I'm not in Denial

Harry - Explaining a Few Things…

“Oh, Ron! You’re awake!”

Even Harry had to wince at the exuberance in Hermione’s voice as she wrapped her arms enthusiastically around a still bed-ridden Ron, joyful tears streaming down her cheeks. Ron made a disgruntled noise.

“No, I’m not..” the redhead mumbled as he delved underneath the luxurious covers once again, covering them completely over his head. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the way a sleepy-looking and very grumpy redhead finally popped into view and tried in tired desperation to wriggle out of Hermione’s crushing grasp. “ ‘Mione! Please… air!” Sheepishly, Hermione released her friend, wiping her tears away with the back of hand. Ron sighed, but blushed slightly as he smiled up at her. “Nice to know I was missed.”

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation.

“Of course you were missed! Oh, Ron! You have no idea how worried we were!” Harry smiled at Hermione as he conjured a clean handkerchief for her from the end of his wand and handed it to her. Hermione took it briskly and blew her nose loudly, still managing to talk. “And being stuck with Malfoy after your ordeal! I hope he didn’t start anything…”

Ron shook his head and shrugged.

“Nah. It’s not like I can’t handle that slimy little git anyway.”

Except for that time in the hallway, Harry thought grimly.

Ron suddenly caught Harry’s eye and smiled mischievously. “Besides, it was worth putting up with him because Madam Pomfrey gave him some Skele-Gro. Don’t know how he broke em, but he was crying about his knuckles all night! You should have seen it, Harry...!” Harry laughed along with his friend until he looked at the expression on Hermione’s face. She looked pale and her watery eyes were very wide. That was when it suddenly dawned on him. Ron just told them that he didn’t know what happened to Malfoy. That meant he didn’t actually know what happened to himself… Of course! Harry was wondering why his friend wasn’t acting more aggressive by the sound of Malfoy’s name.

Oh Jesus.

How the hell was he supposed to tell him? ‘Sorry Ron, but your worst enemy beat you in a fight and also thinks you’d look pretty good naked’.

Luckily for him, Hermione unsurely stepped forward.

“Ron, you don’t… you don’t actually remember what happened to you?” Hermione’s voice was trembling, her eyes darting to Harry’s nervously. Ron shook his head, shrugging blithely with a little smile.

“Nope. Did I get teamed up with Neville again in Potions?” Harry felt as though his stomach was churning glass. Ron looked so carefree. If he only knew that Malfoy had beaten him to a pulp then snogged him senseless… literally. Harry looked at Hermione, hoping that she would continue but the young witch just stood there with her mouth slightly open. Ron’s brow furrowed as he looked from one to the other, finally connecting that something odd was going on. “Herm… Harry…? What the heck aren’t you guys telling me?” The confusion on his friend’s face, though Harry was quite used to it by now, made him uneasy. He saw Hermione’s eyes dart in a terrible impression of inconspicuousness to Malfoy’s curtain-drawn bed and it didn’t take Ron long to notice the attention she gave to it.

Harry, biting his bottom lip, looked out the window and caught sight of the Quidditch field, wishing furiously to be transported there and onto a broomstick instead of in here and lying through his teeth. He and Professor Dumbledore seemed to be the only people who really knew the whole truth and neither thought it would be in anyone’s best interests to tell another soul, including Hermione, Professor McGonagall and even Ron. Dumbledore had set down Violet’s thoughts in a Pensieve for later reference, then placed Memory charms on Violet, the Fat Lady and the other pictures, who thankfully didn’t mention the kissing to any of the students. Harry cringed at how Fred and George would have reacted if they heard exactly what Malfoy had done to their little brother and if they knew the real reason why Ron’s lips had been split in several places. He could see looks of pale horror on two identical faces, and the thought made him snigger. It was only when Ron spoke again that he realised that they still had a few things to explain.

“Hermione…” Harry winced and squeezed his eyes shut at the edge in Ron’s voice; he was as serious as he could get. “How in the blazes did I get in here?” His best friend was leaning back against his head frame of his bed with crossed arms and an irked look on his freckled face, though he did look rather comical with a bandage wrapped around his head and his lips pursed. With an eventual sigh at the way Hermione kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish, Harry rolled his eyes slightly and plopped down on the edge of Ron’s bed. He caught Ron’s gaze, and his friend gave him an impatient, though wary, nod of encouragement. Harry wondered how he was going to tell him and blushed as a sudden graphic mental image of the truth jumped into his head.

“You, err… got hit.” It wasn’t exactly the most eloquent way he wanted to put it. Ron’s expression, if that was possible, became even more baffled.

“I got hit?” Hermione nodded in concurrence, jumping uneasily from one foot to the other.

“A couple of times actually.” She then laughed in such a nervous and squeaky way at her own words that Harry had to turn to make sure she hadn’t turned into a House Elf. Ron just stared at her. His wide eyes seemed to be more expressive then Harry thought because Hermione suddenly dropped down next to Harry on the bed, grasping Ron’s tubed hand and looking frantically worried “Oh Ron, I hadn’t seen so much blood in my life! We were so worry that Malfoy had killed you!” Harry sucked in his breath. Well, he supposed that was one way of telling him…

“MALFOY!?” Ron’s enraged face snapped sharply around to look at Harry in incensed disbelief, who just nodded weakly, then laughed rather awkwardly.

“Hey… I mean, at least he broke his knuckles in the process.”

Ron didn’t seem to be laughing. He looked like his head was going to explode.

Then he jumped out of his bed.

Both Harry and Hermione jumped up after him, and actually ran to either side of him when they saw him grasp his aching head; an obvious side effect from jumping up so suddenly and so swiftly. He stood swaying on the spot, clutching his temples with both index fingers and with a look of pure agony on his face, causing both his friends to reach out for him in panic. He shrugged them off and instead turned and grabbed Harry’s shoulders, looking at his friend in painful imploration.

“Not even one good shot, Harry? Eh? Didn’t I even poke the bastard in the eye?” Harry didn’t know what to say. Ron licked his dry lips nervously, looking at his best friend almost as though he was going to cry. Harry opened his mouth, doing a perfect impression of Hermione, and just shrugged, shook his head and made an uncertain face.

“I-I… I really don’t know, Ron…”

Ron finally released Harry’s shoulders, much to the latter’s relief. Harry had a feeling he’d be left with huge bruises by the end of the day but at that moment he was too worried about Ron’s mental state. His answer seemed to be all Ron needed as he suddenly snarled.

“I’m going to kill him.”

He looked serious.

Harry looked at Hermione in dread as Ron stood trembling furiously on the spot, his face and ears turning a blazing crimson.

Before either of them knew it, he had belted towards Malfoy’s bed, though still limping slightly, and fiercely pulled back the curtains. When they reached him, slightly slower then they had actually wanted to, they could see exactly why Ron had stopped.

The bed was empty and unmade.

Ron, looking primarily shocked, shook his head and mumbled in bewilderment to himself.

“He was here yesterday… I talked to the little shit yesterday…” Harry could hear his friend say, his forehead creasing in puzzlement as the colour slowly drained from his freckled face.

“Looking for something, Mr Weasley?” They all turned to the sound of Dumbledore’s voice from the doorway, and each of them did a double take when they caught sight of the Headmaster. With him stood Draco Malfoy, looking less pale and appearing to be smiling, not smirking.

Both Harry and Hermione were so shocked to see Dumbledore’s hand compassionately on Malfoy’s shoulder and Malfoy looking normal that they didn’t hold Ron back when he pounced on the Slytherin.

Draco - The Deal

One minute he was in bed, the next thing Draco Malfoy knew, he was being marched down the winding and empty corridors of Hogwarts, up a flight of never-ending stairs and was now sitting in an odd round shaped room and on the other side of the Headmaster’s desk. And all the while he was still in his patient robes and wearing a dingy blue school bathrobe that smelled like dust, cobwebs, mould and that grease that Snape copiously slopped into his chin-length, stringy black hair. Draco was very thankful that it was far too early for anyone even remotely sane to be up and also that there were no mirrors in his view. He would have died of embarrassment if either were in the vicinity.

Looking up and shrewdly around the oddly interesting room, he noticed Dumbledore was giving him that infuriating smile once again as the old man stroked the scarlet bird that sat itself upon his knee; the animal staring at Draco very watchfully. He’d seen a phoenix before once. It had been a shimmering, silvery colour and had belonged to one of his father’s fellow Death Eating buddies. The young Draco Malfoy could tell even back then how beautiful and rare it truly was. The bird that was sitting in front of him was just as stunning.

Draco couldn’t help but scowl at it.

Fawkes’s observant eyes seemed to flash with annoyance as it merely squawked back at him, which only induced Draco to hiss and narrow his pale grey eyes. The Slytherin heard Dumbledore chuckle, abruptly bringing his gaze to rest on those twinkling, though always compelling, blue eyes in some annoyance. He absolutely loathed laughter, and especially when it was directed to mock him. Hanging around with dolts likes Crabbe and Goyle suited Draco just fine; they were too stupid to make a mocking remark and were too busy guffawing over anything Draco said to ever even dare to defy him. It was just the way he liked things.

“Ah, I see that you two have not made the best of starts,” Dumbledore said as he petted the stupid bird again. Draco could see the open amusement on the old man’s wrinkled face. “That is a surprise. Fawkes generally gets on famously with the students.” Draco knew exactly which student he was referring to. He crossed his arms and smirked.

“Even I don’t need to point out how different Potter and I are, Professor.” Dumbledore leaned back against his chair with a smile as Fawkes flew to his perch, gracefully folding his wings and still watching Draco shrewdly. Draco shot it a look of disdain.

“Indeed, you do not, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore agreed. “However, I think your similarities do need to be stated.” Draco raised a brow, with a cool look of distaste on his face.

“Similarities with Potter? And pray, what may they be?” Draco said, trying to look as superior as one could when wrapped in a ragged old bathrobe and showing bare leg up to his knees. Dumbledore was only too happy to disclose, seeming to enjoy the challenging nature of the defiant boy.

“Well, Mr Malfoy… you both bear unhappy home lives, relatives you greatly dislike, a thirst to prove yourselves, independence, strong-will, extremely high intelligence levels and you both seem to have very strong feelings for a certain Mr Weasley, though one, I believe, is more romantic than the other.”

He should have known it would only be a matter of time before his name got dragged up between them. Draco felt very tempted to wipe that smile off the Old Codger’s face and in a very violent way, too. However, he decided that he was already in enough trouble as it was and that pelting the Headmaster, who was obviously the only person who could and was willing to help him, wasn’t going to do him any favours in the long run. Producing his finest piercing glare, Draco smiled a tight-lipped, cold smile.

“Why did you call me up here so early, Dumbledore?” The Headmaster smiled at the far from subtle topic shift and Draco’s obvious wish not to speak about the redheaded Gryffindor, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he simply said,

“The board of Governors are to come in a week.” Draco had expected as much. He expected to feel more worried, to feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest and to break out in a cold sweat. He expected to feel remorse for what he’d done and to pray that they’d have mercy on him. He just shrugged.

“What will happen to me when they expel me?” Dumbledore smiled softly as he closely examined the nonchalant look on the porcelain looking boy. Draco sat very still as he withstood the inspection, being quite the proficient in dealing with such an assessment, especially considering how long he’d lived under Lucius’s roof. Dumbledore leaned further back into his magically reclining chair.

“A very pessimistic view of life, if I do say, Mr Malfoy.” Draco snorted.

“Cut the crap, Professor. You know it as well as I do. They’ll let me stay in this school the day Voldemort encourages his followers to marry Mudbloods. How long am I allowed to stay after it’s officially pronounced?” The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye had gone.

“A full fortnight, as stated by the laws of the school.”

Draco merely nodded, feeling strangely numb.

Uncaring.

Blasé.

He, to put it simply, just didn’t seem to give a shit.

But he should have. He knew this was his whole future. If he wanted to amount to anything, he needed to finish his education. And Draco Malfoy always knew that he was destined for greater things. But without finishing his fifth year… what could he possibly become? He couldn’t do Advanced Spells. Not even Potions, and he was better than that Mudblood Granger at that. He could Transfigure a top hat into a rabbit… but what good would that be in the real world? And his dreams about becoming an Animagus…

Shit. He couldn’t even fucking Apparate without a licence from Hogwarts… not that Lucius hadn’t already taught him illegally how to do it or anything…

With a small sigh, Draco shrugged to himself. He might as well have been born a Squib like Filch. Well… on a lighter note, Draco supposed he could always be his assistant so he could hang about the school and spy on Weasley in the shower without his knowing...

Sitting in an office with Dumbledore really wasn’t the best time to be thinking about a naked and wet Ron Weasley. Draco tried to shudder the image away.

God, he needed help.

He went back to thinking about his future, or, more appropriately, the lack of it. At least that would settle him down and bore him to death.

Starting a new school in his fifth year was hardly very sensible either, Draco supposed, especially considering the fact that he’d done all his exams at Hogwarts… and how exactly was he to afford tuition and school supplies?

Then it suddenly dawned on him. The only thing that made him start to really panic.

He was poor.

Shit.

He had no money.

Shit.

He was skinter than even the fucking Weasleys.

Double Shit.

“Mr Malfoy, are you quite well?” Draco’s head shot up with the sudden address. The concern in Dumbledore’s face was almost comforting. Almost.

He didn’t even realise how pale he’d become until he looked down at his trembling, pallid hands. He clasped them tightly before the Headmaster could see his infrequent vulnerability. It looked as though he was holding a tiny bludger between his hands.

“I’m fine,” he almost snapped. This would never do. He couldn’t lose his temper. What kind of a Malfoy was he? Steering his features until he made them apathetic, he smirked though managed to do it half-heartedly. “I’m just going through my meagre life choices, Professor, and realising that they won’t actually lead me remotely towards a life.” Dumbledore looked genuinely apologetic, but Draco was too busy glaring at his hands and eventually making them cease trembling to notice. He didn’t want his sympathy.

He heard Dumbledore’s chair scrapping backwards and heard the old man’s footsteps. Again, he felt his hand on his shoulder.

“I have a deal to make with you, Mr Malfoy. Will you hear it?” Draco looked up, his normally cold features genuinely puzzled. Catching the significant look in Dumbledore’s eyes, he could only nod.

“You will continue to stay at this school, but secretly. No one must know. The Whomping Willow leads to a house; consequently it happens to be the Shrieking Shack, which, I can safely assure you, is far from haunted. You will be given an Observer Screen to allow you to watch your lessons without your being present. Your teachers will set you assignments every night and they will come to collect them when the deadlines are due. You will have your own house elves and a plate and goblet that will be automatically filled when everyone’s inside Hogwarts is. Under no circumstances must any other student visit you or know about this arrangement. I am already risking my own suspension by letting you stay, so only certain teachers will know of this. You may go to Hogsmeade at appointed times and must never allow yourself to be seen. Do you agree to these terms, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco was speechless. He ran through all the little requirements. Shit. He’d never had it so made. There had to be a catch. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Why… why the hell do you want to help me, Dumbledore? What do I have to do for it?” Dumbledore merely smiled solemnly.

“I just dislike seeing wasted talent, Mr Malfoy.”

They stared at one another with an unspoken understanding. Draco couldn’t help his cocky side from unleashing.

“Thinking pessimistically aren’t we, Professor?” he smirked, though despite himself, smiled slightly, too. “You’ve practically declared me as expelled.” Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly and his eyes twinkled so brightly that Draco had squint from their intensity.

“Cut the crap, Mr Malfoy. I know it as well as you do. Now, if you would follow me…” Dumbledore turned to the Slytherin as he walked towards the exit. “… I must get you back to the Hospital Wing before Madam Pomfrey scolds me silly.”