A/N: sorry for my absence guys! Enjoy!
Harry awoke to what he usually awoke to every single day. Darkness. The blackness was drowning, cramping, yet still somehow comforting.
He had to admit, sleeping in a coffin wasn't the nicest thing ever. It reminded him greatly of sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs in his younger years at the Dursley household, where he regularly had nightmares, became terrified of the dark, and was also quite claustrophobic. Getting a good night's rest without the coffin was nearly impossible, though.
He pushed the lid open with his foot, blinking tiredly at the ceiling now visible above. A few cracks ran through the stone, Harry tracing them with crimson eyes for a few seconds before becoming bored and sitting up.
His room was a mess. Clothes were strewn across the floor, his desk was covered in half written essays and crumpled up balls of parchment. A few quills and ink bottles lay here and there, as well as random trinkets. His windows were locked and bolted shut, and were pretty much never opened, cobwebs evidencing this fact as they had long formed, and had been left largely undisturbed.
Deciding that it would be better to not get dressed in the dark, Harry snapped his fingers as he got out of the coffin, causing the candles in the room to illuminate the once dark room in a dim, amber glow.
After pulling on his robes hastily and quickly, he stumbled down into the living room with a bottle of red liquid in his hand. On the coffee table, like his desk, sat many pieces of parchment and unfinished essays, most of which were Draco's, the boy's neat cursive written across them. Harry sat down for a few moments, sorting through them, before finding an apparation note stating the test was today.
He knew he'd easily pass, but seeing the words scrawled on the parchment still made him groan loudly. He simply couldn't be bothered.
******
Harry was stalking his way to his first class of the day. It was odd, walking on his own. Usually a tall, white haired figure accompanied him, friendly conversation and sometimes even laughter coming from the two. Not today though, and probably not for awhile.
Harry was a more of a mess than his living quarters on this particular morning. His hair was crazier than normal, and without mirrors, he didn't have a hope in hell of fixing it. He'd accidentally put Draco's tie on instead of his own, and had only noticed when he was halfway down the corridor, seeing a green and silver tie on his chest instead of the scarlet and gold one he was meant to be wearing. Luckily, no one had seen him and he'd been able to go and change it. He was just glad he'd noticed; as he doubted that would be fun to explain to his clueless housemates.
Harry didn't eat in the Great Hall anymore, so whenever mail came, Hedwig always found him on his way to class instead. He hardly flinched when the snowy white owl landed on his shoulder without warning, her large yellow eyes watching him affectionately. Harry smiled at the bird, taking the few letters that were tied to her leg. After ruffling her feathers, she flew out the nearest window and back up to the owlery.
Harry turned to the letters clutched in his pale hand, flipping through them boredly. Only one caught interest.
A worn piece of parchment had been folded in half, partly ripped and stained with what looked like water. The vampire raised an eyebrow, seeing his name scribbled ungracefully and cryptically onto the front of the parchment. He opened it, seeing the familiar, almost illegibly untidy scrawl of none other than Hagrid.
Dear Harry,
Last night, Aragog died. I'm sure you remember him from your second year. He'd been growing weaker all year. I'll be burying him this evening by my hut, and I was hoping you, Ron and Hermione could come down with the invisibility cloak.
Hagrid.
Harry stared at the words, eyes flickering across them to make sure he'd read correctly. Aragog? That huge, evil spider that had nearly fed him and Ron to its many children in his second year of Hogwarts? In fact, to Harry, it was a relief that it was dead. Good riddance. And Hagrid wanted him to come down? What would he do, shed a pearly tear for a monster that had tried to kill him for no good reason? Harry snorted. He had better things to do than attend a makeshift funeral for an overly large arachnid.
Pulling his bag higher onto his shoulder, he carried on walking, subconsciously avoiding spots where the morning sunlight leaked through the windows and onto the marble floors.
******
Draco opened his eyes wearily, blinking in the slight darkness. He frowned in confusion as he sat up, but then remembered where he was. Back in his room at Grimmauld Place.
The curtains were shut tight over his windows, blocking out the meagre sunlight trying to fight its way in. His sheets were tangled around his lanky form, and it took a few moments for him to be able to free himself. He'd definitely been tossing and turning last night, his nightmares unrelenting.
He raised a hand to run it through his thick hair, messing it up even more than it already was. Yawning, he stood and stretched.
He looked over to his desk, seeing parchment, a quill and an ink bottle there. Already he wanted to be back with Harry. It was like an indescribable pull, an itch, a want, a need. Whenever he wasn't with Harry, he felt scared, anxious, agitated.
His mind instantly started conjuring up ideas. What if he was in danger? Hurt? Sick? And Draco wasn't there to help or protect him? He was failing again!
He cursed at himself silently, forcing his eyes away from the desk and focusing instead on an old mirror on his wall.
It was antique, the wood old and the glass dirtied with age. He saw himself staring back.
His eyes were empty, face chillingly pale, the dark circles blatantly obvious. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that there was something dreadfully wrong with him. He looked ill; he looked like he was wasting away.
A loud yelp of terror and shock escaped his lips as the mirror shattered with a loud crack. Draco stumbled backwards, trying to calm his breathing. He couldn't do magic, why had the mirror shattered?
After managing to calm himself a bit, his eyes wandered back to the shattered glass.
His reflection was split into a hundred different shards, warped and morphed. It was chilling, terrifying even. A stab of shock and pain ran through him and he grimaced.
If anything, this mirror made him realise just how foreign his appearance had really become. He didn't know who he was anymore; who was he to begin with anyways?
Was his hair blond, or white? Were his eyes grey or amber? Had he always been this pale and gaunt?
Not to mention Harry. Harry was lying to nearly everyone that knew him. Draco didn't know whether his eyes were truly crimson or green, or whether his skin was grey or the peachy colour Draco remembered it being before.
Before. Before everything had happened. Before everything had happened... Draco hadn't been living. He'd just been existing, surviving. He often felt like he was floating, not completely there.
And then his world had been flipped on it's head. His life changed with the blink of an eye. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what was always meant to be. Was this how things were meant to end up?
He lifted a hand, placing it on the cool surface of the mirror, seeing his own saddened expression staring, shattered back at him. With a heavy sigh, feeling like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, he drew his hand away.
A gasp of pain left his lips as he cut himself on the glass, beads of red blood beginning to seep through a small slash mark in his pale skin. They contrasted to his white skin as they ran down his fingers and into his palm.
His father had always taught him that blood status was everything. Pure bloods, half bloods, muggle borns and muggles, all ranked on a brutal hierarchy system, a pecking order they had no say in. And Draco, being the stupid, gullible, desperate to please his parents child he was, had believed every word of it.
He'd seen a lot of blood in his years, which he couldn't say was a good thing. And he had to admit to himself, it all looked the same. His father calling muggle borns 'mudbloods' wasn't going to make his own blood any purer.
******
Harry had given the letter to Ron and Hermione during a class. Ron had agreed with him that it was completely ridiculous, and that after what happened he wasn't going anywhere near that hut. Hermione, having not been there, was more sympathetic, to which Ron quickly managed to change her mind.
Harry walked lazily through the corridors, trying to comfort himself and think optimistically. He just had the apparation test left, and then he could go back to his coffin. Unsurprisingly, in a vampire's mind, thinking optimistically had little effect, and he stepped into the hall with his usual scowl painted across his features.
He pulled a book out of his bag as he sat down, waiting for that old Ministry man he'd forgotten the name of to hurry up and assess them. Harry knew he'd pass, it was inevitable.
He brushed his black fringe out of his eyes so he could see the words in the book better, trying to focus on the content of the book instead of the copious amounts of nervous students around him. They were annoying; hearts all pounding at twice the normal pace due to fear, deafening Harry slightly. Not to mention the talking that simply added to the noise.
Finally, after what felt like a century, the old wizard came toddling out with McGonagall at his heels. She stood to the side, supervising. Everyone, at the orders of the Ministry wizard, got up and formed a few lines. Harry was in the middle of one of them, frowning as people jostled to get to the back of the lines. He didn't quite understand the logic in that; they'd have to do it anyways.
At the orders of the wizard, the people at the start of the lines began to Apparate (or attempt to) into a designated hoop across the hall.
The room was filled with large cracks, nervous talking, and occasionally screeches of shock when someone was splinched. Most people so far had either not managed to Apparate at all, or had splinched themselves.
Harry finally stepped to the start of the line, staring blankly at the space inside of the hoop. At the word of the Ministry wizard, he shut his eyes.
After the nauseating, spinning, awful sensation that he was sure he'd never get over passed, he opened his eyes to find himself standing in the hoop. He'd done it, and as far as he could tell, he hadn't been splinched.
After being checked over quickly to make sure he hadn't somehow left something like an eyebrow behind, he was sent to sit with the other, very few students who'd accomplished it. He spoke to none of them, and watched in vague amusement as student after student failed.
******
Draco felt like his throat was on fire.
He'd been coughing for the past ten minutes, each hacking cough wracking his already fragile and frail frame, making him tremble and gasp for air, which simply worsened the situation as he coughed more.
It felt like he'd swallowed glass, a mouthful of razors, like someone had slashed the inside of his throat with knives. He'd found himself quickly in the bathroom, spitting blood into the sink as the dark liquid dripped from his lips with every cough.
His entire body felt hot, uncomfortably so. He was shaking, almost shivering from head to toe. A fresh wave of nausea swept over him as he felt the overwhelming urge to vomit.
He managed the dash towards the toilet before the meagre amount of breakfast he'd managed to eat expelled itself from his stomach. He held back a scream of agony as the acidic substance burned his already sensitive throat, and he smashed his fist into the tiled floor in a futile attempt to dull the pain.
Of course, this didn't work, and he instead found himself angry that what food he'd managed to eat he couldn't keep down, and now on top of feeling like he was dying, his hand was in pain as well.
******
Harry sighed in relief as he stepped back into his dorm that afternoon, dropping his heavy bag onto the couch. He made his way up to his bedroom to change out of his robes.
As he was pulling a different shirt over his head, he caught sight of the contents on his desk. Sitting next to his copy of Advanced Potions Making that he valued more than his arm was a small, golden phial.
The Felix Felicis he'd won at the start of the year. He'd been saving it for when he really needed it, like when he saw Voldemort next, which was bound to probably be not very long. An idea formed in his mind as his gaze stayed firm on the phial of golden liquid.
He had to get that memory for Slughorn still. Obviously, Slughorn wasn't going to give it to him if his previous attempts at getting it were any hint, but perhaps if he had a bit more luck on his side...
A bit reluctantly, he made his way over to the desk and picked up the small phial. He held it in his palm, frowning at it slightly. Was it really worth using it now?
Wait, would it even work? What if, like all other foods he ate, he'd just throw it up? At this, he shrugged. Well, if it didn't work now, then there was no point keeping it anyways.
He took the lid off, eyeing up the small amount of golden liquid before lifting the phial to his lips and downing it.
It tasted awful, just like everything else did, but he found himself able to keep it down. A warm feeling was rushing through him, and he shuddered as the potion took effect.
It felt like someone had flipped a switch. Suddenly he felt indescribably... happy. It was weird. He wanted to laugh, sing, and pick wildflowers. Well, maybe not pick flowers, but still.
He paused for a moment, before his eyes landed on the letter Hagrid had sent. Ah ha, that's what he'd do this evening! He'd go and cheer up Hagrid, like any good friend would.
With a skip in his step and humming an upbeat tune under his breath, he grabbed a hoodie and began to make his way through the corridors.
A group of first years were walking past, to which he smiled brightly. Cautiously, they smiled back, looking indecisive as to whether be terrified or happy that the mysterious, usually angry looking sixth year was so ecstatic.
He quickly found himself in the corridor that lead to the library on his way out, and saw Hermione walking out of the doors with a stack of books in her arms. She saw him, and gave a careful smile, which he returned.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, not looking disappointed by his happy-go-lucky attitude, but definitely looking a bit cautious.
"Never better," Harry chirped.
Hermione stared at him like he'd suddenly grown an extra head. "I haven't seen you this happy in years."
"Oh, that's because I'm not!"
"What?" She asked cluelessly.
"Felix Felicis!" Harry announced, voice echoing around the otherwise empty corridor.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I thought you were saving that for when you really needed it!"
"But I did!" Harry replied. "There's something I need to do!"
"Okay... what is it?"
"I need to talk to Slughorn."
"Alright... why are you heading outside then?"
"Because," Harry drawled as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm going to see Hagrid!"
Hermione had never looked so confused. "Right," she said slowly. "I'll leave you to it then."
Harry nodded as they reached the doors. "Okie dokie! Bye, Hermione!"
"Bye, Harry," Hermione replied, a bemused smile on her face as she watched her friend skip merrily across the grounds.
******
Harry was trekking his way across the grounds towards Hagrid's hut when he suddenly stopped. His eyes wandered over to the greenhouses, where he sensed someone was.
The grounds were getting dark; and Professor Sprout would be in the castle. Who was in the greenhouses? Curiosity hit him like a train, the sense overwhelming. He had to find out, he had to! Hagrid could wait.
He changed his route, speeding towards the greenhouses instead. He saw that the person was in the house that housed the more dangerous plants. He shivered in excitement, knowing that most of the plants in there were deadly.
He pushed open the door silently and crept inside, the smell of fertiliser and plants overwhelming. It was humid and warm in the greenhouse, Harry spotting the person standing near a rather odd looking plant.
It was waving its thin little branches around like a spastic octopus, seemingly flinching in pain as the sound of scissors snipping its leaves off sounded.
"Hello, Professor!" Harry said, a little too happily.
Slughorn jumped violently, turning to face the teenager who smiled brightly at him. "Merlin's beard, Harry!" He gasped.
"Whatcha doing?" Harry asked, looking at the odd plant.
"Oh, nothing," Slughorn replied, looking flustered. "Just harvesting some plants... for potions, of course."
Harry nodded, frowning skeptically. "For potions?"
Slughorn nodded. "Yes, pretty rare plant actually. 3 galleons a leaf."
Harry paused, before shrugging. "Okay. Snip away, professor, that plant always freaked me out." He turned, making his way back to the door.
"Harry!"
"What?"
"It's past curfew! You do realise I can't just allow you to wander the grounds at night?"
"Well I have to go see Hagrid," Harry replied. "There was this big spider that was his friend that died so I have to go and be at the funeral."
Slughorn looked at him like he was insane. "I can't let you wander the grounds on your own!" He repeated firmly.
"Well then just come with me!"
Slughorn looked torn. It was obvious that he didn't exactly want to accompany the overexcited, uncannily happy teenager, but he didn't want to be responsible for his untimely demise if he happened to be murdered.
******
Harry knocked tunefully on Hagrid's door, Slughorn standing regrettably behind him. They waited for a few moments before the old wooden door creaked open, revealing the half giant standing inside.
Hagrid looked tired, face unusually pale. His eyes were filled with tears that dripped down onto his beard every now and again, which, as per usual, looked like it hadn't been maintained in years. An air of loss and sadness echoed around the usually cosy cabin, one that Harry, under the influence of Felix Felicis, totally didn't sense.
"Hello Hagrid!" Harry chirped. "Ron and Hermione couldn't make it, but I brought along Professor Slughorn. He's never seen an acromantula before."
As everyone else had, Hagrid regarded Harry strangely for a few moments before speaking. "O' course, tha's fine," he said, voice scratchy and croaky. He paused, as if he didn't quite know what to say next. Harry decided to speak up for him.
"So where's the spider?"
"Out tha' back," Hagrid replied miserably, gesturing for the to follow him through the hut and out the back door. Grey clouds rolled over the forbidden forest towards them, promising rain.
Harry had never understood what exactly Hagrid fed these pumpkins, marvelling at their size as he walked through the giant garden. Some of the pumpkins would be big enough for him to curl up inside of.
The huge corpse of the giant spider wasn't too difficult to spot. It was curled up in that weird pose that spiders take on when they die, spindly legs all folded up. Despite being dead, Aragog still looked as threatening as he did when he was alive, two giant pincers still easily visible. Harry narrowed his eyes a bit, remembering when the thing had tried to eat him.
Slughorn was staring at it with a mixture of morbid curiosity and terror, probably wondering how they allowed such dangerous creatures to be on the Hogwarts grounds. Harry had wondered that himself for awhile, but after everything else he'd experienced at Hogwarts it was just another one of the school's odd and dangerous quirks.
"Merlin's beard, Hagrid!" Slughorn exclaimed, taking a few steps forward. "I've never seem an acromantula this big before!"
"He was beau'iful when 'e was alive," Hagrid sniffled, wiping one of his hands across his eyes. Harry raised an eyebrow, not knowing that he'd call the giant, creepy, hairy spider beautiful.
"Y-Yes," Slughorn stuttered. "I can see that being the case." Harry wanted to face palm, but he hid his awkwardness behind the saddest face he could possibly pull.
"I'll miss him too," Harry said quietly, pretending to wipe away a tear, a blatant lie, yet he must have sounded convincing as Hagrid heaved out another great sob.
Slughorn nodded shakily in faux agreement, before he pulled a phial from his coat pocket. "Hagrid, if you don't mind, I was wondering if I could possibly extract some of his venom. Acromantula venom is very rare, you see..." he trailed off, Harry still working on his 'I'm going to burst into tears face'.
"Not goin' to do 'im much 'arm now, is it?" Hagrid gulped, waving his hand. "Go ahead."
Slughorn shuffled forwards, looking rather meek. He returned back to the group with a phial full of greenish liquid. Harry pulled out his wand, sniffling miserably.
"How about we bury him?"
Hagrid nodded, thick tears running down his cheeks. It took a matter of moments for a large hole to be formed, and with Slughorn's help, the huge spider corpse was levitated into it. Hagrid cried as they returned the dirt to the hole, the two wizards pocketing their wands again.
"You two wanna come in for a bit?" Hagrid sniffled. Harry nodded, Slughorn looking shifty but nodding anyways.
******
Harry sat with his chin resting on his forearms, Fang slobbering all over his jeans as he watched both Slughorn and Hagrid get more and more drunk. Hagrid had brought out a bottle of whiskey as soon as they'd entered the cottage, and Slughorn wasn't one to refuse alcohol when offered to him.
Hagrid's tears had dried, and he was now laughing drunkenly at something slurred Slughorn had said. Harry didn't understand a word either of them were saying, but didn't really care either.
The happy effects of Felix Felicis were beginning to wear off, Harry coming to terms with why he was here in the first place again. The memory, he needed to get the memory from Slughorn.
The two were singing something now, voices so out of tune it made Harry wince. After the final chorus of the song, Hagrid fell forward onto the table, beginning to snore.
Slughorn, now alone with the vampire, started to look uncomfortable as the knowledge that Harry wanted the memory came to light.
"I know Dumbledore is trying to get you to retrieve the memory," Slughorn said, eyes cast towards the wooden table. "But surely, you must understand that I can't give it to you."
"I don't understand," Harry replied without missing a beat. "It's not a matter of whether you want to give the memory to us or not. I don't care about how you feel, because you're nothing compared to the millions of people that will suffer if you don't give me the memory."
Slughorn looked shocked, eyes widening. "You'll hate me if you see it."
"I'd rather hate you than have the whole world massacred, Professor."
A single tear rolled down Slughorn's cheek, one that didn't invoke any sympathy in the vampire at all. Looking resigned, the teacher pulled another one of the phials from his coat pocket and took out his wand.
Harry watched as he lifted his wand to his head, and from his ear, a trail of wispy white mist was pulled. It looked exactly like the other memories that Harry had seen before. Slughorn let it fall into the phial, and handed it to Harry, who took it.
Without another word, Harry stood and left the cabin, closing the door behind him. Shoving the phial into his back pocket, his body dissipated. A black cloud of smoke shot up towards the tower where Dumbledore's office resided, triumphant.