Padma's Wit
“Hi Hermione,” Harry says.
“Hi, Harry,” she parrots back.
“Look, before you say anything, I don’t care. Draco’s suffered enough. I’m not going to let him die thinking he has no friends. Thinking nobody cares. Because that’s not true. I care and I’m done pretending I don’t,” Harry tells her and from the way the words rush out of his mouth, Hermione suspects that he’s rehearsed this speech.
“Malfoy has - Draco has friends, Harry,” Hermione says.
“Yeah well his friends left him over the holidays. Nobody should have to go through this alone, okay? So you can yell all you want but I’m not going to stop being his friend,” Harry replies confidently.
“I’m not going to tell you to. Just be-” Hermione says but Harry doesn’t seem to hear this.
“Look, I know he did a lot of bad things. More than anybody, I know. But Dumbledore knew. Snape knew. And they did nothing to help him, didn’t offer him the chance to… he didn’t have you or me or Ron or anybody to offer him a way out. But he still found one, you know, when it mattered most and I think I’m allowed to-”
“I know Harry, I accepted his olive branch too-” But Harry doesn’t stop talking, not even over Hermione’s protests.
“I’m allowed to be his friend. He’s actually really funny, you know? And he’s nice too, you saw how he was with Hedwig. Turns out he’s always like that when he’s not surrounded by Death Eaters and dark magic. Did you know he studies astrology with Trelawney? Has since second year. Meets with her once a week just because he’s interested. His father wouldn’t let him take the actual class, turns out you and he share an opinion on Trelawney. But he’s really good at it, just naturally-”
“Harry!”
“What?” He says, annoyed.
“I’m happy you two are friends. I only told you to stay away because fighting with him would make him worse,” Hermione says, matching his irritated expression.
“Oh.”
“But… Harry I have to ask. Do you have a crush on him?”
“What? Absolutely not,” Harry says.
“It just sounds like kinda like you-” Hermione says softly.
“Ugh. Don’t make this weird,” Harry spits out, looking away. Hermione flinches at his words.
“What’s going on?” Ron says, emerging from Gryffindor tower for the first time in days.
“Are you going to start too?” Harry asks.
“Start what?” Ron says, looking between Hermione and Harry with a confused look.
“Did you come out here to ask me if I have a crush on Draco?”
“I... hadn’t planned on it… but since you brought it up…” Ron trails off when Hermione makes a face at him.
“Well I don’t, okay?” Harry says, storming off.
The end of the holiday season brings with it a return to a sense of general dread at Hogwarts. Classes start back up and Harry discovers that, unbeknownst to him, most of the teachers had left as well. Only four remain, in addition the headmaster: the Heads of the Houses.
So each teacher takes on multiple subjects. It’s fairly easy to juggle them as there is really only the sixth year students to teach. The few seventh and fifth year students that remain join Harry’s classes. The curriculum gets adjusted to accommodate this and some students end up in classes they weren’t taking before. It doesn’t really seem to be that important, all things considered.
Even though Draco’s friends do return to Draco’s side, Harry still seeks him out. The first time he sits next to Draco at meal time, he is rewarded with a toothy grin that releases a few petals. Harry leans over and gingerly wipes them away. Pansy looks on incredulously.
“Is there anything you two want to tell us?” she asks and Harry can’t quite place her tone but it sounds almost hopeful.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco drawls, taking a sip of his tea, “the chosen one has decided to grace us with his presence.”
When Pansy turns to Harry, he simply shrugs and says, “that I have” in the most dramatic voice he can manage.
He’s rather pleased with himself until Draco giggles at Harry’s words. And then he feels a warm blush creep across his cheeks as he chokes on his biscuit. He knows Pansy sees it because her entire body language shifts in response.
In an attempt to recover, he takes a swig of his drink and follows it up with, “do you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” Pansy says, a pleased smile betraying her attempt at indifference.
As promised, McGonagall brings Harry to Dumbledore’s office shortly after classes resume. Justin and Padma join him as they had for the first two tasks. This time, Padma steps in front of the mirror and Flitwick draws the cards in Trelawney’s place.
Even though Harry pays close attention to the entire meeting, he has no idea what the third task might be and Harry and Justin leave Dumbledore’s office exchanging guesses.
“It’s a maze,” Padma says confidently, “we have to make our way through a maze. Whoever gets to the end first will win.”
Harry gapes at Padma before saying, “Really? How did you figure it out so quickly?”
“Because Padma is a genius!” Justin says, throwing his arm around Padma to pull her closer.
“It’s all rather obvious,” she says with a smug smile.
“Care to explain?” Harry asks.
“Sorry but it’s kind of personal. Which is the whole point of the divination, by the way. Three wix and three tasks. One task tailored to each champion’s heart. Just be glad my heart is not a dragon,” Padma says, a relived laugh escaping her mouth as she says the last part.
Then, her face snaps to Harry’s and she looks him dead in the eyes. “Your heart is a dragon.”
“Look, I don’t get it either,” Harry says not wanting to recap the dragon incident.
“My heart is a maze, Justin’s heart is a lake and Harry’s heart... Harry’s heart is a dragon.”
“So?” Justin asks.
“Well, sometimes the other tasks can serve as metaphors for the fourth champion’s task.”
“I don’t get what you’re trying to figure out. We already know what Draco’s task is,” Harry says coldly.
“Right. It’s just … interesting,” Padma replies.
“You know something,” Justin says.
“I know a lot of things,” Padma says, giving no further indication to what those things might be.
Padma is, of course, correct about the task inspired by her ‘heart.’
This time, they find themselves in a field that Harry didn’t know existed on Hogwart’s grounds in front of a very large and intimidating maze.
It’s made up of tall hedges that span as far out as the eye can see. And while it’s true that this looks innocent enough, Harry knows better.
Once again they are joined by the entire student body and all the staff. Except now they fit neatly in one watch tower. There is no separate place for staff to judge the game. Instead Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Sprout and Pomfrey sit with the students.
This is when it becomes clear just how much of Hogwarts hasn’t stuck around for the end of the tournament. Seeing them all gathered up like this makes it impossible to ignore.
There is no sense of excitement this time around, only a mass of tired students held together with a false sense of bravado and their newfound comradery.
The task is once again a ‘simple’ race: make it to the end of the maze and take a portkey back. They enter the maze at the same time, each from separate starting points.
Harry is not the least bit surprised when ghastly forms start to pop-up not even five minutes into the task. He dodges them aptly at first until the images stop taking forms like Voldemort and Bellatrix and start to look like his parents and the friends he’s lost. And one by one the forms that taunt him become younger and younger until deceased first years call out to him and ask if he even remembers their names.
He doesn’t.
However, unlike in the lake, the feeling of panic that hits him is all too familiar. When he finds himself backed into a corner with no escape, he knows what to do.
“Expecto Patronum!” Harry yells and from his wand bursts the familiar ethereal stag. Wait, no. Not a stag. This patronus is a dragon.
‘And Harry’s Heart is a dragon.’ Padma’s words ring in Harry’s head.
Uh-oh.
There’s no time to think on it now because Harry spots the pedestal, atop which sit three portkeys. The foreign patronus has driven away his would be attackers nonetheless and Harry dashes toward his escape as fast as he can.
Padma is already there when he arrives. She is holding Justin in her arms, consoling him as he sobs.
“It’s my fault,” Justin says, “it’s my fault he’s dead. I wasn’t quick enough.”
“Shh,” Padma says, “shh. It’s almost over.” She turns to re-cast her patronus, as what looks like the ghost of a young Hufflepuff puff floats toward them. Harry recognizes the boy. He’d be in his fourth year if he hadn’t been slaughtered by Death Eaters.
“Padma!” Harry yells.
“Harry, thank goodness you’re here.”
“You waited,” Harry pants.
“Nobody gets left behind,” she reminds him. Then she grabs the first portkey. Harry gestures for Justin to take the second. When he does, Harry grabs the third.
There are no delays this time around and Harry finds himself greeted by a round of applause as the three of them show up seconds after one another.
Dumbledore is already hushing the crowd and crowing Padma the official winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament games before Harry can even process what’s happened.
Then, Dumbledore is explaining that the ball has been scheduled to celebrate the tournament. The last thing Harry hears before he closes his eyes is that this ball, which has been moved up from spring to early February, will serve as the closing ceremonies.
The same ceremonies that McGonagall reassured them would be a suitable time for Draco to drop dead, should the urge strike him. Two weeks from today.
When Harry opens his eyes, he learns he hasn’t left the maze at all.
He’s stuck near the beginning except the sun has long set. He calls out to both Padma and Justin but neither of them answer.
Then he notices the hedges are lined with flowers, all of them red roses dripping with Draco’s blood. It’s too late. It’s too late and Draco’s not going to make it. Harry needs to hurry.
He plucks one of the roses and starts to look around but his hurrying was for naught. Draco’s ghost greets him and full rose blooms pour out from his mouth as he addresses him. Harry drops his measly offering at the sight. Draco sounds like Draco and not a ghost. But he is clearly dead.
“Hi, Harry. Lovely to see you here tonight.”
“Draco...”
“Yes, that’s me,” he says with that sad smile Harry has gotten so used to.
“I’m sorry,” Harry cries, “I know I’m not one you want.”
“No, you’re not.”
“But I could have been. If you’d been willing to try. If I’d been willing to try. I could have changed your heart. Been your cure.”
“Yes, perhaps...” Draco’s whispers as he moves toward him. “But you didn’t. You didn’t try, did you?”
“I’m sorry,” Harry says again.
If only he had tried harder. Tried sooner. Harry’s confession would have been genuine. And even though Draco had turned down every other option, Harry has a history of being the exception to the rule…
He had gotten to know Draco so well over the past several weeks. Learned about his hopes and dreams. Learned about his fears and regrets. Laughed with him and cared for him when his heart spilled out of his mouth in the form of roses intended for a suitor who could not care less about him.
Draco is funny and kind and interesting. And even on death’s doorstep, he is gorgeous. Harry tries to dismiss the thought but there’s no denying it; death by heartache suits Draco.
The crown of roses pops against his shiny blond hair. His natural scent is mixed in with a pleasant floral aroma that Harry has spent many moments being close enough to breathe in.
Draco literally glows when he smiles at Harry. But he’s still pretty even when he cries. His milky gray eyes sparkle with tears most days now. And Harry hates himself for it but no matter how horrific the Hanahaki gets, Harry is hypnotized by how vivid Draco is even as he fades away.
It’s like all of this was perfectly tailored to draw him in. And perhaps it was intended to draw someone one in. Just not Harry.
Harry doesn’t have a crush on Draco. The image of the dragon patronus flashes in his mind at the same time he recalls Snape’s melancholic ‘always’ to Dumbledore when Snape called forth the silver doe in the headmaster’s office.
Harry cynically wonders if the ancient magic had called him to be the fourth champion instead of Draco if he would be the one coughing up petals and wandering the halls pining for something he’d never have. Harry finds himself wishing he was because then Draco wouldn’t be dying.
Because Harry doesn’t have a crush on Draco. No, he’s falling in love with him. And it’s all for nothing because…
“Don’t beat yourself up too much Harry. You wouldn’t have changed anything,” Draco tells him and Harry wonders if he’s said any of that out loud because he finishes with, “you’re not that special.”
“Not that special,” Harry repeats.
“No point in dwelling,” Draco tells him, “it’s time to wake-up, Harry.”
“What?”
“Wake-up, Harry,” Luna tells him.
Harry finds himself standing in the middle of a hallway completely disoriented.
“The third task is over,” Harry tells her.
“Yes,” Luna says, “that was twelve days ago. You came in dead last.” Only Luna can manage to be comforting while simultaneously looking at him like he’s the dumbest person to have ever existed.