A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Fifty-Eight

"What is this stuff?"

"My own concoction," Blaise mumbles. Then he lifts his head to give Ron a wide grin. "I call it Whatever Heal. It was the only good thing that came out of my Potioneer phase."

When all the lines zoom back up to the main area of the hit, Blaise takes his wand and points it directly at the wound.

"Watch this," he says.

He gives the tip of his wand a little twirl, and then the droplets Ron had deposited over Xabros' body rush to it like a magnet, taking the irritation and the swelling of the wound with it. It rises like a blob of red, shooting aggressively against the invisible barrier that's holding it hostage under Blaise's wand.

He drags it slowly away from the boys and moves to the bowl of warm water, and when the blob is right on top of it, he shoots it into the bowl, watching as the jinx jumps around trying to activate itself.

Ron walks over to the bowl and his jaw drops. "You created a live hex."

"That, I did," Blaise sighs. "That, I did."

"What's a live hex," Xabros mumbles half-heartedly from the futon.

"A masterpiece," Ron gushes, his voice giddy and completely forgetting he's supposed to be interrogating the boy on the couch. "It's basically a spell that's alive, like a virus. All you do is direct it and once it leaves your wand it has a mind of it's own. All it needs is a host, and once it has one, it activates itself to do what it was created to do.

"George and I tried creating one after Fred died but we could never do it," he walks around the bowl, watching as the hex strikes the edges of the bowl to no avail. "Seems someone had more motivation."

"He'll be out for a few minutes while the healing potion kicks in and his system reboots."

"His system," Ron makes a face.

"His immune system, Ronald."

The Gryffindor nods, looks at the boy sleeping on the couch. "Why do you think he was here?"

"Looking for something. I don't know," Blaise mumbles, running his knuckles across his chin to distract himself. "Whatever it is, he doesn't want anyone else to know."

"Why?"

"He said something about having different views."

"So the new kids are either bad or mediocre," Ron scoffs. "This is dangerous either way, Blaise."

"There is no other way. He can't hurt us. All we have to do is wait for him to wake up and then we can ask him what we need to know. Harry will be up later today, anyway."

Ron's angry demeanor is broken by the sudden yawn that breaks past his lips, and it lasts for a few seconds to the point Blaise is looking at him with mirth.

"You can go back to sleep," the Slytherin says quietly. "I'll keep watch."

"I'm not going to sleep. What's wrong with you?"

"You look tired. And it is the middle of the night."

"You'll wake me to get Harry?"

"No. I'm just going to leave you here with the person who was sneaking around in my room at night undetected."

"Ha, ha," Ron rolls his eyes as he makes his way back to the rumpled mess of Blaise's bed. "Very funny. You're very funny, you know."

*******

It's only dawn when Draco starts awake. The moment he does, though, something is off.

He moves dreary eyes around, disoriented and in a haze due to his freshly awoken state, and waits patiently for his magical mind to reel back in after associating itself with the surrounding currents.

Several alarms go off in his head within the next second.

Draco sits up straighter, he looks around slowly as he moves off the bed, his stance ready. He detects nothing but familiarity, yet somehow, the aura of Harry's dorm is odd. He notices the lack of a lump on Seamus bed, and then his eyes scan over the other beds, freezing upon the heap under Ron's sheets.

The blond spares a glance at Harry's abandoned sheets, frowning when he finds no one else laying there. That must have been what woke me, he thinks to himself as he approaches Ron's bed carefully. Harry must be somewhere else in the castle.

At the last minute, he realizes there aren't any snores coming through the thin material of the sheets, and his chest freezes. He reaches, yanks the duvet down and his heart jumps to his throat.

There's a smiling boy.

Except, it's not quite a smile. It's more of a smirk, and it's also very sinister, to the point that it causes Draco to step back uncomfortably, completely unsure of what to do.

The only logical thing that registers in his head is danger and in a flash, his hand is outstretched and his wand comes flying into it.

"Who are you," his voice rasps, still heavy with sleep, yet completely unwavering like his pointed wand. "What are you doing here?"

"No need to feel threatened," the boy sits up slowly, his eyes lazily dragging across Draco's hand where his wand is clutched tightly. "I am, but, a mere messenger."

"State your business," Draco spits.

"They're coming," the boy whispers, his grin spreading manically. "They're all coming."

That unsettles the Slytherin. His grip tightens over the wand and his arm begins to shake, which makes the boy snort in amusement.

"You have run out of time, outcast. Your father, lost. Your mother, taken. Your friends, scattered. And your mate," he snickers behind his hand when Draco whips his head towards the empty bed of Harry Potter. "Gone."

"No," Draco chokes out, straightening his arm in hopes his body will just obey and stop shaking. He glares at the boy. "Who are you! Where is Harry!"

"Draco," Ron suddenly appears in the doorway, catching himself on the frame as he struggles to breathe. "Gone. Blaise. He's gone."

There's one more cackle before the boy disintegrates into thin air, and Draco falls to his knees while Ron slides down the frame, head in his hands.

"What," Draco gasps. "What just happened? Where is Blaise? Where is Harry?"