Dear Mr. Potter

Chapter Fifty-Five

"Tell me why."

Harry looked up from his position. He was quite happily wrapped in strong arms, with his head on Draco's chest. The blonde had pulled him into this position the moment he had recovered and Harry had spent silent minutes drowsily listening to the steady and reassuring beat of the heart underneath him.

"Just... just explain to me why you are doing this," Draco said. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, his face completely calm.

"Because it's comfortable and fun," Harry answered cheekily. "Why do you shag and cuddle?"

Draco didn't move. "You know what I'm asking, Potter," he said in a voice with no inflection.

Harry sighed and reached up to scratch his eyebrow. "You know why. I told you."

Draco finally looked down at Harry. The silver eyes had never been so serious without anger or contempt in them. "Tell me again," he said quietly.

"Why? So you can yell at me again? Call me names? Tell me I'm stupid and being Gryffindorish?" Harry sat up as he spoke and reversed their positions until it was he staring down at the blonde. The silver eyes never left him, nor did they change in their calmness or seriousness.

"All of that is a given. But I want you to tell me anyway."

Harry sighed again in frustration. "I don't see why we have to talk about it. Why don't we do something else?"

Draco sat up and the anger he had been banking finally began spilling over. "You're not afraid of doing it but afraid of talking about it? That's rich. Just blind faith, is that it? Typical, Potter, very typical." He flung the covers off and stood up angrily. Harry turned to watch him.

"I'm not going to change my mind, Draco. So why be sore at me for it? We could spend our time doing other things, like play a game of chess or raid the kitchen or-,"

"Pick out the funeral robe that will bring out the highlights in your hair?" Draco said scathingly.

"It's not a done deal, you know," Harry said firmly, his face hardening in determination. "Hermione says that-,"

"Like I care what that twat has to say!"

"She says," Harry continued doggedly, "that there is a fifty-fifty chance that it will be immune."

"Wonderful, perfect, just brilliant," Draco muttered as he began pacing about the room. Harry didn't even feel bad when he allowed himself the pleasure of watching the unclothed muscles at work.

"And do you even know what happens if the odds are against you?" Draco snapped bringing Harry's attention back to the present situation.

"No." Harry shrugged. "Does it really matter? If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I don't need to know the gory details."

Draco snarled as he turned on Harry who leaned back instinctually from the blonde's anger. "Oh no," Draco sneered. "Let me inform you of those little gory details." He began to stalk Harry as he spoke in a low voice. "When the moon rises, that thing will start to change. As it won't be able to survive inside you in that state, it will die. It will die clawing at your insides. The natural magic inside you will begin fighting against the Lychanthropy laced carcass. Your immunity will fight with the virus, your blood will be poisoned and you will begin to attempt to transform yourself to adapt. But guess what? You won't change. Inside, your organs will begin to liquefy and you will die. All of this will take place within a matter of minutes."

Harry stared up into those silver eyes. "You're just making that up, Malfoy. Nobody's insides liquefy because of Lychanthropy," Harry whispered.

Draco's brow rose and he cocked his head to the side in faux surprise. "Oh? Someone should have been paying better attention in History of Magic. 1942, Potter. It was discovered that Grindelwald was trying to create even more armies of dangerous creatures. He was purposely infecting pregnant women, muggle and witch alike so that he could raise were-wolves to his command. When the women transformed he found that they would instantly miscarry. But then he got the brilliant idea to infect only the fetus within hours of the full moon. The fetus would change, die and the woman would melt from the inside as her body tried to adjust to the poison but could not reform into a wolf. It was an awful way to go." Draco leaned in closer and whispered, "Except, of course, those women who were in their last month. Those babies literally tore themselves out of the womb and began gnawing on their own dead mother's flesh."