Conquering the Darkness

Conquering the Darkness

Chapter 9: The Fall

****

The Great Hall, as it often times was, was full of activity and the dull roar of the students. It was an early morning near the beginning December, but the grounds outside were still brown and gray, just waiting for the wintry whiteness of snow to formalize the conversion of autumn to winter.

Inside, the Hall, a familiar group seated themselves at the end of the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to the delicious food attractively adorning the golden platters across the expanse of the large table.

"Harry, you should really go and see Madam Pompfrey about your hands," Hermione admonished Harry again, for about the third time that morning. Considering they had only been awake for an hour now, Hermione's harping had quickly grown sorer than Harry's bruised and swollen hands. Maybe punching the wall last night had not exactly been the best thing last night.

"I'm fine, Hermione. I already told you, it's nothing. Now, just lay off, will you?" Harry snapped, glaring at her from across the table.

Hermione frowned, slightly taken aback by Harry's tone of voice, but chose to remain silent for the moment. The chocolate-haired girl had become used to this, nowadays. Did Harry really think the dark circles under his eyes and all his yawning during the day went unnoticed? Maybe to Ron...but not her...

"How'd that happen, anyway, mate? You were fine before we headed to sleep," Ron asked, peering across the table at Harry as he shoved his mouth full of various breakfast foods.

Harry shrugged briefly, nibbling distractedly at a piece of dry toast. "Dun remember," he muttered.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Ron elbowed her and Harry added, "I'm going to head to Hagrid's for tea early. I'm not hungry."

Hermione glowered at Ron and Ron nodded to Harry. "Alright, mate. We'll be there soon."

Nodding, Harry threw his toast onto his plate before standing and making his way out of the Great Hall, the voices growing steadily dimmer as he made his way outside, into the crisp air and light fog covering the grounds.

He didn't notice a pair of twinkling blue, if not weary, eyes follow him out of the room. Then again, he often didn't...

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the hut together, as they normally did; their stomach still full of Hagrid's over-boiled tea. As usual, the visit had been uneventful. Ron, however, was situated in the middle between the bushy-haired girl and the green-eyed boy. He had made sure of this arrangement purposefully--he knew that he had to separate his best friends or they would bite each other's head off about something. Hermione was looking decidedly sour, and Harry was brooding silently about something, or at least appeared to be, but was as silent as the grave. This came as no surprise. Harry, over the course of a few years, had grown significantly secretive, although this was the worst Ron and Hermione had ever seen...

Ron was, for once, was not in a fight with either of them, and he wanted to keep it that way, so he kept his mouth smartly shut. Instead, he looked ceiling-ward and wondered how Gryffindor would fare in the next game. They hadn't been practicing as much but, then again, no one had. It wasn't safe to be outside for too long...especially in the twilight...

As the trio made their way down the cold and slightly crowded halls, each were lost in a fog of their own thought--so much so that not one noticed the translucent poltergeist hovering in front of them, grinning madly.

Peeves, seeing he wasn't spotted, chuckled softly to himself and waited for the pre-occupied friends to pass beneath him before dropping the flowerpot he had been holding in his silvery hand. He had been waiting for such an opportunity like this all day--and now, finally, he had found one. He, of course, didn't want to hit either prefects or the Boy-That-Lived. Dumbledore wasn't as forgiving when it came to people being hurt; in fact, the aging wizard was down right mean. Things broken, missing, moved, etc, was tolerable--better than if anyone actually was physically damaged. The Headmaster hadn't even punished him when he dropped water balloons a few years back, although he had gotten quite a talking to. So, he wasn't going to start now, especially with such precious cargo.

However...

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the clay pot smashing behind her. The sound was only magnified from the enclosed space as it echoed off the old worn walls of the hall they had just entered. She jumped and whirled about - probably to severely reprimand whoever had startled her - and, inadvertently, lost her balance on the damp stone floors. Her eyes snapped open as her arms flailed about as she careened backward through the air.

And, of course, with Peeves' strategic placement, she happened to be just before a staircase.

The misfortunate girl fell back and tumbled down the stairs, her shriek piercing through the relatively calm castle. It was also very unfortunate that this flight of stairs happened to be particularly lengthy and sharp.

Harry was pulled out of his own dark and disturbed musings as he heard one of his best friends' definable female screech. Ron, on the other hand, was still as a statue, his arm extended to where, but a few precious seconds earlier, he had reached out in hopes of saving his friend from a painful experience.

Both Harry and Ron rushed quickly after their friend, speeding down the flight of stairs. Thankfully, the sentient stairs cooperated and moved when it did; otherwise, Hermione would have fallen all the way down to the first floor. It looked nearly impossible that she could have survived that fall.

"Hermione! Are you okay?" Ron shouted, falling to his knees beside her. Ron looked more hot and feverish and on the verge of tears than did Hermione. Harry, standing behind the two of them, slowly knelt down but said nothing. It was best if Ron took care of this situation anyhow, seeing the relationship the two of them was progressing quite nicely throughout the years. If he interfered, well, Ron might get ideas that he wanted Hermione.

Ron ever-so-carefully maneuvered the fallen girl away from the stone wall so that Hermione's head was resting gently in his lap. Her lip and nose were bleeding and she had at least one nasty knot protruding from her head that they could see.

"Don't yell, Ron," Hermione muttered, eyes staying closed.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked again, quieter this time, though with no less concern.

Hermione made a non-committal noise, and Ron's scared eyes shot up and locked with Harry's'.

"Bring her up to the Infirmary, Ron. I'll go down to Snape and try to tell him where you are, okay?" he told him swiftly. Ron's mouth opened and Harry cut him off. "If I go too, Snape'll take more points off of Gryffindor, you know that. You can carry her by yourself, Ron. Don't worry; you'll be fine. I'll go ahead to Potions and take notes for us, all right? You'll be fine," he reassured his friend.

Hesitantly, Ron nodded before carefully picking Hermione off the hard floor, cradling her softly in his lanky but strong, Quidditch-toned arms. Harry noticed that Ron held in the girl the same fashion he picked Draco up the night before in the darkness of the hospital wing. Harry's hands balled into painful fists at the memories, and he shoved his hands into his cloaks' pockets to keep from abusing the school walls, again. Ron looked at his friend and Harry gave him an encouraging grin, even though he was still fuming angrily on the inside.

Now is not the time to think about Draco, Harry told himself as calmly as he could manage, Hermione practically has a concussion, and here you are, worrying about...

Ron carefully made his way towards the Hospital Wing, Hermione embraced carefully within his grasp. Harry moved swiftly toward the opposite direction -- down to the dungeons, Ron and Hermione's books in hand. He grimaced as he heard the first chime of the bell and began to run quickly toward the Potions room at the end of the hall. Earlier, the three of them had left late because Hermione had inquired about another extra-credit assignment, so time was of the essence.

Harry skidded to his seat and plopped down just in time, for right when he did the Potions Master swooped in with his usual swirl of black.

"Where are Weasley and Granger?" Snape asked, eyes darting to Harry after sweeping the class for role up entering.

"Hermione fell down the stairs, so Ron took her to the Hospital Wing, Sir," Harry explained, knowing it was no use to try to tell the Professor.

He was right.

"Skipping class, are they? I should have known. Tsk tsk... Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape informed the class with a smirk on his thin lips. The Gryffindor's grumbled while the Slytherin's all grinned at their misfortune.

Class went on, uneventfully (Neville hadn't blown anything up, yet) until Ron entered nearly half-an-hour after class had started.

"You're late," the Potions Master barked as he looked up from Pansy's lime-colored potion.

"I brought Hermione to the Infirmary," Ron informed his teacher, though he already knew the man understood where he had been. At least, he thought the Potions master had understood...

"I'm sure," the dark man retorted, obviously disbelieving his student, his black hair falling in front of his pale features. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Weasley. Now, sit down and begin your work before I'm forced to take more points from you."

Glaring at his Professor, Ron sat down, with much noise. No one even dared to tell their teacher he had already taken points from Gryffindor. Instead, the Gryffindor's muttered beneath their breath about the unfairness of it all as they went back to their simmering cauldrons; the Slytherin students smirked at the wonderful luck of their rivals.

Harry shot his friend a glance and mouthed, "Is she okay?" as he cut up some ginger root. Ron nodded; expressing that Hermione would be fine. Harry nodded and sighed, relieved.

"Potter!" Snape barked right behind him, making the raven-haired boy jump, nearly knocking over his cauldron.

"Yes, Sir?" Harry growled under his breath, trying desperately not to turn around and tell Snape off, or maybe stab him with the knife clutched in his trembling hand. He didn't want to risk more House points for having a row with his least favorite teacher, not to mention all the horrible things he'd have to do in detention; or having to go to Azkaban for murdering his teacher.

"Since you seem to care so much about Granger's state of affairs, you can take her job, since she's obviously not responsible enough to come to class... You are to report to Mr. Malfoy in the Infirmary after dinner to inform him of what you have or, rather, what you are supposed to have learnt in your classes," The Potions Master informed his beloved student.

Harry's eyes widened, and he had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his paled face and he nodded dumbly. He quickly replaced it with his normal I-hate-you-and-want-you-to-die-you-greasy-ugly-old-soap-dodger look.

He whirled around, forgetting about trying to not get in trouble, and tried to regain the "anything you do I'll hate you and oppose you just because you're a dirty old cod" attitude, slamming his knife onto the cutting board.

"Why do I have to do it?" he asked Snape's back defiantly.

Snape turned around, a menacing glare plastered to his face. "I just told you why. Perhaps you should listen more carefully when your teacher speaks to you."

"But, why me? I'm sure Crabbe and Goyle could bring Malfoy his homework up to him, they need no reason to jump to his every beck and call," he started, barely remembering to use Draco's surname. "Or why not Parkinson? She'd love another reason to simper and dote around the pouncing git. And so would-"

"That's quite enough, Potter!" Snape spat, cutting his rant short. "You'll do as you're told. Twenty more points will be taken from Gryffindor for your little outburst. Perhaps that will remind you not to talk back to a superior." The Potions Master stood glaring at the Boy-He-Loathed for another long moment before turning on his heel and marching to his desk, scowling at the class as he went.

Harry turned around fuming, face flushed. He picked up the knife and continued to dice the ginger root. His thoughts were elsewhere, however, so he wasn't doing a very good job about cutting the root.

How the hell was he supposed to bring Draco his work? That would mean exposing himself, since Hermione would obviously talk to him. Draco wasn't dumb and he'd recognize the voice and put two and two together. There would go that whole relationsh-... friendsh-... camaraderie. He sighed and dumped the mangled roots into the cauldron, stirring the goop slowly for five minutes, counterclockwise.

***

A fuming Ron made his way out of the Dungeons, dragging the distraught Golden Boy behind him. Harry couldn't keep his mind on the potion, so Ron had taken over. Needless to say, they didn't do well, and Snape had happily given them a lecture on how Harry and Ron - more like, Weasleys in general - were incompetent and so forth until the bell to end class rang. They had barely escaped without detentions. Ron was stomping through the halls, slandering Snape's name as much as he could, stopping only to quickly inhale before resuming from where he left off.

Harry followed behind his irate friend, contemplating about how he could get out of giving Malfoy the day's work.

As the two boys sat down at the dinner table, he looked sideways at Ron. "Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?" Ron asked, piling his plate up with food, his tirade temporarily on hold.

"You're going to go see Hermione after dinner, aren't you?" He inquired.

"Yeah," Ron replied, giving Harry a quizzical look.

"Then, do you think you could bring Malfoy his homework?" He asked hopefully.

"Aren't you going to go and see 'Mione with me?" he queried, arching a ginger eyebrow.

Damn it. He hadn't thought about that. His mind raced and answered, almost casually, "Actually, I have a lot of homework to do, so I figured she wouldn't be too mad if I didn't come to see her if I was doing homework, instead." Harry mentally shuddered at how easy it was becoming for him to lie, especially to his friends who saw him as the perfect Golden Boy.

Ron was still staring at Harry with a look on his face. "I know you hate Malfoy, but Snape told you to do it. He'll probably even come up to make sure that you brought it up to him and didn't pass it off to some Slytherin or something." The blue-eyed boy said. "Are you alright, mate? Usually you'd be fuming and complaining with me, especially without Hermione here. And you'd go and bring Malfoy his work and just... be mean to him. And stuff," he said, a look of concern aimed at his best mate.

"I'm fine, Ron," Harry said with a sigh. "I'm just tired. I don't feel like yelling about Snape or fighting with Malfoy or anything. I've got a lot on my mind," he explained, grabbing for some mashed potatoes. It wasn't a lie. Well, not completely, at least. He was tired. Going to see Draco each night cut back on his amount of sleep, along with Quidditch practice and all made him exhausted during the day.

Ron nodded slightly and patted Harry gently on the shoulder. "Alright, mate. I still think you should bring it up to him in case Snape comes up to check," he said, tuning to eat his food.

Harry nodded slowly and began eating.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped as a familiar voice spoke his name from behind him. He turned around, looking up into twinkling blue eyes. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"I was wondering, are you doing anything after dinner, my boy?" Professor Dumbledore asked him.

Harry nodded unenthusiastically. "Yes, Sir. I have to bring Malfoy his homework because Hermione is sick, Sir." He responded dejectedly.

"Ah, I see. Mr. Weasley, could you do that for Mr. Potter, perhaps? I really do need to meet with him," the old man asked, twinkling eyes moving to Ron.

"Umm, sure. Professor Snape will be mad if he checks and Harry's not there, though," he responded, having also turned to the Headmaster.

"Ah, yes. Well, if you could just inform him that Mr. Potter is in a meeting with me, I'm sure he'll understand. Thank you very much, Mr. Weasley," he responded kindly before turning his attention back to Harry. "I'll see you after dinner," he said with a nod before turning and walking away.

"Looks like you got out of it, huh, mate?" Ron said after the Headmaster had left.

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied.

***

Harry made his way from the Great Hall toward the Headmaster's office on the second floor. Ron had been unusually quiet throughout dinner, and when he had spoken, he was very calm and subdued. More Hermione-like, actually. Harry figured that it was because the adrenaline rush of ranting about Snape had faded, and he was thinking about Hermione and how she was hurt.

Stopped in front of the gargoyle entrance to Dumbledore's office, Harry wondered what he should do. He didn't know what the password was, and he wasn't in a really big hurry, so he decided just to wait until the Headmaster opened the entrance for him.

Leaning against the wall across from the statue, the Boy-Who-Lived mused silently, wondering what the elderly wizard could possibly need to speak to him about.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of stone scraping against stone. His head rose and his emerald eyes met shimmering crystal blue ones.

"Hello, Harry. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," the Headmaster apologized, gesturing for Harry to follow him into his office.

"It's alright, Sir," Harry responded, crossing the hall and making his way up the stationary stairs.

The Headmaster sat down in his chair, motioning for Harry to sit across from him. Harry obliged, staying silent.

"Tea? Lemon drop?" The Headmaster offered, proffering said candy toward the boy.

Declining with a shake of his head, Harry waited patiently for the Headmaster to reveal why he wanted to meet with him.

The Headmaster nodded. "How have you been, Harry?" the Headmaster asked genially, sipping on a cuppa.

"Fine, Sir. And yourself?" Harry responded, wondering where this was going.

"I'm all right, thank you. How have your studies been?"

"Fine, Sir," Harry answered, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"That is good. And Quidditch?"

"Quidditch is going well. We have a good team, again. It was hard trying to find decent replacements for the Weasley twins, but we did. Seamus and John are getting better every time we practice. Thank you for allowing me to continue playing, Sir," Harry replied. He felt foolish for going on about Quidditch. The Headmaster surely had more important things to do than talk about the new Gryffindor Beaters.

"Ah, that's good to hear. I can't wait to see how they do in their first game. Against Hufflepuff, isn't it," the old wizard inquired with a smile.

Nodding, Harry decided he should ask the Headmaster what it is he requested his presence for. "Yes, it is... Umm, Sir?"

"You're wondering why I asked you to see me, aren't you?" The Headmaster asked. He continued after Harry affirmed his question with a nod of his head. "I simply thought that we should talk, is all. Last year, if I remember correctly, you took offence when I did not speak to you, as I had the years prior. I simply did not wish for the same thing to happen this year."

Coloring, Harry looked at his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"There is no need to be embarrassed, Harry. I realize that now, more than ever, the two of us need to stay in contact. Especially because of last school years' events," Dumbledore explained, no hint of condescending or otherwise negative connotations in his voice. He continued, "With that said, I must inquire about your scar. Have you felt anything, had any nightmares, or anything?"

Harry shook his head, trying not to think about "last school years' events." "No, Sir," Harry responded succinctly.

The Headmaster nodded and said nothing for several minutes, letting Harry have some silence.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me about, Harry?" The Headmaster asked softly, finally breaking the silence. That question seemed very familiar to the boy.

Raising his head from his now stilled hands, Harry shook his head. "No, Sir. Not that I can think of."

Dumbledore nodded. "If you think of anything, feel free to contact me, all right Harry?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well. If that is all, you my go."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Harry responded, rising from his chair. He turned and walked toward the exit.

"Harry?" Dumbledore called after him, just before he opened the door.

"Yes, Sir?" Harry asked, turning around to face the elder wizard.

"How have you been sleeping?" the old man asked, eyes twinkling more so than usual.

Harry blinked. "Fine, Sir," he answered, wondering why the old man asked him that.

"Ah, how wonderful to hear. Well, goodnight, Harry." The old man responded, still smiling.

"Thank you, Sir. Goodnight," Harry replied, turning and leaving the office.

Well, that was an odd question, Harry thought to himself as he descending the moving staircase and headed toward Gryffindor Tower.

I wonder if... No. How would he know about me visiting Draco? He couldn't... There is no way for him to know. Is there? Thoughts raced though Harry's brain. He finally decided that if Dumbledore did know, he didn't mind since Harry hadn't gotten in trouble for it.

That was enough reassurance for him, so when he got to the Tower, he decided to do the homework he told Ron he had to do. A good, productive way to try and not think about things. He decided to do Divinations homework, as that didn't require any thought.

***

Harry's eyes fluttered open and he smiled softly to himself. It seemed as if his body wanted him to go see Draco, for he always woke at the same time every night. Damnable internal clock.

Although, he wasn't sure if he should go visit Draco tonight, for Hermione had to spend the night in the Infirmary. Bollocks.

However, he had to go. Last time he left, he wasn't in the best of moods, and he learnt that Draco had been abused. Draco may take him not coming as he doesn't want to come.

With a resigned sigh, Harry got out of bed, quietly pulling his Invisibility Cloak from beneath his bed and donning it. He made it a habit of keeping his Father's cloak in an easily accessible place, just in case.

Making his way through the halls, Harry decided he wouldn't stay. He wasn't going to risk exposing his and Draco's... acquaintanceship. He liked seeing this softer, more intimate side of him.

He nervously rubbed his sore, red knuckles in his hand. He'd been doing it all day, so his thoughts kept going back to Draco and the revelation of last night.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he came upon the Infirmary door. It seemed as if he arrived there sooner and sooner the more he came. Silently opening the door, the dark-haired boy slipped into the ward and padded toward the end of the aisle.

His emerald orbs glanced at Hermione's sleeping form as he passed her, making sure he was asleep. Thankfully, she was.

He approached the familiar bed with a small smile upon his lips.

Draco was reclining against some pillows, his moonlight-colored hair falling gently around his head, almost - but not quite - reaching his shoulders. His hands were folded on his lap and fidgeting with the coverlet on his bed. His ivory teeth were worrying his bottom lip; he seemed lost in thought.

Harry sat down at Draco's waist and quickly put a finger to Draco's mouth. "Shh," he commanded softly. He lowered his finger from Draco's cherry lips when the frail boy nodded. Harry noticed that Draco's cheeks suddenly took on a rosy hue.

Hmm, it was a bit chilly in here, Harry supposed.

Draco was startled when he felt a weight on his bed, and a warm finger pressed to his mouth. He heard a familiar voice tell him to shush and he smiled.

No One came back, he thought eagerly. He wasn't sure if he was going to or not. Honestly, Draco had thought that, upon seeing his flawed skin, No One wouldn't want to be friends with him. Moreover, when No One had left last night, he seemed very upset at Draco. He wasn't sure why.

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying in a hushed tone. "I'm not sure why you were mad at me, but I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

Draco recoiled, as if hit. "What?"

"You're not sorry," No One stated matter-of-factly. "You are a Malfoy, and Malfoy's are not sorry," came the hushed explanation in a haughty tone of voice.

After a pregnant pause, Draco mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he replied in the same, haughty manner

"Why do you think I'm mad at you?" No One asked softly before Draco could say anything else.

Draco paused and licked his dry lips. "When you left, I could just tell that you were furious. You sounded mad, you were all tense, and you walked heavier than normal," Draco explained, suddenly almost embarrassed that he noticed all that about No One. Except, he's a Malfoy, and Malfoy's don't get embarrassed.

Harry blinked. He hadn't meant to sounds angry with Draco. "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at your Father," he stated. He paused, letting that sink in, and then continued. "But, I can't stay and visit, tonight."

"Why no-, oh. All right," came the slightly downcast reply.

"If there is no one in here tomorrow, I'll come back though, okay?" he said, trying to sound reassuring to the boy.

The pale boy "looked" up, sightless eyes pointed to where he thought No One's would be. He nodded. "All right," he murmured.

Harry smiled and got up from Draco's bed. "Goodnight, Draco," he whispered.

"Goodnight," he whispered back. He listened as No One left the Infirmary. Lying down, he smiled. I've never had a real friend before. "Real." Is No One real? He seems too good to be true... The frail boy curled up beneath his blanket, his head resting upon his pillow, and closed his eyes. He slowly drifted into sleep, a smile on his face.

Harry left the ward and made his way back to the Tower. He, too, was smiling.

In the shadows of the ward Hermione closed her eyes and shifted her weight and drifted back to sleep.