Dear Mr. Potter

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Draco never said a word about the incident on the way to the Great Hall, which Harry was supremely grateful for. After the house elf that Draco had summoned delivered a bit of food and water, Harry sat silently and ate while Draco took advantage of the big empty room and practiced his levitation spells on the Hufflepuff table.

Harry was horrified with himself. He had no idea what had started it; it was as if someone else had taken over his body. And everyone had seen it! His housemates and the Slytherins! It was awful. It was sickening.

"Knock it off."

Harry looked up from his sandwich. Draco was putting the table back down. When the ancient wood settled with an audible groan, he turned around and sauntered back to where Harry was sitting.

"So you freaked out. Big deal. You had the right." Draco's tone was casual, nonchalant.

"I embarrassed myself! And my house!" Harry said fiercely. "I didn't freak out, I was a raving lunatic!"

"Yeah, and you're all better now and from now on we make sure you eat properly." Draco shrugged his shoulders, and then grimaced. Harry noticed the darkening mark on the other young man's neck.

"I guess I did try to rip your head off," Harry murmured. "Sorry."

"I'll have Pomfrey fix it when we get up there." Draco said touching the bruise gingerly. He performed a quick repair spell to his school robes to fix the damage Harry had inflicted. "Besides, I told you. You can't rip people's heads off. It's a perk of being a dominant." Draco grinned slyly.

"Draco, do you feel bad at all for what you did to Duncan?"

"No. Gods, Potter, he darted you in the back with enough poison to take out a Dragon. Do you feel any anger at all for what Ferguson did to you?" Draco asked challengingly.

"No. I mean," Harry paused and tried to put his thoughts in order. "I mean, I guess I'm a little angry. It wasn't right to sneak up from behind and cast a spell that he probably only recently learned from a book. He could have hit Ron or Hermione. That makes me angry-,"

"Circe!" Draco cursed. Suddenly he jumped up on the table Harry was sitting at and began pacing back and forth. Harry was reminded of that night in this very room when he had been told everything.

"Aren't you angry for what he did to you? You, Potter, not anyone else. Just you."

Harry shrugged. Draco came to stand right in front of his plate and came down to sit on his haunches, his robe split open to show off his expensive trousers and shiny boots.

"You were this close to dying." Draco held up his fingers with barely a few millimeters between them to illustrate. "You were convulsing so badly in the seizures that I didn't think I could hold on to you. I knew you hadn't eaten that day because you were vomiting up bile and then foam, but your body wouldn't stop trying to get rid of the toxin any way it could. Your skin became pale and clammy. Your eyes were rolled so far back up in your head we could only see white. Pomfrey kept muttering about brain damage and leaving you a permanent resident of St. Mungo's fourth floor." Draco's eyes narrowed. "That is what Ferguson did to you. To you. Not anyone else. He came from behind and tried to put you down like some animal. He decided that he had the right to decide whether you lived or died. So, I'll tell you over and over that I have no problem at all for what I did to him and only regret they were able to put that worthless piece of meat back on his neck."

Draco stood up abruptly and jumped down from the table. "Finish that sandwich and lets go," he barked. Harry quickly swallowed the last bites, stood up and followed the obviously agitated Slytherin.