分卷阅读20（2 / 2）

“Sounds good,” came the reply. And the second half of dinner was spent talking in low tones among the three of them about what exactly they would cover, a topic that put the Veriae bond between Draco and Harry so far back in Harry’s mind that he completely forgot about it.

The members of the DA (full name: Dumbledore’s Army) had not changed much. One or two had dropped out, and three or four had asked to be in. But the idea of the DA was not wide spread throughout Hogwarts. This was purely political, really. Even in times of crisis, rules had to be followed, and the formation of an “army” in school was not to be allowed. In truth, this was something which Harry agreed with. He could just hear the messages of the Howlers from different parents. I don’t want my child in the war, and all that. Having been through the muggle educational system for most of his schooling, Harry was well aware of how drafting was used in muggle wars, and though he was unaware if the wizards had actually ever used a draft system, he was sure the reaction of concerned wizarding parents would be the same as muggle parents. It was a somewhat common muggle saying that “no parent should have to bury his/her children”, and Harry also agreed with this, adding that ideally no one should have to bury anyone who died an unnatural death. Harry was still coping with the fact that if a body had been available for Sirius, he would have had to bury his godfather. He’d “moved on” enough to be able to live life the way he normally would, but the loss would always be there. That much he was certain.

And speaking of certainties, he was certain that he was slightly late to this impromptu DA meeting. So with hurried steps, he moved towards the Room of Requirement.

Down a few floors, in the dungeon, Draco Malfoy suddenly shivered, wings ripping through the fabric of his shirt. In confusion, he threw a quizzical look over his shoulder. That was weird. Then he sighed. He’d liked that shirt too…

Hermione and Ron had already—with plenty of help from Ginny, Harry was sure— separated everyone in pairs. The idea for the past few meetings had been duels, with one new spell learned every meeting. Hermione would teach the spell, with Ron to demonstrate on, and would then demonstrate how to block said spell, again with Ron to demonstrate on. Then the group would practice in pairs for about half an hour, before turning to small duels. On the first meeting, they’d taken turns dueling one on one with the rest of the group watching so as to watch for flaws or exceptionally done spells. Then they’d slowly progressed to one on two person duels, and one on three, all the way up to this current meeting in which there were six people on a rather large dueling platform (a hexagonal shaped duplicate of the platform Lockheart had used in Harry’s second year) in a free-for-all in which the goal was to be the last one standing.

This, of course, had to be carefully controlled. No spells that would cause a trip to the infirmary was the major rule, although they’d broken that once or twice…fortunately Dumbledore had talked to Madam Pomfrey about it and explained the situation. She’d been much more forgiving after that…well, not forgiving, but less condescending at least.

Tonight, after Hermione finished her demonstration of a charm, which was originally used in earlier times to boil water and could be focused into a beam which could cause quite a number of nasty burning oddities to the skin (she’d taken a bit longer than usually to heal Ron, and Harry’d fought back a giggle when he’d realized that this was because she got to hold on to Ron’s hand while she did so); the group chosen for the six-person duel included Harry. Most of the time, Harry found an excuse not to participate as he didn’t want to place another spotlight on himself if he did something exceedingly well (he practiced quite a bit more than he let on in these duels and was therefore always afraid that he would slip), but tonight he had been roped into it. Taking his position, Harry felt rather strange, as if something was slightly wrong. Shrugging it off as anticipation or slight nervousness, he waited for the signal to begin.

All six bowed and waited for the sudden burst of light from Hermione’s wand which was the signal to begin. Harry saw it out of the corner of his eye and barely had time to blink before a lance of pain shot through his abdomen. He doubled over and a charm flew over his head to form a slight dent in the wall where it hit.

The onlookers cheered slightly at what seemed to be a brilliant display of reflexes on Harry’s part, but Hermione caught the slightly pained look on his face. Realization dawned on her and she hurriedly grabbed Ron to whisper in his ear. He paled slightly, watching the battle which was being waged on the platform.

Harry appeared to be dodging the attacks with even better reflexes than he played Quidditch with, yet he was not enjoying himself. Every time he was forced to duck in order to evade a curse or charm, the slight look of pain intensified on his face.

Hermione’s wand suddenly lit in a red color, a slightly different charm from Lumos which had actually been used to mark off apparating grounds until the eighteenth century when a muggle had thought it to be a fire in the woods. The fighters on the platform stopped moving, and a disappointed groan went through the spectators as it always did when a duel ended without a decisive victor. And this was the shortest time yet. But Hermione ignored the questioning glances her way as Harry jumped off the platform and made his way towards her, his face barely hiding a pained expression.

“What’s going on?” He whispered.

“Find Malfoy,” was the mouthed answer and he nodded, leaving the room.

“What the—” Draco muttered as he was distracted again by a slight twitch from his wings which caused him to take a large lurch forward, nearly into his essay on the discovery of the Celtic Cross tarot spread (which was for History of Magic, and not Divination). Something was wrong around here. Then it hit him; exactly what must be wrong. Draco groaned, getting up.

“I’m going, I’m going,” He muttered at his wings, which fluttered slightly in response.

Pain was now lancing down Harry’s legs, from its starting spot just below his bellybutton as he jogged down the dungeon hallways. Luckily the hallways, which the dungeon was just crawling with, were empty in this area. He was so intent on getting to that Medusa portrait that he ran right into Draco, who was walking in a leisurely pace away from the same portrait.

For his part, Draco was not sent sprawling to the floor, no, he was merely knocked into and regained his balance rather quickly. As did Harry.