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His scar seared—debilitating, white-hot. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep walking with what he hoped passed for a straight face. One of Draco’s arms was draped around his shoulder while he kept up a charismatic charade meant to deflect attention away from Harry, onto him.
Astoria didn’t seem to notice. That was promising.
“It’s my favorite part of the manor,” she gushed as she led them into a grandiose hall, where it too was covered in an offensive amount of flowers. Blooms filled bases and hung from the ceiling; the smell, so pleasant before, had Harry feeling ill. His scar pounded and pounded. “It’s where I like to go when I need some alone time.”
Where was she taking them, again? Harry couldn’t remember. He could hardly think at all. He barely registered how she cast Draco a flirtatious look, the way Draco smiled back, said something. He didn’t catch it. His vision was starting to blur.
Walking. Keep walking. Head up. Follow the floating pair of sparkling wings attached to Astoria’s dress; her innocent, sweet magic. Keep walking.
The moment they stepped outside, Astoria having led them to an enclosed courtyard that was brimming with blossoming shrubs and water features, Draco released him and whipped out his wand.
A flash of red brought Harry back to himself. Draco caught an unconscious Astoria Greengrass and laid her gently to the ground. Surrounded by the tiny white wildflowers dotting the courtyard, she looked like a real fairy, caught sleeping in some hidden, enchanted forest. With her unconscious, Draco and Harry were alone.
The pain in his scar dulled, and Harry could focus more clearly. Was that due to the fresh air? The distance?
The fact that he was no longer within sight of the Dark Lord, being leered at by a group of witches the same way Astoria looked at Draco?
Voldemort, holding court with a slew of politicians across the hall, looking entirely unaware of Harry whatsoever…
“What,” said Draco tersely, still kneeling beside Astoria, “the fuck, Potter?”
He glared at him, but Draco’s silvery aura was quaking. Harry took a shaky step backwards towards a stone bench, then promptly fell onto it. He rubbed his scar.
Draco stood, rounding on him. He still had his wand out, and looked keen to use it. “Tell me exactly why I had to do that.” He gestured towards Astoria. “Tell me why I had to manipulate her like that, and will have to modify her memory after this, and why the fuck you look like you’re about to pass out, and most importantly, how it was about to be a thunderstorm, when all that was happening was…”
Harry continued to run a hand over his scar. He shook his head. In front of him, his voice having trailed off into uncertain silence, Draco’s magic bristled and shook harder.
Harry didn’t say anything, either. The sound of a dozen bubbling marble fountains filled the space.
“…He was watching you,” Draco said quietly, looking somewhere over Harry’s head. “If you had to leave so urgently, if that was why, then… He was watching you.”
Watching you surrounded by flirtatious, rich, pureblood witches vying for your attention. Harry’s heartbeat sped. What could he say to that?
The only thing that came to mind—the words that left his numb lips before he could gather himself enough to think it through—was the truth.
“He’s always watching me.”
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