Penitence Part Eight
May. 27th, 2009 01:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesYou may all thank super non stalker ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
0obubbl who took the art of nagging to a new level by creating an LJ account for the sole purpose of prodding me into posting this next part. *grin* *squishes new stalker*
The corridor where the statue of Pythagoras resided was near Ravenclaw Tower, close to the Arithmancy classroom. It seemed an odd location and Pious had the devil’s own time getting there undetected. He passed about ninety other places he considered more suitable for a private conversation and added another line to his mental list of complaints for Potter. Filch and his stupid cat nearly caught him as he rounded the third floor stairwell. Only a ridiculously slow and silent ascension of the next set of stairs kept him from detection by the cat’s sensitive ears. Pious hated that bloody cat. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of idiot would name a cat Mr. Wharton. Filch, of course, he answered himself as he continued upward. Apparently his first cat had been named Mrs. Norris, another ridiculous name.
He waited for long minutes at the entrance to the hallway, wondering if Potter had cooked up some sort of trap after all. It seemed deserted, with no Potter waiting. Pious eyed the place suspiciously. It was an odd place for a private meeting, unless Potter was aware of some sort of secret passageway or room. Pious’s father had told him about several, but there were none that he knew of in this part of the castle.
Pious muttered a Tempus Charm. 11:05. There was no sign of Potter at all. He scowled, thinking it very likely the prat had made him come all the way up here only to risk being caught out of bed. He knew the smartest thing would be to turn smartly around and go back to the Slytherin dungeon. Definitely the smartest thing, he thought as his feet carried him forward. He cursed the Malfoy curiosity that he had inherited from his father. Potter might have left him a message or something. He had to know.
The statue was dimly lit from below by a permanent Charm, which merely made old Pythagoras look sinister in the dark. Beyond the muted glow the darkness was inky and ominous. Pious gripped his wand more tightly and took a cautious step. A whisper of sound jerked his head to the right, but it was too late. The Expelliarmus sent his wand wrenching from his grip. Pious swore, but before he could turn and flee something looped around his ankle. He kicked at it, but several more wrapped around his wrist, thigh, and waist.
“Potter!” Pious snarled.
As if conjured by his name, Albus Potter appeared. Pious was not certain it was him until a wan glow lit the tip of the wand in his hand. By then Pious was nearly immobilized by the dark strands that surrounded him in slowly tightening tendrils.
“Don’t struggle,” Potter warned. “It’s Devil’s Snare.”
Pious froze. One had worked its way around his neck.
“I hate you, Potter.’
“The feeling is definitely mutual, Malfoy,” Potter said in a purring tone. He Summoned Pious’s wand and dangled it tauntingly before putting it into a pocket.
“What do you want, Potter? If you’re into bondage, wouldn’t silk ties be simpler?” The tendril around Pious’s neck tightened slightly.
“I want you to leave me alone. Permanently.”
“And you think tying me up with a plant will persuade me?”
“No, probably not, but this might.” Potter cast another spell and Pious was suddenly shirtless. Another Vanished his trousers and then his shoes. Pious gasped in astonishment.
“Bloody hell, Potter, where did you learn that spell?” In spite of himself, Pious was impressed.
Potter scoffed. “When you pull as many pranks as I do, that spell is a necessity.”
“And yet you’ve never used it on me,” Pious said and tried not to sound disappointed.
“I never had the urge to see you naked, Malfoy,” Potter said dryly.
“Until now,” Pious replied suggestively.
Potter laughed. “Oh this display is not for me. It’s for the Ravenclaw girls. Did you know they all use this corridor in the morning on their way to the girls’ bath?”
Pious clenched his jaw. He still wore his boxers, for which he was grateful, but he knew a single wave of Potter’s wand could change that. He twitched involuntarily and a tendril tightened around his bicep. He glared.
~~- oOo -~~
Albus caught the enraged look and felt a heady rush of power.
“You intend to leave me here?” Malfoy asked.
“Oh yes. After I remove your final bit of protection, of course,” Al said and gestured with his wand. He tried not to notice that Malfoy was now clad in only a small bit of silk. The blond was disturbingly attractive with the dark tendrils curling over his limbs, neck, and lean waist. He was quite still, knowing that every movement would cause the mobile branches to constrict.
Malfoy smirked. “I’m not sure I have a problem with that, Potter. I’m quite good-looking, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Al nodded. “I thought you might feel that way. But you may have forgotten that there is one person likely to find you before the girls straggle out of their dorm in the morning…”
Malfoy drew in a breath and then his eyebrows drew down. Albus laughed. “Yes, I’m quite sure Argus Filch has noticed how good-looking you are.”
“That’s sick, Potter.”
Al tsked and made a show of pacing back and forth before the bound Slytherin. “I know, it’s terrible the way he looks at young men. I can’t believe they allow him to stay at Hogwarts. Disgraceful, really. I’ve heard since he’s a Squib that he’s forced to use potions in order to… have his way with students. You’ve heard the stories. They wake up in the morning feeling strange with no memory of the night before…”
Al’s voice was hushed and he realized the tale sounded even worse in the thick darkness of a deserted corridor. There were many stories about Filch, most of which were complete bollocks, according to Al’s father. And yet the tales remained. Malfoy’s jaw worked and and Al could hear the uneven quality of his breathing. Oddly, he felt no satisfaction. He hoped the Slytherin would take the deal so Al could release him. He stopped in front of Malfoy and cleared his throat in an official manner.
“So. If you promise never to touch me again and definitely never to kiss me again, then I shall release you. But I want your promise as a Malfoy.”
“Potter, I...” Malfoy’s voice was unsteady and sounded almost fearful.
“Take it or leave it!” Al snapped and spun on his heel. He took a few deliberate steps.
“Wait, I take it!” Malfoy cried. Al backtracked and Pious continued, “I promise not to touch you!”
“And?”
“I promise not to kiss you either, now let me out of this thing. There is something very wrong with it—”
Malfoy’s words were cut off by a long, terrible shriek of pain. Alarmed, Albus brightened his wand. He froze for an instant, unable to comprehend what he saw.
The Devil’s Snare had grown sharp, bladelike projections. Malfoy was pierced in a dozen places and looked like a human pincushion. Al watched with horror as the blond spasmed in agony. The shudders coursing through Pious made the plant crush him more tightly, twisting the sharp edges into his flesh. Dark rivulets trickled over Malfoy’s skin and for several long heartbeats Albus could not accept that it was blood. Blood.
“Lumosmaximus!” Al cried and levelled his wand at the base of the plant—the Devil’s Snare that had turned into something far more vicious and deadly. The wicked tendrils instantly shrank and withdrew, sliding out of Malfoy’s flesh and leaving him still and bloody on the hard stone. Al shouted an Immobilizing Spell to freeze the plant and then threw himself at the wounded blond. His knees banged against the floor as he scooped Pious into a terrified embrace. He was unconscious. The light from Al’s spell followed by stark darkness left Al blind, but the brief burst of luminosity had illuminated an obscene amount of blood on the floor beneath his victim.
Without pausing to think, Al cast a Weightlessness Charm on Malfoy, lifted him in his arms, and raced at breakneck speed to the Hospital Wing. He burst through the doors shouting hoarsely for Madam Pomfrey.
The questions were endless and implacable. Al told Pomfrey everything, leaving out only the reasoning behind Al’s attack. He explained that it had merely been a harmless prank and that the Devil’s Snare seeds had been taken from Professor Longbottom’s house over the holidays. They should not have been experimental or deadly.
Al’s hands had twisted together in anguish as he watched Madam Pomfrey work quickly over Pious with wand, potions, and powders.
“Is he going to be all right?” Al had asked in a hushed tone. She had thrown him an icy glare.
“I am doing the best I can, Mr. Potter. You will go to Headmistress McGonagall’s office immediately. The password is ‘hawthorn’. Go now, Mr. Potter!”
Al had thrown one last look at the pale blond, who looked far more pale than usual, and hurried out. Once in McGonagall’s office he had seated himself nervously in a chair and rubbed absently at the blood that was drying on his hands and caking on his clothing. Malfoy’s blood. Before Al could break down into hysterics, McGonagall had arrived and the interrogation had begun.
“Who had access to the seeds and the plant, Mr. Potter?” she asked sharply. “Prior to your utilizing them in the corridor.”
Al shook his head miserably. “No one. Well, everyone that knows how to get into my trunk, I suppose. Hell, James, Lily, and Rose. Possibly Hugo. None of them have a beef against Malfoy, though. Well, Hell does, but this was not his idea.”
“Did he know about it?”
Al flushed. “He knew about the Devil’s Snare, but he didn’t know what I planned to do with it.”
“And yet you got the seeds from his house?”
“Professor Longbottom would not have killer seeds at his house!” Al said hotly. They were ordinary seeds and the plant grew in a normal manner!”
She sighed, looking a dozen times more stern than usual. She should have looked less intimidating, since she wore a dressing gown and nightcap, but her manner of dress made little difference. Her expression of disappointment was condemning.
Al wanted to tear his hair in frustration. He was not even concerned about wriggling out of trouble; all he wanted was for Pious Malfoy to be safe and well. She asked, “It is possible the plant was tampered with after you germinated it. It has been confiscated and several of the Professors are looking at it now, including Professor Longbottom. Where were you keeping it?”
Albus told her and admitted the unlikely possibility of anyone locating the plant and turning it into a vicious weapon. “Will Malfoy… will Pi—Scorpius be all right?”
Any answer was interrupted by the sudden burst of activity near the fireplace. The flames flared and disgorged two men—Al’s father… and Draco Malfoy. They wore identical expressions of displeasure.
“Where is my son?” the elder Malfoy snarled.
“In the Hospital Wing, Mr. Malfoy,” said McGonagall. “I will take you—”
Her words trailed off as the blond man stalked immediately to the stairwell and down. Al wondered if he had been awake when the news was delivered—he was impeccably dressed. Unlike Al’s father, who looked to have thrown on a pair of jeans and a rumpled t-shirt before leaping into the Floo.
“Come on,” his father said and hurried after Mr. Malfoy. Al looked at the Headmistress in concern before following his father. He heard heels clicking rapidly on the stone as McGonagall joined the queue. “What happened, Al?” his father asked as they rushed after the angry Malfoy. Al tried to explain as he jogged.
They reached the Hospital Wing and gathered wordlessly around the bedside. Mr. Malfoy sat on the edge and touched Pious’s blond hair gently. Al hovered near the foot of the bed, feeling wretched, and his father stood next to him. Madam Pomfrey stood across from Mr. Malfoy and held Pious’s pale wrist in her fingers.
“His heartbeat seems to have stabilized and we’ve healed the majority of the wounds. I shall have to keep him a few days to ensure we’ve gotten the internal wounds closed and also to ascertain that his blood is replenishing properly.”
“What happened to him?” Mr. Malfoy asked in a deadly voice. Al was suddenly terrified and sidled closer to his father, who put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Al took a steadying breath and spilled the story for the third time. He doubted it would be the last.
“A prank?” Mr. Malfoy demanded as he stood and rounded on Albus. “You nearly killed my son for a bloody prank?”
Al stammered and his father came to his rescue. “In Al’s defence, your son is a constant source of irritation.”
“So that makes it all right for precious Al to set a lethal plant on him?” Mr. Malfoy’s voice was calm, but warning bells began to clang in Al’s head.
“No, of course not, but you heard Albus. It had to be some sort of mistake. He certainly would never intentionally hurt Scorpius.”
Mr. Malfoy’s glare could have rivalled a subzero winter. “I see. No Potter would ever wilfully cause bodily injury to a Malfoy, is that what you’re saying, Potter?”
Astoundingly, Al’s father flushed and his grip tightened on Al’s shoulder. “That was over twenty years ago and I was provoked! Just like your son likely provoked mine!”
The two men glared at each other and sparks seemed to crackle across the space that separated them. The animosity was suddenly tangible and Madam Pomfrey said, “Gentlemen! Please take all arguments outside! My patients need rest, especially your son, Mr. Malfoy.”
The blond man stalked forward and leaned close to Al’s father, who met his glare evenly. “Keep your fucking menace of a son away from mine. As of this moment, I have nothing more to say to you and I would prefer never to see your face again.”
With that, Pious’s angry father strode regally to the door and out.
“That bloody bastard!” Al’s father snarled. Without a word, he turned and hurried after the man. Al buried his face in his hands when he heard raised voices from the corridor. McGonagall and Pomfrey rushed out to join the fray and Al sidled quickly to the head of Pious’s bed. He sat down and touched the blond hair tentatively, the way Mr. Malfoy had done.
“I’m sorry,” Al said miserably.
“Mr. Potter!” the Headmistress called suddenly from the door. “Clean yourself up and go back to your dorm immediately. We will continue this discussion in the morning. Poppy, please have someone escort Mr. Potter to ensure no wandering.” The door slammed behind McGonagall and the medi-witch looked at Al sadly before walking into her office. Al heard her talking to a portrait and soon the Gryffindor ghost appeared. Al noticed his invisibility cloak had been cleaned and placed on the end of Pious’s bed. Al vaguely remembered grabbing it before his panicked rush to get Pious some help. He slung the cloak over and arm and allowed Nearly Headless Nick to “escort” him back to the Slytherin dungeons. Sir Nicholas chattered all the way, spilling stories about the rivalry between Al’s father and Mr. Malfoy when they attended Hogwarts. Al had heard them before and they only served to make him feel nauseous. Perhaps Al had never given Malfoy a chance; maybe he had simply acted on the stories of rivalry he had been brought up with. The thought was depressing.
After a quick trip to a bath where Al washed off a terrifying amount of dried blood, he followed Sir Nicolas to the Slytherin dungeon. There he waited only long enough for the ghost to float to another part of the school before he slung on his cloak and slipped out again. The clock had struck midnight while Al bathed, but he was too agitated to be tired. There was no possible way for him to sleep. The best he could hope for would be to toss and turn while replaying the scene in his mind until he went mad.
Instead he hurried back to the Hospital Wing and slipped inside after carefully checking to ensure the coast was clear. All was quiet; Pomfrey must have returned to her bed. Al made his way back to Malfoy’s bed and carefully stretched out next to the blond. The blankets had been pulled up to Pious’s neck and Al gently grasped the material and pulled it back. He had caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s injuries before, but even so he was not prepared for the angry-looking lines that met his eyes. Several lines crossed the pale chest and Al was suddenly terrified when he realized how close one of the spikes had come to impaling Malfoy’s heart. No wonder his father had been enraged.
Al slid his fingertips gently over Pious’s chest, tracing a path around the ugly wounds. Malfoy’s skin was softer than expected and Al was surprised that touching him was not as heinous as he would have thought. Remembering how much Pious liked to be touched, Al caressed his skin in mute apology, moving his fingers from one reddish line to the next. Apparently he had been healed, but not completely. Al hoped the wounds did not leave scars. When Al’s hands reached Malfoy’s navel, he heard a low moan. He froze as he glanced at Malfoy’s face, wondering how he could explain what he was doing. Pious, however, seemed to have made the sound involuntarily. Al breathed a sigh of relief and took his hand away. He rested his chin near Malfoy’s shoulder, pulled the cloak over his head, and shut his eyes. He planned to rest for only a moment.
PART NINE
0obubbl who took the art of nagging to a new level by creating an LJ account for the sole purpose of prodding me into posting this next part. *grin* *squishes new stalker*The corridor where the statue of Pythagoras resided was near Ravenclaw Tower, close to the Arithmancy classroom. It seemed an odd location and Pious had the devil’s own time getting there undetected. He passed about ninety other places he considered more suitable for a private conversation and added another line to his mental list of complaints for Potter. Filch and his stupid cat nearly caught him as he rounded the third floor stairwell. Only a ridiculously slow and silent ascension of the next set of stairs kept him from detection by the cat’s sensitive ears. Pious hated that bloody cat. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of idiot would name a cat Mr. Wharton. Filch, of course, he answered himself as he continued upward. Apparently his first cat had been named Mrs. Norris, another ridiculous name.
He waited for long minutes at the entrance to the hallway, wondering if Potter had cooked up some sort of trap after all. It seemed deserted, with no Potter waiting. Pious eyed the place suspiciously. It was an odd place for a private meeting, unless Potter was aware of some sort of secret passageway or room. Pious’s father had told him about several, but there were none that he knew of in this part of the castle.
Pious muttered a Tempus Charm. 11:05. There was no sign of Potter at all. He scowled, thinking it very likely the prat had made him come all the way up here only to risk being caught out of bed. He knew the smartest thing would be to turn smartly around and go back to the Slytherin dungeon. Definitely the smartest thing, he thought as his feet carried him forward. He cursed the Malfoy curiosity that he had inherited from his father. Potter might have left him a message or something. He had to know.
The statue was dimly lit from below by a permanent Charm, which merely made old Pythagoras look sinister in the dark. Beyond the muted glow the darkness was inky and ominous. Pious gripped his wand more tightly and took a cautious step. A whisper of sound jerked his head to the right, but it was too late. The Expelliarmus sent his wand wrenching from his grip. Pious swore, but before he could turn and flee something looped around his ankle. He kicked at it, but several more wrapped around his wrist, thigh, and waist.
“Potter!” Pious snarled.
As if conjured by his name, Albus Potter appeared. Pious was not certain it was him until a wan glow lit the tip of the wand in his hand. By then Pious was nearly immobilized by the dark strands that surrounded him in slowly tightening tendrils.
“Don’t struggle,” Potter warned. “It’s Devil’s Snare.”
Pious froze. One had worked its way around his neck.
“I hate you, Potter.’
“The feeling is definitely mutual, Malfoy,” Potter said in a purring tone. He Summoned Pious’s wand and dangled it tauntingly before putting it into a pocket.
“What do you want, Potter? If you’re into bondage, wouldn’t silk ties be simpler?” The tendril around Pious’s neck tightened slightly.
“I want you to leave me alone. Permanently.”
“And you think tying me up with a plant will persuade me?”
“No, probably not, but this might.” Potter cast another spell and Pious was suddenly shirtless. Another Vanished his trousers and then his shoes. Pious gasped in astonishment.
“Bloody hell, Potter, where did you learn that spell?” In spite of himself, Pious was impressed.
Potter scoffed. “When you pull as many pranks as I do, that spell is a necessity.”
“And yet you’ve never used it on me,” Pious said and tried not to sound disappointed.
“I never had the urge to see you naked, Malfoy,” Potter said dryly.
“Until now,” Pious replied suggestively.
Potter laughed. “Oh this display is not for me. It’s for the Ravenclaw girls. Did you know they all use this corridor in the morning on their way to the girls’ bath?”
Pious clenched his jaw. He still wore his boxers, for which he was grateful, but he knew a single wave of Potter’s wand could change that. He twitched involuntarily and a tendril tightened around his bicep. He glared.
~~- oOo -~~
Albus caught the enraged look and felt a heady rush of power.
“You intend to leave me here?” Malfoy asked.
“Oh yes. After I remove your final bit of protection, of course,” Al said and gestured with his wand. He tried not to notice that Malfoy was now clad in only a small bit of silk. The blond was disturbingly attractive with the dark tendrils curling over his limbs, neck, and lean waist. He was quite still, knowing that every movement would cause the mobile branches to constrict.
Malfoy smirked. “I’m not sure I have a problem with that, Potter. I’m quite good-looking, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Al nodded. “I thought you might feel that way. But you may have forgotten that there is one person likely to find you before the girls straggle out of their dorm in the morning…”
Malfoy drew in a breath and then his eyebrows drew down. Albus laughed. “Yes, I’m quite sure Argus Filch has noticed how good-looking you are.”
“That’s sick, Potter.”
Al tsked and made a show of pacing back and forth before the bound Slytherin. “I know, it’s terrible the way he looks at young men. I can’t believe they allow him to stay at Hogwarts. Disgraceful, really. I’ve heard since he’s a Squib that he’s forced to use potions in order to… have his way with students. You’ve heard the stories. They wake up in the morning feeling strange with no memory of the night before…”
Al’s voice was hushed and he realized the tale sounded even worse in the thick darkness of a deserted corridor. There were many stories about Filch, most of which were complete bollocks, according to Al’s father. And yet the tales remained. Malfoy’s jaw worked and and Al could hear the uneven quality of his breathing. Oddly, he felt no satisfaction. He hoped the Slytherin would take the deal so Al could release him. He stopped in front of Malfoy and cleared his throat in an official manner.
“So. If you promise never to touch me again and definitely never to kiss me again, then I shall release you. But I want your promise as a Malfoy.”
“Potter, I...” Malfoy’s voice was unsteady and sounded almost fearful.
“Take it or leave it!” Al snapped and spun on his heel. He took a few deliberate steps.
“Wait, I take it!” Malfoy cried. Al backtracked and Pious continued, “I promise not to touch you!”
“And?”
“I promise not to kiss you either, now let me out of this thing. There is something very wrong with it—”
Malfoy’s words were cut off by a long, terrible shriek of pain. Alarmed, Albus brightened his wand. He froze for an instant, unable to comprehend what he saw.
The Devil’s Snare had grown sharp, bladelike projections. Malfoy was pierced in a dozen places and looked like a human pincushion. Al watched with horror as the blond spasmed in agony. The shudders coursing through Pious made the plant crush him more tightly, twisting the sharp edges into his flesh. Dark rivulets trickled over Malfoy’s skin and for several long heartbeats Albus could not accept that it was blood. Blood.
“Lumosmaximus!” Al cried and levelled his wand at the base of the plant—the Devil’s Snare that had turned into something far more vicious and deadly. The wicked tendrils instantly shrank and withdrew, sliding out of Malfoy’s flesh and leaving him still and bloody on the hard stone. Al shouted an Immobilizing Spell to freeze the plant and then threw himself at the wounded blond. His knees banged against the floor as he scooped Pious into a terrified embrace. He was unconscious. The light from Al’s spell followed by stark darkness left Al blind, but the brief burst of luminosity had illuminated an obscene amount of blood on the floor beneath his victim.
Without pausing to think, Al cast a Weightlessness Charm on Malfoy, lifted him in his arms, and raced at breakneck speed to the Hospital Wing. He burst through the doors shouting hoarsely for Madam Pomfrey.
The questions were endless and implacable. Al told Pomfrey everything, leaving out only the reasoning behind Al’s attack. He explained that it had merely been a harmless prank and that the Devil’s Snare seeds had been taken from Professor Longbottom’s house over the holidays. They should not have been experimental or deadly.
Al’s hands had twisted together in anguish as he watched Madam Pomfrey work quickly over Pious with wand, potions, and powders.
“Is he going to be all right?” Al had asked in a hushed tone. She had thrown him an icy glare.
“I am doing the best I can, Mr. Potter. You will go to Headmistress McGonagall’s office immediately. The password is ‘hawthorn’. Go now, Mr. Potter!”
Al had thrown one last look at the pale blond, who looked far more pale than usual, and hurried out. Once in McGonagall’s office he had seated himself nervously in a chair and rubbed absently at the blood that was drying on his hands and caking on his clothing. Malfoy’s blood. Before Al could break down into hysterics, McGonagall had arrived and the interrogation had begun.
“Who had access to the seeds and the plant, Mr. Potter?” she asked sharply. “Prior to your utilizing them in the corridor.”
Al shook his head miserably. “No one. Well, everyone that knows how to get into my trunk, I suppose. Hell, James, Lily, and Rose. Possibly Hugo. None of them have a beef against Malfoy, though. Well, Hell does, but this was not his idea.”
“Did he know about it?”
Al flushed. “He knew about the Devil’s Snare, but he didn’t know what I planned to do with it.”
“And yet you got the seeds from his house?”
“Professor Longbottom would not have killer seeds at his house!” Al said hotly. They were ordinary seeds and the plant grew in a normal manner!”
She sighed, looking a dozen times more stern than usual. She should have looked less intimidating, since she wore a dressing gown and nightcap, but her manner of dress made little difference. Her expression of disappointment was condemning.
Al wanted to tear his hair in frustration. He was not even concerned about wriggling out of trouble; all he wanted was for Pious Malfoy to be safe and well. She asked, “It is possible the plant was tampered with after you germinated it. It has been confiscated and several of the Professors are looking at it now, including Professor Longbottom. Where were you keeping it?”
Albus told her and admitted the unlikely possibility of anyone locating the plant and turning it into a vicious weapon. “Will Malfoy… will Pi—Scorpius be all right?”
Any answer was interrupted by the sudden burst of activity near the fireplace. The flames flared and disgorged two men—Al’s father… and Draco Malfoy. They wore identical expressions of displeasure.
“Where is my son?” the elder Malfoy snarled.
“In the Hospital Wing, Mr. Malfoy,” said McGonagall. “I will take you—”
Her words trailed off as the blond man stalked immediately to the stairwell and down. Al wondered if he had been awake when the news was delivered—he was impeccably dressed. Unlike Al’s father, who looked to have thrown on a pair of jeans and a rumpled t-shirt before leaping into the Floo.
“Come on,” his father said and hurried after Mr. Malfoy. Al looked at the Headmistress in concern before following his father. He heard heels clicking rapidly on the stone as McGonagall joined the queue. “What happened, Al?” his father asked as they rushed after the angry Malfoy. Al tried to explain as he jogged.
They reached the Hospital Wing and gathered wordlessly around the bedside. Mr. Malfoy sat on the edge and touched Pious’s blond hair gently. Al hovered near the foot of the bed, feeling wretched, and his father stood next to him. Madam Pomfrey stood across from Mr. Malfoy and held Pious’s pale wrist in her fingers.
“His heartbeat seems to have stabilized and we’ve healed the majority of the wounds. I shall have to keep him a few days to ensure we’ve gotten the internal wounds closed and also to ascertain that his blood is replenishing properly.”
“What happened to him?” Mr. Malfoy asked in a deadly voice. Al was suddenly terrified and sidled closer to his father, who put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Al took a steadying breath and spilled the story for the third time. He doubted it would be the last.
“A prank?” Mr. Malfoy demanded as he stood and rounded on Albus. “You nearly killed my son for a bloody prank?”
Al stammered and his father came to his rescue. “In Al’s defence, your son is a constant source of irritation.”
“So that makes it all right for precious Al to set a lethal plant on him?” Mr. Malfoy’s voice was calm, but warning bells began to clang in Al’s head.
“No, of course not, but you heard Albus. It had to be some sort of mistake. He certainly would never intentionally hurt Scorpius.”
Mr. Malfoy’s glare could have rivalled a subzero winter. “I see. No Potter would ever wilfully cause bodily injury to a Malfoy, is that what you’re saying, Potter?”
Astoundingly, Al’s father flushed and his grip tightened on Al’s shoulder. “That was over twenty years ago and I was provoked! Just like your son likely provoked mine!”
The two men glared at each other and sparks seemed to crackle across the space that separated them. The animosity was suddenly tangible and Madam Pomfrey said, “Gentlemen! Please take all arguments outside! My patients need rest, especially your son, Mr. Malfoy.”
The blond man stalked forward and leaned close to Al’s father, who met his glare evenly. “Keep your fucking menace of a son away from mine. As of this moment, I have nothing more to say to you and I would prefer never to see your face again.”
With that, Pious’s angry father strode regally to the door and out.
“That bloody bastard!” Al’s father snarled. Without a word, he turned and hurried after the man. Al buried his face in his hands when he heard raised voices from the corridor. McGonagall and Pomfrey rushed out to join the fray and Al sidled quickly to the head of Pious’s bed. He sat down and touched the blond hair tentatively, the way Mr. Malfoy had done.
“I’m sorry,” Al said miserably.
“Mr. Potter!” the Headmistress called suddenly from the door. “Clean yourself up and go back to your dorm immediately. We will continue this discussion in the morning. Poppy, please have someone escort Mr. Potter to ensure no wandering.” The door slammed behind McGonagall and the medi-witch looked at Al sadly before walking into her office. Al heard her talking to a portrait and soon the Gryffindor ghost appeared. Al noticed his invisibility cloak had been cleaned and placed on the end of Pious’s bed. Al vaguely remembered grabbing it before his panicked rush to get Pious some help. He slung the cloak over and arm and allowed Nearly Headless Nick to “escort” him back to the Slytherin dungeons. Sir Nicholas chattered all the way, spilling stories about the rivalry between Al’s father and Mr. Malfoy when they attended Hogwarts. Al had heard them before and they only served to make him feel nauseous. Perhaps Al had never given Malfoy a chance; maybe he had simply acted on the stories of rivalry he had been brought up with. The thought was depressing.
After a quick trip to a bath where Al washed off a terrifying amount of dried blood, he followed Sir Nicolas to the Slytherin dungeon. There he waited only long enough for the ghost to float to another part of the school before he slung on his cloak and slipped out again. The clock had struck midnight while Al bathed, but he was too agitated to be tired. There was no possible way for him to sleep. The best he could hope for would be to toss and turn while replaying the scene in his mind until he went mad.
Instead he hurried back to the Hospital Wing and slipped inside after carefully checking to ensure the coast was clear. All was quiet; Pomfrey must have returned to her bed. Al made his way back to Malfoy’s bed and carefully stretched out next to the blond. The blankets had been pulled up to Pious’s neck and Al gently grasped the material and pulled it back. He had caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s injuries before, but even so he was not prepared for the angry-looking lines that met his eyes. Several lines crossed the pale chest and Al was suddenly terrified when he realized how close one of the spikes had come to impaling Malfoy’s heart. No wonder his father had been enraged.
Al slid his fingertips gently over Pious’s chest, tracing a path around the ugly wounds. Malfoy’s skin was softer than expected and Al was surprised that touching him was not as heinous as he would have thought. Remembering how much Pious liked to be touched, Al caressed his skin in mute apology, moving his fingers from one reddish line to the next. Apparently he had been healed, but not completely. Al hoped the wounds did not leave scars. When Al’s hands reached Malfoy’s navel, he heard a low moan. He froze as he glanced at Malfoy’s face, wondering how he could explain what he was doing. Pious, however, seemed to have made the sound involuntarily. Al breathed a sigh of relief and took his hand away. He rested his chin near Malfoy’s shoulder, pulled the cloak over his head, and shut his eyes. He planned to rest for only a moment.
PART NINE