Warm But Tainted Blood (Drarry)

chapter fourteen

On the evening Ronald Weasly calls Harry Potter a "cunt," and on the evening Draco Malfoy curses him to choke on slugs in response, Harry noticed two rather odd things.

Ron had called Harry a cunt for a multitude of reasons, none of which were particularly valid. Harry Potter is a cunt because newspaper author Rita Skeeter said so. Harry Potter is a cunt because he's oh so fucking popular. Harry Potter is a cunt because of a fickle feeling named "jealousy."

Whatever the reason is beside the point. What matters is that it was said, loudly, at the Great Hall one January evening and what matters even more so is that Draco overhead the aforementioned uttered prophanity. Draco overhead and, unlike Harry, who had since decided that violence against Ron is not in his nature, wanted vengeance and got it.

Draco had told his parents he beat up Ronald Weasly, ommitting the fact he did so over Harry Potter, and they bribed a teacher or two so Draco wasn't punished. When Harry heard, he was mystified. Draco's parents-- however estranged they are to the Light and, in extension, him-- quite obviously cared about their son. Harry had never had anyone care for him that deeply. The feeling of family is alienating to him.

Harry found there was lots of things Harry could not relate to regarding Draco-- his wealth, the way people treated him because of his blood status, the way Draco was not teased by Slytherins (except those who thought it odd that Draco was friends with Harry.) Draco was put together, swift in composure, and excellent in class.

Dispite their differences-- their many, many differences--  they got along together well. Perhaps that's why Harry found himself inviting Draco to sneak out of his respective House Tower and meet him by the wards. Harry had taken to routinely, as in two or three times a week, sitting outside at night and watching the dragons. He'd call it "looking for clues," but, really, it was more so just enjoying the nighttime atmosphere.

It was Harry's Time, all his own, used to escape any nighttime horrors that might've arose if he had done otherwise. Though Draco didn't realize it, Harry was not inclined to share, so to do so with Draco was... a lot. A lot of trust, a lot of growth.

Draco arrives ten minutes past midnight. An hour later than Harry had, but it can't be helped. He didn't mind.

"How do you get here so quickly?" Draco asks, tentatively as he plucked at grass. "I left at five minutes past curfew and it still took me, what?"

"Two hours," Harry said absently.

"Yeah, with avoiding that stupid janitor and his cat. Got lost at least three times." Draco sighed, eyeing a particularly yellow dragon as he laid back on his palms.

Harry stood and flung the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders. He twirled in a circle then said, "I use this. A fuckin beauty, ain't it?"

"Oh," Draco laughed. "How ever could I forget so soon?"

Harry smiled, moving to take off the Cloak and sit down at the same down-- which was proven not to be the best course of action and Harry's foot caught on the cloak, making him stumble back.

Harry had assumed the ward would bounce him back-- as they had many times before-- and he would fall against the dirt with a muffled oof.

But that didn't happen. Not even close.

Oddly enough, Harry, with the Cloak wrapped around him in all its glory, fell right through the wards that had previously so easily repelled before. Harry scrambled up, breathing a sigh of relief when the dragons seemed to not be able to see through the Cloak.

Draco, on the other side, looked on with wide eyes and what could be interrupted as mild to extreme fascination.

That was the first odd event of the evening. The Cloak that was, unbeknownst to him and would remain so for at least six years, a Dealthy Hallow. It had been able to hide the original owner from Death so why, I ask, would it be unsurprising that it could hide one from many other things? It surpasses the grasp of an immortal being, so I think it is reasonable to assume that it could surpass the grasp of some measly wards.

Harry wonders how it's possible-- because, realistically, one should not be able to pass the wards without explicit permission. Permission that Harry did not have. He'd tried a few times before to step into the field that rests in front of the Forbidden Forest-- where Dumbledore had decided to close off the wards-- and each time he'd been mercilessly denied.

There was not much different about this attempt. Either way, Harry decided to push it to the back of his mind and focus on much more pressing matters. Like the dragons. Though they couldn't see him-- thank Merlin for that-- they were still dangerous and Harry would not like to speed any more time on this side of the death trap, thank you very much.

"See you, nice friendly dragons," Harry said as he stepped back into the grounds of Hogwarts
Draco's face, already one expressing wonder, warped even more so.

He asked, his voice full of awe, "You can speak Parseltongue?"

(The second odd event of the evening.)

"What now?" Harry questions, a furrow in his brow as he slipped the Cloak off his back.

"You can talk to snakes. Or, erm, reptiles."

So it hadn't been English he used when addressing those beasts? How... odd, he thought.

"Er I," Harry shifted. "I thought that was a shitty, normal wizard thing?"

"Sorry to disappoint," Draco laughed. "It's an exceedingly rare gift. You should read up on it."

Harry nodded, already planning to not do exactly that.

"And don't worry," Draco later said, right before they seperated at the entrance to the right corridor, "You've for enough to deal with. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Draco was proving to be a very good friend indeed.