Ambivalent Lucidity

“Harry? Harry, wake up!”

“Come on! Get up!”

Harry groaned and swatted his hand at the noise, but when he realised that he had fallen asleep, he gave a start and green eyes shot open, slowly registering that the voices had been those of his friends. As the lights flickered ominously, he suddenly recalled the task that had been assigned to him, and that there was a distinct lack of Draco in his arms. “Draco?” he asked in a raspy voice—when had he fallen asleep anyway?—and a tiny whimper from the corner drew his eyes to the sight of Draco curled up in a ball and trembling. The lights went out completely, and Harry stumbled over to Draco, who was illuminated by an electric flash outside. “You’re all right, damn it,” he sighed, and as he helped the other boy back up onto the seat and stroked his wrist lightly, it dawned on him that the train had stopped. “What’s going on, Ron?”

“The train broke down...They said it shouldn’t take long at all to fix... We’ve been down about ten minutes,” Ron murmured grimly. Harry could hardly make out his form in the dark, and he pulled his wand to illuminate the compartment, however feeble it was. “Malfoy woke up just a minute ago and had some sort of fit...” Another lightning strike and ear-splitting thunder caused Draco to burst into sobs against Harry’s chest, and Ron winced at the sight. “Sick.”

Hermione shot Ron a nasty look before moving across the compartment to sit beside Harry. “Are you sure this is something you can handle?” she asked quietly, frowning as Harry shook his head and sighed as though he had the weight of all Hogwarts resting on his shoulders. ‘I’ll help, Harry... As much as I can, I’ll help you.”

Harry could have kissed her then, but he shook his head. “No, Hermione, he’s my responsibility. You shouldn’t suffer because of it.” His expression softened as Draco’s face rubbed gently against his neck, breath slowing as he eased into slumber, and Harry sighed. “He’s like a piece of glass,” he muttered, and he snapped his fingers. “One wrong touch and he cracks. What am I going to do if something happens?” His own words surprised him; he could feel his friends gaping at his words, but Hermione gave him a one-armed hug before moving back to her own seat.

“You’re admirable, Harry,” she stated as she moved to lie her head in Ron’s lap. “But don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.” Harry nodded quietly and placed his wand on the seat beside him, the light going out to leave them in a deep darkness. He could hear Ron and Hermione shift a little, then just the sound of their breathing, and he found himself feeling jealous again.

This emotion was cut off shortly as Draco’s hand slipped up Harry’s chest to his neck, which he felt with chilly fingertips. Gooseflesh rose on Harry’s arms, and he leaned down so that his lips were close to Draco’s ear. “Go back to sleep... You should rest before the rest of Gryffindor finds out about you.” His words were hardly louder than a breath, and Draco’s fingers curled tightly into his shirt for a moment before slackening. Moments later, soft snores parted Draco’s lips, and Harry leaned his head back against the cushion of the seat, catching glimpses of his friends with every lightning strike. The train suddenly lurched slightly, the lights came back on, and they were moving again.

Just as Harry was drifting off, he felt Draco give a terrible start, and he thought nothing of it until Draco’s hands tightened on his wrists—so tight that he cried out in pain. “Draco, what the hell?” he growled, trying to jerk his wrists back, but Draco let loose with a horrific yell that shook the napping Hermione right off her seat.

“No, no, NO!” Draco screeched, and he clamped his hands over his ears, fingernails tainted pink with blood from Harry’s arms. “Shut up, SHUT UP!” Hermione hurried over and grabbed Draco’s hands as he began to rip at his hair, and Harry, bleeding from the fingernail wounds, grabbed Draco’s face and forced him to look at him. “I-I know... I know you...”

“You’re all right,” Harry whispered fervently, and he watched Draco’s eyes grow large before they fell closed and he shivered, wringing his hands. Ron gave Harry a horrified look and shook his head as his best friend slowly stroked their most hated foe’s hair like he was some sort of cat.

Ron hated cats.

It was not a moment too soon when the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. For the rest of the train ride, Draco wrung his hands and murmured to himself as well as to someone no one else saw, and occasionally gave a sharp yell, and by the time the train came to a complete stop, Harry was so angry that he could not think straight. A furious scowl warped his features as he dragged the trembling and muttering Draco through the train, ignoring the copious stares directed to them from their classmates. “Come on!” Harry snapped as Draco came to a screeching halt outside the carriages, and he tugged his arm. “What is it?!”

Draco’s slate-hued eyes were focused not on the carriages, but what they were drawn by, and his hands grasped Harry’s arm in terror. “What?” Harry asked, following Draco’s gaze, then it hit him with a nasty jolt. Draco had never seen death before his mother killed himself—the thestrals were totally new. “Those are the thestrals we studied in fifth year,” Harry claimed quietly as he tugged Draco into a slow walk, “They won’t hurt you.” McGonagall had said that Narcissa had committed suicide by shooting herself, and Harry wondered why she had chosen a Muggle weapon. It was a nasty way to die, by bullet, but the thoughts escaped his mind as they clambered into the carriage.

Draco did not curl up on Harry’s lap, but sat beside him with his head down, shoulders touching, and Harry felt sorry for him then. When the carriage started up the rocky road to the castle, Draco looked solemnly up to Harry, his eyes hollow, sunken... He looked so much older than seventeen. Hermione and Ron, who shared the carriage with them, exchanged exasperated looks—they were no happier about this arrangement than Harry was—but they did nothing. What could they do? Harry’s arm slid around the Slytherin’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze before he let the arm fall. “What am I going to do with you?” Harry asked in such a quiet whisper that Draco scarcely heard him. Draco looked up and frowned, closing his eyes and leaning hard against Harry.

Ron could not help but glare at Malfoy, his eyes smouldering with utter loathing. He did not see the piteous gaze in Harry’s eyes—no, he saw his greatest foe stealing his best friend from him effortlessly—and it just was not fair. He was Harry’s first friend, not Malfoy, yet they looked as though they had always been so comfortable. Hermione, however, saw nothing but unintended tenderness in Harry’s manner, knowing that he did not mean it to be public. Draco looked so lost against Harry, as though he had taken the Dementor’s Kiss, and she even felt bad for the both of them.

When they reached the castle, Harry was careful not to catch anyone’s eye, instead leading Draco quietly through the crowd by his wrist. His eyes remained glued to the ground as he hurried into the Great Hall, which was mainly empty, and he sat Draco down with him at the end of the Gryffindor table. The quiet in the hall was short-lived as hundreds of students poured in, and when it was seen that not only was Draco Malfoy sitting at the Gryffindor table, but that he was with Harry, the whispers threatened to deafen Harry’s ears. He glanced up to see a malicious Snape glaring at him disapprovingly—he must not have liked this idea, either—and he sneered back at him even as Draco pressed very close.

The rumours only quieted when McGonagall brought in the stool and old Sorting hat, which was placed on the stool in the centre of the room. The first years filed in, looking frightened, and there were the obligatory points at Harry before the brim of the Hat ripped wide and it began to sing:

In days of old you never knew,
There were four great wizards who sought
To teach and tell and learn the children
Lest witchcraft and wizardry go to rot.
There was the Great Gryffindor, the bravest;
Noblest of them all was Slytherin.
Then Ravenclaw of great, great wit;
And Hufflepuff to let them all in.
Each with their own desires,
Each with a different purpose;
United under one roof they were,
But a problem rose to surface.
Could four wizards so different,
Bring together all of their kind?
What would happen when they were gone?
Then I came to mind!
Gryffindor swept me off his head
And with the spells of four,
I sit and wait and sing for you;
And so I shall tell forevermore
The great legend of how you came to be;
The legends that have not yet come to pass;
There is a place for you in Hogwarts' old heart
Be you courageous lad or bonnie lass.
Should you go to Gryffindor, where live
The intrepid souls?
Or perhaps then to Ravenclaw, where the
Great of mind break the mould?
Maybe Salazar Slytherin's old house,
Where go those of great ambition;
Possibly you'll go to Hufflepuff,
Who above all else prized dedication.
Each and every one of them
Wish they were here today,
But I'm all they left, I'm all you've got,
So listen to what I have to say!
Different though these houses may be
They were created under common mind.
As then, today you have your differences
To one another you should be kind.
The danger has not passed,
To Hogwarts, foes are courting.
Unwind your contrasts, place me on.
And now begin the Sorting!

Harry shot Ron a wary look—the Sorting Hat had predicted danger every year, but this year, it sounded less severe. Was Voldemort’s power waning? Surely not... As McGonagall’s voice sang out the names of the first years who were to be Sorted, Harry frowned as Draco’s hand slipped into his, and he could see terrible worry in Draco’s forehead. He was worried, too.

The Sorting was swift, and Dumbledore stood before the student body, looking tired but cheery. “Friends, students, welcome back! For the new and old, I present what never grows old—let the feast begin!” And with the raising of his arms, food appeared out of nowhere, and everyone’s concerns were lost in food.