Transition

Draco tried to ignore the way his knees ached, especially his right one, each time he took a step up. Several seconds later however, he wished he had not felt so indignant about using the crutches.

I’m stupid. I should have just stayed in the dungeons tonight. He stood motionless in the middle of the corridor for some time and waited for the tremors – and the cramps – to subside. He adjusted his grip on his leather bag and continued his journey to the Ravenclaw Tower. The exams were drawing closer and the Slytherin felt like doing some studying on his own.

He smiled, feeling slightly amused as he recalled Pansy’s waspish nature that afternoon. Everyone seemed to want some time alone to do revision, instead of crowding around a single table. Of course, Pansy could be just having one of her mood swings. Walking around the castle bandaged up like a mummy could not possibly give one confidence. Draco knew that most study corners around Hogwarts would be occupied, and he was glad that Snape had given him a classroom where he could do as he pleased.

Although I wish that I had invited Harry to come along, he thought wistfully. Draco bit his lip; his young face looked a little worried. Thinking about the ebony-haired Gryffindor had just reminded him that he had something to confess. Although the school nurse had not said much, Draco had the feeling that the injuries to his knees might become permanent. Which means I can’t run very much now. I’m not sure about the limp. Will it go away after a few months?

A loud sneeze from one of the portraits brought him out of his reverie and his silver eyes scanned the dark corridor quickly. There was no one in sight and Draco resumed his slow walk to the classroom. He paused right before the door. He could not hear anything from beyond and deduced that he was alone.

The classroom was dark when he entered. There was no moonlight to illuminate the room, so he conjured some candles. He set his bag on the huge table and sat down, calmly setting the brilliant white candles around the room. Satisfied with the arrangement, he took out his thick Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and began reading.

Forty-five minutes later, he started writing keynotes about Lethifolds on the scroll of parchment he had brought with him. He ignored the passage of time and contented himself with revising DADA. He took a break half an hour later, and ambled towards the window to sit on a desk, staring blankly at the jet-black night sky.

A strong surge of wind blew against the rows of pine trees some distance away and Draco could hear the branches rustle noisily in the night. He found himself thinking back on the events that happened on the night he returned home with his distraught mother.

Flashback…

The hall was dark and silent. It dampened his already black mood. There were no lights to help him see through the darkness. It meant the few house-elves that had been forced to remain in the household a year ago had fled to only Merlin knows where. He cursed at their fickleness and dumped his luggage near the staircase that led up to the second floor of the mansion.

He heard his mother placing her umbrella back in its stand, all the while muttering to him that they should not have returned to the accursed Wiltshire Mansion. Draco gritted his teeth and promptly ignored the ramblings of his mother. He stalked upstairs, his boots making a great deal of noise that should have set his teeth on edge. However, the silver-eyed Slytherin had no intention of being sneaky or silent that night. He was in a bad mood and he half-shouted the spell to conjure a single candle once he reached the landing.

To his amazement, the candle disappeared as though it had been doused with water. The walkway plunged into darkness immediately. Exclamations froze on his lips when he heard his mother scream. Goosebumps crawled over his skin and his teeth chattered violently. Draco felt dreadfully cold and knew that it was absurd that he did. It was summer – not winter. It was so slow that he almost did not recognize it; despair was beginning to pour into his soul, telling him that there was no hope in his life. There was only one logical thing that could explain the sensations he felt. Dementors.

Instinct screamed at him to go back to his mother. He saw the beautiful witch trying to conjure a Patronus to shield herself from the crowding Dark Creatures. Draco felt his eyes widen in terror and wondered if he could escape from the mansion alive with such a great number of Voldemort’s followers in the house.

His first thought was to run and leave his mother behind, but morals and his sense of loyalty made him stay. He rushed to Narcissa’s side just as she collapsed – conjuring a Patronus took a great deal of energy from the caster.

He could not find the words to describe what he felt. He was shaken – it was the first time he ever had to fight against the Dementors. One had drifted so close to him that he felt the cold seep into his very bones. He muttered the Patronus Charm repeatedly, but it was so difficult trying to hold on to a happy memory when despair seemed to cloud his senses.

Then he saw his father, ragged and unkempt. He did not know that his father was mad at the time and that Lucius had commanded the Dementors to bestow the deadly Kiss to Narcissa and himself. The naïve young wizard smiled, thinking that perhaps he could do his father proud by performing the highly advanced spell.

It was miraculous. Draco drove the Dementors away, inching closer and closer to his father. More of the Dark Creatures came and it was then that he heard his father shouting for death to take them all. Draco was shocked and stared at his adored father in disbelief. When Lucius started laughing, the young wizard perceived that his father had gone mad.

It seemed like hours before the Dementors were truly gone. Draco was left to face his sire alone. He could not believe that his father wanted them dead.

“Father … why?” he had asked, his throat constricting and his eyes watering.

Lucius did not answer, but the older wizard was crying. Draco reached out a hand to touch his father but the Death Eater took that chance to wrestle with him for Draco’s wand of yew. Whatever came next happened so fast that the young Slytherin could not comprehend it.

An ornamental sword had been within Draco’s reach and he had seized it without thinking. He pulled his hand back and thrust it into his father’s chest swiftly.

Draco lifted his shaking hands and stared at them through tear-filled eyes. He still could feel the warmth of Lucius’s blood as it slowly coated his hands. He still could see the way the older wizard had stared at him even as life began to seep away from him. A crystal tear dropped and splattered on his palm. He clenched his fingers into tight fists and fought to regain control of his emotions. More tears fell, and Draco was unaware that Harry had slipped into the room, watching him calmly.

The Slytherin’s body trembled violently and his stomach churned. He clutched at his abdomen and hoped that he would not vomit the contents of his supper out. His head spun and then he was falling back, fortunately on Harry’s sturdy chest.

He felt terribly lightheaded and turned his head slightly in befuddlement. “Harry?” he croaked.

“Draco, I’m glad that I came up here. Otherwise, you might have fallen backwards and broken your neck,” the Gryffindor replied curtly. Harry left him for a moment after he was sure that Draco would not fall from the desk he was sitting on. Then the somber-faced teenager returned to help him onto his feet, and then onto a transfigured couch.

Draco sank into the comforts of the couch and approved its quality. “Good job, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied modestly. “It’s in my blood actually,” the wizard added.

Draco gazed up at Harry’s candlelight illuminated face. Harry’s hair was a mess; he had not bothered to style it with gel. Draco suspected that he had not bothered to brush it either. Harry flopped onto the couch and Draco was pulled into his embrace.

“What are you doing up here?” Draco asked with his eyes closed as he breathed in the Gryffindor’s scent.

“I’ve had enough of studying and thought I would like a walk. I was busy wool gathering and didn’t pay attention to where I was going,” Harry answered brightly. “The light coming from under the door warned me that I had company.”

Draco pulled away slightly when Harry stuck his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out a bar of chocolate. “Want some?”

“I’ll get fat if you keep feeding me that,” Draco said crossly. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I distinctly remember that I was fed bits of chocolate at least once every week when I was in third year,” Harry pointed out. “I didn’t get fat.”

“That’s because you made it a habit to run looking for trouble,” Draco replied acidly. “I’m a little more fragile than you are.”

Harry snorted and planted a loud kiss on his lips. Draco tried not to flinch at the Gryffindor’s direct gaze. “You know, Draco … you could have a cane just like your father did,” Harry said slowly. What color that was left on the Slytherin’s face disappeared, leaving him as white as snow.

Draco stared apprehensively at the other boy, but was surprised when Harry gave him a chagrined look. “I’m sorry,” the young wizard apologized. His face became serious. “I didn’t mean to make fun of your feelings … or your father. And I certainly did not want to hurt you because of this.” Harry’s hand hovered above his right knee.

“You knew?” Draco was appalled.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “Noticed. What did Madam Pomfrey say?”

Draco cast his gaze downwards. “I didn’t ask.” He heard the jade-eyed boy sigh heavily.

“Proud Slytherin,” Harry muttered.

For some obscure reasons, the simple remark broke down Draco’s reservations. He heard himself giving Harry a detailed account of his meeting with the Dementors and his father. Harry’s face grew more sober with each passing minute, as he listened attentively to the Slytherin’s narrative. Draco’s voice broke when he came to the part about killing his father, and he stared at his hands in silence. Harry was just as quiet. The two young wizards sat on the couch without looking at each other, but Harry held his hand as though he had no intention of letting go.

“Get a very good lawyer, Draco,” Harry murmured.

“Can I not worry about this now, love?” Draco said plaintively, flushing a little when the endearment slipped from his lips. Harry gazed up at him, startled. Draco carefully hid the smile at the way the Gryffindor’s green eyes shone with pleasure. “Let me worry about you and the NEWTs first.”

Harry gained his composure quickly and laughed heartily. “Right. After that, then we can deal with what’s happening in the future. Our future.” Then his lips curved into a sly smile. “For some reason, I have the feeling that Snape will have your hide if I fail his subject.”

“Trust me, Harry. He will.” Draco shuddered. “It is his money after all.” He leaned back against the couch and contented himself with listening to his companion’s soft chuckles. Harry’s amusement died down after a while, and they stared at each other for a time. Draco felt as though he was in a trance-like state each time he contemplated the Gryffindor’s features. His fingers itched as he stared at Harry’s disorderly black hair.

His resistance broke and he drove his fingers through the dense black hair and tried futilely to arrange them. “Bloody hell, Harry, but your hair is really infuriating,” Draco announced, feeling slightly irritated. “At least your Mudblood friend can braid hers into a semblance of tidiness. But yours...” Draco shook his head helplessly.

Harry broke out into laughter again and Draco scowled darkly at his beloved. “Blimey! You’re just so adorable!”

“Adorable? Adorable?” Draco repeated dangerously. Harry however, was as brave as the Founder of the Gryffindor House was.

“You’re just so bloody cute that I want to kiss you into senselessness,” the square-jawed wizard continued. “It bloody well makes me possessive, in fact.”

Draco couldn’t help himself but shiver in delight.

“And you know, even if the limp becomes permanent, you can still get some exercise,” Harry said blithely. “I can always ride you – that way, you won’t put too much stress on your kneecaps.”

“Potter!” Draco yelped, his face flaming suddenly.

Ignoring the flaxen-haired Slytherin completely, Harry went on, describing a couple of coupling positions that he had learnt from Starkmind in great detail. Draco was painfully embarrassed – and aroused – and promptly kissed the other wizard deeply to shut him up. Of course, that led to another set of problems once Harry realized that Draco was excited.

“We do have a very stout couch, Draco,” Harry whispered into his mouth seductively.

“Harry!” Draco protested weakly, his face aflame with profound embarrassment.