Penitence Part Nine
May. 27th, 2009 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesSo MAYBE I have a low tolerance for begging... This one is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chyldofeternity . Damn you, cheerleader boy. LOL!
A clang woke him and he gasped as he raised his head. It took him a second to remember where he was. The invisibility cloak had slipped mostly off and he found he was snuggled uncomfortably close to Malfoy, who was thankfully still asleep. The sound of footsteps rapidly approached, so Al slid off the bed and wrapped himself in the cloak just as Madam Pomfrey entered the curtained area. She carried a small jar and unscrewed it before pulling over a chair and seating herself. Al wondered at the time, but did not dare cast a Tempus Charm to find out. He watched as Madam Pomfrey peeled back the blankets and began to dab unguent on Malfoy’s wounds.
Al’s nearly held his breath as more and more of the blond was uncovered. They had left his pants on, thankfully, although Pomfrey bared one hip momentarily to expose a sharply defined hipbone. For some reason, the sight made the breath hitch in Al’s throat. She continued down his legs and moved him once to dab at a wound across Malfoy’s back before capping the jar and placing it on the bedside table. After that she tugged the covers into place and strode out.
Al checked the time and was relieved to note that it was close to 5 am. Those in the medical field were early risers, apparently. Al knew he should get back to the Slytherin dorm before his absence was discovered, but he could not quite bring himself to leave. Instead he walked to the table and picked up the jar. The medi-witch had missed one of Malfoy’s gashes. Al seated himself on the bed and unscrewed the lid. He dipped a fingertip into the viscous gel and was surprised to note that it smelled quite good, like fresh rosemary with possibly a hint of lavender. At least Malfoy could not complain about being slathered in foul-smelling gunk when he awakened. If he awakened, Al added bleakly.
He leaned forward and dabbed the substance gently on Malfoy’s throat, just beneath his jaw line. It was only a small gash, but one Pomfrey had overlooked. Al had barely begun when he heard a soft gasp and looked up to see the grey eyes open and watching him. Al snatched his hand away and replaced the lid. He looked away in confusion, uncertain what to say after nearly killing someone and then discovering you never meant to hurt them at all.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and set the jar awkwardly on the table. He met the silver gaze directly and took a grip on his courage. “I’m really sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I never would have done something like this to you. Never.” Malfoy said nothing, so Al swallowed hard and forged on. “You probably don’t believe me, but someone had to have done something to the Devil’s Snare, probably someone with a grudge against me, because only Hell knew I had the seeds. Frankly, Hell is too much of a Hufflepuff to ever dare something like this.” Al cleared his throat, disturbed by Malfoy’s silence. “Anyway, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll find out who did this… well, if I’m not expelled later today.” Al gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Although that would probably suit you, eh?”
Malfoy finally opened his mouth to speak, but only a low rasp emerged. Al leaned down to make it easier to hear him.
“Water,” Malfoy said. Al assumed it was fine to give him water, since a Self-Chilling pitcher sat on the table, so he quickly poured the liquid and handed it to Malfoy, who seemed so weak he could barely hold the glass. Al took it back.
“Here, let me help you.” Al sat on the bed once more and put his arm gently around the blond, taking extreme care not to touch the slash on his back. The movement must have hurt anyway, for Pious gasped as Al steadied him, making sure the blond leaned against him at least semi-comfortably. He held the glass to Malfoy’s lips while Malfoy steadied it with a hand. Their fingertips brushed. Pious downed nearly the whole glass.
He lowered Malfoy back to the bed and then sat awkwardly in the chair.
“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked after long moments of silent scrutiny.
Al flushed slightly. “I had to make sure you were okay. Do you… want me to leave?”
Malfoy shrugged and winced at the movement. Al cringed at another onslaught of guilt. The matter was taken out of their hands by the return of Pomfrey.
“Mr. Potter! What are you doing here? Go back to your dorm at once!”
Al sighed, gave Malfoy one last apologetic glance and departed.
~~- oOo -~~
Pious watched the black-haired boy leave and allowed Pomfrey to fuss over him. He hardly noticed her as he contemplated Albus Potter. Pious had awakened once in the night, swimming through a sea of pain to find something warm and comforting pressed against his side. When his memory returned, he was not surprised to find himself in the Hospital Wing, although he was very surprised to find Albus Potter next to him. For a moment he considered shoving the prat out of bed, but after a bit of reflection his curiosity got the better of him. Why was Potter here?
The dark hair tickled his arm and one hand curled gently next to Pious’s side. Potter’s warm, even breaths heated a small patch of his chest with each exhalation. Pious decided it wasn’t so bad having him here and he would worry about it later.
Awakening to the strangely gentle ministrations from the git had been even more perplexing, until Potter’s apologetic diatribe. Now that he was gone, Pious had time to contemplate his words. Strangely, now that his goal was finally in his grasp, he was no longer certain he wanted to follow through with it. For months he had thought of little but the expelling of Albus Potter. The severity of Pious’s injury nearly guaranteed it, and yet Pious was saddened at the thought of no longer having Potter around to torment. And Potter’s attitude had changed overnight. Guilt is a powerful motivator, Pious thought and smiled. He might be able to salvage this situation, after all. If so, it would be worth a trifling bit of pain. He winced at a sharp twinge in his side. All right, a fuck of a lot of pain. He quickly asked to see the Headmistress.
“Are you absolutely certain that Albus Potter is not to blame?” McGonagall demanded. She seemed oddly torn between relief and disappointment. Pious nodded.
“Of a certainty. During all of Potter’s years of pulling silly pranks, has he ever injured anyone?”
McGonagall’s brows drew down and Pious could see her casting her mind back through the hundreds of Potter/Longbottom pranks. He spoke quickly before she came up with any examples to counter his suggestion. Pious could think of several without half trying. Still, they hadn’t been serious injuries.
“I’m positive that Albus is very contrite,” Pious continued, grinning inwardly at his use of the word contrite. Adults loved it when students spoke like Ravenclaws. “I hope he did not get into terrible trouble.”
The Headmistress pursed her lips. “We were, of course, waiting for you to awaken prior to charging Albus with the crime, although he is already facing punishment for his obvious infractions, such as bringing a dangerous plant onto the school grounds without authorisation, being out of bed after hours—something you are also guilty of, Mr. Malfoy—and performing a dangerous stunt that has led to an obviously serious injury, regardless of Mr. Potter’s intention.”
Pious nodded soberly. Albus would most likely have detention for the remainder of the school year—if he managed to avoid being expelled.
“Very well, then, Mr. Malfoy. We shall investigate the matter further. Thank you for not allowing your personal feelings to cloud your judgement. The conflict between you and Mr. Potter is well known.” She sighed. “Just as it was in your father’s day. Such a pity when history repeats itself…”
“Speaking of my father, can I see him?”
“Of course. I shall Floo-call him immediately. He was here last night, naturally, and understandably upset. He insisted we expel Albus Potter at once. Perhaps you can speak with him?”
Pious nodded solemnly. Expelled at once. Pious wondered what Al’s father had had to say about that suggestion. He frowned at the thought, knowing the old Malfoy/Potter war may have had the flames fanned anew.
Something Pomfrey had given him made him sleepy, so McGonagall obligingly went out and let him sleep.
When he next awoke, his father smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder gently.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
Pious smiled back. “Tired, mostly. A bit hungry, actually.”
House-elves were immediately roused and soon Pious was dining from several trays arrayed around his bed, although Pomfrey had been allowed to make suggestions regarding his diet.
“He needs plenty of protein and iron in order to rebuild his blood supply. Potions can only do so much. I also want to keep him here for observation. I believe we sealed all of the internal wounds properly, but we want to be wary of any sort of infection.” At his father’s dark look, Pomfrey added quickly, “It’s a precaution only! Just to be perfectly safe!”
His father nodded after giving her another measuring look that told her exactly what would happen should Pious happen to have any sort of infection after being in her care. Pious grinned. He always got a warm feeling when watching his father intimidate people.
“Now, tell me how the Potter whelp managed to do this to you.”
Pious swallowed. “Actually, father, I don’t think it was his fault.”
The sharp gaze fixed on Pious and he reflected that it wasn’t nearly as fun being on the receiving end. “Of course it was his fault. He admitted to bringing the seeds to school, growing the Devil’s Snare, and laying a trap for you. We will not discuss how you managed to fall for said trap… at this time.”
Pious would have felt relieved, except the words were merely a stay of execution. The axe still hovered like an evil shadow somewhere in his future. He shivered.
“The plant was tampered with,” Pious said and forced conviction into his words. In truth, he did not believe Albus would do such a thing to him. Especially in light of Potter’s earlier heartfelt confession. His father sat back and raised a pale brow.
“Are you absolutely certain?”
Pious scowled at his father’s unconscious mimicry of McGonagall’s exact words. Did everyone find it necessary to assume he made up tales? He said nothing, merely gave his father a cool stare. His father sighed and stood.
“All right, then. Since you will apparently be here for a certain length of time, I shall have some decent supplies brought in. Those sheets, for one thing. Disgraceful.”
Pious nodded. It was true; the lack of civilized amenities was annoying. At least his dorm room contained his silk sheets and imported hand-knit blankets. His father leaned down and pressed a kiss into his forehead, surprising him. It was rare for his father to be so demonstrative; Pious must have been in greater danger than he’d thought.
“I love you, Scorpius,” he said.
Pious impulsively threw an arm around his father’s neck and drew him close, even though it pulled his wounds quite painfully. “I love you, too,” he murmured.
~~- oOo -~~
Al watched the tender scene between father and son from the doorway. He drew back, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment. He also preferred that Mr. Malfoy not turn him into a rutabaga. Al ducked out of sight when the elder Malfoy left the hospital wing, leaving Pious alone. Al paced for a few more minutes in the corridor. He had received permission to visit Pious, but it was far more difficult in the daytime, especially with the blond awake and ready to turn that piercing gaze on him.
Finally, Albus screwed up his courage and marched quickly into the room. He sat down in the seat Pious’s father had vacated and met the curious grey eyes. He set a box of expensive chocolates on the edge of the bed. A smirk twisted Malfoy’s lips and Al nearly laughed at the sight of it. Everything suddenly righted itself in his world.
“Trying to buy me off, Potter?”
“If I’d known you were that cheap, I’d have bought you years ago,” Al returned.
Malfoy blinked at him and then a startled laugh escaped him. Al grinned happily at the sound and thought it was quite nice. He had heard Pious laugh plenty of times before, usually at Al’s expense, but never because of something Al had said. It was an interesting feeling. “Not expelled, then?” Malfoy asked.
Al shrugged and leaned back in the chair. He crossed his legs at the ankle and rested his hands on his abdomen. “Apparently someone put in a good word for me. I have detention until… how did McGonagall put it… until I am off the Hogwart’s Express in London. I’m not quite certain what sort of detention they have planned for me on the train itself, but I’m sure she will come up with something. If she could have continued my punishment through the summer, she most likely would have. I believe Dad intends to take over at that point, however.”
“They haven’t found out who…?”
Al shook his head. In truth, he had a theory that did not bear thinking about. Professor Longbottom had confirmed that the seeds had, indeed, been tampered with. It had been quite an advanced spell, apparently, adding fuel to Al’s growing suspicion.
He sighed. “Anyway, I have you to thank for the fact that I haven’t been sent home in disgrace, so… thanks.”
“I certainly did not do it for you, Potter.”
Al raised a brow, although he should not have been surprised. He waited for the Galleon to drop. “As I see it, you owe me now. Don’t you agree?”
Al swallowed, but tried to suppress his nervousness. For a brief, insane moment, he wondered if being expelled might have been preferable to whatever Pious Malfoy had in store for him. “I suppose,” he admitted as casually as possible.
“Good. Since I seem to be in rather a large amount of pain, I shall apparently need assistance doing the most mundane tasks. Carrying heavy books will likely be out of the question completely.”
“You want me to be your porter?”
“I want you to be my abject slave, Potter. I want you to do whatever I tell you for the next month. Considering the length of McGonagall’s punishment, I think I am letting you off quite lightly, especially when a word from me can still have you sent out of here at a moment’s notice.”
Al’s brows drew down in annoyance. The git was probably right. The elder Malfoy had apparently been quite upset at the Headmistress’s refusal to toss Al out on his ear. Only his own son’s intercession had kept Al from that fate. If Scorpius changed his mind, Mr. Malfoy would bring all of his considerable influence into the fray.
“What will this ‘abject slavery’ consist of?” Al asked cautiously.
“Nothing too strenuous. Fetching, carrying, that sort of thing.”
“Nothing untoward?”
“Untoward? Have you been shadowing Rose Weasley again? Do you even know what that word means?”
“It means do you plan to have me do disgusting things that will have me begging McGonagall to send me home within a week?”
“What sort of disgusting things?” Pious asked and Al could have sworn there was a purr in his voice. He sighed.
“I really don’t have a choice, do I?”
The knife bright Malfoy smile flashed out at him. “No, Potter, you don’t.”
“All right, then. I agree. One month of abject slavery.”
“Excellent. You can start by putting more of this infernal salve on my scratches. I told Pomfrey I would do it myself, but there are places I cannot comfortably reach. Do you mind?”
Did he mind? Al had to forcibly shut his jaw. He should have known Malfoy would go straight for maximum torture. He sighed and reached for the jar. Al started with the one on Malfoy’s throat and moved to those near his wrists. The salve was smooth and warm. Al felt almost professional as he traced each angry-looking mark, until he reached Malfoy’s chest. A long gash showed just beneath Malfoy’s left breast and Al caught his breath when he remembered how close the spike had come to piercing Malfoy’s heart. His eyes met the calm silver orbs in mute apology. Al looked away and felt a blush warm his face when he found the next lesion partially covered by the waistband of Malfoy’s pants.
The blond shoved them down perfunctorily, exposing most of one hip and a small patch of golden curls. Al suddenly needed a cold drink of water. His throat seemed to have gone bone dry. He quickly smeared the wound and moved on with relief to the long legs, giving heartfelt thanks when Malfoy carefully moved his boxers back into place.
Al finished quickly and replaced the jar.
“Adequate,” Malfoy said.
“Anything else, your highness?” Al asked dryly.
“I’m tired now,” Malfoy replied. “You may go. Come back before dinner, though. I might need your help.”
PART TEN
chyldofeternity . Damn you, cheerleader boy. LOL!A clang woke him and he gasped as he raised his head. It took him a second to remember where he was. The invisibility cloak had slipped mostly off and he found he was snuggled uncomfortably close to Malfoy, who was thankfully still asleep. The sound of footsteps rapidly approached, so Al slid off the bed and wrapped himself in the cloak just as Madam Pomfrey entered the curtained area. She carried a small jar and unscrewed it before pulling over a chair and seating herself. Al wondered at the time, but did not dare cast a Tempus Charm to find out. He watched as Madam Pomfrey peeled back the blankets and began to dab unguent on Malfoy’s wounds.
Al’s nearly held his breath as more and more of the blond was uncovered. They had left his pants on, thankfully, although Pomfrey bared one hip momentarily to expose a sharply defined hipbone. For some reason, the sight made the breath hitch in Al’s throat. She continued down his legs and moved him once to dab at a wound across Malfoy’s back before capping the jar and placing it on the bedside table. After that she tugged the covers into place and strode out.
Al checked the time and was relieved to note that it was close to 5 am. Those in the medical field were early risers, apparently. Al knew he should get back to the Slytherin dorm before his absence was discovered, but he could not quite bring himself to leave. Instead he walked to the table and picked up the jar. The medi-witch had missed one of Malfoy’s gashes. Al seated himself on the bed and unscrewed the lid. He dipped a fingertip into the viscous gel and was surprised to note that it smelled quite good, like fresh rosemary with possibly a hint of lavender. At least Malfoy could not complain about being slathered in foul-smelling gunk when he awakened. If he awakened, Al added bleakly.
He leaned forward and dabbed the substance gently on Malfoy’s throat, just beneath his jaw line. It was only a small gash, but one Pomfrey had overlooked. Al had barely begun when he heard a soft gasp and looked up to see the grey eyes open and watching him. Al snatched his hand away and replaced the lid. He looked away in confusion, uncertain what to say after nearly killing someone and then discovering you never meant to hurt them at all.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and set the jar awkwardly on the table. He met the silver gaze directly and took a grip on his courage. “I’m really sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I never would have done something like this to you. Never.” Malfoy said nothing, so Al swallowed hard and forged on. “You probably don’t believe me, but someone had to have done something to the Devil’s Snare, probably someone with a grudge against me, because only Hell knew I had the seeds. Frankly, Hell is too much of a Hufflepuff to ever dare something like this.” Al cleared his throat, disturbed by Malfoy’s silence. “Anyway, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll find out who did this… well, if I’m not expelled later today.” Al gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Although that would probably suit you, eh?”
Malfoy finally opened his mouth to speak, but only a low rasp emerged. Al leaned down to make it easier to hear him.
“Water,” Malfoy said. Al assumed it was fine to give him water, since a Self-Chilling pitcher sat on the table, so he quickly poured the liquid and handed it to Malfoy, who seemed so weak he could barely hold the glass. Al took it back.
“Here, let me help you.” Al sat on the bed once more and put his arm gently around the blond, taking extreme care not to touch the slash on his back. The movement must have hurt anyway, for Pious gasped as Al steadied him, making sure the blond leaned against him at least semi-comfortably. He held the glass to Malfoy’s lips while Malfoy steadied it with a hand. Their fingertips brushed. Pious downed nearly the whole glass.
He lowered Malfoy back to the bed and then sat awkwardly in the chair.
“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked after long moments of silent scrutiny.
Al flushed slightly. “I had to make sure you were okay. Do you… want me to leave?”
Malfoy shrugged and winced at the movement. Al cringed at another onslaught of guilt. The matter was taken out of their hands by the return of Pomfrey.
“Mr. Potter! What are you doing here? Go back to your dorm at once!”
Al sighed, gave Malfoy one last apologetic glance and departed.
~~- oOo -~~
Pious watched the black-haired boy leave and allowed Pomfrey to fuss over him. He hardly noticed her as he contemplated Albus Potter. Pious had awakened once in the night, swimming through a sea of pain to find something warm and comforting pressed against his side. When his memory returned, he was not surprised to find himself in the Hospital Wing, although he was very surprised to find Albus Potter next to him. For a moment he considered shoving the prat out of bed, but after a bit of reflection his curiosity got the better of him. Why was Potter here?
The dark hair tickled his arm and one hand curled gently next to Pious’s side. Potter’s warm, even breaths heated a small patch of his chest with each exhalation. Pious decided it wasn’t so bad having him here and he would worry about it later.
Awakening to the strangely gentle ministrations from the git had been even more perplexing, until Potter’s apologetic diatribe. Now that he was gone, Pious had time to contemplate his words. Strangely, now that his goal was finally in his grasp, he was no longer certain he wanted to follow through with it. For months he had thought of little but the expelling of Albus Potter. The severity of Pious’s injury nearly guaranteed it, and yet Pious was saddened at the thought of no longer having Potter around to torment. And Potter’s attitude had changed overnight. Guilt is a powerful motivator, Pious thought and smiled. He might be able to salvage this situation, after all. If so, it would be worth a trifling bit of pain. He winced at a sharp twinge in his side. All right, a fuck of a lot of pain. He quickly asked to see the Headmistress.
“Are you absolutely certain that Albus Potter is not to blame?” McGonagall demanded. She seemed oddly torn between relief and disappointment. Pious nodded.
“Of a certainty. During all of Potter’s years of pulling silly pranks, has he ever injured anyone?”
McGonagall’s brows drew down and Pious could see her casting her mind back through the hundreds of Potter/Longbottom pranks. He spoke quickly before she came up with any examples to counter his suggestion. Pious could think of several without half trying. Still, they hadn’t been serious injuries.
“I’m positive that Albus is very contrite,” Pious continued, grinning inwardly at his use of the word contrite. Adults loved it when students spoke like Ravenclaws. “I hope he did not get into terrible trouble.”
The Headmistress pursed her lips. “We were, of course, waiting for you to awaken prior to charging Albus with the crime, although he is already facing punishment for his obvious infractions, such as bringing a dangerous plant onto the school grounds without authorisation, being out of bed after hours—something you are also guilty of, Mr. Malfoy—and performing a dangerous stunt that has led to an obviously serious injury, regardless of Mr. Potter’s intention.”
Pious nodded soberly. Albus would most likely have detention for the remainder of the school year—if he managed to avoid being expelled.
“Very well, then, Mr. Malfoy. We shall investigate the matter further. Thank you for not allowing your personal feelings to cloud your judgement. The conflict between you and Mr. Potter is well known.” She sighed. “Just as it was in your father’s day. Such a pity when history repeats itself…”
“Speaking of my father, can I see him?”
“Of course. I shall Floo-call him immediately. He was here last night, naturally, and understandably upset. He insisted we expel Albus Potter at once. Perhaps you can speak with him?”
Pious nodded solemnly. Expelled at once. Pious wondered what Al’s father had had to say about that suggestion. He frowned at the thought, knowing the old Malfoy/Potter war may have had the flames fanned anew.
Something Pomfrey had given him made him sleepy, so McGonagall obligingly went out and let him sleep.
When he next awoke, his father smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder gently.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
Pious smiled back. “Tired, mostly. A bit hungry, actually.”
House-elves were immediately roused and soon Pious was dining from several trays arrayed around his bed, although Pomfrey had been allowed to make suggestions regarding his diet.
“He needs plenty of protein and iron in order to rebuild his blood supply. Potions can only do so much. I also want to keep him here for observation. I believe we sealed all of the internal wounds properly, but we want to be wary of any sort of infection.” At his father’s dark look, Pomfrey added quickly, “It’s a precaution only! Just to be perfectly safe!”
His father nodded after giving her another measuring look that told her exactly what would happen should Pious happen to have any sort of infection after being in her care. Pious grinned. He always got a warm feeling when watching his father intimidate people.
“Now, tell me how the Potter whelp managed to do this to you.”
Pious swallowed. “Actually, father, I don’t think it was his fault.”
The sharp gaze fixed on Pious and he reflected that it wasn’t nearly as fun being on the receiving end. “Of course it was his fault. He admitted to bringing the seeds to school, growing the Devil’s Snare, and laying a trap for you. We will not discuss how you managed to fall for said trap… at this time.”
Pious would have felt relieved, except the words were merely a stay of execution. The axe still hovered like an evil shadow somewhere in his future. He shivered.
“The plant was tampered with,” Pious said and forced conviction into his words. In truth, he did not believe Albus would do such a thing to him. Especially in light of Potter’s earlier heartfelt confession. His father sat back and raised a pale brow.
“Are you absolutely certain?”
Pious scowled at his father’s unconscious mimicry of McGonagall’s exact words. Did everyone find it necessary to assume he made up tales? He said nothing, merely gave his father a cool stare. His father sighed and stood.
“All right, then. Since you will apparently be here for a certain length of time, I shall have some decent supplies brought in. Those sheets, for one thing. Disgraceful.”
Pious nodded. It was true; the lack of civilized amenities was annoying. At least his dorm room contained his silk sheets and imported hand-knit blankets. His father leaned down and pressed a kiss into his forehead, surprising him. It was rare for his father to be so demonstrative; Pious must have been in greater danger than he’d thought.
“I love you, Scorpius,” he said.
Pious impulsively threw an arm around his father’s neck and drew him close, even though it pulled his wounds quite painfully. “I love you, too,” he murmured.
~~- oOo -~~
Al watched the tender scene between father and son from the doorway. He drew back, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment. He also preferred that Mr. Malfoy not turn him into a rutabaga. Al ducked out of sight when the elder Malfoy left the hospital wing, leaving Pious alone. Al paced for a few more minutes in the corridor. He had received permission to visit Pious, but it was far more difficult in the daytime, especially with the blond awake and ready to turn that piercing gaze on him.
Finally, Albus screwed up his courage and marched quickly into the room. He sat down in the seat Pious’s father had vacated and met the curious grey eyes. He set a box of expensive chocolates on the edge of the bed. A smirk twisted Malfoy’s lips and Al nearly laughed at the sight of it. Everything suddenly righted itself in his world.
“Trying to buy me off, Potter?”
“If I’d known you were that cheap, I’d have bought you years ago,” Al returned.
Malfoy blinked at him and then a startled laugh escaped him. Al grinned happily at the sound and thought it was quite nice. He had heard Pious laugh plenty of times before, usually at Al’s expense, but never because of something Al had said. It was an interesting feeling. “Not expelled, then?” Malfoy asked.
Al shrugged and leaned back in the chair. He crossed his legs at the ankle and rested his hands on his abdomen. “Apparently someone put in a good word for me. I have detention until… how did McGonagall put it… until I am off the Hogwart’s Express in London. I’m not quite certain what sort of detention they have planned for me on the train itself, but I’m sure she will come up with something. If she could have continued my punishment through the summer, she most likely would have. I believe Dad intends to take over at that point, however.”
“They haven’t found out who…?”
Al shook his head. In truth, he had a theory that did not bear thinking about. Professor Longbottom had confirmed that the seeds had, indeed, been tampered with. It had been quite an advanced spell, apparently, adding fuel to Al’s growing suspicion.
He sighed. “Anyway, I have you to thank for the fact that I haven’t been sent home in disgrace, so… thanks.”
“I certainly did not do it for you, Potter.”
Al raised a brow, although he should not have been surprised. He waited for the Galleon to drop. “As I see it, you owe me now. Don’t you agree?”
Al swallowed, but tried to suppress his nervousness. For a brief, insane moment, he wondered if being expelled might have been preferable to whatever Pious Malfoy had in store for him. “I suppose,” he admitted as casually as possible.
“Good. Since I seem to be in rather a large amount of pain, I shall apparently need assistance doing the most mundane tasks. Carrying heavy books will likely be out of the question completely.”
“You want me to be your porter?”
“I want you to be my abject slave, Potter. I want you to do whatever I tell you for the next month. Considering the length of McGonagall’s punishment, I think I am letting you off quite lightly, especially when a word from me can still have you sent out of here at a moment’s notice.”
Al’s brows drew down in annoyance. The git was probably right. The elder Malfoy had apparently been quite upset at the Headmistress’s refusal to toss Al out on his ear. Only his own son’s intercession had kept Al from that fate. If Scorpius changed his mind, Mr. Malfoy would bring all of his considerable influence into the fray.
“What will this ‘abject slavery’ consist of?” Al asked cautiously.
“Nothing too strenuous. Fetching, carrying, that sort of thing.”
“Nothing untoward?”
“Untoward? Have you been shadowing Rose Weasley again? Do you even know what that word means?”
“It means do you plan to have me do disgusting things that will have me begging McGonagall to send me home within a week?”
“What sort of disgusting things?” Pious asked and Al could have sworn there was a purr in his voice. He sighed.
“I really don’t have a choice, do I?”
The knife bright Malfoy smile flashed out at him. “No, Potter, you don’t.”
“All right, then. I agree. One month of abject slavery.”
“Excellent. You can start by putting more of this infernal salve on my scratches. I told Pomfrey I would do it myself, but there are places I cannot comfortably reach. Do you mind?”
Did he mind? Al had to forcibly shut his jaw. He should have known Malfoy would go straight for maximum torture. He sighed and reached for the jar. Al started with the one on Malfoy’s throat and moved to those near his wrists. The salve was smooth and warm. Al felt almost professional as he traced each angry-looking mark, until he reached Malfoy’s chest. A long gash showed just beneath Malfoy’s left breast and Al caught his breath when he remembered how close the spike had come to piercing Malfoy’s heart. His eyes met the calm silver orbs in mute apology. Al looked away and felt a blush warm his face when he found the next lesion partially covered by the waistband of Malfoy’s pants.
The blond shoved them down perfunctorily, exposing most of one hip and a small patch of golden curls. Al suddenly needed a cold drink of water. His throat seemed to have gone bone dry. He quickly smeared the wound and moved on with relief to the long legs, giving heartfelt thanks when Malfoy carefully moved his boxers back into place.
Al finished quickly and replaced the jar.
“Adequate,” Malfoy said.
“Anything else, your highness?” Al asked dryly.
“I’m tired now,” Malfoy replied. “You may go. Come back before dinner, though. I might need your help.”
PART TEN