Ambivalent Lucidity

Severus Snape strode briskly into the Headmaster’s office, eyes alight with fury over the news that had recently struck his ears. He ignored the forced-polite greeting from his colleague Minerva to march across the room and slam his palm down on Albus’s desktop. “Albus, I will not have my student—no, my godson—sleeping in the same bed as your Golden Boy, no matter how ill he has become!” he snarled fiercely, specks of saliva leaping from his mouth as he spoke. “It is absurd, preposterous, and... and any other thing you can think of!” He slapped the desktop again before flopping down into one of the comfortable recliners.

“Oh, do blow this completely out of proportion, Severus!” Minerva scolded, her hair pulled back so tightly that her forehead was white. “I hardly think that either Potter or the true Malfoy is happy about the situation, but when the alternative is no sleep for an entire room of boys, I really think it is the best thing for them. Besides, it certainly seems to be therapeutic for their rivalry, and I think we’ll be seeing a whole new side of the both of them soon enough.”

“I agree.” Dumbledore looked, musing, to the ceiling for a few moments before he rested his chin on his knuckles. “My sources inform me that, at this very moment, the two are studying in the library for your test tomorrow, Severus. I never thought I’d see the day when Potter was studying for Potions. As for the sleeping situation, I believe that I should have the house elves set up one of the empty rooms in Gryffindor Tower for them. There is obviously progress—you do realise, Severus, that your godson’s core personality is beginning to make appearances? He was stuck with just the one when first placed in Potter’s care,” he claimed, and he popped a lemon sherbet in his mouth.

“Be that as it may,” Severus whispered in a dangerous tone, “I will not tolerate Potter taking advantage of my stu—”

“Taking advantage?! Severus Snape, my student would never be so bold as to—”

“Break the rules? Get the cotton out of your ears, you old ba—”

“Enough.” Dumbledore held up a hand for silence and stared at the both of them. “As Headmaster of this school, I believe that we should see how this situation plays out. I do not believe Harry has any ill intentions, Severus, and Minerva, you must admit that Potter has a penchant for ignoring boundaries. However, I think we don’t have anything to worry about as far as any... well, relations go. While Harry may disregard rules, he does have honour, and he is not, as you so willingly crow, Severus, stupid. Draco is making progress, and that is far more important than you realise. I believe he may have... information. Harry is the key to that door.” He leaned back in his chair and rested his forearms on the cushy armrests, staring down his long nose at his employees and friends. “You know how important that is.”


Harry was not, as his superiors assumed, studying for the Potions test, but poring through tome after tome of information on Dissociative Identity Disorder. It was interesting to him how every single case was different, how the other personalities must “fuse” with the “core” Draco, and he wondered what it would take to get this fusion to occur. As he read, it dawned on him what he had gotten into, and he looked nervously over the book to see Draco boredly skimming through his Potions text. “How are you doing?” Harry asked quietly, the book hiding his smile as Malfoy poked his tongue out and made a horrible face. “That well, hm? That’s quite possibly the most attractive I’ve ever seen you. I’ll bet the women go crazy for that.”

“Oh, you have no idea. There’s one under the table who’s blowing me this very minute,” Draco snorted, and he flipped the yellowed page of his book. “I honestly don’t know why we have to brew Wolfsbane. There just aren’t enough werewolves to justify... aren’t enough werewolves to just... I honestly don’t know why we have to brew Wolfsbane.” Harry stared at Draco for a few moments, trying to discern whether or not he had actually heard what came out of Draco’s mouth, and he narrowed his eyes a bit.

“Malfoy, you all right?” he asked, setting his book down on the table with a light ‘thud’ to walk over to Draco and kneel down beside him. “Look, your hands are shaking.” Harry took Draco’s hands and held them tightly, trying to calm their shaking, and Draco looked away, obviously embarrassed by this small sign of weakness. “Besides that, you’re repeating yourself... I think we need to stop studying for today.”

Draco looked down to Harry with a slightly frightened expression, and he looked around the library to ensure that it was relatively empty before his fingers laced with Harry’s and he gripped them tightly. “I feel like I’m going to pass out. Harry, please, stop it...” He squeezed his eyes tightly closed before he slid off his chair and to his knees, pressing his face to Harry’s shoulder and digging his nails into the back of Harry’s hand. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Draco, soothing him and calming him down before he felt his charge fall limp against him.

“Damn,” Harry growled, and he sighed as Draco pulled back and looked up to him with grey eyes sparkling with childlike innocence. That stormy gaze looked down to their clasped hands, and to Harry’s shock, the persona let out a loud, high-pitched giggle. “Shh! We’re in a library!” Harry pressed a finger to Draco’s lips, cheeks aflame as he realised that everyone in the library was staring at them, including Madam Pince. Draco blew a loud, wet raspberry against Harry’s finger, coating it in warm saliva, and let out a wild cackle as Harry jerked his finger back and scowled, wiping it off on his jeans. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Madam Pince stalked over, fury almost visibly fuming from her ears. “Listen, Potter, Malfoy, I understand that you two are going through a very difficult time right now; regardless, this is still the library, and you must keep quiet!” She gave her foot a little stamp before pointing to the door. “Now please, make yourselves scarce!”

Draco reached up and swatted at the hem of Pince’s robes before Harry stood up and jerked him up by his arm. “Come on, damn it,” he sighed, ignoring the reproachful look from the librarian as he hauled Draco from the room. “How old are you?” he asked Draco as he pulled him down the corridors towards Gryffindor Tower, trying to ignore the fact that Draco was skipping alongside him and swinging his arm to and fro.

“Six!” the child replied, and he grinned up at Harry as they entered the tower. “How old are you?!” Harry sighed, feeling a headache coming on already.


Harry grabbed his broomstick and grinned over at Ron before mounting and soaring into the evening sky. Hermione had agreed to watch Draco for the evening, and for the first time this year, Harry let himself go with his two best friends: Ron and his Firebolt. “This was a great idea, Ron,” he laughed as they circled the pitch together, the wind whipping through their hair. Ron grinned and tore ahead of him, and the pair played a game of cat and mouse throughout the Quidditch pitch. Harry needed this. He needed to get away, if only for an hour.

Hermione sat on the couch before the fire in the common room, watching the childlike Draco doodle on scraps of paper on the floor. “What are you drawing there?” she asked with a smile, leaning over the edge of the couch to try to catch a peek of the sketch, but Draco snatched it away. “Oh, it’s a secret?” She slid down on the floor next to the boy and smiled as he begrudgingly handed her the sketch he was working on.

She was shocked—though this Draco was only six years old, she had never seen such realism in a sketch—and she patted Draco on the shoulder to congratulate him before she peered closer at the picture. It was of him and Harry, both on their knees, with Harry holding him to his chest, and Hermione had never seen such a look of tenderness in Harry’s eyes, be it in real life or impression. The boys’ hands were locked, fingers laced, and Draco had taken the time to draw the half-moons at the bases of Harry’s fingernails and the white spots that always took too long to grow out. “Oh, Draco,” she whispered, following Harry’s other arm to his other hand, which was buried in lightly-drawn hair, strand by strand, and she could nearly feel the heartbeat Draco’s hand on Harry’s chest was searching for. “This is astounding. Can I have it?”

Draco’s cheeks flushed, and he sniffed a little. “I don’t care,” he said in a huffy, little kid voice. “Wasn’t for ‘Mione, though. Hawwy’s.” He crossed his feet and waved them a little above himself on the floor, and he took another piece of paper. “Where is Hawwy anyways? With Won?” he asked as he drew a broomstick with someone Hermione did not recognize astride. She nodded, and Draco sighed as though he had the world on his shoulders. “Oh. Back soon?”

“He won’t leave you for long, Draco...”

Three hours later, Harry came up the stairs, broomstick over his shoulder and a huge grin on his face, to find Hermione sleeping on the couch and Draco snoozing on the rug. Quietly, he snuck over to Draco and touched his shoulder, smiling as grey eyes he recognized as the real Draco’s opened and focused on him. “Hey, sorry,” he said quietly, moving to help Draco to his unsteady feet. “Do you remember anything?”

Draco shook his head. “We were in the library... and I passed out, and here I am. Just tell me tomorrow, okay? I’m so tired.” His voice was scraggly, and he leaned heavily into Harry’s side, much to the disgust of Ron, who was sitting on the couch next to his sleeping girlfriend. Draco made a nasty face at him before allowing himself to be led up the stairs. “Where did you go? Did you leave me with the Mudblood?”

“Her name is Hermione, and yes, you stayed with her while I went flying with Ron. I needed an evening to myself,” Harry said quietly, his arms sliding around Draco’s waist as the Slytherin sagged against him. “I wonder what you did that made you so tired...” When they got into the dormitory, both boys undressed and got into their pyjamas before crawling into Harry’s bed. There were a few moments of awkward staring before Draco just rolled his eyes and got comfortable on his side, facing Harry and halfway hugging the pillow. Harry smiled slightly before he allowed himself to reach out to Draco, his warm hand resting on Draco’s wrist. “Hey.” Blond lashes fluttered before their gazes met in the low candlelight; Draco cocked an eyebrow in question. “Good night.”

“Oh... Good night.” Draco smiled a little, and he closed his eyes again as the candle extinguished.