sweetener; drarry

8; aftermath

TRACK 8
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Making his way to Transfiguration with a head stocked full of questions, Harry tottered down huge, stone archways and up a few flights of stairs into a (much warmer) hallway crammed with students. He hadn't been quite as far away from his classroom as he had hoped, immediately confronted by both Ron and Hermione when all he wanted to do was think. Professor McGonogall's door remained closed just when Harry wished it would fly open — so he could quietly sit at his desk and ignore the booming voices of his two best friends.
"Where have you been? Snape's office is the complete other direction from where you just came from, Harry." Ron eyed the brunet suspiciously.
"You know he'll have it out for you next time you see him, and who knows what he'll do!" Hermione's wail rose above all other chatter.

That same, lingering tiredness swamped Harry's being and he resentfully closed his eyes. Longing for his slightly-too-small-bed, the brunet shrugged off both Ron and Hermione's concerns, turning toward the now open classroom door and advancing towards it.

Transfiguration didn't exactly start with a bang. Harry rummaged around in his pockets frantically, unable to find his bloody wand. If that wasn't bad enough, the spare one — given to him by Professor McGonogall after a very stern telling off — was so old and broken, he accidentally turned a cauldron into a half-cat half-sink monstrosity instead of a quill. And to top it all off, he spilled ink all over his work after dipping in and out of sleep. The lesson flashed by in a daze when Harry decided to stare into space, willing the lumbering arms of exhaustion to envelope his figure and embrace him in a long awaited slumber. Unfortunately for the brunet, the bell rang just as he had closed his eyes. He was ripped from his five second sleep, heavy eyelids weighing down his cheeks as he gathered his things and headed for the door. Hermione grabbed him by the elbow and chased after him, soon persuited by Ron. The trio left through the doors and tucked themselves away in a neat dip in one of the walls.

"What's wrong, Harry." She sighed, more demanding than questioning. Her bushy eyebrows knitted together with anxiety as she stared intently at the brunet. Ron, who was tightly pressed at her side (almost enclosing Harry and causing an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia to swamp his mind), nodding as if to encourage the brunet. Anger swelled in his chest and he practically doubled in size, shaking Hermione's hand from his arm. His face gradually grew pinker and pinker as he furrowed his eyebrows and his fatigued expression turned to one of spite.
"Nothing," he almost growled, balling his fists until they turned an achromatic white, "why does everybody think there's something wrong, all of a sudden?" He regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips. Hermione frowned as she, too, flushed a shade darker than her usual tone. Ron's concerned gaze quickly turned into a rage-fuelled glare.

"Well, Harry, there clearly is something wrong because ever since that damned Boggart lesson, all you've done is chase after Malfoy like a lost puppy!" The ginger burst, seemingly unaware of the dozens of eyes that had turned on them. Harry knew that Ron probably had a reason to be angry — from an outsiders perspective it definitely did seem 'wrong' that the brunet had suddenly decided to befriend his worst bully since first year — but that thought quickly flitted through Harry's mind and right out of it as his stubborn nature took over.
"I have not been chasing him, and even if I was — what's the issue?" Harry snarled, staring Ron down with a fiery gleam in his eyes. This was a fight he would not back down to, much like all the others. Ron wasn't giving up so easily, either.
"Because he's Draco-bleeding-Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!" The ginger spat, scrunching up his nose as if he had just spoken the name of You-Know-Who.

Harry opened his mouth to throw some sort of retaliation at Ron, one that would prove just how cruel the redhead was being towards Malfoy, when an oh-so-familiar voice chimed in.
"I don't remember giving you permission to speak my name, Weasel." Harry first saw the stunningly white-blond hair atop Draco's head that was so neat and perfectly placed it almost seemed unreal. Then, he saw those dull, blue eyes that shimmered in the light cast by the windows. Next was the porcelain skin, so pale it looked as thought it would bruise like a peach at the lightest touch.
"What do you want." Ron hissed, scrunching his face up even more, if that was even possible.
"If that was any of your concern, I would've told you by now, wouldn't I?" Draco replied almost instantly, folding his arms and turning on Harry without so much as another word to Ron. The ginger opened his mouth as if to speak before the blond lifted a finger, inches away from Ron's mouth before cutting in. "Potter, you left your wand. God knows how because I don't even remember you taking it out. Next time I won't give it back, so please don't litter my shelves with that ugly, little stick, hmm?" And with that he span on his heels and headed for the Slytherin Common Room (or so Harry presumed).

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Lunch in the Great Hall had never been so tense. Ron refused to talk to Harry and he the same. Malfoy was no where insight, despite the huge feast, and Hermione fidgeted and squirmed uncomfortably, hands on her lap.

How had things turned so sour?

After angrily ripping apart and swallowing a sandwich, Harry heftily rose to his feet, sighing and slamming about as he did so. He then fixed his slanted robes before heading for the stairs leading somewhere. The brunet didn't even know where he was going. Anywhere but the Great Hall, that's for sure.

After travelling up a few flights of stairs and deciding to spend the rest of his lunchtime in the Gryffindor Common Room, he suddenly halted when he found a note attached to the Fat Lady's portrait. It was pinned over her mouth by a piece of tape and she was struggling beneath it. Harry gently withdrew it from her mouth and she spat and hissed.
"Children nowadays! No manners whatsoever." She grumpily cried. Ignoring her completely, Harry opened the note and read it quickly. He almost didn't believe what it said, rereading it about twenty times over.

Meet me in library. Important. Don't bring the Weasel. Or that other one, whatever she's called.

Only one person in the entirety of Hogwart's referred to Ron as 'the Weasel', and only that same one person would pretend they didn't know Hermione's name.
"Who stuck this to you?" Harry gaped, still trying to wrap his head around what the note could possibly imply.
"Insolent little boy, white hair and a horrid scowl on his face!" The Fat Lady huffed, "wearing Slytherin robes, I believe." Of course. The brunet just wanted to be sure.

He wasn't sure why, but Harry set off at a sprint for the library. What was so important, anyway? Surely if Draco Malfoy was asking for Harry Potter, claiming it was urgent, then it almost definitely had to be.

Whatever it was, Harry's stomach clenched and he felt a sudden wave of anxiety. Pushing through it, he skidded along corridors until he'd made a semi-destructive path all the way to the huge library.