Refraction

Refraction: Round 3

'Take vanilla bean and crush with flat edge of knife. Add to simmering cauldron. Stir widdershins til liquid turns emerald green'... emerald green. The colour of... no. Focus, Draco, focus. 'Sprinkle powdered Hellebore over cauldron'... didn't I read this earlier?

Draco stared at the page in front of him. It meant nothing to him; none of the words were making sense. He was tired, frustrated. He had been sitting here for hours trying to make sense of the potion. A pulsing ache inched its way across his forehead. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then opened his eyes to stare at the book again. He felt as though his eyes were filled with grit. The words made no more sense than before.

He was down the end of a book-stack in the Restricted Section, sitting with his feet crossed on the bench in front of him, leaning back on two legs of a chair. The only light emanated from a single lantern hanging from the wall beside him. A copy of Scriptures For The Unscrupulous rested on his thighs. He looked up over the top of the book.

This is useless. I am not going to get this by tomorrow's class.

He sighed, and turned his head to face the mural on the wall next to him. He stared into the sections of mirror that were incorporated into it. His body was fragmented in the reflections. He smiled ruefully at the appropriateness of it: a piece here, a piece there, none of them connected, almost at odds with one another, not making a whole person. He wondered if any of those pieces actually belonged to him.

Does it get any better? Can it get any worse? Will it go on forever....? I'll never be what I should.

He looked back at the book.

'Stir widdershins til liquid turns...'

He reached for his quill and a piece of parchment.

Maybe if I write it down...

He dipped his quill in the ink bottle sitting on the bench, and began to write.

Take vanilla boy and crush with flat edge of knife. Add to shimmering eyes. Stir widdershins til limpid pools turn emerald green... that doesn't look right...

He frowned. He read the words on the parchment and groaned in exasperation, then leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. There was a large spider spinning a web in the corner; Draco watched it, intrigued. It moved in an outwards spiral, connecting the edges of the walls; it did not move quickly, but slowly, deliberately. He could barely distinguish the spider from the darkness of the wall behind it; all he could see was the web, which shone silver from the light of the lantern.

Black and silver... black and silver...

The glint of light on the side of a pair of glasses flashed through his mind. A simmering cauldron, black hair, a bead of sweat running down a cheek.

He shook his head in an effort to remove the images from his mind and glanced up at the web again. The spider dropped from the shadows, sliding down on a thread of silver... and out of Draco's sight. He looked down at the page.

'...wind a unicorn hair around a sprig of thyme...'

A lock of hair fell over his eyes.

'...chopped fluxweed...'

He scowled and raised his hand to brush away the hair from his eyes... then stopped mid-movement. He could feel a presence. He lowered his hand slowly, but did not look.

'Potter,' he said, just loud enough for the other person to hear, 'I know I'm gorgeous, but there is no need to stare.'

Draco pretended to continue reading the page. His mind went racing around the possibilities of why Harry was watching him. He could feel his face flushing.

He's just curious... no, he... he's just looking... no...

'This is very flattering, Potter, but...'

Harry cut him off. 'Why are you such an arrogant shit? Is it something that just runs in the family?'

'You have no idea what my family is like, Potter.' Draco continued to look at the page, not seeing the words.

'I know your father...'

'You know nothing about my father. Don't talk about my father,' Draco spat back forcefully. Visions of Lucius... his face screwed up in anger... a bottle smashing against a wall... splatters of crimson... the smell of red wine...

I heard my father cursing everyone he knows; he was dangerous and drunk and defeated.

He glared at Harry, and then pushed his feet against the bench in anger, as if to get up. The book fell to the floor, the parchment fluttered away. Draco lost his balance. For a moment, he felt as though he were suspended mid-air. His foot flew out, knocking the ink bottle, which shattered against the mural on the nearby wall. He heard, more than felt, his head strike the opposite bench. His collar pulled, choking him. He reached out to grab something... anything, and realised Harry had grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

He clutched at Harry's arm, pulling Harry down with him. Draco felt something crunch and break. An intense pain racked his body. He yelled out. His head hit the floor. Something cracked into his chin; all he could see was black hair. And then silence.

Through the agony, Draco could smell Harry's hair. He felt his heart quickening, his face reddening. Harry's body shifted on him. Pain shot up his leg; he grabbed Harry's arm to stop him from moving. Harry muttered unintelligibly. His senses heightened, he could feel Harry's body covering his, Harry's heart beating against his own, Harry's legs intertwined with his own. For a moment, he never wanted to move again.

I'll never forget the way you feel right now

His leg was going numb. His body was throbbing... his head... his arm... his... He felt his face flush, and he began to struggle under Harry's weight. Harry pushed himself upwards, searching for something to grasp onto. Draco looked sideways, and caught a reflection... no, two reflections in the mirrors on the wall. One grey eye in one; one green eye in another. The grey eyed reflection was shot with black ink. Both eyes looked confused... searching for... curious. Grey turned to blue; steel softened. The other flashed emerald, then moved.

Harry began to untangle his body from Draco's. Blood rushed to Draco's leg, causing it to throb and ache. He cried out in pain; his head fell back onto the floor, his eyes closed in concentration. He heard his father's voice: 'Focus, Draco, focus.'

I'm trying... I'm trying

Draco felt Harry's weight lift from him and a sudden emptiness filled him. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes. Harry was looking down at him. As he sat up, he groaned in pain, and then he reached out for the broken chair. He stood the chair up as best he could then, leaning heavily on it, he rose. Harry didn't move.

Draco steadied himself and glared up at Harry. His head swam. He could still feel the pressure of Harry's body on him, the way he had moved against him. He stared at Harry, knowing that he was standing in front of him, but feeling Harry's body on his own, as if he had been imprinted. As if Harry were a part of him that had been torn away. He tried to push away the thoughts, the emotions... unsuccessfully. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words refused to come. He shook his head slightly and sighed in frustration.

I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do I just can't seem to make any sound.

Harry reached out a hand to Draco's face and touched his fringe.

'You have ink...'

'Back off, Potter.' Draco flicked Harry's hand away, and moved backwards from him.

'If that's the way you want it.' Harry turned and began to walk away. Draco groaned and took a deep breath.

It's all or nothing

'Potter.'

Harry hesitated, turned his head slightly, then changed his mind and strode out across the library.

And nothing's all I ever get.

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