What If? -Drarry

Part Four: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"Morning, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, sliding into his usual seat and grabbing a slice of toast from the rack in the centre of the table. Hermione and Ron sat down opposite him. "Has Hedwig come back?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to say. She got back this morning. But she didn't have a letter, I'm afraid. She's in Erol's cage just now, having some food."

"She didn't bring a letter?" Harry asked sharply, his toast stopping halfway to his mouth.

"Not that I could see, dear," Mrs Weasley looked at him closely. "Are you alright?"

Harry shared a look with Hermione. "I'm fine, thanks," putting down his uneaten toast, he stood up. "I'll just go and see her, if that's okay,"

"Of course, dear!" Mrs Weasley laughed, looking bemused. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry didn't reply and walked briskly to the living room where Erol and Hedwig were eating owl pellets, no letter in sight.

"Nothing?" Asked Hermione, following him into the room. Harry shook his head. "Maybe it's just a mistake. I mean, Hedwig might have dropped it or-"

"It isn't that," Harry answered flatly. "It's something to do with what I felt through the ring the other day. Something's happened to him."

Hermione bit her lip. "You haven't felt anything since-"

"No." Harry looked at the gold ring on his hand. "Nothing."

"Do you think Draco might have taken it off?"

"I don't know, Hermione." Harry snapped. "Let's just go eat breakfast."

Ron looked at them both, bemused, as they re-entered the dining room.

"What was that about?"

"I was just checking that Harry was okay, which he is," Hermione said lightly, and Ron, happy with the half-truth, shrugged and continued to attack his scrambled eggs.

As he forced himself to eat, Harry remembered the drowning sense of despair that had come over him several days previously, coming and going rapidly, and clearly emanating from the golden ring he shared with Draco. His blood boiled when he imagined what might be happening, with Draco forced to live with Voldemort, being tortured by his own father, unable to escape his own personal hell.

0o0o

"So that's books done, and stationary replaced," Hermione listed as they walked through the crowded Diagon Ally, "how about robes next? Madam Malkin's is just along there,"

The three were school-shopping, as were many of the other teenagers in the crowded cobbled street. Harry and Ron agreed and together they walked into the Robe Emporium, a bell chiming as they entered. Harry glanced around for Madam Malkin and felt as though his heart stopped. She was measuring a tall, blonde boy for robes, and waved for them to take a seat and wait. Harry didn't move. He stared at Draco, taking in the thin arms, the pallid skin, and the hollow cheeks, and felt something contract inside him.

"C'mon, Harry," Ron appeared at his side, "Malfoy's gotta get his new dress fitted nicely."

Draco looked up from where he had been pointedly staring at the floor, and for the first time, their eyes met. Harry flinched. Something in Draco's eyes had changed. For a moment it reminded Harry of the time, so long ago, when Draco had insulted his mother. Then, it had been like an emotionless stone mask was covering his face. But this was different. Draco looked, not emotionless, but hopeless. The bright grey eyes that Harry had fallen in love with had lost their shine, and now looked tired, like clouds hanging heavy with rain, or the thick fog that rolls in from the sea.