Amortentia

Harry had almost completely forgotten about that mystery dream by the time morning rolled around. In fact, his mind was so corrupted by sleep that he did indeed forget about the dream. This would not, all in all, affect the changes coming in his life, but it sure would have helped them move along a bit faster. But you can’t change what the mind decides to forget.  

It was now Saturday morning and Harry found himself walking onto the Quidditch Pitch for the first time in his eighth year at Hogwarts. He wasn’t dressed in his gear as this was just a visit to a hobby and not a professional match. He used to go flying to just clear his head so he thought that it would help him now as well. Lifting from the ground made the wind ruffle his hair, a father welcoming his son back home who he had thought he had lost forever. That was what it felt like for Harry to go flying. Its warm embrace soothed his aching mind, although Harry thought to himself, he didn’t recall why the headache started in the first place. He didn’t focus on that thought for too long though as it made his head begin to spin the more he tried to remember. His eyes were watering as he flew as the wind pushed itself into his sockets. It chilled his brain in a way that nothing else could; it stopped his thoughts from rushing around his head, freezing them in place. It allowed his mind to settle and start anew.  

He heard the rain before he saw it. It was this beautiful symphony of nature surrounding him. Harry loved listening to the sounds of rain, it was the unpredictability of it all and the soft pattering of the droplets against the frames of his glasses. The downpour was like an upwards battle against the elements. He was struggling more and more as the summer storm came into fruition and decided to turn the broom around and head back to the dorm.  

He didn’t care for the stares he knew that he would get as soon as he stepped into the entrance hall so decided, in a stroke of inspiration, to just go through the window. Which was mental but he wasn't feeling particularly mainstream in that moment. So, he flew around to where he thought his window might be and halted. His rational brain would have, at this moment, told him it was a very bad idea as he had no idea where on earth his room was in this massive tower but apparently his flying session had done exactly what he wanted it to do: turn off his brain.  

He took out his wand and pointed it at the window that he had tricked himself into believing was his, then whispered the spell he needed to bust in and tumbled into the room with a clatter. He cursed as he knocked his knee on a very sharp edge, “Fuck!” he exclaimed into the chilly air. He stood up and limped back to the window and tugged his broom, that was still floating outside, into the room. He brushed the mud off of his shins, onto the carpet. That’s when he heard a disgruntled shout coming from the bathroom door.  

“Oh shut up Neville, i'm going to clean it up in a minute, just let me take a shower first.” He knew it was Neville because Ron was like him in the fact that he didn’t care about cleanliness or being organised. Harry continued to brush the dirt off his clothes and then started scrapping it from his beautiful broom. Well, that was until his arm got grabbed and he was whipped around. What on earth was wrong with Neville right now? Once his friend had turned him around to face him Harry realised something. Either the other boy had grown about six inches, or this wasn’t who he thought it was because Harry came face to face with a tall boy's shoulder. He lifted his head and realised that the second option was true.  

Blonde hair still dripping from the shower and with his towel hanging low and a clear look of anger written on his face, stood Draco Malfoy in all his glory and a clear look of anger written on his face. That was when it hit Harry smack in the face, this was not his room, and that looming figure was not his friend.  It was now so obvious to him, the green posters and the posh and tidy trunk lying on the floor. Nobody in his room would even begin to be that oganised. He didn’t know how he had missed it, even he wasn’t that blind. 

His green eyes were wide and still, just staring. Something was dribbling down his forehead and this broke him out of his trance. His hand lifted and swiped it off: shining, dark, red blood. His mind went back to rolling into the room though the window. The glass shards that were sticking out must have caught his forehead, the skin there was not very soft meaning that it is a lot easier to cut. This was quite a usual occurrence, not the part about being in his childhood nemesis’s bedroom, that part was very much not usual, he meant the part about the blood for goodness' sake. He shook his head at his silly thoughts. Harry started to notice the throbbing in his mind, and he put that down to the chill in the air and the current cut on his forehead. Well, that and the fact Draco Malfoy was looking at him like he was mental.  

Harry looked back into those grey eyes and a look of fear entered him. More and more of this red river was flowing into his eyes and it got to the point where he couldn’t keep them open anymore. His face was getting cold despite the burning prickly feeling flooding down his face. Until a soft and gentle hand touched his blind face, he peeled his other eye back open and focused in on the changed expression in front of him as it brushed across his cold face in a gentle manor. 

It was a cold but seemingly genuine touch. He loved how much it comforted him, but a wave of dizziness came across brain. He stumbled slightly and the hand turned harder, bracing him against falling. Once Harry had regained his balance, his head turned back to Draco. There was a tense atmosphere fogging up the room and he was suddenly struggling to see through the mist. Well, all of this occurred before his eyes decided to open for the last time that day as he slowly started to let gravity act against him. He had lost the war this time. Infront of this blond, but slightly caring, git. 

Harry jolted awake again, feeling as though he had been falling for an awfully long time but the soft mattress underneath his back disproved this theory evidently.  He didn’t want to accept the reality just yet though because he remembered exactly what had happened last night and he especially remembered the river of blood flowing directly into his eyes. Feeling it already now, Harry decided to just bite the bullet and open his stinging eyes.  

Once he finally managed to peel his sticky eyes open, he realised that he couldn’t see anyway. With a hiss, he snapped his eyelids closed again immediately as the stinging got a lot worse. At this point Harry knew exactly where on earth he was. Nowhere else he knew was as blinding as this: the hospital wing. He wasn’t really surprised that he was lying here of all places, he was injured after all. He just didn’t expect for Malfoy to take him here to get looked after, why didn’t he keep him there and do something like any other self-respecting Death Eaters would. Before he could ponder on this any longer, he heard the doors creak open. 

He held his breath but then realised that if one of the patients in the Hospital Wing suddenly stopped breathing it would bring more attention than not. He began to breathe again; all be it not very calmly. He listened as footsteps began to pace further into the room. They echoed slightly against the hard stone walls. Drawing closer, Harry began to smell an extremely manly scent. He wasn’t going to lie it was rather attractive. 

Meeting them in the middle, another pair of footsteps joined the first. He knew that it was Madam Pomfrey by the clicking of her heels against the flagstones. It was a sound he had heard many times before; all those times he had her stich him up after a fight or a bad quidditch match. So, as her dress swished as she walked, Harry’s curiosity grew and grew. Who was she meeting? This mystery man must be someone with even a little bit of fashion sense because of the sound of polished and hard shoes ringing through the room. None of even Harry’s best shoes made a sound like that...  

“How is he Madam Pomfrey?” asked a deep male voice, an edge of concern in his voice. Harry wondered who he was talking about and how bad of a condition that guy was in. It must have been bad because she responded with: “Well I don’t really know, he may get another scar on his head, so it depends on how he reacts to that. Apart from that, there will be no lasting damage, thankfully.” she said with a huff.  

“Yeah, he won’t stop whining about that for the rest of his life, I think. It was really weird though. One minute I was showering, the next he stumbled into my room and fainted. Like, what on Earth was he doing?” said the mysterious voice, only Harry had a pretty good idea of who it was by now. That voice, that smell, those shoes: Draco Malfoy. This created more questions than answers, unfortunately. Why was he asking about him? To kill him for breaking into his room? Why was he concerned? Why was Harry’s head spinning?  

Harry tried to hold in his groan for as long as possible but the pain became excruciating and he let it slip passed his lips. The voices faltered and he heard rushing footsteps towards him as he began to flail around like a wild animal. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. Here voice didn’t waver for a single second, having to deal with a magical school with idiotic teenagers probably does that to your abilities under pressure. He felt the air push into the side of his face from the other side, meaning that Draco had made his way up beside him. He felt a hand in his hair as it tried to push his head back down and stop it from twisting and turning across the pillow. “Can you open your eyes for me please?” she asked him. He shook his head even more violently in response, he remembered the blinding, stinging lights from before.  

“Can you get him some kind of sleeping drought or something!? Make him not feel anything anymore” he heard him cry out. He could hear the panic and he hoped that he didn’t look as bad as he felt. “Are you alright with that Mr Potter?” 

“YES!” He screeched through gritted teeth, anything to stop this spinning, mind boggling pain. In the next few moments, a cup was pressed against him mouth and he gulped down the rancid liquid. His eyes grew heavy and the pain ebbed away. 

It was now Saturday night and Harry had been discharged from the Hospital Wing for about 4 hours. It turned out to be a massive migraine that occurred from the large (now scared) cut on his forehead. Madam Pomfrey fixed him right up once he’d woken up. Malfoy was mysteriously gone when he woke up, Harry was thankful though, it would have been entirely too embarrassing to face him after that display. 

He was sitting in the common room trying to finish all of his homework so that he could relax and enjoy his Sunday. Although, he was regretting this decision at this point because of this particularly nightmarish essay he had to complete for Transfiguration. His head hadn’t started to hurt yet as he had downed a couple of painkiller potions before starting, knowing it was going to be a long night. 

Spreading a warm glow across the cozy common-room, the fire roared out into the noisy space. Students were dotted around in groups, chatting, playing games or doing homework, like him. It wasn’t the most productive environment but the library was closed at this time and at least it was warm in here.  

His fingers were ink stained, as were the pages of his textbooks. The scratching of his quill was a sound that could have been heard for around two hours and probably wouldn’t stop for along while yet. Sleeves rolled back and hair slicked back so that it was out of him face, his brow furrowed in concentration as the words on the pages began to shake and shiver where they stood. His frazzled brain couldn’t take in any more bits of information but he pushed through the fog.  

There was a loud group of voices behind him, but he couldn’t turn his head because that would break his concentration, so he just plowed on through all of his work. The group got louder and louder until it became impossible to ignore them any longer. He rubbed his tired eyes and turned his chair to see what on earth was going on. What he saw sent a wave of confusion through his entire body... 

There was, what looked like, the whole of eighth year gathering into a circle. They began to chant together until someone lifted him onto their shoulders and as he wobbled and wavered in his balance. “Welcome, welcome, all of my fellow eighth years! This is the first proper party of this fantastic year. There is gonna be some booze, some games and most of all, a shit tone of fun!” he shouted. “So...” his hand made a flourish,” grab yourselves a drink and bottoms up!” 

Gapping at them, Harry watched in astonishment as the whole room shook with cheers. Joy was radiating off the gathering of his friends however, Harry didn’t share these intentions of happiness but knew that he wouldn’t be able to escape the stench of cheerfulness for the foreseeable future. He was really not in the mood for this right now, but when was he ever? Sighing as he stood up, he began to pack his books away so that he could escape to the sanctity of his bedroom but was stopped in his actions by a hand on his shoulder and a waft of booze assaulted his nose. He was spun around to face a slightly wobbly Dean Thomas.  

“Hazzzaaaa!” He hissed at him; Harry wrinkled his nose as a strong waft came over him.  

“Hey Dean, how are you doing?” asked Harry, feeling nervous that he was going to be forced to stay at the party. At that moment, he felt a full glass been pressed into his hand: he glanced down to see some sort of cocktail with a lemon tucked onto the side. That was the moment that Harry knew he would be staying there for a very long time.