Chapter 9: Breakfast Drama

Three weeks passed before anyone noticed that Harry's magic was missing.

He was getting tired again.

Quite frankly, Harry didn't know how he'd really managed to get away with it for so long. He'd expected Hermione to pick up on it first and most certainly, he'd expected to find himself in Dumbledore's office within the first week, where his unexplained fits of drowsiness had left him crabby, snappy and irritable. When neither of those realities had come through by the second week, Harry didn't know what to think.

He knew that there were eyes watching—goodness, he could practically feel it in his every waking moment—yet, somehow, the eyes hadn't gotten him into any trouble, nor had they given themselves away. Harry didn't know what to think. On one hand, he was grateful for the reprieve, because he honestly had no way to really explain it without mentioning his creature inheritance and that was one tidbit of news he was not willing to share.

On the other hand, he was definitely disappointed. He'd hoped that his magic would've come back by now and as far as he could tell, with what little information he'd gleaned in the library, there shouldn't be any reason why he was magic-less. He'd managed to work out a little bit of a routine and so far, he'd been managing. He'd used Pepper-up potion to strategically keep himself awake during the first week when he was all but tripping over his own feet for being so exhausted.

The second week had left him with little improvement and a very short temper, to the point where Ginny and Ron had both teased him that all he needed was red hair to be able to claim the 'famous Weasley temper'. Harry hadn't found it very funny at all. Neither had the twins.

But his temper had blown over and he'd had to nearly grovel in his apologies to Hermione and bribe Ron and Ginny to keep their friendship intact.

He'd also noticed that his fellow housemates weren't as open and friendly as he could recall from the previous year. At first, he'd thought he was imagining things. Then there had been little moments, like being excluded from Seamus and Dean's private conversations, suspicious glances from the girls—Lavender and Parvati—whispered conversations that stopped when he entered a room and then, Harry'd had enough. He scented and catalogued them each individually, disappointed to find that apart from the twins, there weren't any others that he felt comfortable enough to trust. Even Ron, Hermione and Ginny's scents were fading on him—fading into something that he didn't like at all.

Apart from the house drama, there were other interesting things to note.

In the meantime, he'd learned that Professor Terius really did prefer Teacher or simply Terius and that he had the ability to run his classroom with an almost military precision. His assignments were standardized and he had students write down their questions to ask after the lecture—he didn't like being interrupted—something that bugged Hermione to no end. There was absolutely no messing around in his classroom and you didn't dare so much as think of sleeping. For some reason, whenever he entered the classroom, all thoughts of sleeping, exhaustion or hunger simply fled. Harry didn't know what to make of that, but it had begun to become a little bit of a safe haven, he liked feeling normal for the short class period and he longed for things to go back to the way they'd been.

Sometimes, it was a pain to realize things, such as the changing scents of his friends, how some people thought it was okay to lie straight to his face and how annoying it was to be cold all the time. He couldn't even cast a simple warming charm, though he had managed to coax Hermione to do it for him a few times. He'd considered buying clothes with charms installed on them, but then that had seemed like too much trouble and he knew when he returned home for the summer, his dear Uncle Vernon would either pitch a fit and get rid of them or both.

Harry also continued to keep his eyes and ears open. In doing so, he found that Theodore Nott was a very likable young man and they'd managed to enter a suitable bartering system of chocolate frogs for the delicious jerky sent from home. Harry was relieved to find that it helped with his cravings for raw meat and Theodore didn't seem to mind at all. He also noted that Theodore smelled quite a bit of chocolate and oranges and closer in trustworthiness than the twins.

Harry soon found himself running into said Slytherin on a regular basis to the point where he felt comfortable to ask about the family heirloom the dark-haired fellow lugged around with him. Theodore chuckled and told him to ask the next time they ran into each other, before heading off to his next class. Harry had thoughtfully made a note to do so. The Slytherin was quickly changing his opinion of Slytherins in general and the more he looked, the more Harry found that they weren't really that different.

On the other note, Blaise Zabini had become an incurable flirt. At least, that was the only excuse Harry could conjure for the Italian. While Harry couldn't deny that it felt, well, nice, to have someone actively paying attention to him in that way. Blaise had an uncanny knack for getting him flustered, embarrassed and aroused at the absolute worst possible times—in Potions class! Nothing Harry had been able to do or say convinced the Italian to turn his eyes elsewhere—not in the three weeks he'd been trying, anyway. Of course, the closer Blaise was, the less cold it was in the dungeons, it was an internal tug of war as Harry alternately suffered from frozen fingers and toes or the heat of embarrassment. He didn't know how Blaise could stand to say such embarrassing things aloud.

Of course, Harry had suffered more than enough Snape Death Glares in the first two weeks it had taken to adjust to the tanned boy's brand of teasing. He didn't know how he'd manage the rest of the year, but at least, he was sort of learning something about potions. Blaise had immediately taken it upon himself to be sure that Harry did an equal and fair amount of work, even if it was just preparing the ingredients and reading the instructions out loud. Most of the time though, Harry had to admit that Blaise really didn't help at all, at least, not where it would've counted.

It most certainly didn't help when Blaise muttered to himself in that sexy Italian whisper of his and when his wandering hands occasionally found themselves in places on Harry's person that left Harry red in the face just thinking about. He'd all but dumped their cauldron on the Italian's head the last time he'd found Blaise's hands wandering a little lower than he'd liked. What said hands were doing on his person in the first place, well, Harry didn't care to think that far. He was sure he'd worn a permanent blush on his face for the remainder of that day.

Harry shook his head to bring himself back to the present of his thoughts. He was on his way to the breakfast table in the Great Hall and he couldn't afford to zone out so early in the day. He sighed to himself as he trooped along obediently behind Ron and Hermione. From their scents, he was easily piecing things together—the two were obviously dating or at least doing what some dating couples did—and he could smell it. He wondered why they hadn't said a word to him yet, but figured that perhaps they were simply waiting for something. He reasoned that they would tell him on their own time.

The past week, he'd also noticed a new change, scent-wise. Fred and George now had drastically different scents from Ginny and Ron. Ginny's scent had also begun to change over the past week to something that Harry didn't know what to make of as yet. He tucked the detail away as a mental note to decipher it later—he'd gotten better at doing that. Fred and George were now smelling rather acceptable and—for lack of a better word—delightful. Harry had caught himself subconsciously sneaking a few good whiffs whenever they were around and smiling a little more when happy buzzes sang through his body at the pleasing scents.

A blur of blond hair out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy surreptitiously moving along with the shuffle of breakfast bound students—without his usual gaggle of cronies. Harry followed him with his eyes until Malfoy reached the Slytherin table and then, almost instantly, a seat opened up for him between Blaise and Pansy Parkinson.

Harry frowned. It was a common enough gesture for the Slytherins, they were careful and kept to their own, but it was Malfoy that Harry had his eye on. He hadn't been able to figure out the blond at all. Some days, it seemed as if Malfoy was on fire and every inch the cold, heartless bastard that Harry had pegged him for, yet, in other moments—small fleeting moments—Harry had seen him almost vulnerable, with a look on his face that he hadn't thought the Slytherin Ice Prince was even capable of knowing.

A hand on his elbow guided him forward and to a seat. Harry snapped back to the present to realize that he was sandwiched between Fred and George and they were both giving him a look that promised a serious conversation somewhere in the future. Harry smiled weakly as his stomach rumbled. He snuck a good whiff and felt his clenching insides relax ever so slightly. He'd avoid their serious conversation as long as he possibly could, but he would definitely take advantage of being smothered with the lovely scents wafting off of them as long as they were close.

Hermione didn't seem to care that he was whisked away by the twins, though Ginny grumbled at having to sit next to her brother and his bushy-haired girlfriend. She had taken to grumbling about nearly everything lately and now, the youngest Weasley sulked through the entire morning meal with only the occasional glower in Harry's direction. It was a glower that froze in fright when Fred matched it with one of his own and George followed up. Ginny resumed sulking and switched her glowers to her breakfast plate.

"Morning, Harry." Fred had sat him down with a deliberate pressure on his shoulders. "Did you-"

"-sleep well? You look a little tired-"

"-as if you're not getting enough-"

"-sleep again. You aren't sneaking out-"

"-to cause mischief without us, are you-"

"-because if you are, we-"

"-certainly have something-"

"-to say about it." George finished. He slid into his seat beside Harry and began to reach for the nearest breakfast dish. Between him and his twin, they effectively filled Harry's plate and provided a bit of a buffer between their sister and a certain bushy-haired witch.

Harry made himself sample each helping on his plate beneath their watchful gazes. "I'm fine." He spoke around a mouthful of cubed fruit. "Really." He shrank somewhat when Fred pinned him with a look, punctuated with an arched eyebrow. Harry snuck a look at George, only to find the matching redhead sporting the exact same expression. He gulped and focused on his plate instead. The twins getting serious was serious! Harry forced himself not to squirm under their sudden scrutiny.

Loud shouts from the Slytherin table, drew the attention of every student, ending with a red-faced Pansy Parkinson towering over a certain blond Ice Prince.

"You what?" She screeched. "How could you do this to me? We were supposed to be married!" She shrieked. "How dare you go and get yourself bonded without even-!"

Draco leaned away from her, and reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice as if her verbal temper tantrum wasn't really happening at all. He was calmly going about his usual breakfasting motions.

That only served to make the girl all the more furious. She grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him around to face her. "I've been brought up my whole life to do everything just perfect so I'd be a proper Malfoy bride and you went and got yourself-" she swallowed. "-Got yourself bonded and you can't even tell me who's the lucky bitch?"

A few gasps were heard.

"My private life and what I do with it, is absolutely none of your business, Parkinson." He said, coolly. "If you cannot control yourself then-"

"You disgusting, filthy, back-stabbing-!"

"Leave him alone!" Millicent Bulstrode shot to her feet, an uneasy glance flickering between her two housemates. The larger girl rarely spoke up and the very fact that she was speaking now drew attention from their own housemates. "Pansy, please, leave it be."

"Shut up, Bulstrode!" The brunette glared at her. "You've lost it, haven't you, Draco? Just because your father's no longer head of the family, you're bent on dragging the Malfoy name through the dirt to suit your own nasty little-"

In a blur, Draco was on his feet and his face was inches away from the angry girl. "Take it back." His voice was quiet, calm and deadly. "That was uncalled for. Take it back, Parkinson!"

The use of her last name was not lost on her. Pansy sniffed, lifting her chin a few degrees higher. "Hit a nerve? I didn't realize you were so helpless with Mummy and Daddy out of the picture. I would think you'd want to honor your father's wishes for us to be married. I suppose with him gone now you feel that you can simply-"

Draco's hand flashed out and Blaise seemed to appear from nowhere as he stepped in and caught the pale wrist before said hand could connect with Pansy's face. The dark-haired boy shot a warning look to the furious blond and frowned at their housemate.

"Pansy, you're making a-" Blaise began.

Pansy stared at him for a moment and then her own hand flashed out and slapped Draco across the cheek. "You've bonded with Blaise Zabini?" She nearly screamed as she wrenched Draco's wrist out of Blaise's hand and stared at the duo incredulously. "How dare you! How could you?"

Both boys stared at her in a mixture of confusion and befuddlement and then looked at each other and back at her. Blaise shifted slightly so he turned his back to a simmering Draco.

Pansy was huffing for breath her face seemingly unable to turn anything else but darker shades of red as her fiery temper continued to spew. "You insufferable git! You were leading me on this whole time! Did you think it was funny? Were you trying to humiliate me? What were you trying to prove? And w-with him?" She exclaimed, shoving Blaise away as he took another step towards her. A hand went to her mouth in horror. "This can't be happening. You can't do this! You bloody insufferable…!"

The rest of her sworn insult was ignored as Harry snuck a glance at the Head Table, unsurprised to see the teachers whispering disapprovingly amongst themselves along with an untwinkling Headmaster. His attention was caught by a certain glowering Severus Snape who threw his napkin into his plate as he rose silently from his chair. The look on his face was dark and decidedly murderous.

Harry shrank down a little further, grateful to be sandwiched by the twins—two of the taller students at the Gryffindor table. He felt that he was more than lucky for once, not to be the unfortunate victim of Snape's volatile temper. The man could make you wish you were a single-cell organism with one single glare from those inky eyes. The very fierceness of his temper, the sheer intensity of it, would have you wishing he'd explode or at least react in a more visible way, rather than the consequent darkening of his visage and the icy tone of voice that spelled imminent doom. Yes, Harry was very glad he was nowhere near the dark descendent of the dungeons that now swept towards the table of his beloved Slytherins.

All uninvolved parties caught sight of their Head of House sweeping down towards them and almost instantly, the spaces beside the arguing students cleared out and all students were studiously engaged in their respective breakfasts when Severus Snape glided to a halt beside a still fuming Pansy Parksinson.

One long, thin, bony hand settled on her shoulder with a vise-grip. "Miss Parkinson," he ground out. "Cease embarrassing yourself and drawing attention to your situation with this childish display of immaturity." His voice was smooth as silk and twice as deadly with the promise it held. "We are Slytherins and we do not react with such…vulgar displays of displeasure, no matter the situation." His dark eyes swept over a near furious Blaise and a bright red handprint on the pale skin of Draco's face. He smiled, thinly. "I believe breakfast is over," His grip tightened and he turned her towards the doors, intent on marching her out of the Great Hall and into a more private setting.

A single glare at the rest of the Slytherin table had all the other students immediately shuffling their belongings together and preparing to leave for their first classes, breakfast now a forgotten thing. All heads were bowed as if the entire house was in disgrace for the actions of one, beneath the stern, impassive Head of House. Some of the older students snatched fruit and breakfast rolls, wrapping them in napkins for the younger students and quickly gathering up their things.

Harry blinked as Snape marched Parkinson out of the Great Hall. He could've sworn that he saw the dour man touch Draco's elbow on the way out.

Almost.

"Well, that was certainly-" Fred mused.

"-interesting. I wonder what-"

"-brought it about. Wouldn't have-"

"-thought Malfoy would-"

"-be the perfect morning-"

"-entertainment. How strange." George's gaze darted to Harry's mostly full plate. He sighed. "Har-ry."

Harry looked at him, expectant.

"At least eat the applesauce-" Fred sighed and bopped him gently on the head.

"-if you can't eat anything else." George finished. "You hardly-"

"-eat enough as it is." Fred frowned.

Harry scowled, but did go about shoveling spoonfuls of the bland applesauce into his mouth. He'd have to be more careful. He certainly couldn't eat as the others would, his stomach was still adjusting to the fact that he had food to eat and his Dragel side was constantly protesting as it went through its cycle of demanding meat and fruit in alternate days.

Harry mentally replayed the incident. Draco hadn't reacted at all—well, apart from the slap that he'd never landed, thanks to Blaise—though now that Harry thought of it, he considered it somewhat odd.

Blaise was never around Draco the way that Pansy was and yet he'd stood up between them. Though, now that he thought of it, Harry wondered what part of what she'd said had set the blond off. Certainly, he'd never pegged the boy as one to hit a girl, but then again, Lucius Malfoy had been a Death Eater.

You shouldn't judge him by his parents. The stray thought curled through his mind. Harry frowned. He looked down at his plate to see that more applesauce had been added. He scowled spectacularly, but neither twin would meet his eyes.

Harry unhappily shoveled another spoonful of applesauce in his mouth as he stared across the room at the red handprint still visible on Malfoy's face as the Slytherins silently filed out of the Great Hall.

By the time they turned up for Transfigurations, Harry had grown tired of the chattering amongst the students in regards to Malfoy. He didn't care to really know why or what had happened, but the more he thought about it, the more it annoyed him. It wasn't anyone's business really, if Draco decided to bond to someone else other than Pansy—and if it was Blaise, well, the only thing Harry had to say to that, was that the Italian needed to quit flirting with him if he was serious about Draco.

If he wasn't, well, Harry would deal with it when he came to that point. He didn't see anything wrong with the equation, though he did admit that it was the first time he'd ever seen or heard anything of the sort towards an all-male bonded pair in the wizarding world. He heard of such things, but didn't see much of it in real life. He'd yet to really see it anywhere.

Draco and Blaise had been a bit of a shock.

Harry resolved to ask the Italian at Potions before dinner. He wondered, faintly, what Snape would do.

Then he shuddered and broke into a trot to keep up with Hermione and Ron.

It suddenly felt as if all his luck had run out.