The Secret's In The Telling by Sakuri

chapter 5

Stepping further in, he shrugged off the school robe, draping it across the back of the couch that sat in the first room. Casting a glance around him, he was about to continue on into the bedroom when he saw it.

The same goblet from last night sat in the centre of the low coffee table, the liquid it held bubbling slightly. Draco froze. Like a nightmare, he'd half forgotten it existed until he was confronted by it.

Its presence, more than anything else, was what made everything abruptly hit home. This was it. This was his life now. He was to be kept away from people, confined in separate rooms and trapped into secrecy. He could never tell anyone, of course. He'd have to live alone somewhere for the rest of his life, not trusting anyone else not to ruin him if they found out. And this potion… this potion he'd be taking forever.

He sat down heavily, cup in hand, staring at nothing. The sight of his future was blinding him.

Severus had promised that the second transformation wouldn't be nearly as bad as the first – and he must have been telling the truth, otherwise Draco would never have been let out of the hospital wing – but even so, he could feel the beginnings of fear gnawing at his edges. He didn't want to do it again. The concept sounded childish in his head, and it was, but he couldn't help it. He purely did not want to go through it again.

It was the sense of inevitability that was crushing him.

Never in his life had Draco come up against something he couldn't change. If he didn't like something, it was altered. If something broke, it was fixed. He was Draco Malfoy, spoiled brat of the century! He was supposed to be able to fix this!

The clock chimed suddenly, startling him. He glanced at it, seeing that there was almost half an hour until sunset. Bracing himself for the taste, he raised the goblet and drank down the potion quickly.

Then, stiffly, he stood up from the couch and made his way into the bedroom. Once there, he undressed quickly and hung up his shirt and jeans in the spacey wardrobe he'd had moved to the room. He didn't put on pyjamas, knowing they'd only rip within the next few minutes if he did.

Shivering in the cool air, he crossed to the bed and lowered himself onto it. His movements were listless, but he forced himself to pull back the covers and slide beneath them.

There, he curled up tightly and waited for the moon, wishing uselessly that he could be back in the Slytherin dorms, listening to Pansy's prattle and Blaise's patient murmurs.

xxx

Hermione sighed and worried her lip. For a little while there, she'd though Harry was returning to normal. He'd been livelier in the last couple of days, and not nearly as snappish with them all. He'd even had the state of mind to break up a fight between Ron and Malfoy, instead of being angry enough to join in! That, surely, had to be a good sign.

But now… In the space of the last hour, she'd watched helplessly as he withdrew into himself yet again. In the middle of playing chess with Ron, Harry had seemed abruptly to lose interest. Not just in the game, but in them. He'd fallen silent and hadn't responded when spoken to. Hermione didn't think he was purposely ignoring them – he just wasn't hearing them.

And so he sat staring wordlessly at the portrait hole in the common room wall. Hermione knew what was coming before he ever opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," he muttered finally, standing up.

Ron looked up sharply with a frown. "Harry, mate, its well past curfew. I'm all for flaunting school rules, but…"

The other boy shrugged. "I'll take my invisibility cloak," he answered dismissively.

His friends cast resigned, anxious looks at each other.

"And the map," Harry added, "if it makes you feel any better."

xxx

Harry wanted, desperately, to be alone. Like the many times before, the longing for isolation had come on him suddenly. So now he wandered, unseen under his cloak, through the deserted castle halls, Marauders Map in hand and eyes scanning it intently.

At this time of night, the names on the parchment were all clustered together in groups. There was the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories, on the second floor, and Ravenclaw one floor above them. His own Housemates were all gathered up in the Gryffindor tower, and the Slytherins far below in the dungeons.

Most of the professors' names floated around the area Harry assumed were the staff rooms, the exceptions being Snape – who, as far as Harry knew, refused to stay too long anywhere that wasn't his precious potions lab – and the Headmaster, who was in his office. Filch, he noticed, was currently prowling the Astronomy tower. The only other name that stood out alone was his own, and–

Harry blinked in surprise. It was perhaps six years of habit, but as soon as he saw the tight, neat writing spelling out the name Draco Malfoy on its own at the outskirts of the dungeons, suspicion rose in him instantly. His mind formed its own conclusions within seconds, spinning out disjointed ideas about Slytherins, spies and Death Eater fathers, such as Lucius Malfoy. What was Malfoy doing, down there one his own? Why–?

Then he stopped himself, shaking his head at his own paranoia and feeling a trickle of guilt. He also felt more than a little dumb.

Only that morning he'd stood there and listened while Dumbledore made special arrangements to get Malfoy his own room. And not only that – by now, surely, he should be well aware of why the Slytherin was getting those arrangements!

Scowling at himself, he put the map away and strode quickly away from Gryffindor tower.

xxx

The Room of Requirement had served him well in the last month or so, when it was impossible or inconvenient to go stand by the lake. It was the perfect place he could come to be alone, and no one would find him – which was extremely helpful, as he was well aware that Ron and Hermione had followed him more than once in an attempt to discover his hiding place.

He didn't know why they were so worried. Anyone would think that he came back to them with cuts across his wrists or something ridiculous like that. He wasn't hurting himself, taking drugs or even letting his grades slip! There was nothing wrong with him, except the occasional need to just… get away. It would have been nice, if they'd just accept that…

Sighing, he stepped into the room and slipped out of the silvery cloak. The magical space around him had transformed itself into a bedroom, of sorts. A four poster bed sat in the centre, though it wasn't decorated with Gryffindor colours, but rather dark, old fashioned covers. In fact, most of the décor was dark and old fashioned. It was a practical copy of his room at Grimmauld Place.

Really, Harry thought, Hermione had no reason to disapprove of what he was doing. If she knew, she'd probably encourage him. This was extracurricular work, after all.

Sinking onto the bed, he picked up the book which still sat exactly where he'd left it, glancing over the title as he settled himself comfortably. It read, Finding Your Inner Animagus.

He'd made his way through more than half of it now. His progress was slow, since he read and reread whole chapters as he attempted to complete each step in the instructions it gave. By now, he thought he knew what his form would be, and had to make sure to keep that idea in mind as he went through the rest of the book.

And so he read avidly, pausing only now and then to absorb certain facts, or to clear his vision when it swam slightly. Sometimes, during these moments, his thoughts drifted to the only other student that was alone at this hour, and he wondered absently if the newly cursed werewolf was enjoying the solitude as much as he was.