Percy Jackson and the Department of Mysteries

167) Homophones and Homosexuals

I trusted my friends were fine with Madame Pomfrey, so, after being force-fed a few potions for Dolohov's curse, I made my way outside, the weather just turning warm.

I spotted him sitting beneath the ash tree by the lake, several books scattered about him. His hair, usually held down by layers of grease, was standing up on one side, from where he'd run his fingers through it. I could see from his posture that he was nervous, afraid, maybe, but his face was the picture of calm.

I walked up to him, voice quiet even to my own ears, "Hey, Draco. Dean."

They both looked up at me. Draco's whole face seemed to light up with relief, shoulders slumping. His eyes scanned me, noted my bruises, then he flung himself upward, arms locking around my neck.

He'd been sitting with Dean, who was not daring well. Without his robes, I could see that his shirt had been stained with nervous sweat, and his face had gone an ashy gray color.

"Where's Seamus?" Dean demanded. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine," I said as Draco pulled away. "Last I checked, he was in the hospital wing, asking if he could try to fix Neville's nose. He's got some scrapes, but he got out without injury."

I expected Dean to light up with relief, but his eyes got oddly watery, and his voice was broken with tears, "Right. Right. Can I...? Can I go see him?"

"Yeah," I raised an eyebrow. "You don't need my permission."

"Oh, right. Right. Well, then, I — I'll see you later," and with that, Dean turned and ran for the castle, the two of us forgotten.

"How is everyone?" Draco asked me, taking my hand in his.

"Alive," I led him back to the tree, letting the faded shadows of the leaves lull me into a sit, staring out at the lake. "Ginny's got a broken ankle, and Neville's nose was broken, too. Seamus and Luna both have some bumps, and Harry, too. Ron and Hermione are worse off, but Madame Pomfrey says they'll be okay."

"How are you?" Draco wasn't staring at the water — his eyes were focused on me. I couldn't find the strength to turn my head to him.

How was I? I was pissed. Unbearably angry — life was cruel. And I was sad. Disheartened by the life that had been lost. I was scared, still, of the look in Harry's green eyes and the voice that wasn't his. I was also scared for Harry, and for everyone else, everything else. I was relieved that most had made it out of the Ministry, and the world knew of Voldemort's existence.

I answered, "Exhausted." And that was that.

The world felt a bit like it had in the love room of the Department of Mysteries. I could smell Draco's lemon shampoo, and the sun was warm, gentle, and loving. The dichotomy between the kind world around us the dark feeling in my heart made everything seem out of focus, blurred, and terribly, terribly upside-down. I was used to being strong in spite of my environment; now the setting had shifted, and all I could feel was tired.

Draco wrapped an arm around me, and I put my head on his arm. He didn't ask me what happened, but I told him anyway, "Sirius died." I felt him stiffen, but couldn't find it in me to stop. "It was a trap. He wasn't there at all. The Death Eaters attacked us, and the Order came, and Sirius got knocked into some death gate, and now he's dead. Dumbledore caught the Death Eaters, and Voldemort possessed Harry, and everyone saw the Dark Lord."

"He caught the Death Eaters?" Draco's voice warbled. "I — I'm sorry that all happened, Percy. I'm so sorry. I know you liked him."

"I checked what he was watching on Netflix," I said quietly. "He really liked sit-coms. And he made a profile for Harry."