Eternal /Drarry/

Chapter 9: Quidditch

It was for Harry. For Harry, he would continue to suffer, he would continue to willingly go through any type of pain. Night after night that he accidentally fell asleep, he was met with himself, corpse like, blood staining the back of his head. This other version of himself's threats seemed to get worse and worse with every day that passed, threatening to take over Draco's body and commit the ultimate deed that would bring about his own end.

To kill Harry Potter. Was such a feat even possible? Draco doubted he could do it, even under the effects of the imperius curse. Harry was powerful, armed with a set of skills that made him the perfect predator and a deadly foe. Even so, Draco reasoned that he had to try his best to fix this cabinet. It was his duty to protect his mate, no matter what the cost.

The boy in question seemed quite oblivious to Draco's state, spending most of his time with his head buried in a battered, old copy of Advanced Potions Making. Draco didn't question him, as Harry already had enough to worry about.

Now charged with the task of getting close to Slughorn, most of Harry's spare time was taken up 'accidentally' running into the teacher, initiating friendly conversation, and focusing a little too much in class. Every potion Harry made was now perfect, and Draco had no idea how he was doing it, but frankly, the werewolf didn't really care. He was too busy simply trying to scrape by.

Staring up at the roof, Draco fought back unconsciousness, sitting up and running a hand shakily through his hair. He refused to be beaten by this object, this cabinet that had no apparent purpose.

He would fix it, no matter what.

******

Herbology. A class that Harry found particularly useless, especially after encountering all the anti-vampire plants that the greenhouses accommodated. And there were a lot of them.

Nearly passing out when he got too close to the aspen tree was fun to explain to Professor Sprout, or the panicking about the juniper plant in the corner that blocked all of his powers. Good times.

Today though, the greenhouse was filled with students talking as they all sat at a large table, working on essays. Professor Sprout was liked amongst the students for many reasons, one of which included the fact that she allowed her students to talk during class, as long as they got their work done.

Hermione and Ron sat on either side of Harry, Hermione blocking his view of the aspen tree.

"Slughorn's hosting a party," Hermione said, scribbling down another line onto her piece of already ink covered parchment.

"And this is just a party for Slughorn's favourites, is it?" Ron asked, contempt in his voice, nearly punching holes in his parchment.

"Yes, just for the Slug Club. He wanted me to let you know, Harry, you're invited-"

"The Slug Club?" Harry snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't make up the name!" Hermione said indignantly. The Slug Club had been formed after Slughorn had invited a few students from various classes to a dinner one evening. The man seemed to have an odd habit of hosting events for his favourite students. Ron however, resented it a lot.

Hermione had only gotten in after being invited to the dinner by Cormac Mclaggen. Ron, of course, hadn't been happy about this fact.

"Slug Club," Ron repeated, a sneer on his face. "Well, I hope you'll enjoy your party. Who knows, maybe you'll get off with Mclaggen, and Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug-"

"We're supposed to bring guests," Hermione cut him off, glaring. "And I was going to invite you, but if you think it's so stupid then I won't bother!"

Harry froze, not wanting to listen to a second more of this conversation. He tried to block out the words, focusing on anything but the people on either side of him. Draco. How happy he'd look when Harry invited him to be his date, how stunning he'd look in whatever he wore. They'd hang out all evening, Draco would have his full and undivided attention. And then when the party was over they'd go back to their dorm and-