Chilled Legacy

Chilled Legacy XII

A/N: This took far too long to write. It's late. I'm late. Everything is late- summary of my life right now

Anyway!
Sorry, and I hope you like this one.
-Lauralydney

Chilled Legacy XII

Harry had only turned his back for a second and Malfoy was gone. The clouds of steam drifting aimlessly around him made it impossible to deduce which way he'd gone.

The headmistress was too busy dealing with the commotion to help with the interrogation.
Some students had spilled onto the scene despite the D.A's best efforts to keep them back. The icy cavern was still melting,—the source of the steam—the process largely sped up by Slughorn and the other teachers.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had taken Draco away from the crowd to a secluded hallway.
The initial shock from the posters had worn off, but now Harry had different reasons to want to punch his face.
I've always known.

What kind of sick joke was that? Without knowing it, sometimes Ron hit the nail perfectly on the head. Draco had been trying to protect the ruler by tricking them. As if that weren't enough, now the Slytherin wouldn't even open his lying mouth.

"Anything," Harry pleaded. "Say anything."

"Try shaking him again," Ron suggested.

"No," Harry said, turning to Hermione. "Slap him again. It worked last time."

She looked down shamefully. "That was—I don't..."

"I know it was a spur of the moment, but it's the only way. I can do it if you want."

Right now Harry didn't feel remorseful. If his suspicions were correct, he wouldn't feel too bad beating him to a pulp. But then again, he could be wrong.
Draco looked so hollow. His eyes were wide and he seemed to be caught up in a repetitive daydream—or daymare if that was a thing.

"We should take him to Madam Pomfrey's," Ron said, and Harry lowered his hand. "There's got to be a potion or something, right?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But she'll be too busy tending to Blaise. I'll go look for Astoria."

Ron left with her. Not thinking he would move, Harry had gone in search of Slughorn to ask him what to do.

Now it was just him and his failed attempts at ever becoming an Auror.

I lost the witness. Who loses the witness?

***

He heard faint footsteps, but refused to move.

"It's chillier than I thought it would be."

Luna Lovegood plopped down next to him. Draco had been laying here in music room for hours. No one had come looking for him, but then again no one suspected he'd be here.
Maybe Potter and Slughorn guessed this much, but no one except the Ravenclaw had come barging through the door.

There were no ice spikes or swirling flakes of snow. The room had a numb sort of cold to it—like time had stopped here.
The only thing he could compare it to was an empty cooler room—no snow, completely sealed and deathly. Slowly, it drained the warmth from his body.
Maybe Luna was talking, maybe she wasn't. Draco lied on the cold floor waiting to pass out from the dropping temperature, shivering without notice.

A small pool of blood had formed under his left arm.
In all honesty, he wasn't sure what happened. He had a vague memory of casting a spell—Draco had tried to remove the dark mark. His words were sluggish, and it backfired. He didn't know the extent of the damage, only that his arm was still attached to his body...thankfully.