Gingerbread House

Draco stared at the cadaver in front of them. Diggory's flesh had rotted away straight to the bone in spots, the most gruesome being his cheek. Draco could see Diggory's white teeth between the greenish-black flesh. Draco could see his veins; they looked green in the moonlight. His flesh was swollen in spots, and Diggory's tongue was sticking out of his mouth. His hair had grown, and now reached nearly to his waist. His abdomen was a gaping hole, as if it had burst from the inside out. The smell wafting off Diggory's body vaguely reminded Draco of someone with bad breath. Dimly he heard Potter start to hyperventilate next to him.

"Potter..." Draco whispered, slowly began backing away from Diggory. "Let's... go...!" Potter didn't move.

Diggory started to walk closer. "Do you remember what he said, Harry? Do remember the way the words hissed through the air towards us? Do you remember what happened? Kill the spare. Kill the spare. Kill the spare." Diggory's voice was rough, and the words were slurred because of the condition of his tongue.

"Potter," Draco whispered, more urgently this time. He had his hand on the doorknob. "We have to go!"

Potter didn't move.

"Kill the spare, Harry. That's what he said, and that's what they did. Kill the spare. But now, it's my turn, Harry. I'm not the spare anymore." Diggory stalked close enough that he could touch Potter, who moaned. Diggory's gaunt hand caressed Potter's messy black hair, pressing it down into some semblance of order. Diggory then waved a black arm, and next to him appeared three forms in black cloaks. They were all wearing the masks of Death Eaters. "Kill the spare."

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck," Draco moaned. He tried to jerk open the door, but the knob wouldn't turn. "Potter!"

Slowly Potter turned to look at Draco. Potter's face was bleached white and his green eyes blazed underneath his glasses. His bottom lip was quivering and Draco could see Potter's hands shaking. The Death Eaters were raising their wands and pointing at Draco, who frantically tried to get the knob to turn. "Alohomora!" he heard Potter say, as if in a daze.

"Shit!" Draco took a deep breath and turned around to face the Death Eaters. All three had their wands raised and pointed straight at Draco's head. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Potter turning back as well.

"Avada Kedavra," an extremely familiar voice pronounced. It was the voice of Draco's father. He saw a flash of bright green light and was blinded. When his vision cleared, Draco's jaw dropped at what he saw.

Potter was standing in front of him, his wand hand outstretched, palm up, in a very obvious stopping gesture. He had his eyes closed and a resigned look on his face. The other arm was reaching towards Draco, as if he meant to push him out of the way. Draco tentatively touched Potter at the nape of his neck. The boy's flesh was cold and clammy, but he could detect a pulse. "Potter?" he asked quietly.

"Kill the spare, kill the spare, kill the spare, kill the spare," Diggory's three Death Eaters were chanting as they stalked closer. Diggory himself was still standing where he had previously, simply watching Potter. Draco tried the doorknob again, desperately wishing and praying that it would open. This time the handle turned. Draco grabbed the back of Potter's robe, and yanked him out of the room. Potter was still seemed immobilized by Diggory.

The hallway was empty and silent. Draco slammed the door shut behind him, and leaned against it. He could feel the slap of palms against the wood. Potter was sprawled on the floor where Draco had thrown him. "Potter?" he repeated. Potter's head turned up. His green eyes seemed listless. It looked as if he had been carrying the guilt for Diggory's death for the last three years, if the scene in the room was any indication of his mental state. Potter's gaze was unnerving. "Talk about skeletons in the closet, eh Potter?" Draco joked weakly.

"Why am I not dead?"

"What?"

"Why am I not dead, Malfoy?" Potter sounded slightly hysterical, but Draco surmised that even that emotion was probably better than the blankness present before.

"I..." Draco trailed off. Other than his head, Potter hadn't moved. "It's not safe here. Do you think the Headmaster's Office would be a good place to hide for a while?" Potter was silent. "Right then. Fine. Get up Potter." Draco reached a hand out to help the other boy up. Potter just stared at it as if he didn't know what was going on and started shivering. Vaguely Draco realized he was in shock. Sighing, Draco bent over, and grabbed Potter's arms to draw him to his feet. He made sure he had a firm hold on Potter's left arm, leaving Potter's wand hand hanging loosely at his side, and dragged the other boy back to the door that had led to the Headmaster's Office. He took a deep breath and threw open the door. "Oh thank God," Draco muttered as he took in the office. It hadn't changed and there weren't any uninvited guests. Draco wrangled Potter over to one of the chairs and made him sit down, much in the same way that Potter had done to him earlier.

Draco looked around for a blanket, faintly recalling that making sure the victim could maintain their body temperature was one of the ways to treat shock. Seeing none in sight, Draco concentrated, and tried to remember what his father had taught him about conjuration. He snorted slightly as he realized he was about to use his father's advice to help Harry Potter.

Draco pointed his wand at the air above Potter, and began drawing a blanket. A flannel quilt appeared, and gently floated down to cover Potter. "Why am I not dead?" Potter repeated again, seeming to take no notice of his surroundings or the blanket. Draco sighed and dropped into the chair next to Potter.

Draco studied Potter intently for a few minutes, thinking about his question. "Potter," he finally said slowly, "do you realize what you just did?"

Potter's gaze slowly drifted from the floor to Draco. His eyes were wide, but it seemed as if the other boy was slowly coming out of shock. He shuddered and whipped out his wand. Draco raised his own wand in defense. God only knew what Potter would try in this state of mind. Potter shuddered again, this time hard enough to dislodge the blanket. It fell to the ground. Potter pointed the wand at himself, and Draco sprang forward, reaching out to grab Potter's wrist before he realized what he was doing and that the world would be infinitely better without Harry Potter. Potter gave Draco a wry look, as if he knew exactly what Draco was doing. "Purga," Potter muttered, casting a strong cleaning charm on himself. "I can't believe it touched me," Potter shivered a third time and repeated the charm. The second time had so much force behind it that even Potter's normally unruly hair laid down in order. The third cast of the charm left Potter's old sneakers sparkling and the tape on his glasses straight and while as bleach. Potter ran his fingers through his hair, sighing and messing up the neat locks. Draco had to admit that Potter's tangle looked better messy and flying every which way. "I just saved your life, Malfoy."

"No, not that, you toad!" Even to Draco's ears the insult seemed a little weak, but it did what was intended. Potter's mouth tightened, and Draco was relieved to see a faint spark of red touch Potter's cheeks.

Potter snorted. He seemed to be coming back to himself quicker and quicker. Draco's relief grew. He wasn't sure if he liked the new vulnerable Harry Potter. Draco just wasn't comfortable taking care of anyone beyond himself, and it was just so incongruous to see Harry Potter relying on him for comfort. "What, then, would you be talking about, Malfoy?"

"You just absorbed the Killing Curse. With no damage."

Potter snorted again. "It was probably just an illusion anyway."

Draco shook his head. "An illusion the same way your wand is an illusion?" Potter scowled and Draco instinctively sneered back. "Well, then, why don't we go back outside, find a room with Voldemort and let him cast Cruciatus on you a few times to check and see if the spells cast are illusions?" he drawled.

"Of course, Draco," Potter replied sweetly. "Sounds wonderful."

Draco blinked, taken aback by Potter's answer. He reached out and placed the back of his hand on Potter's forehead. The other boy didn't feel overheated, but Draco did notice that the flush on Potter's cheeks brightened at the touch. "All right, Potter, as soon as we get out of here, I'm shipping you straight to St. Mungo's. You've gone absolutely mad."

"You realize that they'll ship you right along with me, Malfoy," Potter laughed.

"Oh yes, the diagnosis will of course be prolonged exposure to Potter," Draco replied wryly. Somewhere in the back of his head he was amazed that he, Draco Malfoy, was sitting here in the middle of a fake Headmaster's Office, joking with Harry Potter. After having his life saved by said Harry Potter. Draco lost his smile immediately. He stood and began pacing the room, thinking. Potter watched him.

"What?"

"You still haven't answered my question, Potter," Draco said, feeling vaguely foolish as he realized that Potter had said much the same thing to him earlier.

"Which question?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you realize what you just did in there?" Potter paused, and seemed to actually consider the question. He blanched, and started cursing more harshly than he had when Draco had woken up in the ballroom. Draco stared at him in confusion before smirking. "Pick all that up from the Weasel, eh Potter?"

Potter paused mid-curse and glared piercingly at Draco. "Oh, sod off, Malfoy."

"I wish I could, Potter. But in case, being the mental genius you are, you haven't spotted it," Draco threw up his arms in the air, "we're trapped!"

"God, Malfoy, don't you ever give up?" Potter shouted back. Draco stopped in his pacing to stare at the other boy. "Don't you ever stop?"

Draco's lips tightened and he clenched his hands. Intellectually, he knew the last thing they needed was another fight, especially this soon after Diggory. But that impulse to beat the shit out of Potter was returning, and it was so hard to resist. "Look, Harry," Draco bit out, thinking that two could play that game.

"Oh, shut up Malfoy," Potter cut him off crossly and slumped down in his chair. The anger seemed to have rushed out of him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Draco felt his mouth drop open at Potter's sudden apology. "Well," he said faintly. "That was unexpected." Potter laughed in response and Draco rolled his eyes again. "What caused the sudden fit of Tourette's Syndrome?"

Potter gave him an odd look. "I stopped the Killing Curse."

"And this is bad how? I'd think you of all people would be grateful for that ability. Makes staying alive that much easier."

Potter sighed, and Draco noticed one of his hands flutter down to toy with the hilt of Gryffindor's sword. "It's another thing that sets me apart from everyone else, Malfoy. I hate that." He sighed again. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Perhaps because I'm here?" Draco snorted. "But that's not what I meant."

"What?" Potter's brow furled in confusion.

"Potter, you've found your magical talent."

"Oh, and here I thought that was something you were born with," Potter laughed, dismissing what Draco was trying to tell him. Draco sat down, and rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out the best way to explain this to Potter. Yet another reason Mudbloods just weren't suitable in the Wizarding World. They really had no idea about the true essence of magic.

"All right Potter, how much do you know about the origins of magic?" Draco finally asked. He had a faint hope that Potter would know something, so he wouldn't have to start at the beginning.

"Malfoy, you have been to Binns's classes, right?" Potter laughed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Look, Potter, this is something every Wizarding child is taught before Hogwarts. I don't know why it isn't covered in the curriculum." Potter made a "go on," motion as he reached down and picked the blanket off the floor. "All Wizards are descended from gods," Draco said plainly, hoping Potter wouldn't laugh it off. He had no idea how long they would be safe in the replica of the Headmaster's Office, and the last thing he wanted to do was start a fight with Potter about the origins of magic.

Surprisingly enough, Potter just raised his eyebrows and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Really?" he asked in a non-committal tone.

"For once, Potter, I'm not playing with you. It's true. We're descended from the Olympians. Well, most of the European Wizarding community, I mean. Anyway, when the blood of the gods mingled with that of normal humans, it created abnormalities. Demi-humans, demi-gods, and us. Wizards. Generally that bloodline centers towards one or two talents, something you and you alone are particularly good at. No one is quite sure how it's determined, but the talent usually manifests at different times for different Wizards and is always linked to some integral part of their character."

"Like Snape with his Potions, or McGonagall with Transfiguration?" Potter asked. His eyes seemed far away, as if he was remembering something.

"Exactly. You've found your talent."

Potter laughed. "Well, I'm so glad one of us knows what it is. Care to share, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled at Potter and quickly raised his wand, casting the Jelly-Legs hex at him. As quickly as the hex went slinging towards Potter, Draco watched as Potter's hand shot out in a stopping motion. The hex hit his hand and dissipated without taking effect in a flash of red light that knocked Draco out of his chair. Picking himself up off the floor, Draco sat back down next to Potter. "That's your talent, Potter. You're the Wizarding World's first maginull."

"Maginull? Did you just make that up yourself?"

"Magic nullifier. You neutralize magic sent towards you. That's why the Killing Curse and my hex dissipated. Magic doesn't work on you, Potter." Potter closed his eyes and sighed. "You know, that must be why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby." Draco stood and started to pace again.

Potter laughed and once again stroked the hilt of the Gryffindor sword. "And here I thought it was simply because I was the last Heir of Gryffindor." Draco stared. What was one supposed to say in response to that? Potter laughed at the expression on Draco's face.

"When did you find that out?"

Potter sobered, and surprisingly scowled. "No one ever told me, I worked it out for myself." Draco eyed Potter speculatively for a moment before nodding. Lots of little things he had noticed in the last six years at Hogwarts suddenly added up: why Potter was given so much leeway by all the teachers, why Potter survived Voldemort's attack, why Potter was able to pull the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. It certainly explained why Potter was the one everyone, up to and including Dumbledore, expected to face and kill Voldemort. The cycle that had started nearly 1000 years ago with Godric and Salazar was coming to an end with their descendants. Draco sighed and frowned over at Potter.

"Do you know exactly what you did to create the effect?"

Potter shrugged. "I'm still not exactly clear on what happened, Malfoy, let alone how I did it." He bit his lip before giggling a little. "You know, if anyone from Hogwarts saw us right now, they'd probably die of shock?"

Draco gave Potter an odd look. "What are you on about, Potter?"

Potter laughed harder. "Us. You. Me. Having a civil conversation," he finally said, smiling. Draco found that his lips seemed to want to curl up in an answering smile, so he quickly the expression to a sneer. This was Potter. Potter lost his smile as he took in Draco's sneer. "Oh, fine, be that way, Malfoy," he muttered. "Explain to me exactly what you think I did again?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you always this dense, Potter? Because if you are, I'm honestly surprised Granger puts up with you."

Potter glared. Now that was more like it. "Just get on with it, Malfoy, and leave the number of insults to an absolute minimum."

"Oh! The Great and Wonderful Potter speaks! I bow and grovel at your feet, Master!" Draco shot back sarcastically. "Don't ever tell me what to do!"

Potter snorted. "Would you please explain, Draco?" he asked in a super-sweet voice.

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right. The basic point is that everyone has certain talents. One or two things they and they alone can do. Snape has an intrinsic knowledge of potions and measurements, he's the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, you know. He just inherently knows what's needed to get the results he wants. I think your talent is defensive based, you can absorb spells so that you're not hurt by them."

Potter nodded slowly. "I think I understand what you're saying now. But how am I supposed to control it?"

Draco sneered back at him. "How am I supposed to know? I'm making this up -" To his surprise, Draco was cut off by the sound of his own stomach growling. Potter laughed. "Oh shut up, at least I wasn't an idiot enough to eat their food," he groused as he slumped back into the chair.

"God, Malfoy, you are such a baby," Potter said, but he was smiling. He pointed his wand at some items on the Headmaster's desk, and transfigured them into food. It seemed to be an assortment of sandwiches. Potter grabbed one, and started eating hungrily.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Potter?" Draco asked, reaching out tentatively to take a sandwich. Potter didn't seem to be sprouting tentacles or keeling over, but one never knew, did they? Draco took a bite, it was surprisingly good.

"Hey, Malfoy? Why'd you conjure a blanket? Rather than just transfiguring one?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. It was the first thing that I thought of." Potter gave him a wry look, but continued to eat. Draco sneered back. "When we finish eating we should probably test out your abilities. I'd hate to be standing behind you if they failed to cancel the Killing Curse." Potter cocked his head at Draco and considered him. He opened his mouth to speak and then rapidly closed it. "Oh just say it, Potter."

"Are you going to join?"

"Join what, Potter?" Draco asked, stalling. In truth, he had a pretty good idea what the other boy was asking.

Potter rolled his eyes. "The Beatles. Voldemort and the Death Eaters, you twat. I'm sure you and He-Who-Is-A-Pain-In-My-Arse would get along famously. You both hate me."

Draco raised his eyebrows and allowed a laugh at Harry's re-interpretation of the Wizarding World's appellation "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Potter seemed surprised by Draco's reaction. "Who are the Beatles?"

Potter snorted. "Muggle rock band. Now stop avoiding the question."

"And what would you care if I did, Potter?"

"Because hating someone doesn't mean you want them dead, Malfoy. You're the world's most annoying man, you idiot, but I don't want to see you end up on the wrong side of my Killing Curse."

Draco laughed. "Oh, the sheer arrogance. Who is to say I wouldn't be faster?"

Potter smiled brilliantly. "Well, if you're right, then I can't be hurt by magical means." He sounded extraordinarily smug.

Draco scowled at that. "Bugger. You're right." He shook his head. "We should practice a bit. It could be your defensive abilities are linked to intentions, or spell type, or the Dark Arts, or even body posture. The variables are numerous."

Potter nodded and stood up. "Take your best shot, Malfoy."

Draco smirked and sent a Conjunctivitis Curse at Potter, who stood perfectly still and let it hit him. "Well?"

Potter shrugged. "Didn't effect me. But my eyesight's so bad anyway that I probably wouldn't notice the difference."

"Hrm," Draco considered. Everything he had sent at Potter had been attack-orientated spells. Perhaps something defensive or status changing? He shot a Cheering Charm at Potter, who smiled, and shook his head. "Hrm," he repeated, staring at Potter. "Oh just sit down, I'm not going to throw any more curses at you."

Potter shrugged and did what he was told. Draco paced a bit more, thinking. He could feel Potter's eyes on him, watching, waiting for Draco to say something. Draco decided to stretch things as far as he could. Potter finally shrugged again, and went back to eating the sandwiches. Perfect.

Quickly, so that Potter would be surprised, Draco pointed his wand at the other boy. "Crucio," he spat. Potter spasmed in pain and started to choke on the piece of sandwich he had. "Finite Incantatum," Draco quickly said. While he could cast the Cruciatus Curse, he wouldn't be a Malfoy if he couldn't, Draco didn't particularly like using it. Potter sat in the chair taking gasping breaths. He raised his head and glared at Draco.

"What did you do that for, Malfoy?" Potter whispered, sounding far more angry and dangerous than Draco had ever heard him before.

Draco sat down next to Potter and studied him carefully before answering. "It was a test."

"A TEST?" Potter exploded. He swung at Draco, who wasn't able to get out of the way in time and Potter's fist connecting with Draco's jaw and sending both Draco and the chair crashing to the floor. Potter loomed over him. Draco decided that the best course of action would be nothing. Let Potter's anger run out of steam before he tried to talk rationally to him. Draco knew that Potter wasn't a violent person by nature. Oh, he could get angry all right. He could insult. There was sarcasm and in places a little bitterness. But the sheer level of outright physical violence Potter had shown since they had been trapped here was out of character. Even the fight that Draco had instigated in order to activate the trap was out of character. Draco might hurt like hell afterwards, but the four or five punches Potter would get in before his conscience got the better of him would be worth it if it allowed Potter the chance to think rationally.

Potter kicked Draco in the ribs as he tried to stand up, making him grunt in pain and land back on the floor. He tried to stand up again, holding onto his side. This time Potter let him. "A test?" he repeated icily. "A fucking test, Draco?" Potter swung at Draco again and connected. This time, however, when Draco went down, Potter went with him. Draco had instinctively reached out for the nearest object to try and regain his balance. That object just happened to be the front of Potter's robes. The pair of them crashed onto the floor. Potter landed on Draco's ribs, his wand hand pressing into the exact spot Potter had kicked.

Potter didn't move, he just laid there, with his nose pressed into Draco's neck, breathing heavily. He didn't know what to do. "Potter?" Draco said quietly. He still felt Potter's hot breath on his neck. "Potter?" he tried again. Still no response but the heavy breathing. "Harry?"

The sound of his first name jerked Potter out of his trance and he sat up. All the anger had drained out of him, just as Draco knew it would. Potter just stared down at Draco with hooded eyes. The expression faintly surprised Draco, who had never really considered Potter a guarded person. "Harry?"

Potter waved him off. "Go ahead, explain it to me." He still had his wand pointed towards Draco.

"It was a test of two things," Draco said, not moving from the floor. He was fairly sure he would need a few minutes before he would even be able to. "First I wanted to see if you had to be conscious of the incoming spell to block it -"

"A surprise attack?" Potter cut him off.

"Yes, exactly," Draco nodded. "Second I wanted to test the limits of the protection. I was only using low level spells earlier, so what would happen if I shot a higher level spell at you? I certainly wasn't going to test out the Killing Curse, and you could break the Imperius Curse even back in Fourth Year. So it had to be Cruciatus."

"How long have you been able to cast the Unforgivables?"

Draco sighed, not even sure why he was bothering to tell Potter this. "I can only cast two of them, and only since last year." Potter nodded slowly, as if this was simply confirming something he already knew.

"The only one I can cast is Imperius. I used it when I rescued Ginny," Potter stated coldly.

Draco smiled. "That doesn't surprise me."

Potter seemed surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You know how I said everyone's talent is linked to some essential aspect of a personality? Well, in reality, all magic works that way. In theory, it's possible for the Mud -" Draco saw a flush of red touch Potter's cheeks and cut himself off. "For Granger to learn every spell in existence. In reality, there will be spells she simply can't perform. I suspect she'd be quite good at Imperius, strikes me as a bit of a control freak frankly," Draco volunteered. Potter didn't seem amused. "The point is, to be able to pull off spells, it has to touch a certain part of you. The higher level the spell, the more attuned to your personality it is. Haven't you ever noticed how good you are at defensive magic? Didn't you ever wonder why you have such a powerful Patronus, even in third year? It's because your first thought instinctively is not to attack, it's to defend."

"So you have to have a certain amount of sadism in you to be able to pull off Cruciatus?" Draco scowled, but nodded again. Potter seemed to contemplate that a bit before offering Draco his hand. "Come on, Malfoy, let's get you healed." Draco took his hand and allowed the other boy to pull him up.

"Don't bother," he said quietly. The bruises were earned fairly, besides, they didn't hurt very much. Potter gave him an odd look, but let it go. Draco stared at the desk for a minute, avoiding Potter's eyes. An idea occurred to him, and he quickly transfigured a quill that was lying there in a knife. "Here," Draco said, shoving the knife into Potter's hand. "Make a small cut on your hand, I'd like to check and see if healing spells are effected by your talent."

Potter stared at the knife before nodding. He gripped the hilt tightly in his left hand, and dragged the blade across the palm of his left. The cut didn't look very deep, but started bleeding almost immediately. "You should try it first," Potter said.

Draco looked at him in surprise. The suggestion was a good one, if Draco failed to heal the cut, then Potter would be able to try and see if his abilities interfered with his own spell casting. It seemed odd to hear such a sensible suggestion from Potter. Draco pointed his wand at the cut. "Sano," he said clearly. The cut didn't heal.

Potter shrugged, and raised his own wand towards the cut. "Sano." Still nothing.

Draco sighed. "Maybe you have to consciously allow the spell through for it to work?"

Potter nodded. "Try it again, then."

Draco pointed at the cut. Potter's brow was furled, and he seemed to be concentrating. "Sano." This time the cut healed instantly, leaving a faint white scar in its place. "Well, that clears that up," he muttered.

"What's your talent, Malfoy?" Potter sounded honestly curious.

Draco slumped down in the chair, putting his feet up on the Headmaster's desk. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear his father's voice berating him for his posture, behavior, and language, but he found oddly enough, he didn't care. It seemed more... natural being casual in front of Potter. Perhaps it was just that Potter's own crass standard of behavior demanded to be answered in kind. Or maybe it had something to do with his basic charisma. Potter had a knack for making people feel at ease that Draco suspected the other boy had no knowledge of. He sometimes envied Potter that easy freedom with people, despite the Potter's lack of eloquence or elegance. People would always watch Harry Potter and the other boy didn't even realize or try and manipulate that gift. In some ways, Draco supposed, he'd always acted naturally towards Potter. After the rebuffing on the train in their first year, Draco's mission was to destroy Potter any way he could: humiliation, beatings, magic, anything and everything. Draco wondered if that was why he enjoyed seeing Potter flush so much; the response was natural and unfeigned, something totally out of place in the high class Pureblood world where image was everything. "I don't really know."

Potter sat down next to Draco and placed his head in his hands. "And here I was thinking that your talent was simply the ability to be a nasty prat." There was no malice in the tone, rather Draco thought he heard some measure of amusement.

"You know we'll have to go back out there, Potter." Draco said quietly, choosing his next words with care. "Will you be able to make it?"

"Make it without a nervous breakdown or freezing, you mean?" Potter looked up and Draco found himself staring intently into bright green eyes. Potter broke the gaze and sighed. "I can't promise anything, Malfoy, but I'll try to make what happened with Ced -" Potter's voice choked on the name. "What happened in there a one time occurrence."

Draco nodded. It was enough for now. He stood, and stretched, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs. Turning to the Headmaster's desk, Draco transfigured it into his large bed from Malfoy Manor. "We should probably try and get some rest before going back out there." He took off his robes and tossed them haphazardly on the chair he'd just vacated. Draco climbed into the bed and rolled over on his side so he was facing away from Potter. The room was thankfully silent and Draco closed his eyes.

The bed dipped slightly as Potter's weight was added. "Get your own bed, Potter!" Draco burst out, shocked by Potter's audacity.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter sounded amused, Draco could feel his breath on the back of his neck, "and go to sleep."

To his surprise, Draco did.

Author's Notes:

Cedric's body: Actually, that's a fairly accurate description of a decomposing corpse. If anyone actually wants the medical reasons behind the description, email me or leave a review with your email address and I'll drop you a note.

Purga: this, in Latin, is the singular imperative form of "clean."

Tourette's Syndrome: Tourette's is a tic disorder. A tic is an involuntary, rapid, reoccurring, and non-rhythmic motor movement or vocal projection. The most famous and least likely occurrence of Tourette's involves the involuntary flinging of curse words. More common symptoms usually include eye-blinking, neck-jerking, shoulder-shrugging, and facial grimacing. I am in no way, shape, or form trying to make fun of this disease.

Sano: Latin for "heal"

This chapter was a bit shorter than the others, and included much more dialogue. Sorry. I just had to get all that magical theory out of the way, it's essential for a good portion of the story, especially Harry's abilities. Although I'm pulling quite a bit of it out of canon, it's basically my interpretation of the "magical rules" that Rowling herself set up. There are too many references to character and canon in relation to spells and Wizarding for me to ignore it.

As an interesting side-note to the magical theory, apparently when Rowling names her spells in the Latin, they generally take on a different form than mine do. I tend to use the imperative, or command forms, of the verbs. So, while Rowling uses "Accio," which boils down to "I summon," I would use the verb form of "Come!" To be honest, I'm not going to go back and fix the spells I've already made, and I'll probably keep to this form for consistency's sake.