I'm not in Denial

Harry - Tying up Loose Ends

Harry looked up, gazing in distress at the eerie way Ron was floating horizontally in the air with Dumbledore at his side, wand raised. Hermione was still shuddering slightly in Harry’s arms and the scared Gryffindor took deep breaths to control his own composure. Why did something like this always happen without fail each and every year? Last time Hermione and he were this worried about Ron was when…

His mind instantly raced back to his third year when he recalled seeing that familiar shaggy black dog drag Ron into the roots of the Whomping Willow, snapping the redhead’s leg deafeningly in the process. Harry remembered the fear he felt and recalled the terror in his chest as he prayed that his best friend wasn’t dead… and he was feeling it all over again.

He knew when this was reported all over school that people would say it was just a fistfight, but Harry knew better. Fist fighting included both parties, even in the Wizarding World. A few moments ago, his best friend was a human punching bag. And with the blood all over the corridor, you would have either thought that someone had just been viciously stabbed or there had been a horrific massacre.

The two friends, practically hobbling until they had reached the Infirmary entrance, suddenly stopped as Professor McGonagall turned around swiftly and graced them both with a sad smile; blocking them from entering. Harry blinked in surprise at observing her red-rimmed eyes. He knew his strict Professor had true emotion, but the situation was so much more daunting when even the most severe teachers were visibly losing control.

"I’m sorry Mr Potter, Miss Granger, but it’s time to leave this to us." Harry nodded numbly, but for the first time in his life, he witnessed Hermione actually challenge the Gryffindor Head. She looked even more shaky and pale-faced than Harry could have believed possible.

"B-But we need to know if he’ll be OK," She said stepping forward and raising her increasingly squeaking voice. "He needs someone with him when he…"

"Miss Granger, we will handle this," Professor McGonagall said, slightly sterner but subsequently placed her hand comfortingly on Hermione’s shoulder, smiling weakly. She then turned to Harry and observed the trickle of blood from the corner of his lip to his chin. "Mr Potter, you seem to also be in need of some medical assistance." Harry shook his head slowly to himself; this was all just too much. His head began to ache, and it wasn’t due to his scar.

"I’m fine," He lied, squeezing his eyes shut to rid the weird patterns floating at his eyes. He would be fine. They had to spend their time on Ron… and Harry’s silly loose back teeth weren’t going to distract them. "When can we see Ron?"

McGonagall puffed out again, getting slightly closer to anger, but Harry, to his own surprise, found himself glaring back. How could they just expect Ron’s best friends to just walk off after something like this? Their Transfiguration teacher finally sighed in almost desperate exasperation. She looked incredibly strained and suddenly looked years older as her wrinkles appeared more prominent than ever.

"I honestly don’t know, Mr Potter. I’ll have to notify Mr Weasley’s parents and…"

"We’ll do it," Harry said immediately. It would at least keep his mind occupied. "I think they’d prefer to hear it from us." Hermione nodded with concurrence as Professor McGonagall, with a final smile at them both, swiftly opened the door and shut it behind her.

Harry just stared at the closed door for a couple of minutes, unsure of what next to do. He felt a tug on his arm and allowed Hermione to gently lead him to the corridor towards the Gryffindor common room to write to the Weasleys. Harry remembered that she had left her quills, books and rolls of parchment in that corridor when she dropped them in her haste, but neither wanted to go back and instead opted for a batch of new supplies from the trunks in their rooms. They’d walked not two minutes when the two friends heard a giant commotion from ahead of them. The entire Gryffindor house seemed to be hurrying straight towards them with Fred, George and Ginny Weasley, in an almost fiery front, leading the masses. As soon as they reached them, the entire bustling crowd went creepily silent. George Weasley, who was still holding his Beater club since practice in a menacing way, grabbed Harry’s arm anxiously.

"Harry, where’s Ron?" His normally mischievous and grinning face was desperate, pale and quite angry. Fred, as always, was at his side and was wearing an absolutely identical expression as he had an arm around his trembling sister. Behind the three siblings, where half the Gryffindors were looking just as apprehensive, Harry caught sight of the normally chipper Seamus looking pallid and Neville looking as though he was going to either cry or pass out. Harry gazed at them in bleary confusion.

"How did you hear so…?"

"Violet, the Fat Lady’s friend. Her picture was hanging in that corridor," George (Or was it Fred?) said brusquely. Beside him Fred gulped loudly, his face looking pained as though he’d just swallowed a large cactus plant in one gulp.

"Is… is he alright?"

"I don’t know. We’re not allowed in," Harry muttered bitterly. George snorted; looking even more cross as his hereditary Weasley ears went red.

"I’d like to see them stop us! He’s our little brother, for Pete’s sake!"

"George, don’t start… please," Ginny pleaded, looking pale and tear-stricken but scolding firmly. Nevertheless the fiery-tempered twin didn’t listen as he stormed down the hall, leaving his brother and sister sighing in weak frustration after him. Neither stopped him though; Harry guessed that they both secretly hoped he could get some answers. Fred turned to Harry and Hermione, smiling at them softly in brotherly concern.

"You two OK?" They both nodded. Fred quirked an eyebrow, smiling weakly. "You sure about that, Harry? ‘Ok’ doesn’t usually involve bleeding, or is it some weird muggle thing you learnt?" Harry groaned. Why couldn’t people leave him alone?

"I’m not bleeding. You’re imagining things."

George soon came back looking very red in the face, very put out and ever so slightly sheepish. His brother gave him a ‘spill the beans’ look and George leaned back against the stone wall, pouting.

"They just said they think he’ll be alright, then McGonagall said she’d hex me if I didn’t go away." He muttered the former in a very unconvincing voice, slowly slipping down so he was eventually squatting on the floor. Harry had never seen the twins this distraught and not hearing a joke for this amount of time was quite unnerving. Hermione looked at Harry worriedly; the corridor was deathly silent and morale was at an all time low. She decided to break the silence, turning to Ginny.

"We were just about to owl your parents but I guess it’s better if you guys do it." Harry nodded with agreement and George shrugged.

"Yeah. I s’pose," He said shortly. Fred suddenly groaned, squeezing shut his blue eyes as a sudden thought struck him.

"God, mum’ll be in tears." Harry winced at the thought. He couldn’t bear to think of Mrs Weasley crying; she was one of the nicest people Harry knew. George, still on the floor, was muttering something under his breath so quietly that Harry barely made it out.

"… I swear, as soon as that Malfoy is out of hospital, he’s going straight back in again… and that’s if the Slytherin git is lucky…" With a sigh, Fred grabbed his brother by the collar and pulled him up cleanly to his feet.

"Come on, Forge. We better go back to the common room and write to Mum and Dad."

"I’ll come with you," Ginny said, sighing deeply to seek some sense of equanimity. "We all know what your letters are like."

There were murmurs of agreement around the crowd and they all turned dejectedly and began to walk down towards the Gryffindor corridor. Harry watched as everyone but he and Hermione filed out the now quiet hallway. She turned to look at Harry in concern as he just stood where he was.

"Harry, aren’t you coming?"

"Err… I’ll meet you in there in a minute, ‘Mione." Hermione nodded dolefully as she turned back and hurried to follow the miserable Gryffindor crowd down the hall.

Harry didn’t want to do it. Harry didn’t want to go back to the corridor but he knew that there was something strangely wrong with what happened there just a few moments ago. He might have been there, but the wizard felt as though he was missing the plot or that something had happened that he didn’t witness. Like that muggle detective, Columbo, he needed to tie up some loose ends and he knew that the Fat Lady’s friend, Violet, probably had the answers for him to do that. So, with his aching head held high and producing a heavy exhale, Harry walked down until he reached that familiar hallway, then stopped. How could he have been so blind to not have noticed her picture right where Malfoy had Ron pinned down?

He cleared his throat loudly to get the attention of the wizened and pale old witch, who was currently asleep in a chair within her frame.

"Excuse me…?" Snapping one eye open, Harry was convinced she would begin to scowl at him for waking her up. However, she merely turned her head to face him, primarily a bit startled but then she soon looked quite elated at his presence. She was suddenly wide awake.

"Oh, it’s you again! Your lip’s bleeding, Mr Harry Potter." She seemed to find great enjoyment in addressing him by his name. Harry rolled his green eyes in irritation; he was far from in the mood for this. He sighed.

"Could you just tell me what you saw?"

Thankfully, that was all the encouragement she needed.

"Oh, it was awful! But I suppose you were too knocked out by the Malfoy boy to notice…" Harry couldn’t help but scowl slightly.

"He didn’t knock me out. My glasses broke and I couldn’t see…"

"Anyway," she dismissed with a wave of her wrinkled hand, her beady eyes flashing with her hunger to gossip. Harry couldn’t help but think Rita Skeeter would have found a great ally in her; that is, if she wasn’t still stuck in a jar in Hermione’s room. "When he knocked you out…" Harry wasn’t bothered to correct her. "He stopped for a while and then suddenly, without warning, he just pounced upon and started kissing that poor unconscious boy…! I tell you, I was shocked! Utterly shocked! Seeing things like that, at my age! Well, I grant you, the sight wasn’t wholly unpleasant but still…" Harry finally broke out of his daze.

"He… he… Malfoy kissed Ron?!?!" He felt ill. To be punched then kissed by the Slytherin git… why didn’t Malfoy just parade Ron outside without any clothes on to make things extra cruel? But that meant Malfoy was well… gay, didn’t it?

No.

It couldn’t be true.

Then slowly, Harry thought about it.

Malfoy was leaning over Ron.

"That would explain the bruise on his neck…" Harry muttered more to himself then Violet as he contemplated, curving his thumb and index finger under his chin as he began to unravel the deeply disturbing discovery. She was listening with keen, shrewd interest, just in case there was anything else to tell the other pictures. "And it would also explain the blood on Malfoy’s face, because I know Ron couldn’t have hit him back. His fists were clean…"

"You are a clever one, aren’t you?" She asked, an impressed smile on her features. Harry smiled back weakly.

"I have my moments. But why would Malfoy kiss Ron? He hates him, doesn’t he? Unless…"

"Well done, Harry." Dumbledore’s voice came so abruptly that Harry jumped. Spinning around, he caught the Headmaster’s sparkling blue eyes. "Only a few minutes after I realised it myself. That deserves praise of the highest kind." He smiled softly as Harry merely opened his mouth in shock. Without further ado, Dumbledore stepped aside so Harry could walk out the corridor. "Now Harry, what do you say to our letting Mr Malfoy know about our breakthrough?"

 

Draco - The Bastards All Know

What the heck did Potter want? The Slytherin guessed he probably wanted to throw back a little of what he’d had done to Scarface’s precious Weasley. However, Potter didn’t look at Draco with a look of hate. The boy looked more, well… confused. Wide-eyed. And pale. And Lord, was he shaking?

Shit.

Did Potter know what Dumbledore knew? No. He couldn’t. There was no way the Old Codger would have told him; Gryffindor honour and all that crap.

Draco schooled his handsome, almost pretty, features to his usual sneer without trouble, his pale eyes narrowed into slits.

"What the heck do you want, Potter?" Potter opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Opened it… left it there for a couple of seconds… then snapped it shut. What was wrong with the boy? Draco always knew Potter was glorified and hyped up for no good reason, but he reasoned that Seeker Boy was at least articulate. Not that Draco usually gave a shit what came out of his mouth anyway.

The Gryffindor finally managed to make a vague sentence.

"I… I… Ron… came… came… for… Ron… I…"

"You came for Weasley, did you, Potter?" Draco smirked. "I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that when he wakes up."

"Shut up, Malfoy," he suddenly heard a female voice snap viciously. He didn’t even see Granger behind Dumbledore. How many Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers could the old man hide behind him?

She didn’t bloody know too, did she? Not that he thought Potter knew or anything…

"You going to make me, Granger?" Draco practically spat back. The very presence of the girl made him want to pull out all her bushy hair. Either that or set fire to it. He was pretty sure that Weasley would quickly lose interest once the object of his affection’s head resembled one of Trelawney’s crystal balls.

Shit.

He was doing it again.

Granger was staring at him with such hate that the only way he could surpass it was trying his very best. He squinted, growled and practically bared teeth. Even then, he only managed to equal it.

"Don’t tempt me, Malfoy," She hissed in dangerous warning through clenched teeth then strode from the doorway and passed Draco’s bed, heading straight towards Ron’s; she had a giant box in her hands. The way she walked made Draco believe that she was actually restraining herself from dropping the package and attacking him. He just had to smirk at the thought of buttoned-down, goody-two-shoes Granger trying to hit him. Then again, the little Mudblood cow could slap sadistically.

Harry followed her silently, avoiding any eye contact with Draco and keeping his eyes on the floor. While watching this, the Slytherin had come to a definite conclusion.

Potter had finally lost it.

That stupid Scar of his had throbbed one too many times and caused his brain to malfunction.

Granger sat down on the seat right beside Ron’s then, positioning the box on his bedside table, placed her hand over his and looked affectionately at the unconscious redhead. Potter took the seat beside her, looking at Weasley as though a Dementor had just kissed him. He just kept shaking that head of his and mumbling something that sounded like repetitions of the same phrase, "I was right there, but I couldn’t stop him. Oh, Ron… please forgive me…"

Bloody Potter.

Acting as though the Slytherin wasn’t even there… and what the heck was Granger doing? Placing Ron’s limp hand on her damp, puffy cheek?

Draco grinded his teeth until the only the scraping noise filled his ears. Just watching that little Mudblood contaminate Weasley with her filthy little Mudblood hands made Draco’s healing fists clench under his sheets. The Slytherin could have sworn he’d broken them again in his rage. If he couldn’t shag the bastard, no one could. Especially not a muggle-born Gryffindor Prefect. And not shagging him didn’t mean that Draco couldn’t gawp at him from afar… and if Granger even dared to ruin Draco’s vision by covering Weasley with her slime then he wouldn’t hesitate in taking her out.

Draco turned his head and his eye suddenly caught Potter’s. He would have usually snarled or turned away but he didn’t when he noticed that Potter was watching his reaction very closely. It didn’t take Boy Wonder long to avert his eyes back to Weasley again.

He knew. He fucking knew. Potter fucking knew.

Draco’s icy palms went clammy. He wiped them on his robes. Potter thought he was queer. That he was bent. That he was a shirt lifter, a battie boy, an arse bandit. He thought he was fucking Moses in the parting of the red cheeks. That’s why he couldn’t look him in the eye. That’s why he looked so pale and terrified of Draco all of a sudden. He was a homophobe in every sense of the word. But did he honestly think that Draco wouldn’t notice the way he was crossing his arms behind his back and draping his hands protectively over his arse? Get over yourself, Potter. Did he really think Draco would look at his scrawny little self when his best friend was the most divine thing on the planet?

Draco’s feline eyes slit in pure venom. He would get Potter. He would get that little shit for ever even daring to think that he, a Malfoy, was a fucking homosexual. He would make him pay dearly for making such a mistake.

"How are your knuckles, Mr Malfoy?" Bloody Dumbledore. Did sneaking about and giving his students heart attacks constitute as being a decent Headmaster? Draco looked at the twinkling blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles and narrowed his eyes even further. The old man gave a chuckle. "Closing your eyes will have no effect on me, Draco. I believe that opening them a fraction more will atone for the mistake." Draco scowled. Not even his best look of contempt could affect the old fool. Even Snape reacted to it, though Draco supposed that was more due to Lucius. He loathed the way that he looked like a carbon copy of his father. To look in the mirror and see the person you hate the most in world looking back at you… With a shrug, Draco supposed it was reasonable compensation considering how good-looking he was.

He produced an authentic Malfoy sneer.

"Cut the small talk, Professor. What’s going to happen to me?" Dumbledore didn’t look surprised by the remark; Dumbledore hardly looked surprised by anything. He just sighed profoundly and to Draco’s surprise, sat at the foot of Draco’s hospital bed, causing the bed to sink slightly with the added weight.

"That, my dear boy, is the decision of the School Governors."

"I’ll be expelled won’t I." It was a statement. The Slytherin knew what they were like since his father had been one until the end of Draco’s second year. A chance to kick out Lucius Malfoy’s son was like being given a sackful of Galleons; the temptation overweighed justice. And even then, justice wasn’t really on his side either.

Dumbledore smiled in soft regret.

"It is a possibility."

"I’m not going back home," Draco said firmly. "I won’t let you send me back there." He paused and looked Dumbledore stubbornly in the eye. "Just so you know." The Headmaster slowly nodded his wise head.

"That is understandable." He paused for a second and Draco felt unnerved by his intense blue eyes… not that he’d ever publicly admit it. "I am truly sorry about your owl, Mr Malfoy."

He had almost forgotten about Hades. Draco turned his head away for a distraction; bloody Weasley was still the best around.

"Fucking Lucius," The Slytherin muttered as his eyes relished on how the waves of Weasley’s red hair shone in the sparse light. Dumbledore didn’t scold him for the language. In fact, the Headmaster nodded slightly and seemed to concur. Draco felt the weight ease creakily off his bed and felt Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder.

"I intend to keep you here as long as I possibly can, Mr Malfoy," Draco didn’t turn to look at him. His steeled eyes were fixed intently on the prominent bruise on Weasley’s neck as he listened. "You need not worry for your safety while I am still around. I will deter the Governors as long as I can. I suggest you stay here under Madam Pomfrey’s watch until I can arrange something, Draco. Anyhow," Here he stopped and Draco turned despite himself. "Mr Weasley might need company when he finally awakens." Dumbledore was smiling.

Bastard.

Did he know how much Draco hated this? This wasn’t a fucking romance novel. It wasn’t a bloody ‘Boy meets Evil boy; Boy hates Evil Boy; Evil boy falls for Boy; Boy finds he actually likes Evil Boy and they run off into the sunset together’ type of story. And Draco wouldn’t want it to be like that anyway if he could control it. The Slytherin despised sunsets.