Icicle Fingers (Drarry)

Chapter 12

•Harry•

The castle was quieter than it had ever been before. The only sounds being his echoing footsteps and the occasional ghost or painting greeting him. Maybe the soft murmuring of some younger students many rooms away.

He felt even more lonely after leaving Professor Lupin's office. He had quickly taken a liking to the professor, having never been so understood by an adult in his life.

His newfound affection curdled from a feeling of foreboding as he walked through the empty halls. He still couldn't believe Lupin had taken that potion. Snape had glared at his fellow professor in the same way he glared at Harry. This was clearly more personal than just wanting the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.

Harry wished he had warned Lupin more, Snape was definitely up to no good. A potions master obsessed with the dark arts and out for vengeance being given a perfect opportunity could only end badly.

The terror that had filled his stomach after seeing Lupin swallow the entire contents of the goblet still lingered as he paced around the echoing corridors. The thought of going to Dumbledore passed timidly through his mind.

His feet had eventually taken him to the entrance hall. Just as he arrived, a certain blond git stepped through the massive doorway.

Malfoy looked exhausted. He had come back alone, before everyone else, and looked like a deer caught in headlights when he spotted Harry. His usual "holier than thou" aura gone with the wind.

"Hello, Potter." he said in a strangely quiet voice. And then continued past Harry, virtually white hair wobbling slightly as he walked.

A strange hollowness filled Harry's chest. Was that it?

***

Ron and Hermione were finally back, with a plentiful supply of dazzlingly coloured sweets. Harry felt more than happy to see them, finally having someone that wasn't Collin Creevey to talk to.

And then he was bombarded with all the fun they had in Hogsmeade.

"It was so cozy at the three broomsticks! I wish we could've brought you back some butterbeer!"

"You should've seen Zonko's joke shop Harry!"

"Yeah, I should've." Was all he could say. The sickening feeling of envy coating the inside of his body.

His day had been pretty good actually, not that Ron or Hermione would ask.

Harry had been able to fly freely around the grounds with nobody to bother him with "But what about Sirius Black!" every other sentence. It had been wonderful, feeling a barrier of air smash against his face. Wind so strong it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. Having not been able to attend most Quidditch practices as a result of his friends' and teacher's paranoia, it felt good to finally work on his technique. After all, it was Wood's last year at Hogwarts, Gryffindor needed to win.

Then he had perused the Library's many shelves. It had been almost completely silent, probably to Madame Pince's delight. With no one there but a few timid second years, and even more timid first years. He hadn't gotten any actual work done, but had done some research on Professor Lupin's Grindylow, and stared at his unfinished potions essay for a little while. He found that good enough.

All of that paled in comparison to Honeydukes, "they had everything, even functioning sugar quills!", and the post office "the owls were all colour coded depending on delivery speed!". And all the other fun they'd had without him.

Harry Potter was always included when something deadly and possibly catastrophic was underway, yet the cruel humour that was the world always cast him aside when he wanted to have fun. When he wanted to be normal.