Bitter Transmutation : Cruel Transformation || Drarry

Part 8

Harry went straight to Malfoy's room.

Malfoy was flushed an unpleasant looking red, sweat beading on his skin. Every breath he took was a little too laboured for comfort. His eyes flicked back and forth under his eyelids, caught in a turbulent dream.

Harry found the damp cloth, mostly dried out on the floor beside the bed, and wet it again, ringing it out thoroughly before returning to the chair. He put a mild cooling charm on it and carefully lay it on Malfoy's forehead.

Malfoy twitched, his breathing hitching for a moment then he seemed to relax ever so slightly, his dreams easing.

And Harry wondered what he should do.

Malfoy had drunk a vial of pepper-up, and the water glass was empty once again. He had eaten. Malfoy had taken every potion that might help and had plenty of liquids. He was resting, as much as he could, and sleeping, however uneasy.

There was nothing he could do.

Except wait. And Harry wasn't good at waiting.

He didn't like- It made him feel... powerless.

He hated feeling powerless.

More than anything.

Harry sighed and considered trying to study before discarding the idea out of hand. He picked up books from the piles on the floor, most of them for assignments Harry was expected to turn in. Malfoy could avoid turning in any schoolwork until his fevers were over with, but he was doing them anyway. He had almost seemed furious when Harry had suggested the idea.

He recognized one of the books of fairy tales he had brought Malfoy, all about magical creatures and flipped it open. He read stories about nymphs and sirens, and about a selkie. Selkies were shapechangers, seals that can take off their skin and turn into a human, or something quite like it.

One night a beautiful selkie came to the shore, perhaps to enjoy the full moon or the stars, it didn't say, because the story was written from a man's point of view, a man who stole the selkie's skin and locked it away so he could trap her. He married the selkie, had children by her, even as she sat by the window all day starring at the sea and weeping. Until one of her children found the hidden skin and showed it to their mother, who took it and ran back to the sea, never to be seen again.

Harry closed the book with a scowl, throwing it back onto the floor. He massaged his temples with his thumbs, hating the book and its stories and the poisonous bile inside them. Every single one of them acted like the women, the creatures, were the ones to blame, when it was the men who lusted after their beauty and then punished them for refusing, or giving in, or just existing.

Harry looked up at Malfoy. The towel had slipped from his brow, and Harry carefully put it back, turning it over to the cooler side.

Malfoy needed him. Harry wasn't going to push anything. Not when Malfoy might not be able to refuse.

He wasn't going to be like them, Harry saw the book out of the corner of his eye and kicked it out of sight under the bed, he wasn't going to take advantage.

Maybe when Malfoy was better...

But not now.

-

An hour passed, maybe two. It had been winter dark since dinner, and there were no clocks in the tower so Harry couldn't be sure of the time, except to know that it was late. Harry wished he brought his watch, though it wouldn't have helped with the waiting.

He read through his latest Quidittich Weekly, checking in on Malfoy every time he turned a page to refresh the cooling charms on the damp cloth or turn it over. He had to get up once and wet it again when it started to dry out from the heat radiating off Malfoy's skin before going back to what he was beginning to think of as his chair.