Title: Of Hobbies and Consequences
Author: 
xanateria
Team: EWE
Prompt: 5. Fate worse than a dementor's kiss.
Wordcount: 9123
Rating: PG
Warnings: None really, a naughty word.
Summary: Harry learns why trying to get a hobby can be hazardous to his health.
Author's Note: This story completely changed on me, more than once. I wanted to go somewhere totally different with it, but the boys wouldn't let me. Huge thanks and virtual chocolate to my betas jamie2109el_em_en_oh_pee
Of Hobbies and Consequences
All his problems, Harry reflected glumly, came from two words. Two measly words that were currently the bane of his existence: supposed to. Now that the Battle of Hogwarts had been won, and Voldemort was finally gone, he'd expected to be free. Instead, it seemed the list of things he was supposed to do had somehow gotten longer. First on everyone's list was a celebration to mark the end of the war. From what he had seen, even those who had lost so very much, were being persuaded to celebrate, to forget their grief if only for a few moments. There were impromptu parties springing up all over the world, and talk of a grand ball in the coming weeks. What he most wanted in the world was to sleep for about a week. Instead, everyone kept asking his opinion about the plans for the ball, or memorials. And Mrs. Weasley kept sliding into the conversation how wonderful it would be if he announced his engagement to Ginny at the ball. Everyone acted as if the fact they would get engaged was a foregone conclusion. And perhaps it was. Ron certainly looked happy at the idea whenever his mother brought it up. And Ginny lit up with happiness at the mere possibility until she was all but incandescent.
The trouble was that incandescent was more than a little overwhelming. It was hard to be the cause of such happiness in someone else, when he wasn't sure what he himself felt. Of course, he loved Ginny, he told himself. He loved her; he knew that, he just wasn't altogether sure about being in love with her. If he was being really honest with himself, he wasn't even entirely sure he liked girls, though he didn't like to admit that to himself. His fist came down harder on the windowsill than he intended at that thought, and he held his breath, for fear of waking any of his temporary neighbours. He had a room to himself, as a concession to his status. Normally, he would have said no to even such a small concession, but constant hero worship got old fast, so he accepted the room. Not that it was much of one really. Someone had converted the undamaged parts of the great hall into dormitories for the volunteers currently working to rebuild the school. It was a good system, but it offered only basic amenities, and made for paper thin walls.
Of course, being here at Hogwarts brought him straight up against another supposed to. He was supposed to be attending the hearings and inquiries that had begun, in an attempt to sort out what would become of those had served Voldemort, willingly or unwillingly. At least, that's what so many seemed to think would be the best use of his time. Anyone could help rebuild, they told him, with a hushed sort of expectation that he was meant for bigger and better things. But the last thing he wanted to think about was what to do with Death Eaters and sympathisers. He'd had enough of their lot to last him several life times.
Besides, everyone seemed too shocked and shaken that he refused to advocate for the harshest of penalties for all of them. Never mind that killing people, as some wanted, or giving them over to the Dementors, as others did, would only serve to make them all more like the people they were trying to punish. Never mind the fact that there had already been far too much death. And if working himself into exhaustion at nights helped keep the many faces of those he had lost out of his nightmares, he would take what he could get, and happily pitch in with whatever was asked of him. And those that wanted a figurehead to spearhead the rebuilding of the whole of magical society? Well, they were just going to have to look elsewhere. He'd given the wizarding world enough, he decided, turning to down the Dreamless Sleep potion on his nightstand that he still took out of habit, despite the fact it only partially worked. Folding back the rather threadbare blankets on the bed, Harry slid between the sheets and closed his eyes. He tried not to think of anything at all, but he couldn't help the bitter reflection that it seemed to him as though the more he gave to the Wizarding world, the more it took away from him.
The following morning, Harry dressed on autopilot, his mind still turning over his thoughts of the night before. He'd been doing what other people wanted for so long, it had taken him most of the night to reach one fairly simple conclusion. No matter who he might be disappointing, he didn't absolutely have to do any one thing with his life now. His life was just that, his own. After all, if he didn't put in appearances at all the appropriate functions, or announce his engagement to Ginny at the ball, what was the worst that could happen? Apparently, dying was liberating, even if you got to come back to life. The worst had, in fact, already happened. And really, people were hardly likely to curse him, or lock him away simply because he wanted to be an ordinary citizen. At least, he hoped they wouldn't, in any case. But what exactly did he want, other than being ordinary? The question didn't seem to have an answer, even though he turned it around and around as he cleaned the floors and walls in a devastated classroom. In the long term, he wanted to have a family, but it was everyone else who kept telling him that meant a wife and children of his own. And there was no urgent reason it had to happen as quickly as everyone was assuming. Knowing that didn't bring him any closer to knowing what he wanted to do now, though.
In the middle of repairing chairs, it came to him. The question of what he wanted didn't have an answer, because he'd never really had a chance to figure it out. It wasn't like he'd really had a chance to develop his hobbies. Even Quidditch was more about developing skills useful in other situations than having fun. Not that he didn't enjoy Quidditch, of course, but right from the off it had been more a case of something that was expected of him. And for a little boy so desperate to fit in, was it any wonder that he had fallen into the habit doing the expected? Such a simple revelation, but it was sad having to consider that he hadn't really lived his life. Then again, he'd been dead and come back to life. If there was ever a time to take control of life, it would be now. Coming to help rebuild the school had been a first step. There was no reason he couldn't take more.
Later that evening, he finished up his daily assignment and accepted the next day's task from a distracted McGonagall, who smiled at him warmly as she handed over his parchment and admonished him again to call her Minerva. Of course, he told her he would try but Harry knew that he wouldn't. It wasn't that he hadn't tried, it was just that he still didn't really feel like his old professor's equal. Everything that he had done had been the result of things so far beyond his control, it really seemed like anyone could have done it. It was strange really. He'd been so sure once Voldemort was gone he would finally feel like he belonged, like he'd earned his place, but the old doubts and fears were still there. Granted, there was no homicidal madman who wanted him dead, but most days it didn't seem as if things had changed all that much.
Shaking his head Harry pushed such thoughts aside. His time was his own until the following morning. Perfect time to take steps to reclaim his life. There were so many options, but it seemed to him that he knew a good place to start. It was time for him to get a hobby. Of course, he didn't know whether he was going to choose something Wizarding or Muggle, but that could just be one of the things he figured out. Nodding to those he knew, he made his way to the communal dining hall the surviving house-elves had begun running out of a sectioned off portion of the kitchen and pondered where to start. He wanted to get as far away from what people thought he should do as possible. Given his Herbology marks he should probably stay away from Wizard gardening. But that left him with quite a few possibilities. There had been a vendor in Diagon Alley once years ago, selling carved wooden figurines that were animated with a simple spell to move. Carving couldn't be that hard, he didn't think. Come to think of it, he'd seen Hagrid carving a few times over the years. He'd be the perfect person to ask.
Harry bolted his food so quickly he couldn't have said what he'd eaten, not that he cared. Since the day's assignments were over, he expected to find Hagrid continuing work rebuilding his hut, but when he asked a passing house-elf, he was told that Hagrid was assisting with after-hours reconstruction in the hospital wing. Carefully stepping around a knot of medi-witch trainees listening attentively to Madame Pomfrey, Harry began to pick his way over to where construction was happening. After a moment he nearly froze in midstep with shock.
The last witch in the group of trainees was no witch at all. It was a very familiar, obviously tired Draco Malfoy. As usual, just the sight of his blond haired, too good looking for his own good, former nemesis was enough to speed his heart rate. "Get a grip, Harry," he whispered to himself. Indirectly, Draco had saved his life. It was because of him that Narcissa had been willing to defy Voldemort. That fact alone would have made him more inclined to try harder to like his former rival. Then, in the hours after the final battle, Draco had been one of many pressed into service as an emergency medi-wizard after a catastrophic attack on St. Mungo's decimated the number of qualified healers. The real surprise to those at Hogwarts was not only that he was exceptional at it, but that he went on to work tirelessly to help save many who might otherwise have died. Apparently, and more than a little surprisingly, he had decided to actually pursue training in the field.
Shaking his head, Harry tried continued to make his way to Hagrid's side and waited until he had finished hammering the last nails into an overhead beam. Magic had been unpredictable in and around Hogwarts ever since the final battle, so as much possible, fail-safes and back-ups were being put into place the Muggle way. He couldn't help but fidget while he waited, pondering the contradiction that was Malfoy junior. From what he knew, Narcissa and Lucius had denied Draco's willing involvement in every Death Eater activity they were currently being held accountable for, though no one knew yet if they would go to prison for it. According to his parents though, Draco had been threatened and coerced, often forcefully, into all of the Death Eater activity he participated in. Of course, the vast majority of the general public thought it was crap. Still, Draco certainly acted like someone with something to atone for, and Harry of all people knew anything was possible.
Blowing out a long breath, Harry refocused on the situation at hand. No matter what Draco's true motivations were, they didn't have anything to do with wood carving. "Hagrid, if you have a few minutes when you're finished here, there's something I was hoping you could show me," Harry explained, hopeful that it would be possible to get started right away. It only took a minute or two for the half-giant to beam at him delightedly, and clap him on the back hard enough to stagger him.
"Course I can show ya 'ow ta carve, Harry. Even got a knife that would be just your size. Just let me finish with these beams." True to his word, Hagrid finished quickly, then led him out to collect the knife, telling him all about the tips and tricks every beginning carver should know. They settled down on sturdy chairs outside Hagrid's hut, and Harry was soon following Hagrid's instructions, carving a small block of wood. All went well for the first few minutes, but after the first rush of having tried something new, he found himself having difficulty concentrating. Hagrid was going on about the pleasure of carving but he found his mind wandering out of sheer boredom. Looking up, he watched Hagrid demonstrate a stroke. And that is when he learned the danger of taking his eyes off his blade while he was still a novice. One minute he was shaping the wood and the next the knife was gouging into his thigh. Oddly enough, there was no real pain, only a spreading coldness and more blood than was probably good.
Before he knew it, Hagrid was scooping him up, half running towards the hospital wing. Unfortunately, the pain broke through the shock before they got there, so Harry was gritting his teeth against waves of pain in his leg by the time he was set down on one of the beds. Hagrid shouted for Poppy, but it was not the matron who bustled out of the one remaining back office. Oh, that is just perfect, Harry thought, as he realised he was busy bleeding all over an impeccably groomed Draco Malfoy. I guess I get to see how well his training is going at least. But a quick scan and two spells he didn't quite catch later, and the pain was gone, the cut fully healed.
Blinking, Harry took a deep breath, and would have swung his legs over to sit up, but Draco leveled a glare at him. "You, stay there. And try not to do anything else to yourself." With that, he turned with a swirl of robes that would have made Snape proud and disappeared toward one of the back storerooms. When he returned, he was levitating a tray with more than half a dozen potions on it, but his expression was calm. "You'll need to take blood replenishing potions for a few days because you lost quite a bit. Bad luck nicking the femoral artery. I also brought a few pain relieving potions just in case you need them. We'll need you to return them if you don't use them, though. We're chronically short of potions stock these days."
Nodding in agreement, Harry fought off the usual combination of guilt and sadness that swamped him when something reminded him of Snape. Of course the infirmary was under-stocked since they were currently down a potions master, after all. "Alright," he answered, fighting to keep his tone even. Though Draco looked at him sharply, he didn't comment, only handed him a potion to start with.
"What possessed you to take chunks out of yourself, in any case, Potter?" he asked, sounding for all the world as though he genuinely cared about the answer.
Grateful for the change in subject, Harry pondered how to explain it. "I was carving with Hagrid," he began. For a moment, he found himself wanting to explain all the reasons behind the hobby quest, but that was crazy. No matter how much he thought about the angular blond, they barely knew each other. "I let my attention wander and the knife slipped," he finished, feeling slightly foolish. But better to look foolish than to over share, he supposed.
"Leave it to you to still be wool gathering," Malfoy told him, his tone as dry as dust, though lacking the mocking bite Harry had been expecting. "You're lucky you didn't bleed to death, Potter. If you need something carved, leave it to an expert."
"You just saved me from bleeding to death. I should think you could call by my first name," Harry told him, moving to stand up. He wasn't sure where the impulse to ask came from, but since he had wanted it for years, it seemed like it was finally time to ask, even if the other man was more than likely to say no.
But the afternoon had one more surprise in store, apparently. "I suppose I could bring myself to do that, Harry, if you'll do the same. If nothing else, it will make people wonder if the end of the world is coming after all," Draco told him, with just a hint of a smile. And before Harry could muster his scattered wits to answer, the other man disappeared into a nearby room, where the sounds of hurried footsteps and raised voices were getting closer.
The trouble with trying something new, even if it was as simple as a hobby, was that sooner or later, people started to find out about it. A few days after the carving incident, Harry all but slammed into Hagrid as he walked into the dining hall for lunch and had to duck out of the way of a careening house-elf. Too used to that sort of thing happening of late to be surprised, it nonetheless took him a minute to untangle himself from his friend. By the time they were sorted out, Hagrid has asked him how his leg was doing, loud enough to be turning heads at nearby tables. "Listen Harry, I don't want to hurt your feelins none," Hagrid told him then. "But I'm thinking if ya need a hobby, ya might want to steer clear of carving for a while. Leastaways until yer leg is healed up." It was friendly advice of course, meant with the best of intentions, so Harry smiled and nodded, perfectly content to let the matter drop.
But Molly Weasely, who happened to be walking by at that precise moment, had other ideas. "A hobby, Harry? Well, I think that's a wonderful idea. You know, if you are looking for a hobby, I would be more than willing to teach you a safer one than carving. More useful too," she told him.
"And what might that be?" Harry asking, more than a little unnerved at what the answer might be.
"Why, knitting of course," the redhead told him, beaming happily. "I am sure you don't buy into that nonsense about it being just for girls. And it's useful too."
Even after everything that he had been through, Harry knew he couldn't just outright refuse the woman who had been so much a mother to him. Not that he really wanted to learn how to knit, but he could try at least to make her happy. Of course that rather defeated the purpose of picking a hobby for just himself but that didn't matter as much to him, given who was making the suggestion. "I'd love to try," he told her, smiling determinedly.
And that was how he found himself perched at a table in the small courtyard near Molly's rooms the next day, learning the basics of knitting, from how to choose his wool, to how to say the incantation that would tell his knitting needles to knit by themselves if he ever got behind and needed to cheat a little. When she had shown him the beginner techniques she thought he most needed to know, Molly handed him a bag of wool and some pairs of needles to get him started. She gave him his usual hug before bustling off to check more things off her to do list for the day. It only took another moment or two for Harry to decide discretion was the better part of valor and gather everything to take it back to his room. I can practice there, because if no one sees it, no one can wonder why I've suddenly become so very domestic, he assured himself.
Of course, when he got back to his room, he couldn't get right to it. He had to have his usual fire chat with Ron. As much as he wanted to at least attempt to knit a few rows, because he knew Molly would ask, he also knew her son would worry if they didn't talk. Or rather, if he didn't call and listen the latest goings on in the Weasley-Granger world. Both of his best friends were splitting their time between helping Kingsley hunt down the remaining Death Eaters and assisting in the research needed for the inquiries and trials. He saw them at Hogwarts now and again, when the call went out for extra volunteers for some of the bigger undertakings. And, of course, once every week or two he had dinner at the Burrow at Molly's insistence, even though she, too, was at Hogwarts most days lending a hand.
By the time he was done with Ron, it was tempting to just crawl into bed. Then he had a vision of breakfast, and the always zealous Molly Weasley demanding to know how he was getting on. Just the picture was enough to give him the energy to collect the bag of supplies and perch on the end of the bed to get started on the basic pattern he'd been given. He managed his first row all right and couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of himself. But when he tried to start the second row, and properly attach it to the first, it suddenly didn't seem as easy as it had seemed while he was watching. He ended the row, and tried not to look at the ragged edges that looked nothing like they were supposed to. Though he wasn't normally easily discouraged, he figured he would get Molly to show him one more time before he tried again.
Sweeping the supplies back onto the bag, he reached up to set the bag on the rather rickety shelf someone had put up for him the week before. Just as he let go of the bag, he managed to over balance himself, and gripped the shelf out of sheerest reflex. Unfortunately, the Seeker reflexes that saved him from the fall also made sure the shelf hit his head when it came loose from its brackets and out of the wall. He had time to wonder briefly how long he would lay in his room before someone came looking for him, before blackness rushed up to greet him.
It was the smell that came to him first, the sharp tang of the antiseptic ointment he was far too familiar with for his own good. He barely had time to draw in a few full breaths and begin exploring for the lump he was sure was going to explain his throbbing head, when there was the sound of decisive footsteps and a the soft sound of cloth rustling. He opened his eyes to see who it was, but regretted it immediately when the light stabbed his corneas and intensified his headache approximately a thousand times. "You know, Harry, if you wanted to hear me say your name, there are less dramatic ways to make it happen than trying to crack your skull open." Draco's voice was amused, but though there was an undertone of what almost sounded like concern.
"If you think I did this just to get another conversation with you, your ego is even bigger than I thought." Harry paused, wincing at the overly loud reverberations of his own voice.
Quietly, Draco moved further into the room to pull the drapes shut. Unable to help a sigh of relief at the lessening glare, Harry reached up to continue looking for what he was sure was a sizeable goose egg.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. What happened, were you carving again?"
"Not likely," Harry explained. "I was the victim of a terrible knitting accident." Apparently the headache had removed the filter between his mouth and his brain. Though his eyes were still carefully shut, Harry imagined an elegantly arched eyebrow in the profound silence in the next moment.
"Do tell," Draco drawled, not even bothering to hide his smirk. "Knitting you say? I can just imagine what your adoring public would think."
"Shut up." But even knowing what it must sound like, Harry still felt compelled to explain. "I had to at least try it, or she would have been crushed. And it looked so easy."
The smirk turned into full-blown laughter. "So what exactly did you do, then?" Draco set a potion down on the bedside table, and waited to hear the answer.
Perilously close to a pout, Harry shook his head. "I'm not talking about it. I had no way of knowing that shelf wasn't bolted to the wall properly."
"Of course it wasn't." Draco sighed. "Open your eyes, find your potion, and take it. Your shelf managed to give you a concussion. I won't bother telling you that the last thing you need is another head injury. In fact," and here he paused again, "I won't even speculate about the true extent of your brain damage."
"Well good," Harry retorted. "You don't speculate about that, and I won't speculate why on earth you are here learning medi-wizardry anyway. I mean, isn't high finance more your style?"
Surprisingly, Draco only laughed again. "You don't know anything about my style, or any style at all, if what you normally wear is any indication."
It took about three days for Harry's headache to finally recede. On the on the plus side, he got three days off, since he had to recover. But on the down side, he really wasn't in any condition to enjoy his down time, though he caught himself thinking about Draco far too many times for his own peace of mind. In any case, the morning of the fourth day, he reported for assignment pleased to be back to being productive.
"You'll be working in an area of the castle that is more magically unstable than the areas we have opened up until now," McGonagall told them, eyes grave. "I am sure I don't have to tell you how serious the situation is or how careful I expect everyone to be." Harry nodded along with everyone else, and tried not to be paranoid that his former teacher's eye lingered just a little longer on him. "And for an extra measure of safety," McGonagall continued, "I am sending a healer with each construction group, to deal with any issues that may arise promptly on site." Her tone brooked no argument, not that anyone would have been brave enough.
Somehow, Harry wasn't surprised when Draco stepped into the room from the hallway and joined the group. He seemed quieter than normal, and looked tired. But within a few minutes, the group had found its way to what Harry guessed was the former Slytherin dungeons and he was too busy to find a minute to ask if there was anything wrong.
The wards on the area had long since crumbled away, though there were still warning signs posted over most of the area. Harry ignored the signs and began his assigned job, stripping absolutely disgusting spell contaminated residue off the floors, walls, and ceiling. Another of the team members, a tiny witch with masses of curly blonde hair whose name he would never remember, was marking off the new wall pattern on the floor, and he saw an extraordinarily tall wizard consulting a set of blue prints in the corner. He continued stripping residue methodically, idly noting that the texture reminded him of the ink he'd seen a giant squid project on a nature show he'd caught the end of as a kid. Of course, that had been just black, and this was black and a whole range of browns, greens, and red he would happily never have to see again. Slowly, he turned to begin the next section of wall, careful not to touch any of the non cleansed areas. Just as he was about to begin again, the curly haired blonde witch he had seen earlier moved slightly too close to him, and stumbled a bit as she went by. She didn't weigh much, but it was enough to throw him forward and knock his arm into the wall. His arm promptly went numb, but before he could to more than stare at the smear of residue on it, an obviously Draco had taken the girl's place beside him.
Waving the girl back to her work, Draco muttered to himself for a moment, then murmured an incantation that Harry didn't recognise, while probing the offending arm with his wand. "Honestly, Harry, can't you manage to keep from hurting yourself for a full week?"
Opening his mouth to answer, Harry tried not smile, as he suspected that would not help the situation. He didn't even get one word out though, before a deep, percussive rumbling rocked the entire area. There wasn't enough movement for it to be an earthquake, or at least he didn't think so, but the floor seemed to drop a few inches. Lurching sideways almost directly into Draco, Harry tried to ask what the hell was going on. But the low rumbling escalated to a roar that drowned out any hope of speech. Just as it occurred to him to be at least a little bit worried about the situation, there were a series of sharp cracking sounds and pieces began to tumble out of the wall he had been cleaning, right before the floor tilted again and then vanished.
Harry only realised he'd been knocked out when he swam back to consciousness and opened his eyes with a groan. It only took a moment to notice he was no longer in the room the team had been working in. Hard on the heels of that realisation was came the fact that whatever had happened, he was definitely the worse for wear. Worse, he was pinned to the floor by several large rocks. The sounds of sliding rocks heralded the arrival of another person, and he reflexively tried to move into a defensive position before he saw that it was Draco moving into his line of vision, and kneeling at his side.
"I don't know what the hell you did, Harry, but you really need to learn to think things through." Taking his wand out, Draco began standard healing scans, but neither of them were surprised when none of them were particularly effective.
Breathing carefully, Harry resisted the temptation to shake his head. "Why do you assume it was me? I have no idea what just happened. And I am the one pinned to the floor here." It seemed like an important point, even as the pain began to break through and batter at him.
For just a moment, something like fear flashed across Draco's face, but of course Harry knew he must have been mistaken. In the next instant the other man was purely professional, carefully levitating the rocks off his chest, and casting what he recognised as a stasis spell. "Higher level spells don't seem to be working, but not to worry, I can keep you stable and comfortable with layered lower level spells for now."
"I'm not worried," Harry told him. "I'm confused. What happened?" he asked, rather plaintively. This was not what he had planned for his day.
For answer, Draco shrugged, then sighed. "It appears the room we were in collapsed. The castle was put through a great deal of damage and stress during the battle, and the magical instability must have been worse than we thought in that room. Apparently, we landed in a set of rooms below the one we were attempting to clean, as a result of the collapse." Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, there was a slight smile on his face as he explained their location. "There was always talk of a section of rooms beneath the current dungeons that had been closed off and then never reopened. I guess there was something to it after all. I owe some of my former classmates an apology, it seems."
The smile faded away and Draco's eyes went dark and haunted with memories. It made Harry wonder if the other man had a parade of the lost when he went to sleep most nights, too. But of course he couldn't ask. It surprised him though, how much he wanted to. Instead, he picked a safer topic. "So, how long do you figure it will take for them to find us?" he asked.
"I'm not sure." Carefully, Draco moved to double check that the stasis spell was holding, his hands professional, but surprisingly gentle. "Best case scenario, they find us and can get us out in a few hours. Of course, worst case scenario, they find us fairly quickly but takes days for them to stabilize the area enough to be able to dig us out." Though his eyes had lost their haunted look, Draco's face was still grim. "Though, we aren't completely out of luck, no matter which it turns out to be." He paused, then gestured to his side where his healer's bag somehow still rested. "I've got some emergency rations, a few potions, some water, that sort of thing."
Though the effects of the pain blocking spells were thinning more than he would like, Harry beamed happily. At least he wouldn't have to worry about surviving the fall only to starve to death. Sighing deeply, he felt his breath catch when fire lanced through his chest, then subsided. "So, now what do we do?" Breathing carefully, he tried not to think how strange it was that he was looking for advice from his one time rival.
"Now, Harry?" There was a heartbeat's pause, while Draco arched a brow at him. "Now we wait."
And so they did. But after the first few hours, and all the safe topics of conversation, passed without rescue, Harry began to feel the first stirrings of panic. Even with the stasis spell, the potions and the pain blocks Draco had put in place; it seemed he could feel himself getting weaker as time went by. Still, if that were true there was nothing that could be done about it. Of course, it wasn't in his nature to complain, plus he didn't want to worry the other man, so he resolved not to mention it. With an effort, he suppressed the panic, and cast around for something to distract himself with.
"So, why are you here?" he asked in the next moment, without really thinking it through. "I mean, not here in this room, but here at Hogwarts at all?" he clarified, not really expecting an answer.
But Draco answered. It just wasn't the answer Harry was expecting. "I'll tell you what, Harry, I will do my level best to explain it to you. I'll even use terms I think you will understand." Here Draco paused to smirk, though his smile proved it wasn't malicious. "But if I answer your question, then you have to do the same for me. Anything I want."
Listening to the grating and shifting of the rock settling, Harry considered. As unlikely as it sounded, it seemed he and Draco had managed to become friends over the past weeks. No matter what his actions in the past, what he was now didn't pose any threat. He really no longer seemed the type to want to dig up painful parts of the past. Besides, not like Harry couldn't return the favour if he did. "All right," Harry accepted the condition slowly, hoping he wouldn't regret it.
Draco waited until Harry nodded in agreement, then shifted against the wall to get a bit more comfortable before answering. "I first came here because my mother felt it would be prudent for me to be publicly involved in the rebuilding efforts. Considering the public outrage toward my family, we will likely lose a sizeable amount of the Malfoy fortune to some type of reparations, and she thought if I was helping out somehow, we might actually gain some sympathy. Of course, I am sure she thought I would concentrate my efforts working at Gringotts or something along that line. But when I realised I was actually good at medi-wizardry, I found myself in the rather unique position of being able to do something for myself. I didn't have to do it because my father compelled it, or because his completely cracked, madman of a master compelled him." There was a long pause, and Harry thought perhaps that was the end of the explanation, but eventually he continued. "I suppose if I am being completely honest, I would also have to say I am also here because I am very good at it and I enjoy doing things I know I do well."
Still waiting to be sure Draco was finished, Harry couldn't help but nod. He definitely knew Draco liked to do the things he was good at. It went without saying that they both liked to be the best at pretty much anything, but it seemed they had more than that in common. How odd that he would find someone who understood about wanting something for himself now. Draco was the last person he would have expected to understand. Harry contemplated that while he waited for the question he would have to answer, consciously reminding himself not to read too much into things.
"Why are you planning to marry the Weasley girl, if the thought of it doesn't make you happy?" Draco asked, only to hold up a hand when Harry would have answered. "Actually, let me rephrase. Most of the school had a betting pool going in past years on when you were going to admit you were gay. So when are you going to admit it, and stop pretending that marrying that girl is the right thing for you?"
Until that exact moment, Harry hadn't known it really was possible to be shocked into speechlessness. Despite the circumstances, and the fact that he knew Hogwarts hadn't held regular classes in over a year, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Even as he tried to get his voice to work, he could feel heat flooding his face, and knew he was blushing a dark red. And the worst of it was, he couldn't even vehemently deny it because like it or not, he just didn't know if he was gay or not. He'd considered the possibility more than once. There was when he realised that he just never seemed to reach the levels of passion his classmates did, or when he caught himself staring at places he had no business lingering on in the showers after Quidditch matches. But knowing that other people knew? It was intolerable. The only thing worse, was knowing that people had bet on the outcome of what was supposed to be his personal private life. Caught in his own thoughts, he almost missed what Draco said next.
"Interesting. No immediate denial. Remember, you promised to answer anything I wanted." Draco's voice was quiet, though threaded with a note of intensity that he couldn't place, but Harry nodded in agreement again.
"I know I did. But I can't admit what I don't know, now can I?" Technically, he was answering a question with a question, but the seated blond didn't seem to mind. And it was true in any case, Harry told himself angrily. He didn't know. It wasn't like he'd had any opportunities to be with a bloke to see if it really was something he preferred or just a passing fancy.
"No matter what the reason, whether you are in love with someone else, feel the deep seated need to go live as a Muggle — perish the thought — or simply gay, you need to stop pretending just because everyone expects you to. She deserves better than that from you, Harry. And you deserve better than that from yourself. But then again, I should take my own advice." Slowly, giving Harry ample time to turn his head away, Draco slid away from the wall, leaned down and kissed him. It was gentle at first, probably out of concern for his injuries, but quickly escalated until both of them were breathless and panting when they broke apart.
Close to speechless for the second time in just a few minutes, Harry couldn't seem to formulate much in the way of a response. It seemed to be a tie as to which surprised him more, the fact that Draco had kissed him, or the fact that he liked it, a lot. "Why did you do that?" he asked, after a long minute to think hadn't helped his mental state any.
In answer, Draco shrugged. "I could answer that with a lot of things, I suppose. The simplest is that I wanted to. I've wanted to for years but it was impossible of course. You have no idea how incredibly inconvenient it was when I realised I wanted to fuck you far more than I wanted to fight with you, though," he explained, looking as if he wanted to say more but thought the better of it.
After a minute, when Harry was still silent, Draco moved away slightly, running the few scans he could, checking the status of Harry's numerous injuries, obviously giving the injured man some time to think. When he was finished though, he spoke again. "I know this is probably a lot to take in, but it's not so strange really. Most of my attitude towards you over the years wasn't really me talking. And these days, if I seemed angry with you, trust me, it was because I was afraid at the rate you were going you would manage to really hurt yourself before I got up the nerve to say something about how I felt."
Somehow, without really knowing how he knew, Harry was positive that Draco was telling the truth. But he was right. It seemed like a great deal to try and process. But as he was trying to, something occurred to him. Just minutes ago he'd been lamenting the fact he'd never known a man he trusted to help him figure out what he liked and what he didn't. Now he had a man, and not just any man, but one he liked, respected, and apparently trusted, willing to help him. That wasn't really a bad thing. And it had to mean something that he was far more affected by one kiss from Draco than he had been by too many to count from Ginny. He just wasn't sure what it was.
Despite knowing how important it was that he think things through, he had to shake his head to try and clear a sudden confusion, just as the room tilted and spun alarmingly. Harry cleared his throat, then coughed, feeling his eyes widen with fear when he tasted blood and felt it trickle out of the corner of his mouth. In the next instant, the pain in his chest made him cry out and Draco shifted to his side faster than he would have thought possible. His last thought, before he fell into darkness was annoyance that his body wouldn't let him finish his conversation with Draco.
The first time Harry awoke after that, things were a blur of pain and confusion. He was barely able to answer the woman who asked him if he knew his own name. The second time he awoke, it was to scream until his throat was raw. It felt like someone was trying to pull his ribs out of his chest. The third time, he awoke a bit more aware of things. He recognised the Infirmary, and after a minute, he realised that Ron and Hermione were draped over the horribly uncomfortable visitor's chairs beside his bed. Opening his mouth to wake them, he stopped. Whatever had happened must have been pretty bad, for them to have been called. They'd been listed as his emergency contacts for years. They probably needed their sleep. He lay there, cataloguing his pain, which was foggy and distant the way potions made it seem, and wondered what had happened. When he thought of Draco though, his stomach clenched with fear. What if something had happened to him while he was rescuing Harry again? Thinking of Draco made him suddenly dizzy and a second later his vision went grey and then cleared, but he was seeing a desk and some parchment, hearing the scratch of a quill. In the next instant, a tangle of fear, guilt and worry almost overwhelmed him and he couldn't help but gasp. A heart beat later, his vision greyed and cleared again, the feelings were gone and he saw only the four walls of the infirmary room.
Even the small gasp he made was enough to wake Hermione, who was overjoyed to see him awake and aware and soon bustled out to inform those currently on duty. She seemed in a hurry to get out of the room and when she came back with McGonagall and wouldn't really meet his eyes, he felt his heart beginning to pound. "What is going on?" he asked, fighting down his dread so he could listen closely.
The Headmistress took her time settling into a chair and cleared her throat before coming straight to the point. "I am very pleased to see you awake, Harry, and I cannot tell you how glad I am that you survived your mishap. The magical instability in the area made even rudimentary healing magic a tricky thing so when you developed complications due to your internal injuries, you came very close to dying. As it was, you've been nearly a week in recovering." Pausing for a deep breath, the older witch went on to explain that the next information she had to impart was of a deeply personal nature, and asked if he wanted Ron and Hermione to leave. After a moment to consider, Harry shook his head no. Whatever it was he would tell them anyway, and he might need their help to research it and deal with it so it was better they hear it first-hand.
After waiting a moment to be sure he wasn't going to change his mind, McGonagall continued. "Well, unfortunately, after a certain point in your deterioration, Mr. Malfoy's only option was to use some of his own magical energy directly to sustain you. I say unfortunately, because the intermingling of your energies had some unexpected effects, probably due to the pre-existing instability. In point of fact, Harry, it seems that your mind and that of Mr. Malfoy are now linked. Mind links are quite rare in today's society, at least spontaneous ones, at any rate, and they are a type of magic controlled much more by instinct than anything else. There is a great deal we don't know about them, but all we do know says that they benefit the linked pair a great deal. Perhaps that is the reason no proven methods for severing such links have been developed yet. There have been a few pairs who managed it, but they are all either deceased or not available to ask about it." Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a sigh, then waited patiently for a response.
For a moment, Harry forgot how to breathe. Linked. It explained what he had felt and seen earlier, and it made sense deep down, but it hardly seemed possible. Then again, possible or not, the fact was he was alive when he should have died. Did it really matter why? He was jarred out of his thoughts in the next instant though, by his friend's typically vocal distress.
"How can you just sit there and tell Harry he's linked to Malfoy and there is nothing you can do about it? I mean, come on. Talk about a fate worse than a Dementor's kiss! He should try and break it as soon as he can!" Ron was so indignant he was practically spluttering, but Harry wasn't paying him any attention. His mind was absorbing a sudden stab of hurt that he now knew wasn't his own, followed closely by a wave of fear and loneliness that made it hard to concentrate for a few heartbeats, then stopped as though someone had flicked a switch.
"You could certainly try to discover how to sever the connection," McGonagall told them quietly, her eyes very grave as she looked at Harry, "but I am afraid you would likely not be successful. As I said, once formed, mind links are almost impossible to reverse, or remove. Even the attempt could be extremely painful for both of you." For a moment it looked as if she might say more on the subject, but instead his former professor moved on to the practical aspects of the newly established link. "I know this must be very strange for you to hear, Harry, but you should also know that the link will eventually allow you to share each other's senses, feel each other's emotions and likely allow a limited type of mental telepathy between you. At this stage, all of these things will be intermittent and out of your control. Fortunately, with time and practice, the two of you can learn to control and modulate the effects. As well..." and here she stopped and cleared her throat. "As well, in most cases, links of this nature create at least some level of sexual need." Though embarrassment pinked her cheeks, she finished her sentence in the same calm tone.
It took a minute for things to piece together, but he supposed it was understandable, considering the difficult day he had been having. Knowing it was a lost cause, he didn't bother trying to explain to Ron that he didn't necessarily agree. Carefully keeping his face bland, showing only a bit of his pain and how tired he was, he pleaded fatigue, cited his need to rest, and all but shoved his friends and McGonagall out of his room. When they were gone, he didn't even bother raising his voice before he called out. "I know you're there. And I know Ron is sometimes a tactless arse but that doesn't mean I think he's right you know, Draco."
"How did you know I was here?" It was a question, but Draco's tone was resigned.
"Exactly how you think. I felt you just then when Ron was shooting off his mouth." Harry paused, then blew out a breath. But as scared as he was, he'd already started. "You're missing the point, though. I don't agree with Ron. I don't want to try and have the link dissolved." He didn't add that just the thought of severing the link made his stomach knot with tension and fear. Though he may have only known of its existence for a little while, the link seemed right to him, even if it was on level he didn't really understand.
For once, it seemed Harry had managed to completely shock the other man. "Are you more out of your mind than usual, Harry? I know they must have told you what the link means. If we don't dissolve it, we will ultimately be building a connection that requires, dare I say demands, sexual intimacy." By now Draco was half shouting but didn't seem to notice. "I somehow doubt your young Ms. Weasley would appreciate that."
"Ginny's not mine," Harry said sadly. "Not that way. I'm not sure she ever was." Though his eyes remained haunted, he forced the sadness away to continue. "You were right. I don't love her the way she deserves. Even if the link wasn't part of the equation, I am pretty sure I'm gay." It was the first time he had ever told anyone other than himself, that he could recall, and it was strangely liberating.
In answer, Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you know, I find I like it when you agree with me," he drawled after a long moment, but Harry could still feel the hurt he refused to voice.
"You're changing the subject," Harry accused softly. "Is that because you changed your mind about wanting anything to do with me, or something?"
Shaking his head, Draco came closer to the bed. "Of course not. Don't be an idiot. But when I told you how I felt when we were trapped, I never imagined anything on this level. We both just got control over our own lives back and now this is taking it away again. I thought you'd be angry with me," he finished. Though his tone was level, Harry could feel the fear behind it.
"I am sure we are both stubborn enough that we could at least block this if we wanted to," Harry answered. "But I don't do anything by half measures anyway. Why should my love life be any different? Besides, I can't be angry at you for saving my life, no matter what anyone thinks of your method." As he said it, Harry knew it was true and he tried to project how much he meant it. It must have worked because a heartbeat later, Draco leaned down to kiss him. There was no more talking for quite some time after that.
Outside the window, a tall man dressed completely in black snorted in derision, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that the moonlight streamed right through him. It was just typical that it had taken both boys so long to see what had been right in front of their faces. Though he knew they were both intelligent, he also had cause to know they were stubborn, and slow to trust. Still, now that they were together, he could move on to the next part of his journey. Chuckling quietly, Severus Snape walked away slowly. As he moved toward the gathering light pooling at the edge of the lawn, he wondered if he really recognised some of the people standing within, or if his eyes were playing tricks. Most of all though, he pondered how glad he was that he had taken advantage of circumstances and the willingness of Hogwarts herself of course, and dropped the maddening duo into the hidden rooms to begin with. All in all, it had worked out rather well. Maybe they would even take the hidden rooms as their own some day.