𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇

Chapter 26

He ran down to the lake, desperately wanting to be alone, where no one would find him, where no one would speak to him, or tell him it wasn’t his fault, or that there had been nothing he could do. He knew all those platitudes would be said over and over, but he knew that, now he understood what had happened, he would not be able to look at Malfoy without guilt stabbing at his chest. He had a violent urge to take out his wand and cast all the vile, hurting curses he knew on himself, or, better still, to find Malfoy and force him to cast them all upon him.

Pacing the shore of the lake, tears blinding him, Harry did not notice that he wasn’t alone until he almost collided with a dark figure. He stopped short, letting out a huff of shock, suddenly aware of an intense pain in the palm of his hand.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hex... I mean... Professor Hexam,” Harry stuttered. He took a step back, focusing on the teacher. He closed his fist and took another step back, dashing the tears from his cheeks. “I... er... have class...”

“Hold on a minute, Harry.” Hexam grabbed his arm and tugged him back towards him.

“My class...” Harry could not face speaking to this man right at the moment, not when he was in so much physical and mental pain. He didn’t have the strength. He pulled away roughly. “I can’t be late.”

“I merely wanted to ask you if you would be interested in more Occlumency lessons. You mentioned that you weren’t very good, and Mr. Malfoy seemed to break though your guard fairly easily. I’m sure you have... secrets you would not wish those of the wrong sort to get hold of.” The man’s voice was oily, precise, and clipped.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself,” Harry whispered. The words jolted his memory and the vision of a small, pale hand held out in friendship shone like a mirror in his eyes then shattered.

“You’re bleeding.” Hexam’s voice sounded concerned. Harry gazed stupidly down at the hand in question. Four semi-circular marks bled profusely on his palm. Had he been clenching his fists that hard?

“It’s nothing.” He pulled his hand from Hexam’s grasp. “Nothing a bit of dittany won’t cure. I have to go.... potions,” he explained hurriedly, and, before Hexam could say anything more, he fled.

*******

“Ah, Harry. You’re late.” Slughorn gave him a mock glare from under his eyebrows. “Hurry up. We’re working in pairs today, so find a partner.”

“Yes, Sir.” Harry looked around, even as he tried to calm his breathing and his own panic, saw that Ron and Hermione were partnered up, as was everyone else in their group - except...

He swore inwardly. Of course. It had to be this way, didn’t it? Malfoy was predictably alone, as if some unseen force was pushing them together. Reluctantly, he walked over to Malfoy’s desk and sat down.

“Sententia requires several difficult ingredients that need to be prepared exactly to instructions,” Slughorn continued. “The potion itself is relatively easy, but I must press upon you all that should you get the preparation wrong, the potion will not work.”

Harry quickly leafed through his book, looking for the potion Slughorn was referring to. “Sen... sent... sente...” he muttered.

Beside him, Malfoy impatiently tapped at his own book. Harry looked up and saw that his fingernail was pointing to the page number. He flipped quickly to it, then paid attention to Slughorn, desperately trying not to think of Malfoy beside him.

 “Now, does anyone know what this potion does?” Slughorn asked.

Of course Hermione’s hand went straight up, a moment later so did Malfoy’s. Slughorn glanced at Hermione, gave her a little smile, then looked over at Malfoy. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”