Everlasting Bond

Chapter 12

It was a Friday evening when Draco started feeling a stinging sensation in the back of his hand. It was no more than a tingle, so he just itched it and ignored it.

As weeks passed, the feeling became more and more intense.

It was evening when the sting turned physical. A cut appeared on the back of his hand and started bleeding. 

He wrapped a paper towel around it and frowned at his hand.

Does this have to do with the bond, or is it some sort of hex? Draco asked Allysia mentally. Is he injured?

It has to be repeatedly, Allysia replied, sounding doubtful. Because if it only happened once, you would feel a tingle where he got cut, and then that would be it. But it's like he's continually scraping the back of his hand open again and again.

***

After another week, the cut had formed into words. I must not tell lies.

And Draco knew exactly how he was "scraping" open his hand again and again. And he started to loathe Umbridge, with all his being.

***

"Detention again, Mr. Potter."

Draco clenched his fist. He had started wearing fingerless gloves, which had caused some weird looks from the Slytherins, but it was better than going around with a matching scar to Potter's.

"Bloody-" Draco muttered under his breath, cutting himself off as Harry looked up with an odd expression like he had heard. 

When Harry took his seat, he glanced up, shining green eyes searching out Draco's. 

Green met gray, and a grin overtook Harry's face.

***

From that point onward, Harry had seemed to be taunting Draco, in fact. Throwing out hints. He knew, but the absolute imbecile wasn't going to do anything about it. At the same time, Draco was sure that the Gryffindors had a bet running, as whenever Draco so much as looked at Harry, money exchanged hands. 

At this point, Draco was glad that Rita Skeeter had stopped writing. Sure, he had helped her a little during Fourth Year, but Gryffindors could never keep their mouth shut.

Pansy was constantly pestering Draco about it. Once, he had even caught a letter with Pansy badly feigning Draco's handwriting to send to Harry. It was painfully sappy, and Draco burned it immediately, Pansy pouting at him.

Though, lately, Draco had been feeling extremely tired. He wasn't sure why, but he started going to sleep an hour earlier, and when he felt even more tired, he decided it was Harry.

"Whatever he's doing," Draco murmured to Allysia sitting on his bed one night. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

He's the Chosen One, Allysia said. He's fine.

Yeah, the Chosen One of Ignorance, Draco complained back. It's like someone switched his brain with a flobberworm's.

Don't be mean, Allysia chided, but amusement colored her tone.

***

Draco slammed his book down on the table in front of Harry's. Hermione and Weasley were sitting next to him, but after a sharp glance at Hermione, she grabbed his arm and scurried off.

"You need to stop," Draco said, gritting his teeth.

"Stop what?" Harry flicked a page. "Hey Draco, we're studying veela. Do you know anything about-"