“Harry, having your lower body situated between my legs does not help me get out of bed faster.”
Draco heard a more intelligent mumble this time, “Can’t believe you said that with a straight face,” but ignored it. Again Harry rolled to the left and off of Draco’s legs entirely. However, he was still using Draco’s upper body as a pillow.
“Harry—” Draco began to point this out but was cut off.
“Do you have to move?” Harry mumbled and then added something unintelligible along the lines of “M’sleepy.”
Draco pondered this. It was still the weekend and he didn’t have to go anywhere…well, except down to breakfast but he could get food later.
“Fine, but you owe me one.”
Harry’s reply was again a mumble of things Draco couldn’t make out, but in a few minutes he too had drifted back to sleep.
Ron and Hermione stood outside the portrait of Medusa, unsure of whether to knock or wait for either Harry or Draco to grant them entrance.
“If you want to get in, you’re going to have to wait a while unless you have the password.” Medusa commented, inspecting her fingernails as if expecting to see dirt underneath them.
“Can you tell them that we’re here?” Hermione asked. When Harry hadn’t shown up at breakfast, she had worriedly dragged Ron down to the dungeons to find out if their friend was OK.
“No, I can’t.”
“Why?” Ron asked.
“Because I don’t have access to the bedroom,” came the tart reply. “And that’s where they’ve been all morning.”
“Too much information!” Ron yelped, covering his ears as if he expected the picture to launch into sordid details.
In a tone akin to Hermione’s, the picture spoke. “Had they been doing what you are suggesting, young man, I would have found an excuse to go visit another portrait.”
Ron shrugged, admitting that the portrait had a point.
“So they’ve been sleeping this whole time?” Hermione asked.
“From what I can tell, yes. Either that or lounging around doing nothing.”
“Draco, do you have to use my back as a desk?” Harry muttered, feeling the quill moving lightly over his back as he spoke.
“Do you continue to want to use me as a pillow? Then yes. You are the nearest flat surface, after all.”
“Do you have to be doing homework now?” Harry’s words were spoken in a truly pitiful whine.
“This isn’t homework.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a list of all the things I’m going to have to study before exams at the end of the year.”
“What?”
“Well, just in Potions. I couldn’t care less about most of the other classes that require memorization. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are pretty straight forward so I don’t need to worry about them.”
“You’re starting to study for exams now?”
“No, I’m making a list now.”
“Oh good. I was starting to worry.”
“I’ll start actually studying tomorrow.”
A muffled groan was all that was heard from Harry.
Ron finally resorted to banging on the picture frame quite loudly, to alert the boys inside to his and Hermione’s presence. A few minutes later the portrait opened to reveal Harry, looking as if he had just crawled out of bed and pulled some clothes on, which in truth he had.
“Morning,” he said, trying to stifle a yawn.
“Good morning Harry.” Hermione beamed at him. Harry mentally wondered if it was illegal somewhere for someone to be that wide awake mid-morning on a Sunday.
“Did you sleep at all?” Ron asked, noting Harry’s state.
“Yeah, I’m just tired this morning.”
Ron nodded in understanding.
“Good. We’ll get you some food and then we’ll start studying.” Hermione ushered Harry out of the room and towards the kitchens.
Harry’s groan matched the look on Ron’s face. “You and Draco.” Harry muttered under his breath.
“You know, Hermione said something strange today.”
Draco lazily looked over at Harry with an expression that clearly stated he didn’t care what Granger had said. Harry ignored the look and continued anyway.
“She said that the attacks seemed random, all over the place, almost as if they weren’t coordinated at all.”
“So?” Draco drawled. “They still cause terror and mayhem, what’s the difference between coordinated attacks or spontaneous ones?”
“It just doesn’t seem like something Voldemort—” Draco flinched “—would do. It would seem to me that he would plan out the attacks for a maximum effect, or to send a message, or something. I couldn’t picture him just telling the Death Eaters to go off and have fun with random carnage…”
“The fact that you can picture the Dark Lord at all is rather freaky.” Draco murmured “But I have to agree with your point. If we can’t see the message behind the attacks, then I assume he isn’t finished writing it out yet.”
Harry sat in the dark for a long time thinking about what Draco had said. He knew that there was some guiding force behind these attacks, he just knew it. But there was no focus. It really seemed that Voldemort just took a map and pointed to a random town or village and said “attack there” or something like that. The only attack that might have given any message at all was the first attack, the one on London itself. That was more the “I’m here and waiting to destroy you” type of attack he could…expect…from Voldemort. But these other attacks…Now Harry couldn’t start to say he knew the name of every town that existed in Britain, but he’d never even known some of these places existed. So why they’d garnered Voldemort’s attention was beyond him.
But maybe Draco was right. Well, Harry knew that there were more attacks to come, but maybe the point of this particular slew of attacks wasn’t obvious yet because a few of them were missing…As horrible as that logic was, it did have a ring of truth that Harry couldn’t ignore. And if there were some attacks missing, and they could figure out the pattern or message first…then maybe something could be done to stop the attack before it started.
Gently easing himself out of the sleeping blonde’s hold, Harry worked his way out of the bedroom. A map. He needed a map, a very detailed one.
Draco awoke the next morning to find Harry curled under him…somehow. The other boy didn’t even stir as Draco moved out of bed and made his way towards the bathroom, didn’t make a sound or a movement when Draco came back out, or show any signs of waking when Draco crossed back through the bedroom. He must be really tired, Draco thought. Wonder how late he was up?
Draco would have then gone down to breakfast, but he saw something on the table near the couch. It was a map…with ink splotches on it. Was this what Harry had been up to last night? Harry obviously hadn’t drawn the map, unless he was a geographical artistic genius that no one knew about, but he might have added the ink splotches. But why?
