Let Me Be Your Voice

Part 12

“Here it is, Harry,” Hermione said, stopping by the infirmary on her way to class. She set Harry’s and Malfoy’s school bags, full to bursting with books and scrolls, at the foot of Harry’s bed. She glanced timidly at Malfoy, who was ignoring them both. “Can I help at all?” she asked. “I must say that I’m rather fascinated by the written form of Parseltongue. I’ve done some research on the subject and I don’t believe it has ever been studied. I almost wonder …”

Harry chuckled as her voice trailed off. “Well, I know I can use all the help I can get with my essays. Malfoy has had me re-write a few of them already. I never realised how shoddy my writing has been until I started translating his.”

He heard a snort of laughter come from Malfoy’s bed and looked over. “Well, at least I can admit when I need help,” he added without thinking.

Malfoy raised his hand with a rude gesture, clearly not amused.

Harry threw up his hands. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I’m serious.”

Hermione chuckled softly from the foot of his bed. “I’ll leave you two to settle your argument. Ron and I will check back in after lessons are over for the day. I’ll take notes so you don’t fall behind.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said and watched her hurry away, her hair bouncing as she walked.

After she had left, Harry pulled the school bags towards himself and started unpacking them.

“Might as well get some work done while we’re here,” he said, separating the books from the scrolls.

“What do you want from me?” Malfoy hissed softly.

Harry turned to look at him. He was facing Harry now, but not making any movement suggesting he was planning to get up anytime soon.

“What do you mean?”

Malfoy didn’t answer with words, but Harry could read his eyes. They said, plain as day: why do you care?

Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, what Malfoy was expecting to hear. “I — I don’t want Voldemort to win,” he answered at last. “If you fail because of this curse, or because of the ill will you are shown by others because of the war, it’s like he wins.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow as if he were asking: and that is all? but thankfully didn’t press the issue any further.

Harry felt a flush start spreading up his neck and turned to face the books so Malfoy couldn’t see. The intimacy of their confinement made the kiss they had shared hang over them like the lingering echo of a lone note from an oboe, after an orchestra had fallen silent.

~x~

The next couple of days flew by in a whirl of intense focusing on finishing their coursework. Harry suspected part of Malfoy’s drive to getting everything done was to keep Harry so heaped with things to do that he wouldn’t have any time to talk about anything uncomfortable.

Malfoy received an owl from his mother on the first day, but he wouldn’t let Harry read it and refused all assistance when Harry offered to write back to her.

Ron and Hermione stopped in once an evening after lessons were dismissed, to hand over their new assignments and to fill Harry in about how things were going among the other students. Apparently there had been some harsh exchanges between the houses in the lower years, that the eighth-year students were asked to curtail by McGonagall. Hermione dropped several hints that she’d like some help from Harry in getting the students to work together after he was released.