A/N: whooo, this one is at least 3500 words. Yayyyyy!!! Also, we hit 1K!! Wtf!!! You guys are awesome :)
Sorry if there are more typos or whatnot here than usual, I wrote the majority of this at 2 in the morning.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" Ron asked, jogging to catch up to Harry as the vampire walked through the corridors, on his way to Charms class.

"Haven't had the time," Harry said truthfully. He'd spent the majority of his morning convincing Draco to stay with Newt for the day.

Tonight was a full moon, and as per usual, Draco was a complete feverish mess. Harry knew that he couldn't keep skipping classes for a day once a month, it was suspicious alone that Draco did it, but Harry found himself getting slightly anxious at the now hawk-like way Hermione watched him at all moments.

She was suspicious, very suspicious. Harry didn't know how much longer it would be until she came to a conclusion; he just had to hope it wasn't anytime soon.

And seeing as there was a Quidditch game, Gryffindor against Slytherin this evening, and classes all day, but luckily Newt had Friday's off, so he'd volunteered to watch Draco for the day so Harry could attend classes and the Quidditch game.

"It's pretty bad," Ron murmured. "Twelve witches and wizards found dead, and nine gone missing overnight."

Harry grimaced. It was the same pattern, every week or so, where a fair amount of wizards and muggles alike would go missing. Although, after reading the names of the missing and dead, Harry had found many names that he recognised to be either ex Death Eaters, or Death Eaters now.

"Anyone we know?" Harry asked.

"A fair few of them were Death Eaters, as usual," Ron sighed. "They're suspecting a vigilante or something now, but then there's the fair amount of muggles or innocent people that die too."

"What, like Batman?"

"Who the hell is Batman?"

"Muggle superhero," Harry muttered, forgetting that Ron knew absolutely nothing about muggle culture. "Anyways, you excited for the game?"

"No," Ron groaned, now looking vaguely ill. "I don't want to make our team lose, I mean, I suck-"

"You don't suck at Quidditch," Harry snapped. "Do you really think Angelina would've picked you for the team if you sucked?"

"Well, no, but-"

"It'll be fine," Harry murmured.

******

Draco lay on one of the couches in Newt's office, a blanket pulled over his head. The darkness didn't do much to help his headache, but at least it meant he didn't have to face the dizziness that came with standing up or looking around.

Newt was sat at his desk on the other side of the room, marking essays and assignments. Needless to say he was extremely bored.

Time seemed to crawl, until finally the bell sounded for lunch.

"I'm going to get something to eat," Newt announced. "Do you want anything?"

Draco shook his head miserably, doubting he'd be able to keep down anything he ate. Newt gave him a pitiful look before leaving, once again leave the werewolf in dead silence.

Silence was nice, but at the same time, horrible. It was peaceful, yet empty.

Unable to take the crushing silence any longer, Draco looked around the room hazily. He tilted his head slightly when he caught sight of a grand piano standing on a slightly levitated part of the floor, in a little alcove.

Biting his lip, he decided he couldn't fight back the temptation and rose to his feet shakily, making his way over to the huge instrument and sitting down, a small smile gracing his lips as memories surfaced.

Gently he reached out a hand, pressing down on one of the keys, dancing his fingers down the length of the piano and listening to the sounds go from high pitched and fairy like, to dark sounding.

Jogging his memory, he found himself vaguely remembering a song, and beginning to play, quickly losing himself in the music. After a few minutes his previous knowledge of how to play returned, and he could close his eyes, finally feeling calmed by the beautiful tune he was managing to create.

******

Sitting in Defence Against the Dark Arts made Harry simply want to start giggling like a maniac, mainly because he and his troop of Dumbledore's soldiers were operating right under her nose and she knew naught about it.

Although, all Harry could do was sit at his desk at the back of the room, alone without Draco sitting there, and smile pleasantly, knowing that his green eyes were colder than ice.

He played with a shiny gold galleon in his pocket, one he'd gotten from Hermione at their most recent DA meeting.

It was Hermione's way of signalling when there was a meeting, by using a charm to make the date of the meeting engrave itself onto the gold coin. Harry still grinned at the look on Ron's face when he thought Hermione was simply handing out money.

Harry resisted the urge to sigh, knowing that this was practically the only class where Hermione wasn't able to stare almost accusingly and suspiciously at him, mainly because she sat a row in front.

All morning he'd felt her stare boring into the back of his head, but she always glanced guiltily away whenever he turned to look at her.

Now thoroughly bored of reading Defence For Beginners, Harry turned to the window next to him and grimaced. Dark black clouds were surfacing, hovering around the school. Quidditch would most certainly be fun.

******

Sure enough, the weather didn't show any signs of changing as Harry and Ron walked down to the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand, Ron practically shaking with terror.

Harry frowned as the first drop of rain hit his nose, then another few spattered onto his glasses. "Great," he murmured under his breath. "First one to the change rooms, well, gets soaked!" Harry challenged, Ron groaning but joining in the chase which Harry easily won.

The other members of the team were in the change rooms as well, Ron going greener and greener as he heard all the students and teachers making their way up to the stands.

Thunder rolled as Harry waved his wand, casting a charm so his glasses wouldn't fog up or be covered in raindrops. The Gryffindor team walked out onto the pitch, the green Slytherin team striding out as well.

Harry hardly got a look at the new seeker before he heard the whistle being blown, and immediately the game began.

Harry rocketed into the air, his broom faster than anyone else's on the pitch. He just had to find the snitch, catch it, and then the game would be over. Yet that was easier said than done.

Black clouds billowed overhead, rain thundering down so hard it made Harry wince, feeling like a thousand tiny, icy daggers were hitting his skin. Even though he had a spell on his glasses so he could see, it didn't help much through the wind and the rain. The wind was howling, deafening and roaring in Harry's ears. He couldn't even hear the commentators voice, only the frantic cheering from the Slytherins as Ron must've missed the quaffle.

Harry squinted into the rain, circling above the pitch and desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of gold.

The new Slytherin seeker, whoever they were, was now tailing him visibly. Harry growled in anger before taking off faster than before, trying to shake off the other player.

Yet the other seeker seemed relentless, not able to catch up but still staying in his sights. Harry pulled to a halt, staring down at the pitch angrily, feeling water dripping from his hair and the rain still pouring down, drenching his Quidditch robes.

"Well if it isn't Potter!"

"Zabini," Harry spat in reply, glaring daggers at the other boy who simply grinned darkly at him.

"Bout time they kicked Malfoy off the team; got an actually decent player now," Zabini taunted, his tone cruel. Harry's lips curled into a snarl, knowing that this boy was practically asking for a fight.

"He wasn't kicked off the team, he quit," Harry hissed. "And compared to him, you're the most sorry excuse for a seeker I've ever seen. What're you going to do for the rest of the match, follow me around like a lost dog?"

Zabini merely shrugged, making Harry's eyes narrow into angry slits. He had to lose this git now, he couldn't stand to be around him, especially when he was insulting Draco.

With this thought in mind he took off, pushing his broom to the fastest it was able to go. He knew he was merely a red blur in the sky, performing all sorts of crazy dips and dives, eventually managing to shake the Slytherin seeker off his tail.

Wanting to get a better view of the pitch, he skyrocketed upwards.

Looking down was a sad sight indeed. The Gryffindor team was losing by a fair few points, Harry letting out an unheard yell of frustration as Ron missed the quaffle again.

"Why can't you just save a bloody quaffle?! It can't be that hard, for gods sakes-" Harry's angry and bitter rant was cut off abruptly as a laugh danced eerily around him, crystal clear even through the howling wind and rain.

Harry froze. He recognised that laugh. It was the same from the forest, where Draco had managed to save him at last minute from whoever, or whatever, was laughing.

Now was when Harry got to see what he might have potentially faced that night, and it made him tremble in fear.

A black cloud loomed above him, except it was unlike all the other dark clouds that floated around, spewing copious amounts of water onto the earth below. This one wasn't causing any rain, and Harry was pretty sure it wasn't even a cloud.

It was a huge, black mass of what Harry could only describe as destruction. It swirled chaotically, and Harry could feel the dark magic seeping off it. Dread filled him immediately, and he let out a scream as pain wreaked his forehead, causing him to quickly become lightheaded and sway slightly in the air.

His scar was burning, splitting pain echoing through his forehead, worse than what had happened in any of his dreams. He felt like throwing up, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the complete sensory overload.

******

Draco had returned to his place on the couch, and had managed to fall asleep a few times, but not for very long.

He was shaking and sweating, Newt tending to his fever every now and then but there wasn't much the Magizooligist could do except wait for his strength to return later this evening.

Draco opened his eyes, frowning as he heard the familiar voice of his godfather ring out. A silvery white doe, a Patronus, stood in the centre of the room. Newt was watching it intently as it spoke.

"The obscurus is here, out on the Quidditch pitch. Your presence has been requested by the Headmaster."

And that was when Draco's stomach turned, his heart beginning to pound as his head throbbed mercilessly, now his mind filled with anxious and screaming thoughts. Harry was in danger.

"Stay here," Draco could barely register Newt's voice. "I'll be back soon."

And with that, Draco was alone.

******

Newt ran across the grounds, slipping every so often in the mud and splashing through puddles that were still forming. The rain was heavy, so much so that he could barely see, but he could definitely make out the dark black cloud far above the Quidditch pitch.

For some reason, the obscurus wasn't moving, simply floating far above. Was it watching? No, it definitely wasn't. Newt's heart sank as he saw the figure of a Quidditch player, barely visible against the darkness.

He ran through the stands, reaching the highest point he could. People yelled as he ran through the crowds, the professor uncaring of how many feet he stepped on or how many people he pushed over. Anxiously he wondered why no one else was reacting to the mass of destruction floating above them; surely they weren't all dense enough to think it was a rain cloud?

He was quick to reach the teachers stand, barely able to hear Snape yelling at him through the rain.

"Who's up there?" Newt asked loudly.

"Potter, he hasn't been down for a while now," Snape yelled in reply.

Newt let out a yell of frustration, not knowing what to do.

Obscurials were supposed to be indestructible; it was how they were created. And Newt doubted he'd have the heart to simply kill his husband in cold blood when he wasn't even in control of himself. So he did the first thing that came to his head.

"Expecto Patronum!"

******

Draco had stumbled to his feet, or, well now paws, as he'd managed to find the strength in himself to shift into his wolf form.

At least it meant he didn't have such a long way to fall if he happened to fall over.

Yet falling over was all he could do. Walking was impossible, his head spinning and making him whine in pain.

He didn't even have the strength in him to make it do the door, let alone outside to the Quidditch pitch to save his mate. All he could do was let out howl after howl, the wolf's cries echoing through the room.

******

Harry felt himself losing control of his broom, and his stomach twisted at the thought of falling. Yet if the pain splitting through his head didn't let up, that thought would become reality.

He wasn't stupid, he'd long realised that this swirling dark mass was the cause of his scar making him scream in agony, but he didn't have the strength to get himself away from it.

Just as he was about to fall, a roar echoed through the air.

More fear was instilled in Harry as a pure silvery white dragon flew from the ground, it's mouth open in a fury filled roar. It was huge, the same size of the Hungarian Horntail Harry had to fight last year.

Yet the dragon didn't hurt him. Instead, it seemed to hurt the black cloud.

There was a horrible screeching noise as the dragon drew close to the cloud, and there was a blinding flash of light as the black cloud dissipated, the dragon fading into thin air as well.

Harry drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Slowly he flew back down to the pitch, joining his team who were all sharing glum looks.

The Slytherin team, however, were all cheering and whooping. Harry's eyes narrowed as he caught a glance of gold in Zabini's hand. He'd caught the snitch, and therefore, Slytherin had won.

"Slytherin wins," Lee Jordan, who was commentating, spoke through the loudspeaker. His tone clearly showed how unhappy he was at this.

"I knew we'd win before the match started," Zabini gloated. "After all, Weasley can't save a bloody thing, and now we've got a seeker who can actually do what a seeker is supposed to. Maybe Malfoy's 'talent' is rubbing off on Potter, he can't catch the snitch to save his life anymore either-"

Before the Slytherin player could say another word, Harry darted forward with his fist raised, punching Zabini squarely in the jaw. There was a satisfying crack as Harry dislocated the boy's jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. Fred and George desperately tried to hold him back, but it was useless. They two twins were no match for a raging vampire, intent on causing damage to every inch of Blaise he could reach.

He felt so horribly angry, his head a muddled mess of rage filled thoughts. Everything seemed slightly fuzzy, the yelling of teachers and players from both teams blurry.

"Impedimenta!"

The spell caused Harry to be knocked backwards, Madam Hooch screeching at him. "What do you think you're doing?! I've never seen behaviour like it, get back to the castle and straight to your head of house's office!"

Harry merely bared his teeth into an angry snarl, the thought of attacking her flitting briefly through his mind. Deciding that, although it would be satisfying, it wasn't worth the trouble.

Thoroughly drenched by the rain that was beginning to slow to a drizzle, Harry stalked back up to the castle, still bristling with rage. The walk seemed to calm him slightly, Harry walking in the shadows wherever possible as the sun peeked from behind the clouds, casting its harsh evening rays onto him.

******

Newt opened the door to his office, his depressed and angry train of thought cut off as he saw a white wolf lying on the floor, whining pitifully.

"Are you an animagus too?" Newt asked, watching as Draco shifted back into his human form, helping the werewolf to sit up.

"No," Draco replied weakly. "I've just been able to turn into a wolf since I became a werewolf last year."

"Strange," Newt murmured. "Do you have any other form of magical creature in your bloodline? Sometimes genes can mutate and cause abilities like that."

"I'm part veela," Draco answered. "My grandmother was a veela. It skipped my mother's genes."

"Ah, that'll be it then. You'd better be on your way, the moon will be up in about an hour."

******

Harry reached McGonagall's door, not even needing to knock as she threw the door open. Her face was red with rage, her eyes narrowed into livid slits.

"In," she snapped, opening the door further. Harry did as he was told, stepping into the office.

"Well?" She said. "I've never seen such disgraceful behaviour! Explain yourself!"

Harry kept his gaze cast down, and made no move to speak. He'd attacked Zabini because he was angry, and because he was insulting Draco. He doubted that was any form of excuse, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Do you have any reason for sending Mr Zabini to the hospital wing?!" McGonagall's voice was now borderline hysterical.

Harry still didn't answer, sitting in a silence of self loathing. Why hadn't he just left it? What was wrong with him? He'd even considered attacking Madam Hooch, he was crazy, insane, just like all the papers said. He was a violent psycho.

"Hem hem."

Harry didn't bother turning to look at who was standing in the doorway. He already knew who it was from the noise that Harry now associated with imminent misery.

"May I help, Professor McGonagall?" She asked, her tone sickly sweet.

"Help?" McGonagall repeated. "What do you mean, help?"

"Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority," Umbridge said, walking into the office.

"Well you thought wrong," McGonagall snapped, turning back to Harry. "Now, I don't care what provoked you, I do not care if he insulted you. Your behaviour was disgusting, and I am giving you a week's worth of detentions."

Harry nodded numbly, head still bowed with his eyes wide, blurry thoughts of self hatred running through his head, accompanied by the images of the many articles in the newspapers that had made him out to be an unstable psychopath.

"Hem hem."

"Yes?!" Professor McGonagall hissed.

"I think he deserves more than detentions," Umbridge said, still smiling.

"Well, he is in my house Dolores, not yours, and therefore I am the one who decides how he must be punished-"

"Well actually, Minerva," she said with a giggle. "You'll find what I say does count. The Minister sent through another decree this morning-"

"Another one?!"

"Yes, well, it was you who made me realise we needed another one in the first place when I was unwilling to let the Gryffindor Quidditch team re-form, and you took it to Professor Dumbledore who insisted the team be allowed to play," she replied sweetly. "Cornelius-I mean, the Minister agreed with me that the High Inquisitor should have the ability to strip pupils of privileges."

"May I see this decree?"

Umbridge went through her handbag for a few seconds before pulling out a scroll and handing it to McGonagall. The woman read it for a few seconds before Umbridge spoke again.

"So, I really think we ought to ban him from playing Quidditch ever again."

And that was the final straw for Harry, who turned on his heel and bolted from the room, running down the empty hallway.

He reached his and Draco's dorm quickly, murmuring the password to the black wolf on the portrait. The door swung open and he walked inside.

After a quick shower, he pulled on his pyjamas and pulled one of Draco's black sweaters over his head, pulling up the hood. He fell into Draco's bed, pulling the duvet up to his shoulders and putting his glasses on the beside table. Harry buried his face in the pillow, feeling tears stinging his eyes.

******

It was four in the morning when Draco stumbled back into his dorm. His hair was littered with snow, frost clinging to his lips.

It had snowed heavily overnight, the grounds partially covered in the white snow.

Draco opened his bedroom door quietly, smiling as he saw Harry curled up in his bed. With a tired sigh, he collapsed on the other side of the bed.

Harry opened his eyes, Draco smiling at the adorable sleepy look on the vampire's face.

"Hi," Draco said quietly, pulling the duvet over himself. Harry merely sniffed miserably. "What's wrong?"

"Umbridge banned me from the Quidditch team," Harry whispered.

"Why?" Draco asked, frowning. Harry looked heartbroken, Draco knew how much Quidditch meant to him.

"I attacked Blaise Zabini. My scar was hurting, and he was insulting you
a-and I lost control," Harry murmured, tears in his eyes. "I'm crazy, aren't I?"

"You're not crazy," Draco said, pulling Harry into his arms and holding him tightly. Harry nuzzled into Draco's neck, closing his eyes.

******

"Banned," Angelina said, her voice hollow. "Banned. No seeker... What on earth are we going to do..."

The Gryffindor table was not a happy place this morning. The whole Quidditch team wore the same upset expression.

"It's just so unfair," Angelina said. "I mean, what about Crabbe and the bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown?"

Harry frowned. He must've been zoned out into crazy mode while this was happening.

"No," Ginny said miserably. She and Hermione were sitting either side of Harry, Ron missing from the table. "He just got lines."

Harry simply stared out the window, watching the snow fall. It was calming to watch.

Finally Ron joined them, looking like someone had just snapped his broomstick in half. "I'm resigning from the team tomorrow," he said quietly as he sat down.

"If you resign," Harry murmured. "There'll only be five players left in the team. I've been given a lifetime ban."

"What?!" Ron yelped.

Hermione told him the full story, Harry wasn't willing to go through it again.

"This is the worst I've ever felt in my life," Ron said miserably.

"Join the club," Harry spat.

"Well," Hermione spoke up, the two not realising she'd moved to the window. "I know what might cheer you up."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said skeptically.

"Hagrid's back."