Unconditional

After a week the burning in his Mark had reached an all new level of pain. Draco honestly thought he would not be able to go on; or at least go on without people noticing how drawn and tight his face was, how he could barely move his left arm. He went to the only person he knew could help him.

“Professor—I need to talk to you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Can’t you see I’m in class?” Professor Snape barked without looking up from a first year Gryffindor’s potion.

“Yes, I can. So clearly this must be rather important.”

Snape finally looked up, and when he saw the look on Draco’s face and the way he was clutching his arm his entire demeanor changed. “Class is over. Get out.”

The Gryffindors and Slytherins looked unsure. “Now!” Snape cast a powerful Scourgify over all the cauldrons and the children jumped and scampered out of the classroom, bumping into Draco’s legs and hips as they went.

“Wait in my office, Draco.”

Draco went through the door in the back of the classroom, oddly proud that Snape trusted him alone in his private office. He wasn’t by himself for long; Snape came back in holding a large vial of something.

“Put this salve on it,” he said.

“What is it?” Draco asked, but he wasted no time unscrewing the bottle and smearing a healthy portion of potion on his arm.

“A remedy I made myself. I know how it can be sometimes.”

Instantly his arm felt better. It still itched, but Draco could deal with that.

“Keep that. I have more. I can make more.” Snape fixed him with a serious expression. “Don’t wait that long next time.”

“I didn’t…” Draco trailed off as the Potions Master raised an eyebrow. Snape had known exactly how much pain he was in. “Yes, Professor.”

Snape softened slightly. “See how easy that was? You can ask for help when you need it.” At Draco’s quiet scoff, Snape continued. “I hate it, too. But the burning will only get worse. If you ignore it long enough, the skin will become scorched and inflamed. I’ve seen people, tried to help people, who had avoided the Dark Lord until their arms were blackened, charred from the inside out. There is not much I can do for them at that point. Do not wait. And when you absolutely need help, for anything, I will be here, Draco.”

And then, Draco felt an ache in his chest as though the wind had been knocked out of him, but he could still breathe. It was not a feeling he had ever had before. “Even though I’m not in Slytherin?”

Snape sighed. “Child. Do not think your father’s way of showing affection is the only one. Not everyone is so… conditional.”

Draco wanted very much to hug the older man, but he knew that would be too much. He shook off the childish feeling and simply said, “Thank you.” His voice was low and raspy and he liked to think Snape knew that it wasn’t just two short words.

---

“Padma?”

“Yes, Draco?”

“I dunno.” Draco went back to looking for a new book to read. He was thinking something 19th century.

Padma smiled and put down The Harmony of Alchemists. She went up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What is it, pretty?”

“Why d’you call me pretty?” he asked. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but he had lost his nerve.

“Because you are,” Padma answered. She kissed the back of his neck lightly.

“What if I wasn’t?”

“Well,” Padma said between kisses, “you are.”

He turned around. “But what if I wasn’t?” he pressed.

“Oh, I don’t know, Draco,” she said, exasperated.

“Would you still want to be with me?”

“I suppose I would.”

“You suppose?”

“Well how am I to know? If you weren’t pretty we probably wouldn’t be together at all,” she snapped. It was clear she wanted to get back to the kissing and do less of the talking. But Draco wanted to talk, even if he wasn’t quite sure what about.

“Really,” he said. “Well, that’s just sweet.”

Padma shrugged. “It’s the truth. I don’t see why it matters. We’re together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah… I gotta go.” Draco turned from Padma and the books and started to walk out of the common room.

“Go?” Padma asked. “Go where?”

“I dunno. Anywhere.”

He slammed the door when he left.

His feet found their way to the owlery. He thought about Amelia and his promise to write her. How could he? There was no Muggle mail at Hogwarts. Not even Hogsmeade. He couldn’t just send an owl to her house. Or could he? Draco thought for a moment what his father would say about sending an owl to a Muggle and decided that, blast it, he was going to. Amelia was pretty easy going. At least, she liked birds. He found that he left his parchment and things in his bag in the common room. He didn’t want to go back in there and deal with Padma.

He stood for a while, looking out the window at the grounds. Winter felt like it was just about to start. At this height there was a tiny bit of frost around the stone. He heard the door open and someone walk in. He thought, it’s Potter, of course. Why he thought it would be, he didn’t know, but he was sure of it.

“Hey, Ferret. You look cold.”

It was Granger. Draco responded without turning around. “You don’t call me Ferret.”

“What am I supposed to call you, then?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t care. You can call me nothing at all. But only Scarhead calls me Ferret.”

An owl ruffled its feathers and flew out the window. He hoped that with her business concluded the bushy haired girl would leave. She did not. She came over to the window and leaned against the sill as Draco was doing.

“Aw, you have nicknames for each other. That’s so cute.”

“It is not. We hate each other and we call each other insulting, painful names that bring back horrible memories. It is not cute at all,” he protested.

“But Harry’s allowed to do it, and I’m not?”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” she repeated, and gave him a look. “And that’s why it’s cute.”

He turned to face her. They were very close together suddenly.

“I’m not into blokes,” he said quietly.

“I never said you were,” Hermione murmured.

“I don’t like Scarhead,” he muttered.

“That one might be a lie.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“How?”

He kissed her.