Clandestine Whispers

>>>>>18 The Duel

As soon as Harry had seen Draco's hand go towards his pocket, he'd known what it was that would be pointing at him next. And he didn't want Hermione in harm's way. Gently shoving her aside, he whispered in her ear, "Hermione, go back to Ron and you two contact Dumbledore somehow. Just like in our second year; I've got to face this alone."

Hermione shook her head violently, saying, "NO. I refuse. I happen to have gotten to know Malfoy over the past month a bit better than you have. If I leave, you're in even more trouble. I know his attitude, Harry. He's predictable now."

"Does he look normal to you now, Hermione?! This is not the normal blonde git we see at school every day! For all we know, Voldemort could be possesing him or something! This is dangerous, Hermione. I don't want you involved."

"Well, too bad. I'm being involved, whether you like it or not!" Hermione pursed her lips, and took out her wand, hand trembling only slightly.

Harry was about to reply, or sigh in reluctant agreement, when the hissing Parseltongue speech met his ears. "I challenge you, Harry Potter," Draco spat out the name as if it was foul, "to a duel."

Refusing to meet Hermione's eyes, Harry bowed to Draco as his opponent did the same, and, staring defiantly back at the unhuman gaze, replied, "I accept."

~~*~~

Ron soon found that, regardless of the scrumptious taste of the candy Harry had given him, it did nothing to make his arm feel any better. In fact, his arm was feeling worse. And although it had stopped changing colors, it was now deathly pale, and felt numb and heavy, as if it was a piece of lead connected to his shoulder.

However, he knew there was nothing he could really do about it. Unless...maybe he could remember some healing spells Hermione had taught him? Doubtful.

Wondering what was going on with Harry and Hermione, Ron began to wrack his brain for any possible way to stop or at least decrease the pain pulsing steadily throughout his arm.

He didn't notice the figure creeping up behind him...

~~*~~

Hermione stood, biting her lip nervously, her gaze switching from Harry to Draco, back and forth, back and forth again. She didn't know what to do. Harry was the strategist here, he was the one used to dueling. Hermione, however, was only used to reading books and casting spells in class when needed. She supposed now was a time her knowledge of spells would be needed, so she kept her wand out, and pointed in the general direction of Draco. Why was he like this, anyhow? What was wrong with him? She supposed it had something to do with Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy.

As soon as Harry said, "I accept," and they had stood up from their bows, Draco assumed a strange position. His whole body turned to the left, right foot forward, legs spread apart, left foot lined up behind his right one, wand held out, steady and firm, pointing at Harry menacingly. The silver-haired boy's bared his teeth at Harry before yelling out "cruoris!"

Hermione stood there trembling; why hadn't she figured Draco knew dark spells? Of course he did. He'd been trained. But how would Harry counter them?

A large, black thing, seeming to be just a wave of massless magic, rushed towards Harry, mouth agape. Not retreating a single step backward, though obviously a bit off-balance by the unrecognizable attack, Harry whipped his wand forward hurriedly, barking "lumos!" Hermione at first thought that this wouldn't work, but then realized that the spell was really nothing more than a mass of darkness; when the light hit it, the dark creature wailed, and then disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

Frowning, Draco twirled his wand before directing the Cruciatus Curse at Harry. Hermione stared, helpless to do anything, agape and horrified, as Harry twisted in obvious pain; she wondered how Draco had managed to do that; after all, he was only a minor wizard, under 18 years of age. Obviously he'd had more education in the Dark Arts then most of his age, though. Suddenly, it stopped, and like a limp ragdoll, Harry stopped flailing in pain, and dropped to the ground weakly. Hermione rushed to lean over him, slowly helping him get up.

Almost as soon as he stood on his feet again, Harry pointed his wand again at Draco, saying, "expelliarmus!" However, Draco's quick Seeker reflexes saved him from impact, and he dodged aside, rolling on the ground.

Before Harry could cast another spell, Draco stood up quickly, yelling, "praefocus!" Suddenly, Harry was grabbing at his throat madly, wheezing as if being choked by invisible hands.

Hermione shoved away her reluctance, trying to keep firm in her mind that this was not the normal Draco. Pointing her wand at Draco, her wand trembling in reluctance to dare a Dark spell, she said, "insideo exardesco!" before quickly turning to help Harry. Meanwhile, before Draco could react the spell had hit him, and he was now down on his knees, hissing in pain, as steam floated from him in waves.

Once Hermione had ended the choking spell put on Harry, she turned to Draco, and said, "Finite Incantatum," ending the spell. Harry had just gotten up, only to be hit with the Imperius Curse. But Harry knew how to rebel against this one. He fought down the demand to turn his wand and cast a fatal spell on Hermione; but it was very difficult, more so than usual for him. He muttered, "no" to himself, wrenching out of the Imperius Curse' grasp, and in his rush of having control back so suddenly, pointed his wand at Draco, saying the first thing that came to mind; "avis!" and a burst of white birds flew out of his wand suddenly.

Draco laughed, and cast another dark spell at Harry. And so their duel went on, Hermione helping Harry when he was weak, and neither boy surrendering. Finally, both fell to the ground, exhausted. Draco's wand had flown out of his hand, and Harry's was battered and burnt.

Draco slowly, ever so slowly, began to move; fearful at his enemy's sudden movement, Harry delved deep into his pocket, and whipped out the key Sirius had given him. He didn't know what help it would give him now, but his wand was currently useless, and Hermione was disposed of hers.

Harry held forth the key, and his and Draco's eyes met. Harry's jade gaze sparkled with pure will; the will to succeed. Only Draco, and Draco in his current inhuman state, could bear to meet a gaze so intense. Harry's eyes fought an equally difficult battle. He was staring hard into a pair of pupilless yet somehow intelligent eyes; eyes with not a spark of humanity in them. There was one feeling, however, that he knew was not in Draco at all, not an ounce: Surrender.

Harry grit his teeth, and as Draco's dark aura flashed and the key began to hum, he lunged forward, suddenly and inexplicably somehow knowing what to do. Yet also just plain desperate, he slapped his palm against Draco's, the key in between both their palms, touching their skin like a jagged icicle. Harry closed his eyes, telling himself he'd done the right thing. Then, he felt the pull behind his navel; however, something was different about this Portkey. Or was it a Portkey? It felt different, somehow.

Hermione blinked and cried out as Harry and Draco disappeared suddenly. She was alone. And Harry now had to fight with only his own strength.

Harry staggered to his feet, after he and Draco had both landed hard on a shimmering, metallic surface. His surroundings reminded him highly of a disco dance floor, or the inside of a computer. Everywhere, glowing, flashing lights of all different colors shown from above, below, and every side of him. Little dotted lines zig-zagged across the smooth surface of the floor. Other than these lights though, it was utter darkness.

Harry's observance of these strange surroundings, however, nearly ended up getting him killed. A sword suddenly flashed on his right; he barely dodged it, and it nicked his side, chipping his ribs. Clenching his teeth through the pain, he turned around, yanked a sword from the wall he'd so suddenly backed up against, and began to fence with Draco to his best ability; it wasn't much compared to Draco's training, experience, and higher skill with a sword. But Harry adapted, and tried to digest information by watching how Draco moved, quick and agile like a cat; he tried to learn Draco's moves and make them his own. Some worked. Some didn't.

Harry, his breathing fast and hard, tried his best, his moves less speedy, but done only when necessary and with great power. However, he accidentally found himself mostly on the defensive instead of offensive. Draco, more emotionless and inhuman than ever, never stopped moving, and always stayed at the offensive the most he could. For Harry, it was one of the hardest trials of his life; he thought he would die; but he was used to the thought, and found it wasn't that scary. But it was surprisingly emotional for him, because although it didn't really involve Voldemort, suddenly finding his long time enemy turn into a demoniac nonhuman fighting machine was disturbing for him. Especially since the fighting machine was way better at fencing than he was.

They lunged; they feinted one move and did another instead. Swords swished, chopping off locks of hair and nicking skin. They got dirty, grimy, blood drops spattered on their clothes and hands--but never did anyone actually get a really bad wound, until the end. Harry had just slid down quick to avoid decapitation, lying on his stomach, and was attempting to block the incoming sword coming from behind towards his back. With a desperate cry and in a move that twisted his wrist backwards, he swung his sword up towards his opponent, desperate and fatigued. When he heard a great gasp of air being inhaled, and saw Draco's blood-smeared sword clatter to the floor at the side of his vision, he turned, and looked up. The sight that met his eyes haunted his memories forever after.

Body suddenly rigid yet half falling over, Draco's hands flailed on either side of him, his feet still positioned on either side of Harry's waist. Blood, his blood, not Harry's, dripped from his fingers--for it had seeped into his sleeves. Piercing his chest, going all the way through and out the other side, was Harry's sword. Dark, almost black blood gushed from the wound, and Harry himself was also splattered with drops of blood. As Draco began to fall, Harry moved quickly, clenching his eyes tight and yanking the sword out of the boy before he landed, cold and limp, on the floor beside Harry.

However, what had terrified Harry more than the blood, more than seeing the sword piercing through his opponent, were Draco's eyes. His eyes, which had recently been pupiless and demoniac, fitting the emotionless fighting wizard he'd suddenly become, had flickered normal again, as the sword had been stuck through him. Those grey-blue eyes, wide open, had been like open windows, revealing to Harry every emotion that Draco Malfoy had never shown to anyone before: shame, want, need, pain, and worst of all... fear. And what had scared Harry about all this was not only had Draco never shown these feelings before, but he was showing them as a fatal wound was inflicted upon him; inflicted by Harry. Draco had looked so very... human. When his opponent was a fighting machine, inhuman as ever, Harry hadn't felt guilty fighting him; he'd fought for pure survival, nothing else. But with the sharp steel of Harry's sword piercing through him, Draco had been the most human Harry had ever known him to be. And displaying this large piece of humanity never shown to anyone before, Draco had actually been vulnerable. Harry had seen with his very eyes every ounce of true vulnerability inside the Malfoy. The one thing he never thought Draco Malfoy ever felt, ever was, had been seeping from him in that moment like the very blood that seeped from his pierced heart.

Suddenly, somehow, Hermione was there, there to brush Harry's hair from his face, there to cradle him in her arms as he covered his face with his hands, smearing his tears into the grime and blood on his face. Had he really killed a person? Had he been the cause of yet another death? Only influenced by some unhuman evil, but not himself, this boy, his fellow wizard, had, at the core of his soul, been innocent. Had he, Harry, destroyed this innocence? He prayed it wasn't so. But he knew that only a miracle would let Draco live.

Then, quickly yet fearfully, Hermione went to lean over Draco, to stare in terror at the seemingly lifeless form of someone who had grown to be quite special to her. Pulling his limp form to her, wiping the blood from his mouth and pressing his head to her shoulder, Hermione leant over him, head bowed, hands trembling. Slowly, reluctantly, she reached for Draco's wrist, gulping back a sob as she pressed it against her forehead, and felt with her thumb for a pulse. There was none. Leaning down in desperate hope, she put her ear by Draco's mouth, listening for breath. Silence. Nudging her nose against the lifeless shoulder, and then staring sorrowfully into the pale face, she sat there. She unblinkingly stared at Draco's face, remembering everything that had happened between them, wondering what would have gone on if he had lived.

Then, slowly, a sob escaped her lips. Then another. And another. As Hermione began to weep, her tears began to crawl, slow and slippery, down her cheeks, splattering against Draco's face. These tears, upon impacting on his cheek, some stopped, and yet some continued their downward fall, sliding down Draco's cheek, also. It was almost as if both of them cried, the mourning girl, and the lifeless boy. And as if the tears rekindled the forgotten pain and hidden wishes that were like slivers of light deep inside him, the demon that had died at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived disappeared, and in replacement returned the angel. Although pale in complexion, dark were the feathers of this angel's wings, and yet, this guardian was alive once again, and Hermione's tears further revived not only emotion, but made the heart once again begin to slowly beat.

~~*~~

Draco was suddenly aware of odd neon green and purple signs flashing and dancing around underneath his eyelids. He felt the need to breathe, and he wanted to open his eyes. But his eyelids felt heavy. He decided to breathe first. Air, he needed air.

And with a great heaving gasp, he sucked in air, barely exhaling, his lungs starving and desperate for breath. Then, he began to choke, the inside of his throat dry, an odd, salty taste in his mouth, and choking as well, he began to cough, hard, wheezing gasps, spitting out blood.

He felt an itch behind in his eyes, but slowly, painfully, they fluttered open, and at first everything was a blur. But then, things focused, objects didn't duplicate anymore, and he realized he was staring up into the tear-rimmed eyes of Hermione Granger. What was she doing here? And why did he feel like sod someone had stepped on?

Attempting to keep his neutral face and not fall down in a fit of coughing, blathering confusion, and screams of pain, he pushed his head back, and realized that he was in Hermione's arms, his head on her shoulder. Breathing in her scent, one of ginger, sugar, and green apples, he began to feel a little better.

He scooted back, so that he now sat on the floor, his legs still stretched out over Hermione's lap. Blinking furiously, he asked blearily, "What the fuck are you screaming about?" Grateful that he'd managed not to stupidly ask where he was or what had happened, he, however, almost lost his composure when Hermione began babbling incoherently, stopping her incessant yells of surprised joy. Although he wasn't fully aware of what had happened, he felt like he'd just stepped out of his grave. He didn't know just how close to accuracy that thought was. "Shut up or explain slower, Granger."

Draco looked to his right in surprise, as suddenly Potter was there, too. "What are you doing Potter? Why are you here?"

Ignoring his question, Harry simply pointed at Draco's chest in shock, saying, "I killed you. I stabbed you with the sword, right there! You should be dead!"

Smirking, Draco said, "Sorry your birthday wish didn't come true, Potter. I think it was just a fantasy. You're welcome to kill me now though, if you want to. I feel like fucking shi-"

Hermione cut in, asking, "What do you last remember, Draco?"

Draco's brain slowly started working normally again, and he remembered his father telling him that he could give him a Hlikorpin feather if he killed Harry Potter...what? And he'd actually accepted? Damnit, he swore it must have been the potion given to him, the one that made him unable to think straight. How stupid could he have been, to go accepting his father's deal like that? The man always lied; there was always, always a catch. But he didn't want to tell them that, did he?

But too tired to have to keep another secret, Draco told them all about being trapped in tower, the potion and what it had done to him, the Dark Power spell, the Hlikorpin, the mindless deal with his father, and that the last he remembered was putting on the turqouise stone, with the golden Hlikorpin feather inside it, over his head. Then, nothing more.

Harry and Hermione then explained to him what had happened to them and him, and, none of them daring to voice the question of where Voldemort was, Draco insisted on having no help getting up and walking whatsoever, saying, "Don't forget, Potter. You've survived against the Dark Lord more than once, so of course I can survive against one of his cronies; especially my dad. After all, I got stabbed with a sword and didn't die, so now I'm also a Boy-Who-Lived, right?"

He laughed his Malfoy laugh, saying, "You've got competition, Potter. Which Boy-Who-Lived will turn into the Boy-Who-Died?"

Eventually they got to the Malfoy Manor gates, where, after Hermione and Harry had been let through by Draco, the Malfoy boy paused, and looked back at his home for sixteen years. Glaring at it, he whispered, "I'll never see you again; damn fucking Hell. Dark Angels don't go to Hell; they're in-between." Then he slammed the gates shut behind him, and never looked back ever again.

They found Ron, grim in pain yet glad to see Harry and Hermione back. The redhead eagerly told Harry all about how Wormtail had tried to kill him and he had forced him to eat rotten food and poison mushroom flavored Bertie Bott's Beans; the little man had had a choking fit (which Ron had thought was hilarious) before scampering away.

Draco stood, silently watching the interaction of the trio, his face impassive, unfeeling. Ron had finally noticed him and furiously demanded of Harry and Hermione why they hadn't left the "imperious, conniving spoiled little wanker" as soon as he'd fallen dead. Harry and Hermione were forced to team up and stop Ron from finishing the job and murdering Draco as the Malfoy avenged that comment and threw insults at Ron all the way down to the village of Crossbury Filtston.

They'd just lit a fire and set 'camp' in the forest past Crossbury Filtston (too evil and ugly a town for the Gryffindors to stand) when Dumbledore dropped off Ginny, saying that Hermione's letter she sent to him had mentioned Ron's injury. The Headmaster said that they'd be picked up in the morning by a couple of Hagrid's hippogriffs, and then wished them all a good night after Madame Pomfrey had fixed up Harry and looked over Draco, amazed that he wasn't dead, because the slit on his chest where the sword had went through would be a scar. Here, Draco frowned sneeringly, saying, "Damnit, I don't want to be like Potter!"

And Harry laughed, saying, "Well, if you're a Boy-Who-Lived like me, you can't forget the scar, right? It's a permanent sort of souvenir tatooed on you forever."

Draco simply scowled, and momentarily inspected his now black wand before summoning a bed and lying on it promptly.

No one noticed the glances that passed between Draco and Hermione, and the way his eyes shone with a special rare light when he mouthed "I hate pity, but your tears saved my life somehow. Thank you."