Warm But Tainted Blood (Drarry)

chapter seventeen

Harry Potter has had a rough day. It started with Potions-- a disaster always-- and with getting partnered with Ron Weasley. 

Ron had decided that since he was failing Potions, everyone else should, too. Everyone being Harry, of course. He'd toss in a few extra Algae snippets and Harry would panic to undo the effect.

"Wealsey you can't--"

"Can't what?" he'd snap, doing exactly what Harry was trying to prevent.

But when things go to shit-- that natural state-- it is Harry who Snape sneers down at and assigns a detention. "Just like your father, you fail to complete even the simplest of tasks." And though it's unutterable, even for him, there's the unspoken they died on you and you deserved it. "Meet me in my office tonight an hour before curfew."

Harry bows his head and bites his lip. He won't say anything back because it'll only make everything so much worse. He doesn't get the man's hatred and never will. There's nothing to get.

Harry's Rough Day is only continued when Dumbledore sends him a letter, calling him into his office a bit before his detenion. 

He does not trust the man. He knows that he's yet to do anything particularly untrustworthy but there's a part of Harry that screams he would watch you die and smile because he is the cause.

He's suspicious because he's raised without reason not to be. Albus Dumbledore is yet to be exempt from that.

Harry grips the parchment in his hand, crumbling the paper and breathes deeply. How can he even bring himself to go when he'll have to face Snape-- fucking Snape-- right after and he'll have to be face to face with Ron for the rest of the day's classes? How is he supposed to do this?

... He won't. That's the solution; he simply won't. It's all so simple now that he's considered it. Harry writes two letters-- one to Dumbledore, one to Snape-- informing them that he will be missing both appointments along with his afternoon classes, thank you very much. What would they do? They can't exactly force him, can they? Take some points, who cares, take a million, who cares?

Not Harry.

He grabs his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map, and proceeds to lie in the grass by the dragons. He has turned away from his troubles and is in no state to care about the consequences. Later, he's sure he'll piss his pants over how ballsy it was to just say no to a detenion.

But right now? Right now he's crying on the grass-- because he's always been a cryer and he's too emotionally exhausted to fight that-- and thoughts and worries about Dumbledore and Snape are the furthest thing from his mind.

When the sun sets and his tears run down to a fickle trickle down his cheeks, when the hunger licks at his bones and thirst parches his mouth, Harry will think about returning. He doesn't want to sleep on the dirt. The allure of an actual bed is unyeilding.

To get up and walk back to Gryffindor Tower is... to walk back to life, to tomorrow. A day that he's not yet prepared to face.

He'll face it, though. He's not a Gryffindor for nothing and he can't stay out here forever.

Harry sighs and with a huff, sits up and gathers his wand and Map. He checks the latter absently as he walks back to the castle, seeing the empty corridors and taking them.

His peers are all in bed, it seemed. With the exclusion of Neville, who was walking across the dorm room...

Only to stop at where Harry's bed would be.

Harry's brow furrowed. What? There was no mistake, though, Neville was doing something at the foot of Harry's bed.

Harry gasps softly, realization washing over him, and says to no one, "Is he rummaging through my shit?"

Harry jogged lightly the rest of the walk, spitting out the password and practically throwing himself up the stairs.

By the time Harry arrives, Neville had dispersed. Harry plopped to his knees and resumed his nightly routine of counting his few pocessions-- though it was arguable that he did so this time with a bit more urgency.

If you took anything, I'll set Draco on you, you whore, Harry thinks but the threat is misplaced. There's nothing missing. It's not as much as relief as he had hoped for. It means that Neville was cataloguing Harry's items-- a useless act, one would say-- or was looking for something that wasn't there. The Map, which would appear to just a blank page to Neville as he wasn't keyed in. Or the other missing item, which was much more likely...

"Longbottom was looking to steal my Invisibility Cloak," Harry whispered gently, yet the words hung heavy in the air.

∆¶∆

Snape storms up into Dumbledore's office, a crudely written letter in hand and a vicious glare painting his features. He opens the door to find Albus sitting casually, rereading a rather similar piece of parchment.

He looks up when Severus arrivies, gestures to the free chair, and offers him a lemon drop.

Severus declines. "I'm not hear for your candy, Albus--"

"No," he hummed, a twinkle in his eyes. "I don't suppose you are."

Severus slams the letter down on Albus's desk, pratically shaking with rage. "A child cannot just refuse to face punishment! We must enforce the rules we've so carefully instructed--"

"Why?"

Severus startles. "What do you mean why?"

Albus shifts in his seat, throwing a lemon drop in his mouth. "Why does it matter if young Harry is punished or not? It's clear that it doesn't matter what we do in response to his actions, because he'd stand by the behaviour either way. What good does punishment do if nothing comes from it?" His tone softens and he adds, "Besides, Severus, it's just a mental health day. I'm sure you would've appreciated such luxuries when you were in school?"

Severus grits his teeth. Low blow, he supposed, and obscenely manipulative to use his past against him...

But he wasn't exactly wrong.

Severus says, harshly, "Just this once, that's all I'll excuse."

"Of course," said Albus, though his mocking tone betrayed his disbelief.