncharacteristic expression of awkwardness. Yet even in misery Pansy was not one for silence. 'I…erm, I wanted to see how…' She swallowed, clenched her eyes closed briefly and steeled herself. 'I wanted to see if he was alright.'
Draco nearly gaped at that, only restraining himself with the realisation of just how hard she had pushed herself to vocalise her true intentions. Pansy Parkinson, caring what happened to another person. What was happening to the world?
'They won't let you in. Pomfrey isn't letting anyone visit.'
'Actually, she just let the Gryffindors in before.' A familiar snort broke through her strained awkwardness, bringing with it an easing of the tension. 'Trust them, really, to be here hanging around like a bad smell even before I was.'
'They've been here every day since Harry's been…indisposed. Or, well, at least one of them has.'
Pansy raised an eyebrow, attempting to drown her own worries in amusement. 'And you would know because…?'
Ignoring the suggestive question, Draco turned and strode towards the door. He would not abide her taunting any longer, not when the doors to seemingly sacred territory were finally unlocked. Easing the well-oiled hinges inwards, he turned slightly to see Pansy step up to his side. The hardness of her face had returned and she worried faintly at her bottom lip.
The white room, tall ceilings offering a comforting openness to the otherwise stagnant air, nearly blinded Draco in its reflection of the evening sun streaming through the square windows. Empty beds and opened curtains lined both walls, the only occupant at the far end of the room and ringed by a trio of sixth years murmuring quietly to Madam Pomfrey. Striding with presumed entitlement down the length of the polished marble floors, Draco effectively stilted the conversation into wary silence by seating himself at the only remaining chair at the patient's bedside.
Ignoring the heated stares of the Gryffindors, he turned towards the nurse, who met his heavy-lidded stare with surprise. 'Madam Pomfrey. I was hoping you would inform me of Harry's wellbeing?'
One could have heard a pin drop, and effectively did as the healer dropped her quill onto the floor. No one glanced at it, all eyes trained on Draco. The Slytherin boy sighed, thrusting aside his annoyance and accepting Pomfrey's evident inability to respond.
Turning his attention instead to the boy lying in the bed, he allowed his face sink into a reserved frown. Harry looked hardly better than he had upon arrival, save that the horrifying self-inflicted welts on his cheeks and throat had been erased like chalk from a blackboard. The smaller boy's skin was still a ghastly paleness and dark smudges graced the tops of his cheekbones, as though the glasses now resting folded at his bedside had bruised his skin. His hair was a tangled mess that still hung in a bedraggled braid, thick tendrils dangling forlornly across his face. His entire frame screamed fragility, from the faint quirk of worry drawn upon his brows to the foetal curl beneath the thin cotton sheets.
'He's still asleep.'
It was a redundant statement, yet Madam Pomfrey seemed to take it as a cue to finally break her silence. 'Yes, such is the effects of psychological blows. The effects require an internal healing process; I can't do much save assist in the physical healing without the risk of causing more damage.'
'Ah, yes, I can see that you've taken care of him physically so well.' Draco didn't even attempt to hide the sarcasm in his tone, disrespectful as he knew it was. Harry looked haggard, to put it bluntly.
Pomfrey immediately reared, her haughtiness returning with intensity at the slight to her healing skills. 'Mr Malfoy, I will have you know that his condition would be far worse had I not stepped in. I perceived, however, given that he withdrew from any touch I may have initiated, that it would be more beneficial to allow him to recover in his own time that attempt to alter his physicality for cosmetic purposes.'
The Gryffindors positively glowed under the biting remarks, a point that Draco deliberately ignored. He simply nodded his head, the picture of Malfoy composure, and met the healer's eyes. Her disgruntlement would have been amusing if he didn't find her incompetence so irritating.
'Why is he still sleeping?'
Another huff of haughtiness. 'Mr Malfoy, mental blows take time to heal. If you are sceptical as to the rate of his recovery, and believe it your place to continue disrupting the process, I will not hesitate in asking you to leave.'
Draco waved a hand, smiling benignly to assist the suggestion's slip into oblivion. 'That is unnecessary, Madam Pomfrey. I was merely asking after the wellbeing of my classmate. He was my partner in Defence Against the Dark Arts, after all. I'm sure you would understand I feel a little anxious over his recovery.'
Folding her arms, only slightly mollified, Pomfrey nodded. 'Yes, well, it may take time. Be careful, mind! Even if he were to wake presently, he will no doubt be disoriented. I do not wish him to be bombarded with questions and unnecessary chatter. If I should consider for even a moment that you, any of you-' with a jabbing finger, she pointed to all of them, Gryffindors included- 'will infringe upon his recovery in the slightest, you will be out of this Hospital Wing and into respective Head Teacher's offices. Am I clear?'
Apparently deeming the hasty nods and murmured assents adequate, the healer bent, picked her quill up off the floor, slapped her clipboard to her chest and departed the wary silence of the students. She paused in the doorway to her office, however, and glanced back momentarily.
'I suppose I should inform you, since it is likely that you will be involved in such roles. Professor McGonagall has deemed it appropriate that Harry be left to himself only minimally when he awakes. Victims of mental trauma almost always recover better when in a social context as opposed to isolation. I don't feel I need to request your assistance on providing such support.'
She didn't even pause to acknowledge their nods before disappearing into her office. Draco wondered if he was the only one who noticed that her door didn't swing entirely shut. He had neither the time nor the inclination to ponder her words, or the obvious supervision she still maintained, for the ensuing silence was abruptly shattered.
'What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?'
Restraining a rolling of the eyes, Draco ignored Weasley's venomous comment and turned once more back towards Harry. The boy had shifted slightly in the conversation, but still slept, the crease in his brow deepening slightly. A faint rustle at his side alerted him to Pansy's near-silent approach.
'What the hell are you doing here, Parkinson?!' Horror, more apparent this time, lathered the red-head's words, mirroring that glimpsed on the faces of his friends that Draco barely heeded in his periphery.
Pansy paid as little attention to the question as Draco had. Easing herself onto the arm of his chair, she peered with false calm yet genuine curiosity at the sleeping figure. The tension thrumming through her body was likely only perceivable to Draco, who made a point of overlooking it. If the girl had worked up the courage to visit the sorry victim of her volatile anger, she deserved to mull over her regrets without having them cast into the open.
'He really sleeps like the dead, doesn't he?'
'Yeah, no thanks to you.'
Even Weasley seemed to cringe at his own words. Longbottom, apparently with a hold on his own anger, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, while Granger closed her eyes briefly before glaring at her friend.
Pansy, for her part, admirably attempted to smother the flinch with a flick of her hair. The following uneasy silence made it apparent that no one was falling for the ploy however, and so she swallowed deeply, dropped her eyes to the floor and licked her lips.
'I…um… I feel that I should… What I mean to say is…'
No one broke into her attempts to articulate. Draco graciously allowed her the privacy of her internal war by fixing a stare upon the Gryffindors, daring them to comment on her fumbling. Slytherins were generally deemed openly unaffectionate, which he had to concede was largely true, but even he could admire a struggle with pride when he saw one and would assist if possible.
The three Gryffindors apparently felt as much also. Granger had assumed a mask of patient curiosity, Longbottom attempted to hide his discomfort by picking at his fingernails, and Weasley had an expression that bespoke nothing if not serious bowel discomfort as he fought to suppress his innate response of crushing the Slytherin like a persistent mosquito.
'I… sincerely regret how I acted. It was in the heat of the moment, and had I suspected that he would have responded so…negatively, I'm sure I would not have done it. I wouldn't wish that sort of pain on anyone, not even…an enemy.'
Draco wasn't sure if the other occupants of the room were as aware of the gravity of her words as he was. Pansy had obviously undergone some kind of epiphany in the backlash of the incident, something that had ground down her protective walls that preached ferocity and hard-heartedness. She had realised she was not capable of injuring another person. Such a realisation would tip her world on its axis, especially considering her own family's more elicit dealings. Not to mention their expectations for her. Draco felt pity rekindle for his friend once more, and something else. Empathy?
'Yeah, well, it's a pity you can't take back-' Weasley's words were abruptly cut short in an 'oomph' as Granger's elbow connected with his side. Rubbing the rising bruise, he glared at his friend.
Granger didn't notice. She was staring at Pansy with something akin to respect, though clearly knew such a response would trigger nothing but horror from Pansy for she hid it fairly well. 'I think that is something you should tell to Harry, not us.' She smiled faintly. 'I don't think you'll have to wait long. Pomfrey said he'll probably be waking up this evening. That's why we were allowed in for a visit.'
Pansy, eyes still locked on the floor, nodded. 'I know.' Draco thought that was probably the shortest sentence he had ever heard Pansy voice.
An awkward, but not necessarily aggressive, quietness hung over the visitors. None commented on the pointlessness of their waiting, or queried how long they would remain until it became apparent Harry would not wake up that day. Draco was perfectly content to merely sit in silent contemplation, marvelling over Pansy's complete one-eighty, and Pansy seemed as lost in her own thoughts. Granger had settled herself into her uncomfortable chair, a thick novel propped on her knees and curly head bowed over it. Weasley and Longbottom had resorted to a hushed conversation, too quiet to be heard by the Slytherins, though Draco had seen Weasley raise his shirt slightly to show his friend the rather impressive bruise blossoming on his ribcage. He fought to keep the smirk from his face.
Unexpectedly, it was Pansy who broke the silence. Raising herself from her half-seat on the arm of Draco's chair, she took a step, two steps, closer towards Harry. It was a mark of the Gryffindors' restraint that none moved to impede her movement, though Longbottom and Weasley obviously felt uncomfortable at her approach.
A quizzical frown furrowed Pansy's forehead. 'Why does he have a cat in his bed?'
Nearly barking with laughter, Draco raised himself slightly from his seat and peered more closely at Harry's curled form himself. Indeed, the tufted ears of the little black cat could be made out from beneath his chin, clutched like a child holds a stuffed toy. He wondered idly if the creature was still alive, being crushed as it were in an unconscious embrace.
'Harry did say it follows him everywhere.' A smile that was definitely not fond graced his lips. Not snide, for sure, but definitely not fond. Of course not.
'Madam Pomfrey said she tried to force her out of the room, that she was unhygienic and all. But every time she closed the door on her, she would turn around and the cat would already be back in his bed again.' Granger spoke with surprising civility, smiling fondly herself. 'I think she actually helps him. What was her name again…?'
'Lyssy.' The name Draco uttered came from nowhere, speaking itself. He would have bitten his own tongue off if he suspected he wouldn't come to regret the future lack of speech. Still, he would have to keep a tighter rein on his words; familiarity that bespoke friendship seemed to slip out of its own accord.
As it were, the name seemed to alert the little cat to the presence of those gathered. A wiggle of movement and a small, shadowed face appeared from beneath the sheets. Wide green eyes, pupils dilated to compensate for the dying evening sun, moved with strangely human contemplation around the ring of onlookers. Finally, apparently deeming them unworthy of attention, she slithered out from Harry's embrace and stretched languidly, hair bristling along her spine and yawning with a faint squeak. Apparently satisfied with her display, she turned back towards her human, placed a single paw on his cheek and gave a very deliberate nudge.
'Oh! Lyssy, no, don't wake him up!'
Granger lunged forwards, scooping the tiny cat into her arms to an indignant meow. The damage had been done, however, for with a faint, sleepy sigh Harry fumbled his way into wakefulness. Rolling onto his back, fingers plucking at the lip of the sheet to flick it from his chest, his eyelids fluttered briefly in an attempt to open.
He has really long eyelashes. I never noticed before. Probably the glasses… For some reason, the thought didn't trigger the ever-reading flurry of self-reprimands. Apparently his internal Proper Malfoy Heir was dormant at the moment.
Said glasses were in the boy's hand before he had even opened his eyes, thin fingers grasping them from his bedside and sliding them onto his face with practiced movements. It was a little impressive, how, even in an unfamiliar environment and barely conscious, he moved so accurately to seek them out. A moment later, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly behind the wide lenses. He stared around the ring of visitors, his face already fallen into its customary blankness, not offering the slightest surprise even when his eyes grazed over Pansy. Draco had to admire him for that.
No one spoke. In the back of his mind, Draco suspected they all expected Harry to be the one to break the silence. It was an unrealistic assumption, really. Draco didn't think Harry had ever started a conversation intentionally.
Granger finally spoke up, leaning forward and placing the grumbling cat upon Harry's lap. 'Sorry. We didn't think she would wake you up.'
Harry shrugged, offering an expression that didn't change yet somehow still conveyed kindly acceptance of the Gryffindor girl's words. ''S okay. I've been sort of in a doze for the last few hours now. Just couldn't…wake up fully yet.'
Everyone shifted uncomfortably at that. Or, well, everyone except Draco. Malfoys did not fidget, especially when uncomfortable. Malfoy One-O-One.
'Oh, well that's…' Granger seemed to reach the end of her tether, unable to continue the façade of carelessness in the face of Harry's wakefulness. She dropped her gaze to the open book in her lap, catching her lip between her teeth.
In a show of uncharacteristic chivalry, Draco dove in to remedy the situation. 'Harry.' The name certainly achieved drawing the boy's attention from the distressed girl. 'How are you feeling?'
A shrug, no more response than if someone had asked offhandedly how his day had been. 'I'm fine. Thanks.'
'Well, that's good. Do you think you'll be able to make a move?'
Frowns all around the room trained upon him. The question was hardly expected, and not the route one would typically take when nursing a sick friend back into the land of the living. Harry was the only one who seemed unsurprised at the suggestion.
'Malfoy, don't be ridiculous. He only just woke up.'
'Dammit, Slytherin, are you a slave driver?'
'Draco, I really think that-'
'Okay.'
Accusations abruptly ceased at Harry's single word. Startled gazes fixed on the patient before them, each mouth twisted in discontent as they all fought to squash the need to force their 'care' upon the boy.
Draco could barely suppress his smirk of satisfaction. 'Then, I speak from experience when I say you should definitely leave before dinnertime. I don't know why they do it, but the house elves seem to make sure they uphold the stereotype that hospital food tastes like crap.' Standing, he smiled sardonically at the boy lying on the bed before him. 'I think it's about time you join us in the Great Hall, don't you think? You're certainly the hype of the student body at the moment.'
Harry's face seemed to shut down, glazing over even further at the suggestion. Draco wondered momentarily if he had pushed his luck; he would admit at least to himself that his relief over the boy's awakening had given him confidence enough to ask. Perhaps he had gone too far.
'I don't think…'
'Please, Harry?' Granger had regained the capacity speak once more. 'It would be really great if you could eat with us. If, you know, you feel you're well enough to get out of bed. Besides,' and her tone took on a bookish pompousness that often accompanied the precocious answering of questions in the classroom, 'Pomfrey and McGonagall have both said you have to be around other people when you eventually wake up. So it's either we stay in here and you subject us to Malfoy's reportedly dissatisfying dinner, or you're coming with us.'
By the end of her speech, Draco was staring at the girl in concealed astonishment. He had frequently found the sixth-year know-it-all to be anything but endearing, yet her demanding attitude and accompanying consideration was oddly appealing.
Thrusting the thought aside with a mixture of confusion and belated self-disgust, he added his own urging. 'You can hardly argue with that, Harry. Surely you wouldn't subject your poor classmates to such a fate.'
It wasn't quite a smile, not even the ghost of one, but the shadow seemed to retreat slightly from Harry's face. Draco felt oddly pleased with himself for being able to draw what little expression the boy seemed able to give out from behind his mask. It concerned him, surprisingly, that undoubtedly due to the incident, the boy's meagre expressiveness had been once more diminished.
'Well, I guess I can't argue with that.'

The urge to Ask was nearly overwhelming. It niggled at the forefront of Draco's mind like a persistently itch that only seemed to grow more irksome the longer it was ignored. Draco resolutely thrust the steadily growing pile of queries from his forethought once more and turned towards the small group of classmates beside him.
If he had lacked the strength to ignore the desperate curiosity, the need to understand just exactly had driven the starkly blank-faced boy into a screaming, writhing figure of tortured distress, the bowed head and slumped shoulders of his silent companion would have clamped his lips shut. That odd protectiveness, one he realised he'd experienced on more counts than he could remember but until now hadn't quite been able to identify, welled once more. Draco had to fight the urge to pat the boy on the arm, on the head even. Anything to express even a modicum of comfort.
He didn't attempt as much, however. Harry's perceivable flinch as Hermione had linked her arm through his own, the frequent flickers of uneasy eyes to their locked elbows, spoke of his discomfort at even such a harmless touch. Annoyingly, despite her intelligence, the Gryffindor girl hadn't seemed to notice. Draco settled himself for remaining silently on the dark-haired boy's other side, providing a pillar of support and stability amidst the forced jovial chatter of the Gryffindors and the not-quite-sullen quietness of Pansy to his left. He resolutely ignored the niggling questions of 'what' and 'why'.
It was strange, truly, how they all seemed to gravitate around the boy in a cocoon-like shield of attempted support. If Draco was to have observed it as an outsider, he would have perhaps assumed the attachments they had all formed to the new student, throwing a group of highly unlikely individuals into close proximity, was a magical phenomenon. He refused to believe as much, however, and instead maintained his silence as they passed through the halls towards the gradually strengthening aroma of dinner.
It didn't prevent the stray queries, however, from elbowing their way to the surface of his thoughts. How on earth had Draco landed himself with such an oddball? An oddball that he seemed remarkably unable to detach himself from?
They must have made a startling display upon arrival at the Great Hall. As the small group of sixth years entered through the double doors, the animated chatter hushed rapidly to a buzz and then silence, all faces turned towards the new arrivals.
Draco positively glowed in the attention. He would be the first to admit he bathed in limelight as though it were a warm bath, and relished every second of it. Even if such attention was due to the unexpectedness of his accompaniment, he could hardly complain. There was just something so satisfying about drawing every eye in the room.
His Defence partner, and current charge of sorts as Draco was starting to perceive him, evidently felt otherwise. Not even raising his eyes from staring fixedly at the floor, the small boy remained immobile beside his accompanying Slytherins and Gryffindors. Not for the first time, Draco wondered exactly why it was that Harry had never once eaten in the Great Hall. He thrust the thought aside however, turning his attention back to the present. Such ponderings only led to more substantial concerns, such as exactly what memories could cause a person to subside into an hysterical state.
Planting himself in front of the boy with the bowed head, Draco tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow questioningly. 'Though I don't doubt your abilities to eat while standing, it is slightly more comfortable to seat yourself at a table.'
Green eyes, that mysteriously glassy expressionlessness, peered through fringe and over spectacles at the taller boy. Harry blinked once, pausing in an eternal moment, before shrugging and stepping to Draco's side.
The Slytherin breathed out a sigh he hadn't realised he was holding; since when had he become as lenient as to make requests instead of orders? Not that the comment could really be called a request, but still. Raising an arm behind the dark haired boy, leading but not touching, Draco started towards the Slytherin table.
As they made their way through the now-whispering audience of students, Draco directing Harry towards where Blaise slouched on his bench with an expression of bemused bewilderment, the blonde was almost surprised when he felt a finger prod his shoulder from behind. Turning with deliberate slowness, he glanced at Weasley smouldering in an intimidating loom over his back. A smirk twisted his lips.
'Problem, Weasley?'
The red-head ground his teeth in an audible grate. 'He's not gonna sit at the table with you snakes, Malfoy. What the bloody hell are you thinking?' The words were evidently meant to be quiet, but from his periphery Draco spotted a few onlooking students frown in confusion and lock the pair in their gazes with heightened intensity.
'Oh? And where else would he sit?'
'At our table, of course! With the civilised people!' If it was possible to shout in whispers, Weasley was giving a near-perfect demonstration.
Turning with the same deliberate slowness towards Harry, Draco raised a questioning eyebrow once more at the boy who had stilled at his side, staring with vague curiosity at the two of them. Behind him, he felt Pansy resume her place within arms-reach, glimpsed the Gryffindors sidle up to Weasley with frowns upon their faces. 'But I won't sit at the table with a bunch of arrogant do-gooders, and as I was the one to suggest Harry accompany me to dinner, I feel that it would be best that I act as his guide. That includes sitting with him. Unless you have a problem with that, Harry?'
The dark-haired boy stared at Draco for a moment, expressionless and still in his familiar silence. For that moment, something like dread itched inside Draco's gut. Wait… had he overstepped?
Harry finally shrugged one shoulder, turning towards Weasley. 'I honestly don't mind where I sit, Ron. I thought you wanted to sit together, but if you'd rather sit on the other side of the hall I don't mind.'
A smile curled Draco's lips, and he immediately beamed his triumph at the seething Gryffindor. Longbottom looked suitably annoyed and Granger had adopted an expression of weary resignation. 'You're more than welcome to join us, Gryffindors.'
The emphasis on the house name made it a dare. Stepping forward once more, Draco directed Harry to the Slytherin table, arranging himself gracefully beside the boy as they took their seats on the uncomfortable benches and nodding a greeting to a still-stunned Blaise. He didn't miss the disgruntled 'oi' from behind him, but simply chose to ignore it. Pansy slid into the seat beside him.
'Blaise, I believe you know Harry. Harry, Blaise Zabini.'
Perhaps it was a good thing that Blaise still seemed delayed in his bemusement and not yet up to the task of appropriately greeting his fellow student, as Draco doubted Harry would have shaken his hand. Instead, Harry nodded his head in a mimic of Draco's own greeting. 'Hello, Blaise. We've never officially met.'
The greeting seemed to finally draw Blaise from his stagnation. 'Yeah, how 'bout that…' His amusement blossomed like an unfurling flower, only blooming more brilliantly as the trio of Gryffindors abruptly decided to join their party. Glancing above him, the young Italian bit his lip to hide a grin as Weasley and Longbottom stepped over the bench and plopped themselves down onto the seat beside him. His glee in their evident discomfort was simply radiating from his toothy smile.
'Evening, Gryffindors. Such a delight, as always.'
The two youths visibly flinched, Weasley flushing and dropping his chin as though thoroughly ashamed of his decision. Longbottom, in a display of remarkable resilience, glared pointedly back at Blaise. 'Shove off, Zabini. We're only sitting here today 'cause we don't want to leave Harry alone in the snake pit.' Blaise only grinned wider.
'Oh for goodness sake, Neville, Ron, can you not find it in yourselves to hold your bickering for one night? Hmm? You're making it uncomfortable for everyone.' Granger, easing herself into the seat at Harry's other side, frowned with maternal ferocity at her two friends before turning towards the spread on the table. 'It's no different to eating at our own table. No different at all.' The reassurance seemed as much for her own benefit as her two friends, and she resolutely set her gaze upon the patterned wood as though fascinated by the unavoidable stains of countless mealtimes.
Draco struggled to bite back a smirk; they were trying, and as such it would not be appropriate to obliterate them in a maelstrom of verbal blows, raining upon their pathetic attempts at civility. Instead, he sat himself up straight, pointedly ignoring the stare he could feel Blaise begging to share with him, and reached across the table to load his plate with mashed potato. 'Not that I'm sure your attempts to boost each other's egos isn't worth my attention, but I believe it's time to break bread so to speak, hmm? Truce for the night?'
The comment, accompanied by a hazy wave of the potato-smeared ladle, seemed to ease the tension. Longbottom and Weasley apparently to forget their disgruntlement in their enthusiasm for a meal they had previously seemed to have forgotten, Pansy delicately began spooning peas onto her plate, and even Granger saw fit to raise her gaze from the table to take her pick of the selection.
It was only with a spoonful in his mouth that he turned to Harry and noticed the other boy hadn't moved an inch since he had sat down. To Blaise's ignorance, he remained the product of Harry's attention as though as fascinating artefact. Draco suspected, however, given the even glassier sheen to his eyes than was usual, that Harry hardly perceived the boy across the table from him.
Biting back the frown of worry, the immediate welling of questions once more – what exactly had the boy seen, witness, experienced, that had left him so shell-shocked? – he leant into the his ward's side, placing his cutlery down on the table.
'The food isn't going to eat itself, you know.'
With a delayed reaction, Harry turned towards the blonde, fixing him with his stare. 'Hmm?'
'Dinner.'
'Oh, yeah... Sorry, I'm not really hungry.'
Draco's frown managed to impress itself in his forehead this time before he caught it and smoothed his brow. 'That sort of defeats the purpose of us bringing you down here for dinner.'
'You should really eat something, Harry.' Hermione, on Harry's other side, had cottoned on to their hushed conversation and inserted her own quiet suggestion. A small, friendly smile, laced with knowing sympathy – though, honestly, what did she know? – shone upon Harry as he turned towards her.
Shrugging, as though accepting the inevitable, Harry dutifully began to scoop vegetables and potato onto his plate, veering from the streaming venison but otherwise adequately serving himself. Draco eyed him warily, resolving to keep a watch on his charge, before turning back to his own meal. Only to be interrupted by Blaise who, evidently, felt there had enough uncomfortable silence.
'So, Harry, since I haven't actually had the opportunity to speak with you so far, though it's been nearly a month that you've been here: how are you enjoying Hogwarts?' The tone could have been teasing, but Draco knew Blaise was honestly curious. Somehow the novelty of Harry Defaux still gripped the sixth years enough to elicit probing queries towards their new classmate.
Harry raised his gaze to the grinning Italian, shrugging. 'To be honest, despite the fact that Professor McGonagall swore it would be very similar to my old school, I'm sort of out of my depth most of the time. It's hard to keep up.'
Weasley snorted, though good-naturedly, around his mouthful of half-chewed meat, gravy dribbling across his chin. 'You're hardly out of your depth, Harry. I'd say acing it, more like it.'
'Not really… I think my performance in Defence Against the Dark Arts is proof enough of that.'
'That's only one subject though, Harry. Otherwise, you're doing remarkably well for someone who has only just started using magic.' Granger offered another smile, a hint of pride replacing the previous sympathy. 'It's quite impressive, actually.'
Harry dipped his chin, a humble acceptance, though the slight dimming of Granger's smile indicated that Draco wasn't the only one that noticed Harry's eternally blank expression remained. 'Thank you.'
'Still, if you feel out of depth, I wonder why Dumbledore and McGonagall decided to give you separate rooms. I would have thought it would be better for you to actually be around people who are at least familiar with the timetables and stuff.' Longbottom idly stabbed a tower of beans with his fork, wedging them in his mouth and frowning in contemplation.
Hermione nodded. 'That's true. The support of your peers and everything. Maybe they didn't want to sort someone who was so old?'
'So old, Granger? You sound as though you're referring to a crippled senior.' Pansy leant around Draco to raise an amused and faintly malicious eyebrow at the Gryffindor girl, drawing a flush from her cheeks. Draco nudged her, more in support than reprimand; it was good to see her with some of her malevolent spark back.
'Ah, but that's true! You haven't been sorted have you?' Blaise leaned eagerly across the table, face alight with interest. Draco could practically see his mind ticking over the possibilities and was abruptly reminded of the forgotten bet the Slytherins had made weeks prior as to their speculated placements of the new boy. 'Maybe you should. I think you should. It would be really interesting.'
'Zabini, really? Get over yourself, Harry wouldn't be sorted into Slytherin.' Potatoes now taking the place of gravy muffled Weasley's growl, a scowl directed to the boy beside him.
Longbottom nodded his agreement. 'I'd say probably Ravenclaw, if I was to hazard a guess.' He grinned to his friend as Hermione nodded her agreement. 'I wonder what Dumbledore would say if you asked to be sorted.'
'He'd let you. He'd have to; it's school protocol, and he's going against the norm by not sorting you.' Pansy leant into the conversation, unable to withhold her own input even with the Gryffindors as the primary conversationalists. 'Personally, I think you'd probably be a Hufflepuff. You said you thought they sounded…nice, didn't you?'
Draco nearly burst out in laughter at the expression on Blaise's face, surprise mixed with confusion as he registered the complete lack of malevolence in Pansy's tone. Draco was mildly surprised himself, and he had seen her epiphany. She apparently had taken it as lore that Harry was untouchable territory for when she wrought her havoc.
Turning instead to Harry, who had been silently switching his gaze between speakers, Draco nearly whispered his own contribution. 'You could probably go wherever you'd like, if you just asked. I get the feeling McGonagall dotes on you a little.' He smiled, to ease the suggested bite of the words. 'We'd take you in Slytherin of course but… Where would you really like to go?'
Harry simply shrugged, turning back towards his expectant peers before speaking in his quiet voice. 'I don't really mind. I don't think it's going to happen though. McGonagall basically said I was set to board where I was, but other than that… I already tried being sorted. I think they'd probably have moved me if they were going to.'
Silence. Harry seemed absolutely oblivious, eyes dropping back down to his plate and nudging peas around the ceramic surface.
Blaise was the first to recover, followed quickly by Longbottom. In remarkable synchrony, they exclaimed in unison: 'Wait, what?' They glanced at one another, startled.
Draco shook his head moments later, eyebrows raised to his hairline as he stared at the quickly rising face of the boy beside him. 'You've already been sorted, Harry?'
Another shrug and a nod.
And more stunned silence.
'Well don't leave us hanging. What were you? Ravenclaw? It's Ravenclaw, isn't it? Or is it Gryffindor?' Weasley nearly climbed onto the table in enthusiasm, elbows propped dangerously close to his plate.
Harry quirked an eyebrow ever so faintly, though that in itself was as much as a bark of laughter in another person. Draco found it, remarkably, quite satisfying to see even the ounce of expression. 'It was Ravenclaw…'
'I knew it!'
'And Hufflepuff. Slytherin. And Gryffindor.'
And again, shocked silence.
'Wait, what?' Blaise and Longbottom didn't even seem to notice they once more spoke in sync.
'All four of them? I didn't even know that was possible. It's not possible, right?'
Weasley turned to his encyclopaedia, but even Granger merely shook her head in bewilderment. 'It's not…I didn't think. How come, Harry?'
Harry shrugged again, dropping his eyes from Grangers abruptly hungry gaze. The thirst for knowledge so evidently played across her face that it was almost sickening. 'Dumbledore wasn't quite sure, but he seemed to think it had something to do with the age. That children are a lot more liberal in their emotional state, not as muddled as adults or older teenagers that are a lot less prone to…erm… emotional allegiances. Or something like that.'
'How fascinating…' Granger leant forwards, as though she could soak the memory from Harry's mind. Whether unconsciously or not, Harry withdrew slightly from her. The girl didn't notice. 'It would be interesting to take a further look at. Imagine the barriers it could breach in the field psychology…'
'Calm down, Granger, let's not get into a philosophical ditch this late at night. Honestly, how you didn't make Ravenclaw is beyond me.' Draco sighed, dropping another smile at Harry's slightly turned head and meeting his gaze through the tasselling fringe. 'So all four, huh? Someone's popular.'
Maybe it was simply driven by hope, but Draco could have sworn he saw just the faintest quiver of lips. It felt like he'd won a marathon.
'That's pretty cool, though. It's like you basically have your choice. So which one would you choose?' Weasley, ever stuck in the past conversation, jutted into the mix again. The discussion began anew.
Looking back on the meal as Draco wandered back to the Slytherin dormitory, Pansy and Blaise chattering before him, he was a little surprised at how peacefully it had progressed. Everyone seemed to have tried their utmost to maintain their civility, all of them unconsciously opposing brewing attempts to disrupt the calm if any one diner appeared on the verge of breaking. It was with retrospective surprise, and even disappointment on some level, that he realised it had been so absent of hostility, of volatility in general. The conversation had drifted naturally into talk of the castle, and Draco was both surprised and pleased to find that Harry seemed mildly interested in the topic. He hadn't spoken much, mostly listened, and his enforced watch had noted that the smaller boy had barely touched his dinner. Still, it was better than the blank faced, tucked chin and slumped silence that had settled upon the other boy on their journey from the hospital wing.
In between Pansy's strained attempts at amicability – which was upheld admirably – and Longbottom's and Blaise's oddly and unexpectedly developed habit of talking in time with one another – that had initially raised scowls but eventually deteriorated into baffled amusement – the mix of Gryffindors and Slytherins had sat for well over an hour at the dining table. Granger maintained her maternal fussing, though on a muted level, and Weasley proceeded to astonish even his own friends with the amount he consumed. Draco wondered whether he was attempting to conduct some sort of aggressive display by eating as much of the 'Slytherin' food as he could. Dare he say Draco had found it faintly awe-inspiring.
And, most surprisingly of all, they had parted on almost friendly terms. Oh, Weasley and Longbottom had still growled when Draco had claimed he would walk with Harry back to the hospital wing, but Granger had shushed the pair with a flap of her hand, patted the quiet boy on his shoulder, and drawn her fellows back towards their dormitory with a firm hand. To add to the wonder of the situation had been the pause in her retreat and suggestion thrown back towards the waiting Slytherins and their ward along the length of the corridor.
'Oh, Malfoy? I couldn't help but notice you study Charms in the library on Wednesday afternoons. I hope I'm not too forward in suggesting that you may not excel quite as exceptionally in that area as you do in Potions? As I'm rather deficit in brewing, perhaps we could organise a group study session? What do you say? Then we could help Harry out if he needs to ask any questions at the same time.'
Draco had been frozen for a moment, internally flinching in horror that the girl had noticed he had less than ideal grades in Charms. After a moment, though, he recognised the suggestion for what it was.
Granger was throwing him a lifeline. Apparently, over the course of their meal, the Gryffindor girl had reached the conclusion that she would rather suffer the company of the Slytherins if they forced themselves on her when she desired to offer her services as Harry's guide and personal tutor than to be bereft of her wayward chick when they were in his company. A study session… Yes, the girl was smart, and remarkably agreeable at that. It was surprising to realise he didn't quite loathe her as much as he had but a day before, despite both her prominent Muggleborn and Gryffindor status. Besides, if it meant he could remain with Harry to offer his support, even with the presence of the Gryffindors… It had been difficult to agree, a blow to the pride, one might say, but he had managed. Somehow.
'So, Draco. Potter isn't quite what I expected.'
Raising his head, Draco met the eyes of Pansy and Blaise as they raised questioning glanced back at their friend. Pansy's mood had brightened significantly with the progression of the evening, and she seemed positively back to normal. Definitely, if the snide remarks he had overheard jabbed into Blaise were any indication.
'How so?'
Blaise shrugged. 'He hangs out with Gryffindors, so I naturally assumed he was a bit of a prat. He's not, really.'
Draco rolled his eyes. 'How generous of you, Blaise.'
His friend only grinned in response. 'Really, though. Quiet, true, but there's nothing wrong with that. He's probably still a bit out of it, no?' Shifting his gaze to Pansy, then back to Draco as the pair nodded, he adopted a puzzled expression. 'Did you work out what happened to him? With the curse and all?'
Pansy immediately dropped her chin, good humour fading rapidly. Draco himself crushed the rising annoyance the question sparked. No, he hadn't worked out what happened. And it irked him furiously.
Taking a calming breath, he shook his head. 'No, I have no idea. I didn't think it was really appropriate to ask. He still seemed quite shell-shocked by it all. I think he's gotten more subdued, if that's possible.' Sadness crept unexpectedly into his tone, and he couldn't fathom the care to hide it.
Blaise tilted his head questioningly, no doubt sensing the underlying melancholy. Switching glances between his two deflated friends, he quirked his lips, took a deep breath and forced out a smile. 'Well, nothing to worry about. I'm sure Pomfrey will take care of him. It's in the past, and he doesn't seem to hold a grudge or anything, Pans.'
Clapping a hand gently onto the Slytherin girl's shoulder, he offered her a confident grin that she struggled to return. So deep was she in reflection that she didn't immediately fling his consoling arm from her shoulder. 'Yes. He didn't even seem angry at me. Not even a little upset.'
Nodding, grin spreading, the tall Italian looping an arm around his friend's shoulder and led them onward down the corridor. 'Yes, definitely a Hufflepuff, that one. That's right, you pair. You owe me ten galleons each.'
It was exactly the right thing to say. Draco remained silent, only rolling his eyes again in response as he followed his friends, yet a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. Pansy snorted and elbowed her friend in the hip, eliciting a grunt. 'What?! Hardly, I was the one that voted for Hufflepuff.'
'You most certainly were not! You chose Ravenclaw.'
'No I didn't! I distinctly remember…'
A quiet chuckle broke from Draco's lips as he listened to his friends' banter, mind wandering absently as they turned the final flight of staircase to the dungeon. Some things never changed, no matter how much a certain Slytherin girl fell victim to epiphanies.

A/N: So I've started going a little more into the whole 'Boy Who Lived' thing with this chapter. I swear, I WILL fully explain it all in time. In, erm, quite a bit of time, but it will definitely come!
Once more, I have to thank every lovely person who has commented on my story. It's so appreciated. I know it's kind of annoying to do so - I mean, a bit of a bother and all - so really, thanks so much for reviewing.

So again, any comments, questions and constructive criticisms (*cringe*) are welcome.
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The Masks of Real Heroes