A/N: HI. New chapter.... idk what else to say lmao.
P.S: Hi Angie. Happy now?
P.S 2: Hi Joey
Chilled Legacy VII
It didn't take long for the bathroom to freeze. How he'd got there was a blur. He remembered passing a group of girls on the way. One might've called his name, but Draco didn't stop to chat.
"This is my house you're puking in," Myrtle half laughed.
He could tell she was trying to make him feel better, but right now he only saw red. Screw you Slughorn. Screw you potter.
The last one wasn't fair. Harry didn't know the nerves would lead him to return the food he'd forced him to eat, but screw that too. Screw everyone.
The voice spoke to him in the midst of the pain, giving him the same advice as last time, but he wouldn't succumb to the ice.
It was a drug with a terrible side effect. He didn't care if it took the panic attack away this time. Draco would rather hurl his guts out and involuntarily frost the school than let it win.
He fell asleep at one point during the end of the ordeal. It was only for ten minutes, but when he awoke, it all had melted.
The bottom of his robes were soaked from the flooded floor, and he was sure he smelled like puke.
Even so, he didn't mind taking a longer nap in the mess had a pair of splashing footsteps not reached his ears.
Someone knocked on the cubicle.
His blood ran cold.
"Mr. Malfoy," came McGonagall's voice. "Mr. Malfoy, open up."
Had she seen the ice while he was out? His hand was asleep from where he'd rested his head. Shakily, he reached for the lock and the door swung open.
McGonagall's nose twitched at the smell. She stared down at him with warm, sad eyes. It was like for the first time she wasn't seeing Draco, but rather just the average, non-Death Eater student.
Draco blinked, thinking he'd imagined the look, but it remained.
Maybe McGonagall wasn't like the other teachers.
Her voice was calm. "Are you sick?" She lifted him up. "Where does it hurt?"
He shook his head, feeling a familiar pricking sensation at the corners of his eyes. "I'm not sick. I just..."
"You just what, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco wiped at his eyes, but he was sure McGonagall had already seen.
"I left. Slughorn..." his voice faltered. McGonagall didn't make him continue.
Instead, she looked down at his half soaked robes, tired eyes and said, "Go to the Prefects bathroom, get changed, then meet me at my office.
Draco nodded, turning to walk away, jumping slightly at the soft rub on the shoulder from his teacher.
***
Today was not the day for experimenting. Draco settled for a quick shower, spelled his hair dry, and his clothes clean. He flinched upon seeing his reflection. Blond locks stuck out in several different places. Draco ran his hands through it, getting rid of the worst of the damage.
Astoria and Lovegood stopped him in the hall. Draco didn't know what was happening. No words were exchanged, but suddenly Astoria was hugging the life out of him while Luna watched the oxygen leave his body.
Luna smiled. "Hello, Draco."
"Hey," he gasped.
"Astoria, you're killing him."
She pulled away, blushing a bit. What the hell had gotten into her?
"I saw you running. I tried to talk to you, but you didn't see. Then I asked Harry and—I'm sorry, I was just worried."
Oh.
She knew.
"I'm fine," he assured her.
Astoria frowned. "You didn't look fine!"
Draco bit his tongue and let her ramble.
"...completely avoiding me since last year."
The last line rung in his ears. "Avoiding you? Astoria why would I be avoiding you?"
She was quite for a minute.
"You don't have to like me, you know, just because I'm pureblood. There are other options."
"Whoa, whoa," Draco pulled her to the side of the hall. "What are you talking about?"
"Everyone is thinking it, even our parents. The only reason you'd hang out with someone two years younger than you would be because I'm the next best pureblood after Pansy."
It was true that the first thing he'd noticed of Astoria was her blood status, Draco thought. But that's the first thing he noticed in anyone. She could've been a half-blood now for all he cared. That might make his parents angrier than they were now, but at this point that sounded like a bonus.
Draco held back a laugh. "In that case I should be dating Lovegood. She's a pureblood. Maybe Brown? The Weasley girl? Honestly Astoria, you sound ridiculous. Where is all this coming from?"
She crossed her arms, eyes distant. "From you not telling me anything anymore. You used to tell me everything, remember? And when was the last time you even asked me to hang out with you?"
Attention. The girl wanted attention. Not only that, but Draco could tell she really had been worried sick. It wasn't the same look Pansy would give him when he'd been in trouble. Hers always held a double meaning—if she just tried hard enough to impress him with her fake sincerity, Draco would finally cave in and chose her to share his family's wealth with. Probably why he'd caught her snogging Blaise.
Astoria wanted nothing in return, just him.
"The last time would be just now. The three Broom Sticks tomorrow?"
***
He was forced to tell McGonagall what Slughorn did. Never had he felt this childish. It felt like telling the preoccupied grandmother what the bad man did. Not to mention he had to explain that he hadn't actually been sick, just freaked out and hurled.
She was furious.
It'd been a while since Draco had seen her lips press tighter than her bun.
"What are you going to do to him?"
"That depends, Mr. Malfoy. Has Slughorn's therapy helped you before today?"
Draco wanted badly for the man to be sacked, but there was no guarantee that next teacher would be any better. Sure, he wouldn't have to put up with singing lessons, but Draco had found himself liking them. Maybe not with Slughorn, but just the singing in in itself. Plus, he did get a free pass on al potions assignments that came with new Slug Club invite. If Slughorn left, Draco was sure to fail.
"I liked them," he lied. "I just didn't want them going public."
She nodded, dismissing him. McGonagall had a keen sense off understanding. That was all she'd get out of Draco. Ever.
***
"I see you're spending quite a lot of time with Malfoy."
Harry wasn't sure if he was relieved or not to find that the Headmistress hadn't summoned him to talk about the mission. He had no valuable information to give her, but that look on her face—the way she'd said those words—sent shivers sown his spine.
McGonagall was furious.
Who or what had brought out her inner lion, Harry did not know.
He hoped it wasn't Draco—he needed him alive for the mission.
"I—uh...you could say that."
McGonagall's eyes scanned him. Harry shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I asked him to help us with the curse," he explained. "You know... since he knows more about the dark arts."
Her eyes widened, she opened her mouth and then closed it again. Shaking her head and saying the first line more to herself, "I didn't call you to talk about this—I'm sure you're doing whatever you think is best. I need you to tell me anything you can about Draco."
It was Harry's turn to be confused. Seeing his expression, McGonagall continued.
"He doesn't want to be helped, but it's our job. We thought Professor Slughorn was making a breakthrough, but I believe you were there yourself to witness the disaster?"
Harry nodded.
He'd tried to look for Draco afterword, running into Astoria and Luna. Apparently they'd seen him heading for the Slytherin dorms, but Harry never found him there. Maybe it was for the best. Going after him was more on impulse as it had been with Hermione in first year. There hadn't been anything in particular he'd planned to tell him, but Harry hadn't seen Draco that afraid since the day back at the Malfoy manor when being questioned about Harry's identity.
Plus, Ron laughing behind Harry's shoulder probably wasn't going to make anyone feel less pathetic.
"This is, of course, not part of our deal...but if you learn anything that could help us reach him—"
"I haven't talked to him about any of that," Harry said, looking anywhere else but at her. He didn't feel comfortable talking about Draco's problems. "We only discuss the curse."
McGonagall looked at him skeptically. "You know as well as I do that a person's actions speak louder than words. I can't follow Draco around everywhere to see what he does. I'm asking you to listen with your eyes while you're with him."
Desperately wanting to end the conversation, "I'll see what I can do."
***
"Malfoy?"
Harry heard a sigh come from the left bookcase. Through it, behind a ginormous pile of books stacked on a small work table, he found him.
Draco's head surfaced "What?"
His eyes were rimmed with black circles, but he looked no whiter than usual. There was a bit of dried up coffee on his lips. Whether he'd eaten or not, Harry was sure he was on the verge of shutting off any moment.
Harry came around to the other side of the stack.
"Hi."
Draco waited.
"I was wondering if you could show us the spells now—the dark heat charms."
Draco looked at the opened book in front of him then at half-finished coffee cleverly hid behind a smaller pile of books. Harry couldn't help but think how Draco reminded him of the coffee. He was half there, half lost.
His voice tired, "Uh, sure. The history of magic exam is tomorrow...but I guess I could use a break."
Harry had forgotten he and Ron had a free homework pass during their stay. Guilt kicked in.
"I could help you study later after the break if you'd like."
He raised an eyebrow. "You really don't need to do that. As I told Granger, I'm doing this out of self-interest."
Harry shrugged. "I would be too. The faster you study, the more you can help."
Draco thought about that. "I don't remember you having much brain capacity. If you want to help, just do what you're good at and kiss ass to get me out of this test."
"Would you rather have Hermione help you?"
"I'd rather none of you help me. Now, do you want to have this argument, or call up your friends so we can get this over with?"
Harry rolled his eyes. At least he was acting more or less like himself again. Still, there was no menace or harshness in his words, not towards Harry at least. It was like kindness repulsed him. He tested the theory, moving forward to help him pack the books
"Is there anything we'll need?"
Draco packed faster, but didn't push the gesture away."Floo powder."
"Floo powder?"
"It's not just a heat charm. It will require ingredients. The type you could say...are forbidden at Hogwarts."
"Where would we be going?"
"I would be going to my home to retrieve them."
"Why can't I come?"
Draco closed his bag looking at Harry like he was an idiot.
Harry realized why. The conversation had been going so naturally—the type he'd have with Ron or Hermione when planning one of those perfect schemes. He'd forgotten about him being a Malfoy who lived in the Malfoy Manor with two ex-death eaters and a dungeon where they'd kept both his friends. Bad memories plus bad people didn't equal a good visit.
"Right, never mind. Let's go find some."
***
McGonagall had found Draco seconds before leaving for home.
"You're under disciplinary watch," she had said. Maybe he would've run away. To be honest, Draco wasn't sure. That didn't matter anymore.
The only real problem now was the team of idiots was forced to tag along. Of course, Potter had offered to make sure that didn't happen, but just the same, Weasley and Granger came in case Malfoy tried to pull something.
The first thing he did was run to his dresser, hiding Stormberg behind it before Potter had a chance to fall face first on Draco's bedroom floor.
He'd use a charm to keep the area around the dresser cold before leaving for school. His room used to be a constant refrigerator with his presence. It felt almost normal again. Warm and welcoming.
"You have a fireplace here in your room?" Harry said, noticing the typical wizard teen decorations—Quidditch posters, figurines and old toys.
Draco shushed him. "Yes, Potter. House big, parents' ears bigger."
Hermione toppled out next, followed by Ron.
Her eyes took in the surroundings, lingering a second longer on the massive bookshelf.
"Where do we need to go?"
"Attic, but its best if you stay here and just let me bring the ingredients."
"But McGonagall said—"
"The professor isn't here, Granger. The less noise made, the less chance we'll get caught. If they find only me, I could probably make something up."
Hermione looked at Harry and Ron doubtfully.
They nodded
"Good," Draco said. "Don't. Touch. Anything."
***
Draco left.
Harry and Hermione sat on the bed. Ron moved around the room. It was enormous. Possibly as big as the entire bottom floor of the Dursley's home. Slightly Oval shaped—it still had corners—with books and old toys lining the shelves.
There were two large window sills with silky gray cushioned seats. While the rest of the house was a dreary purple, Draco's room was a plain white with some green here and there on the Slytherin posters and, and light blue bedsheets.
Hermione threw a pillow at Ron as he reached for a book. "Ronald, no touching."
Ron picked it up and chuckled. "Afraid we'll find poor emo boy's diary or something?"
"Worse. For all we know those books scream, or—I don't know—attack when opened. Knowing your luck, you'll set off an alarm."
"She's right," Harry said.
"Fine." Ron walked over to the dresser, leaning over to peek at the window behind it.
"Did it just suddenly get cold here?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, fiddling with the snake figurine at the bedside table.
"N—"
A loud scream bounced around the walls.
Startled, Harry dropped the figurine.
It shattered.
The noise was followed by more yelling.
"What the hell?" Harry said, putting a hand on his chest.
"I think they found him."
Hermione put an ear to the door.
They stood like statues for a whole minute. "No," she said.
"Then what?"
"Lucius and Narcissca are arguing, but I think we're safe."
Harry picked up the figurine and spelled it back together.
"So much for not touching anything," Ron said.
He grabbed a couple of books on Quidditch and sat on the bed. Boredom won over and Harry and Hermione eventually caved in and had a look around Draco's room too.
Hermione found a stack of Draco's grades all the way from first year to fifth. She gaped at them. They were almost as good as hers. None failed to notice the missing year.
"Guys, look at this," Harry said, holding up a stack of paper.
They were dusty—Harry guessed—from sitting on the shelf for so long.
"Is this sheet music?"
It went on like that for an hour—they would pretend it was quiet and peaceful whilst the world outside these four walls erupted in shouts, shattered objects, insults, and eventually sobbing.
"This is excruciatingly uncomfortable. Let's just leave," Ron said.
"McGonagall will kill us if we leave without him."
Ron ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's been more than an hour, what do you suppose we do?"
Harry sighed. "Go find him I suppose."
Something else—possibly a plate—shattered outside.
"Out there?" Hermione hissed. "Are you mad?"
"Yup."
***
The basket worked as an endless pit to carry everything Draco needed—dragon lung, a pint of unicorn blood, live Fire Crabs, a jar of Nundu breath, five Phoenix eyes, Streeler spikes, and Occamy eggs.
He added an extra item—old record book of his family lineage. If the curse was hereditary, he'd never find that treasure in the school library.
The ingredients put together were already making him sick from the toxic fumes. The dust and cobwebs didn't help. No one had been up here in years. Draco still remembered when his father would spend the afternoons growing the collection, experimenting, or just plain admiring it. When Voldemort returned there hadn't been much time for hobbies, not to mention some items had mysteriously disappeared after the Death Eaters' stay.
The room felt like a hot, steaming towel upon Draco's face. The different aromas and temperature emitted by the toxins were no longer concealed by charms. He breathed through his mouth, feeling his lung fill with dust.
He placed the last of the eggs in the basket, and gladly headed for the door. Even from here Draco could hear the shouts. After a minute of thought, he decided it was best not to mention anything. If he pretended nothing was amiss, they had no reason to ask.
Being here felt wrong.
That day Draco had assured himself he didn't need his parents. They had—after all—planned to send him away. Everything was numb then, and it was still partially numb now. Yet, a part of him—one growing more evident with the sobs coming from downstairs—desperately wanted them back.
He wanted to run downstairs and see their faces again—the ones that weren't afraid of him. Even if it was all a lie, even if his powers terrified them, Draco wanted his parents. They were so close, yet miles away.
Hand on the door, he gave the room one last look. Boxes and crates were stacked as walls, covering the old wood paneling. He moved cautiously. One wrong move and everything tumbled down. It was then that he saw it—a gray stone wall.
The wood paneling stopped in a door sized space partially hidden by more crates.
Draco knew it was stupid. The most basic rule of magic—don't know, don't touch.
But he had to touch.
Setting the basket down, he walked up to it, sliding a couple boxes aside. Slowly, he traced a hand over it. Nothing happened.
He turned to walk away, but tripped. Something grabbed his leg. The wall grabbed his leg. The wall was growing vines. Cold, snake-like vines cutting the blood flow from his legs. They moved fast, up his thigh and around his torso, thorns ripping his clothing and drawing blood.
Why did I touch?
Draco cried out, pulling and tugging to no avail. The vines lifted him into the air like the arm of a living tree, pulling him towards the now open wall. A cavern, dark and dame attempting to swallow him whole.
He took off a glove just as the vines wrapped around his arms. It reached his hand. He griped it tightly, instantly freezing the plant. It crumbled away and he fell to the ground.
Shakily, he stood up. His robes were shredded, with open gashes on all sides. Not wasting time to inspect, he grabbed the basket and ran.
***
The Manor was just as Harry remembered it—marble floor and dreary purple walls lined with paintings.
They tiptoed up the stone steps into a long hall filled with more paintings, all abstract and dull, with the exception of a single, window sized one of Draco Malfoy in the center of the hall.
It didn't look like it belonged there. The background clashed horribly with the skin tones and the robes almost disappeared amongst the black and white abstract background.
"Who are you?" asked the baby-faced kid.
This Draco was much younger than the one Harry had met at the robe shop. Possibly around six or seven. Yet, that wasn't what was different. His eyes were softer. Untainted.
"Nobody," Harry answered. He dreaded running into any portraits. With ease they could alarm the entire household of their whereabouts within minutes.
The kid frowned, unconvinced. "I should tell mum and dad there's a stranger in the house then?"
It began to move away.
"Stop!" Hermione said. "We were just looking for Malfoy—you. The older you."
The painting paused, halfway out the frame. "Oh," he said, face softening. "Are you my friends?"
"Uh...Sure," Hermione said, stepping on Ron's foot before he could protest. "Where is Draco?"
"I'm not allowed any friends that aren't pureblood," the painting said, downcast. "I never have many people to play with. You're all pureblood?"
Hermione's lip twitched, but she didn't look angry at kid Draco. "I'm not pureblood."
Harry stepped on her foot.
There was silence. Harry waited for the painting to warn the others, but it stayed there. "You seem nice though."
Ron and Harry gaped at it.
"I'm upstairs in the attic."
"Where are the stairs?"
"Behind the red painting. Don't tell the other paintings I'm here. I don't want to go back to the family portrait."
"Why not?"
"Mum and dad are fighting again."
***
"What are you doing here?"
Harry only shook his head, speechless. Draco had burst out the attic door, slamming right into Harry, knocking himself backwards.
"What happened to you?
From his shoulders all the way down to his feet, Draco was covered in thin, finger-sized gashes peeking out from countless spots of torn fabric on his shredded robes. His skin was turning read, creeping up from his neck to his face.
The wounds were slowly soaking into the robes, others dripping down Draco's skin. "What, did you hug a cactus?"
Draco shushed him. "Yes Potter, I hugged a bloody cactus. Are you mad? If they catch you here they'll—"
Footsteps approached the group, blocking the way back to Draco's room. They were slow, but audible.
Harry saw Draco's face turn a couple shades lighter. He began to run for the other end of the hall. Draco stepped in front of him. "Unless you want a bunch of paintings yelling 'blood –traitor' or 'intruder', don't."
Malfoy thought for a second, his eyes on the left door. "Afraid of heights?"
Harry shook his head, knowing he'd regret it—whatever it was.
Draco pushed them inside the room—a bathroom bigger than Harry's room, complete with purple silk curtains, marble bathtub and a glistening crystal shower. In the back was a glass door leading to a balcony.
He handed Harry the basket and climbed atop the railing and jumped.
Hermione screamed.
If Harry was ever needed proof that Draco had lost his shit, this was it. However dying at the hands of Lucius Malfoy made the window look a lot more tempting at the moment.
Following Draco's footsteps he looked down to find him on the second floor balcony, already opening the window to his room.
Harry took a deep breath.
If he did it, so can I, right?
He jumped, his stomach leaving his body, too frozen to scream or react. In a split second the ground was gone, then it was back, and then gone again as he lost his balance, almost toppling off the second floor. Malfoy grabbed his neck collar.
Just as quickly, he retrieved the hand after Harry regained his ground. It was, Harry noticed, a harsh movement. Like pulling away after touching a burning cauldron.
Once they were all inside the room, Harry set the basket down and got the floo powder.
"Harry," Hermione said cautiously. "Malfoy doesn't look too good."
And he didn't. The red had spread to his face and his body was beginning to swell. He was breathing heavily, and Harry could tell not much air was reaching his lungs.
By the time they reached Hogwarts infirmary, he was unconscious and had begun to turn blue. Flakes of snow were floating in the frosted room.
***
The first thing he felt upon opening his eyes was a hard, acidic flavor going down his throat. Draco coughed, feeling like he'd swallowed solid vomit.
Someone sighed and a pair of arms wrapped around him.
The smell of chocolate scented shampoo penetrated his nose and his vision focused on the wavy brown locks of Astoria Greengrass.
His throat felt thin and constricted, like breathing through a straw.
When she had gotten here or what happened exactly, he didn't know. The lighting was too bright and it smelled like vomit.
Madam Pomfrey's clinic.
She must've seen them carry him in here. When had he lost consciousness? Draco wished he was still out. The wounds still burned, even more now with her crushing grip, but—weakly—Draco hugged her back.
"You saved him, Harry!"
Sweat was dripping down his face, but the room was cold. Too cold.
A snowflake drifted by his face just as Astoria pulled away. Draco felt his soul leave his body.
He gripped the bedsheets tightly. "I-I can explain."
"You can do that later, Mr. Malfoy," Mrs. Pomfrey said dismissively. "Right now you need to rest."
Draco looked at her, the excuse still on his tongue. "But what about—"
"You can help us work on the charms later," Harry told him, half smiling. His eyes scanned Draco. "You almost died today. I had to shove a bezoar down your throat."
Ron made a distasteful noise with his lips. "Not fun, is it?"
"Good thing we got here when we did too," Hermione added. "It started snowing just minutes before—" she stuck out a hand, letting a single snowflake land atop her palm—"see?"
Then it dawned on him—they didn't know.
Draco looked from one person to another like a dog watching a tennis match, except the joy was replaced with horror. Minutes before? That wasn't possible!
"Oh, and Draco," Harry said, turning back just at the end of the door. His face was as uncomfortable as it always was when he addressed him politely, yet it didn't looked forced this time, and the disgust was gone. "Thank you."
***
Slughorn let them borrow the potions classroom during break. Draco felt shaky, partially from the after effects of his ordeal, but it was mostly the memories of the room.
The wounds had closed, but his skin still felt itchy. He fidgeted, brushing his legs up against each other while crushing the Occamy eggs.
"Pour in the unicorn blood," he told Hermione, wiping sweat from his brow. "Slowly."
"What can I do?" Harry asked. They'd been working on it for half this one for an hour now. Draco could tell Harry was waiting for the moment he's be called into action, staring at Draco and Hermione's working hands intently.
"You could hold Hermione's hair back from the flames coming up next."
"I'll do that," Ron said, gently brushing back her brown locks. Hermione's smiled with her eyes under the surgical mask. Draco swallowed vomit.
"Step back," Draco cautioned after she finished. He waved his wand over the potion. Lightning-like shocks hit the gooey substance, and a long stream of fire flowed out like lava, spilling on the table.
Draco jumped backwards. It was the thickest one yet. He coughed violently, watching the flames dissolve into sparks, floating like bubbles up to the ceiling where they disappeared completely.
A blanket of heat wrapped around him. The students outside the room would soon feel it too.
"I think this is good for today," he chocked. "We can do the remaining ones tomorrow. Good work."
"I didn't even touch anything."
"As it should be, Potter."
"I still don't think this will be enough for the nighttime snow. Isn't there something else we can do?" Granger asked
Draco looked anywhere but at her. Luckily his burning lungs made anything that came out of his mouth unreadable. "Heat charms are our best option."
"Option?" Ron asked. "There are others?"
A finger of fire burned in his throat. "Can't. Breathe."
He ran out and they followed.
I need the cold.
Letting the semi-breathable air fill him, Draco continued coughing violently . Groups of students passed them in the halls, eyeing them oddly. Hermione grabbed him a rag soaked in cold water. He let it drench his face. It could've been the after effects of the poison. Draco was sure that's what they thought at least.
To him it felt more internal. The cold begging to trap him back in the cage.
"Thanks."
Granger nodded, a bit taken aback by the simple word.
Yes, Granger, I have the ability to say 'thank you'.
Throughout their work together, Draco had done nothing but be extra kind to her—to all of them—for reasons he himself did not understand. For the first time he noticed the urge to degrade the muggle-born had gone. It was involuntary. Like someone had reprogrammed his mind.
Like Voldemort had reprogrammed his mind.
Draco shook the thought away for now. He wouldn't let the cold win. He couldn't. The only other curse powerful enough to protect the school was one he couldn't bring himself to do.
The cold stone floor. His singed hair and body just beyond the closed door. Maybe it had been in his head that day, but Crabbe's screams echoed in his ears for hours after.
"There is one curse that might work," he told them. Hope flared in their eyes. Draco slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. "But there's no way I'll do it."
The hope vanished as quickly as it came. Ron frowned. "Why not?!"
He took in a lung full of air and met Ron's glare, fully aware of what he thought. Maybe Harry's friends were the only ones who could see through the disguise—Draco wasn't really helping them. Of course, Harry too knew Draco wanted something out of it, but the others could tell it was more than that. Even though the rest wasn't clear, they knew held a secret.
While this was true, even Ron—the most skeptical of all—couldn't deny the sincerity and pain in Draco's voice now. "Because it killed my friend."
They were silent for a moment, understanding dawning on Harry and Ron. They'd witnessed it too. They'd seen Draco come close to the same fate.
"Malfoy, it could save the school."
"I bloody fricking well know that, Potter. I'm sure one of you could pull off the spell."
"We didn't even know which spell it was. You can at least guide us, right?"
"I have to study," Draco said, beginning to walk away. Once again for what felt like the millionth time this week, Harry grabbed his arm, sliding down and nearly removing his glove.
"Stop doin—"
"Professor McGonagall. I can talk to her and have you exonerated from all your classes too—at least for this month."
Draco's feet froze.
"Including exoneration from all the previous assignments," Hermione added, nodding at Harry, then looking back at Draco. Her eyes were intense. Desperate.
Ron put a hand on her shoulder, the same stare in his eyes.
Even if he wanted to, Draco couldn't refuse. With the way things were going, there was no way he'd pass this semester with the previous grades. He'd have to score perfect on every assignment and test from this point till December.
Draco bit his lip, at least pretending to think about it.
The room of requirements seemed like the perfect place to work on the hex, but that was going a bit too far down memory lane. Boxes toppling. Him and Goyel attempting to climb to the top. Fire and smoke caressing their clothes and burning their lungs. Their surroundings blurred, as though someone had peppered their eyes. Tear of pain rolling down their cheeks....
"Meet me by the lake after class tomorrow."
***
A/N: Review = faster updates.
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-Laura
Hint: more interaction between the trio and Draco in the next chapter.