Wicked

Finally, chapter 12 full of angst and similar fun stuff!

Your reviews have been overwhelming once more, thank you all so much!
yaoiObsessed: They´ll conveniently be in Gryffindor, as Dumbledore stated in one of the previous chaps.

A week later, Harry was lying on a bed in a musty old room in a gloomy old house in Grimmauld Place, broodily staring at the cracks in the ceiling above him.
No matter how eager he had been to finally see Hermione and Ron, how much he had wanted to talk to Sirius and be part of the wizarding world again, did he not feel all right now.
Sirius´ house was not a happy place, cleaning it out was tiring, and Harry found that he was impatient to finally get back to Hogwarts.
He longed to be outside, having merely swapped one prison for another if one looked at it more closely, longed to play Quidditch and feel the wind around his face.
He hardly dared to admit to himself that there was another reason, a reason even more pressing: he was missing Draco.
He couldn´t confide in anyone, for they certainly would have thought he was insane; yet his heart ached when he thought of the Slytherin, and he felt lonely going to bed alone. “You are mental,” he told himself several times a day, but to no avail.

Their time together seemed surreal now, but Harry couldn´t forget how the other boy had felt in his arms, how they had talked, and how his belly had fluttered when he had felt Draco´s lips against his own.

Whenever his train of thought had reached this point, he blushed, hoping that he wasn´t only missing the Slytherin´s body. Deep down in his heart he knew that that was not the case, though, for what he was thinking of most of all were Draco´s eyes- deep, grey pools which were no longer cold when they rested on Harry.

Very often the Gryffindor took the little bird out of his trunk, careful so no one else would see it, and held it in his hand. At times he thought he could feel its tiny heart, fluttering against his skin just as Draco´s had done, and missed the other one all the more.


Ron and Hermione noticed that Harry often was absent-minded; they didn´t blame him, though, since they assumed he hadn´t had an easy time at the Dursleys, and felt quite guilty about not being able to get in contact with him.
While Ron was putting his hopes in the fact that the new term was about to start soon, thinking that Harry might get back to normal once they were back at Hogwarts, Hermione often watched Harry with a concerned expression, wondering what had gotten into him.

In the daytime, Draco was able to cope. Malcolm McIver was an amiable guy in his mid-twenties who had the gift of easy conversation; he mostly talked about his girlfriend, his job and how he would enjoy going back to Hogwarts.
He wasn´t a fool, though; even if he hadn´t known what had happened to Draco, he could see the haunted look in the boy´s eyes, speaking of suffering and grief and terrible fear. He didn´t mother Draco, though; Dumbledore had advised him no to.
“He needs to get back on his feet out of his own volition,” the old Headmaster had said. “Just give him time, and be there in case he needs someone to talk to. Show him he´s got no reason to be afraid of you.”

They were housed in a cozy, heavily warded flat in the middle of London, not too far from Grimmauld Place actually, but neither Draco nor Harry could know that, and if they had, it wouldn´t have been any good, since they wouldn´t have been able to get together. They could have been hundreds of miles apart.

Draco tried to get a grip on himself and memorize the parameters of his new life. They tried the Polyjuice Potion daily in order to adjust; apart from that, their wardrobes had to be customized, a new wand for him to be found. He missed his old one, and his new one felt strange in his hand even though it had reacted to him.


Draco shied away from his reflexion when he first looked at his new self. He didn´t look bad, but it was so strange to look into a mirror and have a complete stranger staring back at you. He was sandy-haired and freckled ever so slightly, a friendly-looking boy altogether, but still not himself.
His twin almost looked the same, there were only a few slight differences: a birth mark, a more prominent dent in the chin.

The nights however were dreadful. Apart from his new things he would wear at Hogwarts, which were a little too big for him as his normal self, Draco only had the clothes Harry had given him. He was always cold, thus he was sleeping in them. Or rather, hardly sleeping, as he could not find real rest.

He huddled under the blanket and tried to get warm, but he usually felt too alone and was afraid to close his eyes, as he knew no one would be there if he woke up terrified. “Don´t be stupid,” he told himself, “don´t be a baby.”
He had gotten so used to sleeping in Harry´s arms, however, that he couldn´t seem to get comfortable.

When he finally fell asleep after all, usually long after he had lain down, his dreams quickly turned into nightmares. Sometimes he woke up screaming, sometimes he found himself out of bed, searching for a door to escape through or some means to hide.
Usually McIver came in then, effortlessly spelling Draco´s locked door open, to see if he was all right. He never touched the frightened boy, just made sure that he calmed down and got back into bed.

Malcolm was worried as to what would happen at Hogwarts, and addressed the matter when he talked to Dumbledore after the first week.
The Headmaster shook his head sympathetically: “Poor boy...” he murmured. “We won´t be able to subdue his nightmares. Don´t worry, though: since you are going to be fifth-years, you´ll be housed in Mr Potter´s dormitory, which should help a great deal already. I will make sure that Mr Malfoy´s bed will be between yours and Mr Potter´s, whom he seems to trust greatly; I suppose it might help concealing his state a lot if you simply cast a silencing charm on his bed after he has gone to sleep.”


After the first few nights, Draco had resorted to sleeping with a light on so he wouldn´t be too disoriented when he woke up, but he kept chiding himself. He couldn´t go on like this, he had to be brave.

“Face it, “ he told himself, “in Hogwarts, things are going to change. Harry won´t be there for you anymore, he can´t, not with all his friends around, not with school and Quidditch practice, not with you being pathetic...”

Tears were filling his eyes at this, but he supposed it was true: the past few weeks had been a strange mixture of fear and bliss, yet Harry had other things to occupy himself with once he wouldn´t be locked into the same room with Draco anymore.
It would be all too easy for him to forget Draco, to forget what they briefly had had. Or not had had, Draco thought bitterly, for what had really happened if he was honest with himself? His stomach clenched at the same moment, and he felt like a traitor.
“Pathetic fag,” he scolded himself, “how could you have become dependent on Potter at all, for Merlin´s sake?” So he lay in bed, wondering how his life had been turned so over completely that enemies suddenly were allies and family were not.
He tried very hard to prepare himself as much as possible; as soon as Madam Pomfrey had allowed him out of bed, he had begun to get up regularly and walk a few steps.

He needed to get back his strength, people would notice if he didn´t. So he began pacing around his respective confinements, and it wasn´t long before he stopped feeling dizzy after a few steps.

He could feel the strain on his body, and sometimes he sat down trembling in between, yet it felt like taking matters into his hands, and that felt good. He was less afraid during the day and able to concentrate on other things than Harry.


One night though, he dreamed of his mother. He couldn´t move, just watch her as she slowly approached him, her face breaking into a smile as she reached out and pulled him into her arms. He could smell her perfume, could feel her heartbeat as she held him tight: “I´ve missed you, Draco,” she whispered into his ear, her voice reverberating through her chest, “my darling boy...”

He woke up trembling, grasping the sheet underneath him tightly until he realized that it had been but a dream. He suddenly felt bereft, and the realization hurt so much that he found it hard to breathe: he would never see his mother again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Shaking, he got out of bed and began pacing the room, hugging himself tightly: he should go back to the Manor, should try to find her body, if it was still there, to lay her to rest... he shivered violently at the thought, yet it kept coming back to him.
She was dead and he had yet to bury her... his own father had killed her... he tried to remember what Lucius had said about it, but he couldn´t recall the exact words.

He merely remembered his fear and the coldness in his father´s voice... he closed his eyes, trying to see his mother again, to shut out the image of his father, of his fellow Death Eaters, of people who were able and willing to hurt and humiliate...


Harry woke up with a start and immediately pressed his hand against his scar, which was burning fiercely. It had tingled a lot during the past few weeks, but right now an agony shot through Harry that made his eyes water.

Panting, he tried to concentrate on the dream he had had before, but to no avail. The pain even seemed to intensify, flared up so red-hot for a moment that a whimper escaped Harry´s lips, then vanished as suddenly as it had come. Harry drew a deep breath and fell back onto his pillow, shivering.


Morning found Draco in a crumpled heap on the floor a few hours later, staring blankly ahead. He wasn´t sure if he had slept at all; he was freezing and felt ill, yet he didn´t move.

He couldn´t, even though there were no chains this time, for the wall was too far and he´d rather die of thirst than leave his mother. He didn´t see her but he knew she was there, he had seen her in the dark and never left the spot where she had been standing.
He thought he could still feel her perfume lingering in a faint trace around him. Protection, his feverish mind told him, she wouldn´t let them do him any more harm.

He was too exhausted and his body felt like lead, thus he didn´t hear the approaching footsteps and flinched violently when someone touched his arm. A worried voice sounded through the room, then there was touch again. Draco put up a struggle until he was being lifted off the floor.

A moment later, he was being eased down onto the bed. A blanket was spread over him, and the warmth that began spreading through him a little later was so pleasant that he closed his eyes.

Pictures haunted the darkness that was engulfing him, accompanied by horrible screams that echoed through it: a female voice, pleading and begging...

He shot up and batted the hands away that were there immediately: “Where is she?” he panted, unseeingly, trying to get up, “what did he do to her?”
He never heard the spell that was hastily being murmured, but his agitation died down soon; he fell back onto the pillow and inexplicably felt calmer all of a sudden. Someone supported his head and made him swallow a bit of cool liquid. Tiredness spread in him like wildfire, and he knew no more.

A gentle hand on his forehead was the next sensation he felt, followed by the pleasant coolness of a damp cloth; someone talked in a hushed voice, then there was silence again.


He awoke in the evening, wondering for a moment why he had been sleeping during the day, until he saw Madam Pomfrey sitting next to him. She looked relieved when she saw that he was awake: “There you are,” she said kindly. “How do you feel, dear?”
Draco blinked, quickly taking stock: “Just... tired,” he said softly. “What happened?”

The Healer eyed him seriously: “Mr McIver found you out of bed this morning, you were unresponsive and feverish, apart from cold and exhausted. I suppose it was another nightmare?” she added, sounding rather apprehensive.

Draco vaguely recalled being out of bed, but he didn´t remember the details. He felt drained and disappointed by himself. He couldn´t go on like this, he just couldn´t...

A hand on his hand pulled him out of these thoughts: “It takes time,” Madam Pomfrey said very softly, as though she had read his mind.

Draco nodded to show that he understood, that he appreciated her concern, yet he felt devastated. There was no real comfort, nothing that could have consoled him, unless... he shook his head.

It had to stop, he couldn´t keep burdening Harry with his problems. It had all been forced upon the Gryffindor, hadn´t it? He subdued a groan so as not to upset the witch next to him any further; his fingers curled around hers as he lay back, exhausted by his own endless thoughts.

Twilight filled the room. Madam Pomfrey thought Draco had drifted back to sleep, yet after a while he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her. His voice was small, scared and barely audible when he spoke: “Am I going mad?”

A gasp escaped her even as she shook her head: “No, love, you aren´t,” she said with much conviction. “You are just processing. It is a slow progress, you know.”

Draco considered this for a while; she could see his eyes moving in the increasing gloom of darkness, restlessly.
He didn´t seem entirely convinced yet, as he kept tightening his grip on her hand and opened his mouth as if intent to speak, but then closed it as though lost for words, at the same time loosening his grip again.

Finally, when they were sitting in the dark already, he nodded once more, the movement only visible because of his light hair: “Okay...” he said tentatively, “okay...”


Madam Pomfrey was hiding her true feelings until she was back in Grimmauld Place.

She didn´t approve of the idea that Draco was going back to Hogwarts, and she told Dumbledore so in unmistakable terms: “The boy is trying to be brave, but he is delicate, Albus,” she said in a strained voice. “Today´s incident proves that, and there is no way we can help him apart from giving him the time he needs! It wasn´t his body that failed him today, it was his mind that caused it!”

Dumbledore sighed; he knew that Poppy Pomfrey was right, but he also trusted Draco´s situation to improve as soon as he´d be near Harry again.
He had not expected for Draco to become to reliant on one person, yet on the other hand there was no way to change the plan. It was necessary for Draco to return to Hogwarts, just as it was necessary for Harry as well. Both of them weren´t happy with their current situation, that much was clear, but they´d have to endure it.

The old wizard sighed again: during only four years in the wizarding world Harry had found himself in all kinds of difficult predicaments and had so far managed exceptionally well, better in fact than Dumbledore had dared to hope. Draco on the other hand... nobody could know if he would be able to cope.

Blinking, the Headmaster looked at the Healer: “Time is what he will get,” he said slowly. “At Hogwarts.”

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to speak, but he cut across her: “It is the safest place for him, Poppy,” he said wearily. “There are enough people to look out for him, and he will be distracted from his thoughts as well. It will be as close to normality as possible, something we wouldn´t achieve if we hid him somewhere.”

The Healer crossed her arms: “Like now, you mean,” she huffed. “He was improving as long as he was with Mr Potter. His nightmares however seem to have worsened again as soon as he had been transferred to his current location.”

“Yet it had to be done,” Dumbledore said patiently. “Their cover identity must be foolproof, and I thought it only considerate to give Harry some time with his friends before the new term starts. A lot of things are about to change for him as well, after all.”

“If something like this happens at school, his secret will be out in no time at all,” Madam Pomfrey demured.

Dumbledore cocked his head: “Well...,” he said softly, “at least we will be prepared for it.”

The Healer didn´t seem appeased by his words, rarely had Albus seen her so upset. “It is very much to ask of both of them,” she said grudgingly.
Dumbledore nodded: “I agree,” he said, for he knew that this was only the beginning of a lot more they would have to endure, and for a moment such a profound sadness crossed his face that it belied his calm expression.

He had in fact never looked so old.


Even though Harry did not feel like talking about the issue at all, he finally told Ron and Hermione about Draco´s stay and how things had developed. He left out the kiss and how his heart yearned to see the Slytherin again, but it was clear that their relationship was not a hostile one anymore.

Whereas Ron seemed to be in denial that Harry could actually have befriended Malfoy, Hermione kept watching him closely. Harry couldn´t shake off the feeling that she sensed there was more than he let on, thus he often avoided her gaze because he knew he couldn´t stop himself from blushing as if caught in the act.


The last days of summer break passed quickly. Harry didn´t sleep very well and was having nightmares again, something that hadn´t occured since the start of summer.

The morning of the first of September was very hectic; people kept bumping into each other on the stairs and the Weasley twins managed to cause some last-minute havoc before their party set out for King´s Cross.

Harry wasn´t surprised that they were being accompanied by Aurors- he did look slightly taken aback however when he saw that Snuffles was going to come with them. Even in his animal form Sirius was taking too great a risk in Harry´s opinion.
The large black dog seemed carefree, something which was nice for a change, as Sirius hadn´t been in good spirits most of the time; he hated being confined to a place he loathed, something Harry could admittedly relate to, yet it seemed reckless of Sirius to jeopardize his cover like this.

Mrs. Weasley evidently thought the same, judging from her firmly set jaw.


Draco sat in the window seat of the living-room, hugging his knees and staring out into the morning. It was eleven; the Hogwarts Express was about to leave now, he knew, crowded with excited pupils.

A hand came into his view, offering a mug: “Cuppa?”

He took it silently, nodding his thanks. Malcolm sat down opposite of him, holding a steaming mug as well. “Feeling better today?” he asked.
Draco took a deep breath: “Yeah...” he said somewhat half-heartedly, but then pulling himself together with an effort: “Well, not better actually... just different.” It was strange to hear himself saying so, but it felt surprisingly good.
He had woken early and had lain awake thinking; he knew that he couldn´t go on like this, keeping all his emotions and fears bottled up inside, otherwise he would go insane. He had decided to start over.

And the first step was to force himself to trust McIver. They had to be accounted for as twin brothers from now on, after all; he should be able to talk to him and act naturally around him. Especially as he planned not to bother Harry any longer.
The pain this caused was entirely different from any other pain he had so far experienced, but he shut it out with all his might. He had to, he told himself over and over again, he simply had to.

Malcolm was watching him over the rim of his mug; his gaze was attentive yet not unfriendly.

“I´m trying,” Draco murmured for he felt like he owed the other an explanation, and immediately felt ashamed for his defensiveness. “It´s... not easy though.”
McIver said nothing, just waited.

Draco drew a shaky breath: “I thought I was seeing my... my mother,” he said as matter-of-factly as he could. “My father killed her.”

“Were you close?” Malcolm asked quietly.

Draco nodded slowly: “She was the one thing in my life that was always good,” he murmured, staring into his mug. “She tried to protect me from him...” He fell silent, it hurt too much. He could still feel the other´s gaze on himself, but it was bearable.
When he looked up, McIver´s eyes were sympathetic: “You know, I think those things linger,” he said. “Love and such.”

Draco smiled, grateful for the attempt to console him, though he didn´t agree- if love lingered, hatred had to as well. He rather thought it was the memory of it, which wasn´t bad either. Which was all he had right now, and which he clung to at night when he couldn´t sleep- the memory of being held, of being cherished.

Inwardly, he sighed. Malcolm was very unlike Harry, and his comfort was different, but at least he tried. “Yes,”he therefore replied softly. “That would be nice.”

To Be Continued

Next chapter: Hogwarts!

Author´s note: in the first book it becomes clear that the pupils are housed in dormitories of their respective years, thus it´s normal procedure that Draco and Malcolm as Gryffindors are going to be in Harry´s dorm. Thanks, J.K! =)