Blood Clot

To forgive is not to forget. The merit lies in loving in spite of the vivid

knowledge that the one that must be loved is not a friend.

--Gandhi

Harry's POV

PART TEN

Waiting

Breathlessly eager, I flung open the window as the bundle of feathers that was Artemisia, a Hogwarts owl Dumbledore had given me, swooped down to land on my shoulder, pecking at my ear affectionately. I reached my hand back, and as she perched on two fingers of mine, I reached out with my other hand and grabbed the rolled up letter from her talons, tossing it onto my bed. Then, slowly and cautiously I closed my window, made sure my door was firmly locked, petted Artemisia and gave her a treat as a reward, and then plopped down onto my bed--resulting in a protesting creak--sighing in contentment. Letters. How I had grown to love them, each stamp of the half-serpent half-eagle creature boding well in my mind.

I was staying at the Burrow for Christmas break, because Charlie and Bill were visiting and Ron had wanted to go home to see them, plus the prospect of homemade food lured us both. Hermione was not with us, spending Christmas instead with her parents, but she wrote letters. The week before Christmas had been a busy week, filled with preparing and also agonizing over the letter I had received. Now, it was after Christmas, and I had more time to write letters to Casidhe.

A week back I had decided to finally reply to that letter sent to me by Casidhe Fearbhirigh Bowyn, and since then we had begun to slowly get to know each other more and more. It had been annoying, at first, him knowing everything about me, and me knowing nothing about him at all. But I ventured questions, or else he simply felt the need to spill out emotions, and I found out things about his life.

He lived in England in a large manor, haunted by grim ghosts and unpleasant parents. He never spoke much about his parents, but apparently they were wealthy and cared not for him at all. His father was depending on him to continue the family career, which apparently had something to do with death. I shuddered at the mere thought of having to bury dead people, or bring wizarding families news of their dead Auror relative, for a job.

I learned so many things from Casidhe. So many attack and guard spells, as well as tons of excellent quotes which he said he got from his family's humongous library. Mostly though, instead of talking about things like that, we talked about our secrets, our wishes, our hatred, our love, our fears, and our predictions of our futures. It was quite interesting hearing his thoughts on my life. He thought of so many possibilities that had never occurred to me.

Once, towards the beginning of our volley of letters, I had asked him if he loved anyone. For his parents, when he spoke about them, he spoke with disdain, and he never mentioned any friends. His answer had been, to me, quite nerve wracking:

Love? Bah. I don't know what love is, really. I've never felt anything so intense and positive. Love destroys people, destroys their minds and shatters their hearts, no matter what the outcome. Because there is no such thing as perfection. So even if two people love each other, and unite lovingly, something will always happen to destroy that love. I don't want to open myself to that danger, that gross sentimentality. I hate. I like. I want. I need. But I don't love.

I had stopped writing letters to him for a while after that, and a week later I got a letter from him. He had known that his comment was what had stopped me from writing, and had simply said in reply: Don't try to understand the way my mind works, Potter, don't try to find the reasons behind my words. If I cared that you understand me so deeply, if I thought we had a chance of being so linked, I would tell you why. But I won't tell you why. You already have enough confusion and trouble in your life. Don't let it bother you.

But I hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. It had made my nights fitful and sleepless, my mind tormented by concern for my penpal. If he couldn't explain to me such deep things about his minds workings, how could I keep our friendship going? We continued to write letters to each other, but the enthusiasm in our words was subdued. Then, but three days before returning to Hogwarts, I got one last letter from him:

I will be attending Hogwarts from now on. Look for me.

Thrilled, I jubilantly wrote him a long letter in reply telling him about how much fun we could have and about my friends and what Hogwarts was like. Forget about the troubles sprung between us, I could talk to him about all that during school; meeting him personally and finally hearing his voice would be a relief and a blessing.

But the days dragged on, and time seemed to stop. I couldn't wait, could barely contain my excitement. But I was forced to sweat it out, and to dawdle in order to hold in the impatience.

-----*-----

Drip, drip.

Drip.

Drip.

My head rested on my hands, I lay on my stomach out in the yard, watching as the flowers fluttered in the wind. I would much rather be here at the Burrow than with the Dursley's in Spain. Dudley could have fun watching the bull fights without me. I sighed again. How I wished the outside faucet would stop dripping. I was too lazy to go and turn it off, though. Besides, it was old and rusty, and might not turn at all even if I was willing to try. If only I had my wand I could--but no. There were rules against that, and then the little freedom from the Dursley's I occasionally got would be zero. That would be the second worst thing in the world. The worst would be that I'd probably be expelled from Hogwarts, never getting the chance to see Casidhe.

My face flushed just at the thought of him. I wanted to meet him so much. Even the thought of he not getting in Gryffindor house couldn't dampen my spirits. Finally, I would able to meet him!

My thoughts whirled away as Mrs. Weasley called for help getting dinner ready. My heart was beating so fast. Even when busy, joy and expectancy of the day I boarded the Hogwarts train spun inside me.

Never knew

I could feel like this

Like I've never seen the sky...before

Want to vanish

Inside your kiss

--from the movie "Moulin Rouge"

Harry's POV

PART ELEVEN

Bonded

"I'll be back in a minute Ron, I'm going to go buy some more Chocolate Frogs."

I turned back at the absence of reply, and smiled softly to see that my best friend was sleeping. Slumped against the cushiony Hogwarts train compartment seat, his head lolled to one side, red hair rumpled, he looked so content. Like nothing could go wrong in the world.

It had been three weeks since I left Hogwarts with Ron to stay at the Burrow during Christmas break. In those three weeks, regardless of other things to do, I had still managed to write letters to Casidhe. I had made sure to make time to write letters to him, to connect with him further. No one but myself knew of my letters to and from Casidhe, for the one time I considered telling Ron about them, I had changed my mind. The connection was too secret, too special to share. Now I was back on the train back to Hogwarts for second semester.

My smile stretching wider, I turned away to walk down the corridor, thinking to myself, nothing wrong indeed. This is a good day. Now if only I could find Casidhe. I know on the spot I will be able to tell who he is, even not knowing what he looks like. There will be some sort of sign that it is him. He said to look for him...maybe he won't be on the train though?

I paused, nodding at Seamus and Dean as they walked by. Where to find him? I was about to decide to wait to see Casidhe at school, and give up for now, when a wand suddenly rolled across the floor from a slightly open compartment door. It stopped at my feet, lying innocent and unfamiliar.

I looked up, to result in meeting gazes with none other than Malfoy. I had hoped that things would revert to normal between us this year, at worst, and at best I had hoped we would barely ever encounter each other at all. But there he was, standing there leaning against the door frame, looking at me.

I stood still as possible, not even daring to breathe, and slowly shifted my body a little, enough to make my foot move to touch the wand, so that it rolled back to him. He continued to stare at me, those intense blue-grey eyes seeming to bore into my head. I began to feel lightheaded, and wondered if I had made a mistake by returning his gaze, and by returning that wand. It seemed as if, by returning his gaze, perhaps I was accepting too much, giving in to his command by not arguing with him as usual. I felt like I should do something, say something, break apart the awkward strangeness bridged between us. It needed to go back to normal, back to the hostility. But no...it wasn't like the world would stop if it didn't revert to that hostility. So it didn't need to. I just wanted it to.

Finally exhaling with a great breath, voice level, I asked, "That wand is yours, right, Malfoy? Or it belongs to someone who shares your compartment with you." He smirked at me, an all knowing, lightly amused twitch of his mouth. Then he flung open the compartment, revealing it to be empty save for his owl, a pile of books, and a cloak.

"No one is with me, Potter. And the wand is mine."

I nodded, slowly; my body was suddenly sluggish. Should I speak to him more, or go? I said the first thing that popped into my head.

"Have you heard about the new student?"

I was blown away by my own words. What had come over me? I shouldn't have said that. I should be walking away, not having small chat with my enemy and asking him if he'd heard the news about Casidhe.

Suddenly, he gave me a strange smile. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen on his face before. A smile full of knowing, of hope. It was like a bubble, or a flower blooming. Fragile, soft, and alive. And yet it was also like peering into the murky depths of a lake. Mysterious, compelling, and frightening.

And then, he laughed. Not a giggle, not a chuckle, not evil or maniacal, but a clear, simple ringing in the air, rich and melodious. That laugh compelled me, and involuntarily my lips were forced upward into a smile by the mere sound of it. Hanging my head down to hide the smile, I closed my eyes, wondering if there was a way to accept how much Malfoy and my relationship towards him had changed. It had changed, I knew it had, but if only I could accept it.

I couldn't accept it though, of course, because it spoke against the rules I'd followed for years. But then, I'd broken tons of rules back at Hogwarts, why not break the rules of myself and my life, and be different? Because I was afraid. Afraid of what could happen if I accepted and befriended Malfoy. It would be like going back in time and accepting and shaking the hand he had offered forth--an act of peace treaty, an act of easily avoiding trouble, but also, an act of what I felt to be betrayal.

But now, I spoke no protests as he took hold of my arm, didn't move away, or do anything to show distrust or hatred or revulsion. I allowed him to pull me into his compartment, to move aside his belongings, and to sit me down. It was only when he had sat down across from me and the compartment door was closed that I opened my eyes.

He leant forward, elbows rested on his knees to support his head, those long, pale fingers splayed like splashes of paint across the paper that was the smooth porcelain skin of his cheeks. He was like a work of art, a piece of perfect, simple white paper, that had waited for someone, anyone, to decorate it and make it beautiful with colour. The paper had longed to be a masterpiece, and through the years, colour had been added to make it's life that of a piece of art. But perhaps not a masterpiece.

For despite so many charms and what they added to his beauty--- his deep, intense eyes framed by the longest, darkest, angelic lashes; his face, with it's pearly teeth and slim feline structure, crowned with fine, fair curls; his perfect physique; his elegant, expensive clothing--- his demeanor was always that of a proud, arrogant fool, or a dominating, tricky investor, who in truth hid the secret pain and longing of a dark and troubled soul.

The paper had been colored, certainly, but with dark colours: blood red, black, brown, dark purple, dark green. And scissors had slashed through its life, tormenting it, controlling it, feeding it pain and regret and hatred. Yet the paper was glad, for although it was not a masterpiece, it was art. That was all it wanted: to be art.

But now I had suddenly been dragged into Draco Malfoy's life; the piece of paper now wanted a passer by to look at it, to acknowledge it as art, and compliment it. It had just happened to pick me, the one person that was the paper's enemy. I wasn't the scissors, but rather the person that held them. It was my choice to destroy the paper or not, to notice this art or ignore it. I was his enemy, but he wanted me to acknowledge him, for reasons I couldn't muse on for it was all so unfathomable.

So here I was, summoned again, not in the mood of hatred, and he was looking so fiercely into my eyes that it seemed he could obliterate me, read my soul and leave me dangling on the verge of life, if he wanted to. But I didn't know what he wanted. So I sat there, waiting for him to speak, to release me from the prison, and the predicament I had gotten myself into.

But he remained silent, staring at me, and so, burning with impatience, I sighed, exasperated, and asked, "What do want from me, Malfoy?"

He smiled, and reached over to shake from his cloak a pile of folded up papers. Unfolding the wad, he handed them over to me. I stared back at him for a moment, astounded. Why on earth was he doing this? But then, hesitant and wondering, I looked through the papers hastily. I gulped, as familiar handwriting blazed back at my eyes, memorable closings, middles, and headings of letters I had written.

Dear Casidhe.........My dear friend.........You won't believe what just happened.........I think that I.........it hurts so much.........if only.........sincerely, your friend.........a distressed penpal seeking help.........can't wait to see you.........you keep your soul so open to me.........I think the bridge between us is firm now.........I couldn't bear to part with you......... and when he said that, I felt as if.........something important is connecting us.........

So many words I had said, memories of what I had felt then came to me; I remembered where I was when I wrote this particular letter, what Casidhe had said in reply to that one, and what experience had resulted in my writing those things; all these memories came flooding back to me with harsh clarity. Gasping for breath, I leaned forward, feeling a wave of nausea come over me, the letters dropping loosely from my hand and strewing on the floor.

I sat like that, my lungs expanding and contracting for air, my hair in my eyes, my heart in my throat, my hands trembling. How could he have obtained those letters? Why was he doing this to me? Why did this hurt so much? Oh god, I felt violated, it was so unbearable. It was worse than if a match had been lit to those letters, worse than an argument having broken out between a friend and I, it was...infringement. I felt like I had been ripped of my privacy, of what had belonged to me, had been my right to cherish as something I had given to someone very dear to me. But now, Draco Malfoy, my sworn enemy, had presented them to me. Something was wrong with this picture, dreadfully wrong, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I was inflamed with a sudden rage at his audacity, to dare to somehow obtain the letters I'd sent to my penpal, and then display them to me gleefully. What a coward! Scoundrel! Telling such a lie! My hands trembling still, yet now with fury, I slowly stood up, my skin burning with anger. This was the last time I would stand for his trickery, his foolish games, his playful teasing. NO more!

I stood up, and looking at him straight in the eye, outraged, seething, I shouted, "You--You--" I couldn't even think of what to say, what insult, what threat would be great enough to emphasize my anger, how tainted I felt he had made me, and those letters he'd gotten. But as I took a step forward, my anger so fierce I felt it burning hot and salty in my eyes...suddenly, I lost it, lost my composure, my comprehension, my ability to speak, to insult, to be angry anymore. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was to be sheltered, cradled in a hug, soothed by kind words, be told and know that everything would be alright.

My stomp forward turned into a weak half plea step, as my knees weakened, and involuntarily my body lurched forward. I collapsed like a creaky tower, and, unable to hold myself any longer, sank into his arms, the tears bursting from me in a sudden torrent of emotional exhaustion. I buried my face in his shoulder, grasping at his arms so tightly, never wanting to let go, to acknowledge independence, because no matter what I achieved I could never do any of it ever truly alone. I could fight and rebel against dark forces so many times, but I could never face the memories, the nightmares, the dreams, the emotions, and the fears inside of me all by myself.

I felt so helpless, didn't know what to do to make my life better, to make my goals easier to achieve, to make my life less burdened by hassles. I was confused, felt useless, unable to take control of my own life and needs and desires. I had always had someone to guide me, someone to inspire confidence in me, but when it came to things other people found so easy to deal with, like relationships and emotions and future ambition, I had nothing, couldn't think of anything. Swarmed with such uncertainty and with not enough time or knowledge to fix it up, I was overwhelmed. It seemed that my troubles were surrounding me, suffocating me, and I had no way out.

Abandoning all denial, all pretense of strength, and giving in to the need to release all my pent up feelings of fear, of uselessness, of failing and of exhaustion, I cried as if the sky that had fallen was caging itself around me. My body shook and trembled, shivers running up and down my skin; sobs broke past my lips, ripping through my throat and into the air like the screech of a dying wish, and at the end of my outburst I felt like all I could do was fall. Fall forever, down into the depths of nowhere, the never ending hole, the confusing trail south Alice had went on, down to the deep unfathomable pit of despair.

But with his arms wrapped around me, strong, warm, tightly reassuring, I decided to scratch my way out of the hole and try to recover. Slowly, I moved a little bit so that I was sitting up, and sniffing, I wiped my sweaty face against the sleeve of my coat, and, still moist eyed, removed my glasses. Neutrally, used to the routine, I cleaned my glasses, and then slowly put them back on, taking a deep breath. I rubbed my face with my hands a few times back and forth, sniffing and trying to regain my composure. Then, lifting my head to open my eyes and look at him, my lips curved into a tiny smile.

He was my enemy no longer. There was no way he could be, anymore. He had long ago realized the evils he had done to me. Although he was still Draco Malfoy, he was also Casidhe, the person I had poured my heart out to, and who now knew me better than anyone else. I couldn't overlook this fact, and had to accept the fact that he was now impossible to let go of. The way he held me now, I felt so protected, like as long as he was near, I could be strong forever.

I realized that I could forgive him for it all, knew it was the easiest option, the one I should have chosen all along. He had tried to repent, and it hadn't worked only because I had mistrusted him and hadn't let him. But that was past. Now, he had sheltered me, we had connected, and a bond had been formed. It couldn't be broken now. No way. It was impossible.

My voice choking with the abuse it had gone through from crying, I whispered, "I hate you, but I love him. But the two of you are the same."

He said nothing in reply. I buried my face in his shoulder, whimpering in indecision. What to do? I hated him, so much, loathed him, the anger burning in my blood constantly. And yet, Malfoy had disguised himself as Casidhe, the young man my age who had become my penpal, and whose words had caused me to become attached to him. This must mean Malfoy was desperate. Maybe he really did--I dared to admit the thought finally--love me. I couldn't abandon a loving soul. Especially him. Because I had once thought him unable to love, but he had proved me wrong.

I had felt so happy, knowing that finally there was someone in my life who understood me perfectly. This someone was Casidhe. He had understood the sudden rages of anger at anything and everything, the confusion, the turmoil, the haunting nightmares, the speculations, the thirst for darkness, yet strain for light. His words had been so comforting, so soothing, had explained everything that was bunched inside me that I didn't know how to release. I had taken shelter of Casidhe, and there was no pulling away now, whether Casidhe was Draco Malfoy in disguise or no. And he was.

Part of me felt betrayal, felt anger and hatred towards Malfoy, for tricking me so royally. And yet, I felt somehow deeply touched, for he had become so desperate that he'd sunk to low tactics, and all the distress and emotion he had written about was over me! Also, I couldn't help but admit now that I was glad to know Casidhe, finally, to meet him face to face. Even if he was Malfoy in disguise. I supposed that, if Draco Malfoy could be Casidhe, someone who was so understanding and kind and wise, he must not be so bad after all. I surrendered, and gave in, and admitted my raw longing for someone just like that, who could be precious to me and help guide me along my path.

"...Am I allowed to call you Casidhe? Since you're him after all."

My mind wavered in its decision, as I thought of the strangeness of befriending Draco Malfoy, and of all the things he, as my penpal, had told me about : the things that I hadn't liked, the things that dismissed love and sentimentality, and drowned in darkness. He was indeed a suffering soul. But perhaps I could fix that? I almost sighed then. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that there was no way we could pretend or want to be enemies anymore. After all the letters we'd sent, all the connecting we'd gone through, how similar we found each other to be, we couldn't separate. Not now, not like this. No!

But my doubt and fear remained. I didn't want to be friends with Draco Malfoy. Even more, I didn't want to love him. I pulled myself away from him, standing up, and lifting my head I closed my eyes, basking in the fresh air as I noticed the compartment window was open. Then, suddenly, I felt a touch at my chest. Looking down, I saw that Malfoy was looking up at me, his hand not inches away from my torso, as if afraid his touch, the brush of that hand in reassurance, had hurt me. His gaze was so inviting, so soft, tender. A look I'd never seen in Draco Malfoy's eyes before. In answer to my unspoken confusion, he made me realize that he could change, be human, and had a heart that could be loved and love in return. Even so, I denied my vision. This couldn't be Draco Malfoy, that dark, haunting enemy of mine. My head pounded furiously, overwhelmed. I wished I could accept it easily, mix the two people that he was and simultaneously wasn't together...but no. I refused to believe, to even think about Malfoy.

I smiled, nodding, proud that I had figured out who this person was and what they represented to me, and said, "You are Casidhe."

It was true. He was Casidhe, my penpal, my friend, the one who had, as if magically, made me accept him totally and willingly. I pushed back my thoughts of doubt, of anger, of fear. I tried to tell myself that this wasn't Draco Malfoy. No, it couldn't be. I wouldn't be doing this if it was. This was someone else entirely, this was Casidhe, Draco Malfoy didn't exist, his name wouldn't push through and contaminate the bubble that was our world. I wouldn't let it!

I stared into the sparkling depths of that blue-grey gaze, unwilling to fight any longer. As if seeing my non-protest, he grabbed my shirt, pulling me forward to sit on the seat beside him. For a moment, I seemed to lose control of everything I was doing, and leaned forward automatically into his warmth, my body pressed, lightly snuggling against his. I eagerly smelt the many scents around him: bittersweet cologne, minty aftershave, sweet sweat that was human and blended with the other scents; the crisp smoothness of his silk shirt, the sour sickness of shoe polish, and the delightful power of a certain blueberry smell.

I felt, so lightly, the contours of his body pressing, curling to fit to my snuggling against him. It was pure pleasure, somehow intimate and yet not pressurizing, not demanding, a slow, pleasant need that weaved through us both. I felt so warm, so content, so safe. Moaning at this soft, soothing blanket of loveliness that had wrapped around us, I sighed into his hair, kissing the top of his head, and then began to search. That smell: the blueberry one. It was so sweet, so desirable. I wanted it. I was enfulged by how captivating he was. So perfect. All my troubles washed away.

If only I could find the source of that scent, then the puzzle would be complete.

Sniffing eagerly, my hands brushing down his collarbone to his chest, and then back up to his shoulders, I trailed my lips downwards, searching, searching. Softly, I kissed his forehead, his brow, his nose, those smooth porcelain cheeks. And then, finally, I found it. The scent.

It dove at me suddenly when I was just about to continue downwards, wafting its way into my nose and capturing me with the tantalizing sense of its further closeness. I gasped, alarmed, and my tongue darted out to catch this scent, to make it twist around my tongue and slip it inside me so I could taste it. And taste it I did, as my mouth ravenously followed the trail of blueberry scent, and caught his lips.

It was a kiss unlike any of ours before. I had accepted him, he had enfulged me in a hug of peaceful comfort, and we couldn't let go of each other now. It wasn't forced by either of us, not demanding and passionate and lust-filled like the others. It wasn't done by him and pressed upon me in a spontaneous act of desperateness. It was want. It was need. But it was also giving.

I gave him the gift of acceptance, of acknowledgement as someone other than an enemy to me, someone precious. In giving him such a present, bestowing upon him his long wanted wish, I felt his joy and his love, and that was all I needed. Plus, such a sweet trading of gifts resulted in such a pleasant sensation.

His lips, so soft and full, were unbearably delicious. The kiss made me tingle everywhere, made me moan softly and suddenly at the wonderful reality of such a blessed feeling. Warmth enveloped me, hope and need and joy swept through the air around us, and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into the soft pool of our special link that had formed from the many things we had shared. I pressed ever harder against his mouth, unable to stop myself from wanting more and more. Softly, slowly, so slow it was almost not moving at all, he began to part his lips, inviting me to more moistness, softness, delicious flavor, warmth, and bliss.

I waited for what seemed eternity for those lips to part, waited, pandemonium twisting through me as I yearned more and more for a deepening of the sensation I felt. Finally, at long last, his lips parted, and at the wonderful release, the liberation from waiting, I was ecstatic, could barely think. He parted those sweet peach lips, and as I pressed once more against that torturously loving mouth, I murmured, "Oh, god..." as my breath seemed to fly from my body.

But then, suddenly, it was over. The kiss seemed to have just begun, I had just started to drown in the rapture of it all, when suddenly the compartment lights blinked. My stomach rocked as I felt the entire train lurch forward with a sickening violence, and I was thrown from the seat. Staggering, barely keeping myself from falling I tried to gain my balance, as the world seemed to spin around me and the lights of the compartment continued to flash, although the train was now moving normally and steadily again.

I blinked numerous times, saw a glimpse of his head of fine, smooth platinum before the darkness returned again. I began to feel nauseous, and woozy, as the compartment lights continued to blink. It was all happening so fast, so sudden. He reached out his hand for mine, and I felt the warmth of his skin, comforting and heartening against mine.

I attempted to take a step forward and return to our seat, but then a consistent ring began in my ears, and I felt sick. I felt as if the compartment was squeezing around me, trying to cage us in, kill us.

Then, he reached forward and pulled me violently in to a hug, clasping me to him firmly. I reached up and buried a hand in his glossy, thick, luxuriously soft hair, my arm wrapped around his waist.

Suddenly, the horrid screech of damaged machinery hit my ears, as we felt and heard the gears that kept the train going begin to crack.

all these accidents

that happen

follow the dot

coincidence makes sense

only with you, oo-ooh

-- from "Joga"

From the CD Homogenic by Bjork

Harry's POV

PART TWELVE

Accident

Clutching Malfoy desperately, I felt fear shoot through me, a wave of uncertainty and foreboding. With fear and havoc, reality came crashing down around me, and I realized with some dismay that I was denying the truth and myself by trying to make Malfoy seem like someone else. He had lied and pretended to be of another name, but he had not pretended to be someone else, because everything that had come through to me in letters signed by a made up name were still his words, his emotions, his advice. He had not become another person, he was still Malfoy, but he had simply become a better person, perhaps due to me, which was a plausible guess to one reason why he was so attached to me.

These thoughts came fleeting to me before I quickly went back into panic mode. What was happening? Nothing had ever gone wrong with the train before! Why was it doing this, and why, of all times, now?

Feeling miserable as ever, I hugged Malfoy tighter and tighter, using him. I knew he was breathless by the tightness of my hug. But I was breathless with fear, my lungs seemed punctured inside me, and squeezing him so tightly, my eyes clenched closed, I tried to breathe, tried to gain composure and calm down.

Yet life had taught me to be wary of anything and everything. The thought passed through my mind immediately that Voldemort or his death eaters were out to get me again. Oh, how I didn't want it to be so. I hated them, hated them all for destroying mine and others lives, and for making me unable to enjoy a normal, happy life. Trouble--it was always chasing me.

We stayed like that for what seemed the longest time, everything reflecting my mood of fear and confusion. The lights blinked on and off, the damaged train made clanking and screeching noises, I heard the sounds of other Hogwarts students screaming and bellowing questions and casting spells all around the train. And the Hogwarts train was controlled by magic, didn't have a conductor, only a lady that served candy and one professor in the front compartment that was there if needed.

My attention perked as I heard loudly the voice of Professor McGonagall, the professor who had decided to accompany the train this year, booming the news. "ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS: Stay in your compartments. Do not panic, do not yell, do not stand up, and DO NOT CAST ANY SPELLS. NO magic is to be permitted at this time. The wheels and railroad track have been tampered with, and the spells that run the train have been...messed up, also. But please don't panic. I reassure you that this will all be fixed soon. Just sit still and remain calm. Do not let this disturb your peace for the rest of the trip. Thank you."

I shuddered, as the news made my sense of foreboding dive deeper inside me. Wheels and railroad tracks tampered with? Someone had done that on purpose, probably. As for the spells, they had been cracked, of course. The most common kind of spell used to control large mechanical forces, such as machines like this train, was the Cube spell. This was a spell where at least three different spells are weaved together and combined to form a cube, and then set in a case of Abdrite stone to keep it safe and to make sure it kept fueling. Spells such as strong lock spells, energy spells, and, in this case, Portkey spells, were used.

The one being used on this train was one of the many transportation spells. It was a dull type of Portkey spell, making it so that once the Cube spell was switched on, the energy and lock spells and whatever other spells used would become active, and gradually transport the train to the same place always: Hogwarts. But now, somehow, the Abdrite stone had broken, or cracked, or tumbled around so that the Cube spells inside had snapped, and now the train was running wildly and uncontrolled.

I sighed, letting my breath rush out of my in a sudden loud whoosh, and slowly my grip on Malfoy loosened. I smiled a weak, still fearful smile, pulling out of the hug for a moment to look at his face. His eyes sparkled with an amazing glow. Suddenly, instead of steel hard harshness, that gaze was a lovely indigo. He gave me a tiny smile, and then pulled me back into the hug. He whispered in my ear, voice husky and soothing, "When you need me, I'll be just one step behind you, alright? You need someone who can help you, comfort you, understand the deep things that you hide inside. I'm here for that, okay?"

I smiled, nodding, whispering, "Okay."

And then, with a sudden, violent twist, the train heaved into the air; I felt dizziness surround me and darkness envelop me, as chaos struck. I couldn't believe what was happening. The spells had broken, Draco Malfoy and I stood alone in a compartment hugging, it was second semester of our sixth year, and the train was now flying through the air, tossing in it's own destruction. My brain fizzled, and seemed to almost die, my heart jumped into my throat, and all I could do was hang on to him tighter and tighter, dreadfully anxious and disturbed.

The train began it's descent downwards, and I felt as if I sunk with it. The position of everything became almost straightly vertical. With an oomph, still trying to balance, Malfoy and I slid backwards, locked in our position, yet now against the wall, his belongings scattered. The train then landed with an awful crash, the sound resounding in my ears, a memorable horror that will never cease to exist in the library of my mind. It was loud. It was frightening. It sounded like an explosion. I could feel the vibration spiral up my toes, tingling my every nerve, and sickeningly crawl it's way all through my body until it grabbed at my skull. It was the most uncomfortable and ear splitting sound I ever heard.

And the result was horrific. I slid out of Malfoy's arms, he slumping onto the seat, and as the rest of the train crashed onto the railroad tracks with a boom, I flew into the air with the force. There was no doubt about it. This was a train wreck, just like the ones I saw on Muggle television at Mrs. Figg's. Except this was worse. It was magical, and therefore less destructive to the machine, and more destructive to the surrounding and inhabiting objects and places. That, of course, meant passengers.

A silent scream opened my mouth wide, as my body being flung through the air seemed to last forever. Air beat at me from all sides, colours whirled past only to morph into dizzying shades of gray and black. It was frightening, unnerving, and unsettling. Such a simple thing, flying into the air and then landing, but it was the most awful experience ever.

I wanted to scream, to land, to reach out and grab anything. But I was helpless again. Helpless. Not heroic. Fragile. Useless. An utter failure. I wanted to cry in shame and guilt for my confusion and inability to be the Harry Potter everyone knew in public. I couldn't live up to all of their expectations of me. When behind my walls, I was a lonely wizard shrouded by haunting darkness. I hated this part of me, that never knew what to do or how to handle situations. That's why I had welcomed Casidhe, actually Draco Malfoy, so much. He had helped me to understand and take better control of the Just Harry part of Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

I closed my eyes, wondering when the fall would end, if anything would happen, or if this was all just some strange and horrid nightmare. Suddenly, with a last whoosh, my fall ended, and I was deposited on the train compartment floor.

But my landing was awful. The fall end seemed so abrupt, so fast, it frightened me. I felt my body slam, hard, into the seat and part of the wall, felt my muscles go limp, weakness and discomfort flooding me. Then my head bashed into a hard surface, and I felt blood trickling down, the overwhelming pain stabbing at me for just a moment. The black of unconsciousness then surrounded me, and I saw no more.