Help
“Alright,” Hermione said, scanning her notes one last time. “That should be all of them.”
She had just finished putting up the last of the wards around Harry’s bed. The three of them had spent the afternoon researching ways to help control Harry’s accidental magic. They faced a series of dead ends: most material on accidental magic focused on children, whose magic sought outlets since they were too young to use a wand. The few cases they found of accidental magic in adults were the ones who were similarly unable to channel their magic through a wand, perhaps because they were never introduced to the magical community, or because their wand was snapped.
None of it applied to Harry. He was no longer a child, he had a fully functioning wand, and he used his magic regularly. By all accounts, his magic should be under control.
Since their search for answers about accidental magic was fruitless, this was what they had resorted to: warding Harry and his magic into a tight bubble, protecting the rest of his room from harm. The wards would disappear once he woke up again.
It would have to do for the time being. Hermione and Ron bid him goodnight, locking the door behind them. Harry tossed and turned fitfully, sure he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.
--
Harry awoke slowly, shaking slightly and heart racing. Nightmare slowly separated from reality and Harry became aware of how everything hurt. Well. Apparently he had been able to fall asleep, but now he regretted it.
Grudgingly, Harry pried his eyes open to an absolutely destroyed bed. His pajamas were shredded, the wooden bed frame was splintered, and the curtains were nowhere in sight. He lifted his head to assess the rest of the room, relieved when he saw that the wards had held.
He rolled over and groaned. Harry cautiously pressed a couple fingers against the sharp pain in his side, grimacing when they found a particularly painful spot. With nowhere else to go, it seemed his magic had turned on himself. He set his jaw and pushed himself out of bed and into the bathroom.
It hurt, but he successfully stripped the ruined pajamas off and looked down at himself, completely at a loss. There were marks covering his body, striping back and forth across his skin like a bloodless Sectumsempra, they were glowing, and better yet, they hurt. Harry lightly prodded at a few, discovering that the brighter ones hurt more. The one across his stomach glowed the brightest.
Harry didn’t trust himself with his wand right then, but even if he had, he wouldn’t know what spell to cast, so he pulled open the potions cabinet on the wall. He wasn’t sure if everyone had a stock of healing potions in their room, or if the house elves kept one for him because of his susceptibility to danger and injury. Either way, he was grateful for it right then, pulling out jars and bottles at random.
None of the potions were specifically for glowing accidental magical injuries, funnily enough, so Harry haphazardly smeared a couple pastes over them and downed a pain potion, hoping for the best. It would have to be enough for now, he decided, and headed back out to his room to hunt for new pajamas.
Once dressed, Harry sat gingerly at his desk. A quick Tempus told him he’d only been out for a couple hours, but he didn’t want to go anywhere near his bed, much less go back to sleep in it. His nightmare was still fresh on his mind, and besides, Hermione had taken the list of necessary wards with her. Who knew what would happen if he went back to sleep. He was wide awake and antsy, anyways. Sleeping wasn’t an option.
The pain potion had started working, so Harry stood and cast his gaze aimlessly around the room. His eyes caught on the Marauder’s Map, sitting innocently on his desk.
With a split-second decision—what was Harry, if not impulsive?— he was pocketing the map, grabbing the Cloak from the hook by his door, and escaping his dormitory for the dark corridors of Hogwarts’s dungeons.
--
Draco tensed at the piano when Potter’s magic suddenly filled the room. It felt angry, agitated, needling at Draco’s skin and practically sparking where it collided with Draco’s own magical core. He swallowed. He knew Potter had been having trouble controlling his magic, but he didn’t know it had gotten that bad.
The song he had been playing was light-hearted, but Potter’s magic quickly took over, morphing it into something sharper. Draco gave in quickly, letting it guide him, fingers flying over the keys, the tempo quickening and volume increasing.
Potter’s magic pulled him along, and he could feel it spinning and jumping around him, the angry edge wearing away as it flowed with the music. Draco followed the magic’s lead as it changed the tone of the music time and time again, flitting through emotion after emotion. It was playful one moment and remorseful the next, unable to stay still for long.
Draco sunk into the melody. The rest of the room, the heavy dungeon air, and even the prickling on the back of his neck from Potter’s presence melted away, leaving Draco, the piano, and Potter’s magic to dance in perfect step, never missing a beat.
Draco was so entranced that an hour, a day, a week could have passed, and he wouldn’t have noticed. Slowly, though, he came back to himself, feeling the way that Potter’s magic had grown sluggish, finally having tired itself out. Draco took control of the song, tentatively at first and with growing confidence when the magic relaxed instead of fighting back.
He began playing the same lullaby as the night before, feeling Potter’s magic settle and begin to recede. Draco felt like he was rocking it to sleep, coaxing it back to Harry’s core. He played until he was sure it was back under Potter’s control. He could still feel it thrumming softly, but it was contentedly bundled into the corner of the room that Potter was huddled into.
Draco’s hands stilled and silence reigned. He opened his eyes, not realizing they had been closed in the first place, and looked around. Potter’s corner was empty.
“Potter?” His voice was hoarse, unsteady. No response.
Draco stood, careful to not make any noise. He walked slowly towards that corner, heart pounding as he centered in on Potter’s magical core. “Potter?” He whispered again, crouching down. He couldn’t see anything, but Potter’s magic gave him away, letting Draco sense how he was curled against the wall right in front of him.
Draco reached out. His fingers snagged on a soft, slippery material, and he pulled gently, fighting to control his expression as an Invisibility Cloak fell away to reveal a sleeping Potter.
Everything in him screamed Back away! but he felt bound in place, staring at Potter’s unconscious form. His black hair was as messy as always, and his glasses were crooked on his nose. He was folded into himself, arms wrapped protectively around his knees, and Draco’s eyes kept getting dragged back to the way Potter’s brow was furrowed.
Draco bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at the door. He couldn’t just leave Potter there, could he? He looked back at Potter and deflated. No, he couldn’t. It would surely give away the fact that he knew Potter had snuck down to listen to him play, but… Potter looked so broken and vulnerable, curled into the corner. He was tense, even in his sleep.
Besides, Draco thought as he stood, it was cold in the dungeon, and he couldn’t have Potter getting sick from spending a night down there. He shuddered to think of the chaos Potter’s accidental magic would cause if he started sneezing everywhere.
He draped the Invisibility Cloak over himself-- no use getting caught and immediately expelled just for trying to help-- then stepped away from Potter, drawing his wand. Praying to Merlin that Potter was a heavy sleeper, Draco cast a levitation charm on him, focusing intently.
Potter stirred a bit as he was lifted off the ground, and Draco froze until Potter settled, having found a more comfortable sleeping position for floating. Draco kept his wand trained on him and started walking.
Draco made the journey back to the Eighth Year dormitory carefully, cursing under his breath every time he nearly let Potter bump into a wall. After what felt like forever, he came to a stop in front of Potter’s room. He regarded Potter’s door for a moment, then decided to just try the handle. It turned easily. He’d thought Potter would be more careful about locking his room, but then he remembered how unruly Potter’s magic had been, and thought that maybe locking his door was the last thing on Potter’s mind when he’d left his room that night.
Draco pushed the door open and backed into it slowly, levitating Potter in behind him. He turned towards the bed, intending to deposit Potter there, and stopped, sucking in a breath. The bed looked like it shouldn’t even still be standing, balancing on a crooked frame and every piece of fabric on it torn apart.
Draco lowered Potter down onto the rug in the middle of the room, watching for a moment to make sure he wouldn’t wake up. He released the levitation charm, then turned back to the bed. Well, he’d come this far, he figured; might as well go all in.
He set the sheets to stitching themselves back together and rehung the curtains after finding them somehow stuck under the mattress. He reinforced the frame, setting it to rights and strengthening the charms that held it together. Once the sheets were finished, he made the bed as well as he could, forgetting the spells that would do it for him.
Hands on his hips, he decided that while it still looked a little crooked, the bed looked sleepable. He pulled back a corner of the sheets, then looked at Potter, who was still sleeping soundly behind him. Draco levitated him once again, depositing him on the bed, then pulled the sheets up to his chin.
Draco delicately slid Potter’s glasses off, then set them on the nightstand. Potter’s hair covered his scar and his tense expression had finally smoothed. He could have been a completely different person, Draco thought.
Perhaps recognizing that he was back in a soft bed, Potter stretched out and shifted onto his back, and Draco frowned, noticing something strange. Watching Potter’s face cautiously, he nudged at Potter’s collar a bit.
There were marks peeking from beneath Potter’s collar, reaching up his neck and glowing. They looked strangely beautiful, Draco thought. He could feel the magic pulsing through them and reached out to touch, entranced.
Draco choked, jerking his hand away as reality came crashing back. What was he doing? He almost tripped over himself as he backed away in horror. Even bringing Potter back to his room was a risk-- who knew how he would react when he realized what happened? He undid the clasp of the Invisibility Cloak with fumbling fingers, then hung it on the cloak rack by the door.
Casting one final glance at Potter’s sleeping form, Draco left.