Chapter Text
Ostendoaura
Harry turns down the corner of the page to mark it.
Like Levicorpus and Libracorpus, there are no other mentions within the scribbles in the book’s margins. Harry flips through the pages again just to be sure.
Ostendoaura. He’s never heard this spell before. Beneath the spell are a few words of explanation: use on self to see clearly.
Harry can certainly use some help seeing clearly.
After briefly glancing around the room, he removes his glasses, making everything blurry.
Ron is sitting a few chairs away staring at his mostly blank parchment. Hermione is on a bench beneath the window a bit away, and she's fuzzier. The rest of the common room is empty, as most everyone else is in class. Harry's very grateful for the free periods.
“Ostendoaura.” Harry whispers, pointing his wand at his own chest.
Nothing happens. Everything is just as blurry as before.
Harry pushes his glasses back onto his face, looking back at the book to see if he was missing anything.
“Mate, you reckon you could let me in on some of those tips next Potions class?”
Harry looks up, then frowns.
Ron looks exactly the same as before, except… surrounding him is a sort of transparent, film-like circle. It's a brilliant, shining gold, with slight wrinkles here and there marring its smooth surface.
“Er, sure. Ron, you feel alright? You don’t feel anything… unusual?” Harry asks. Ron raises his eyebrows.
“I’m fine, why?”
“Do me a favour, just- just move your hands a bit? Around your shoulders and head?” Harry asks, feeling absurd. Ron shrugs but complies, waving his hands through the glow as if it isn’t a physical thing, even though Harry can see that it is. It doesn't so much as ripple when Ron's hand passes through it.
“Any particular reason why?” Ron asks, still waving his arms.
“Er, no, just… curious.” Harry says, turning his attention to the book and hoping Ron won’t question him further.
Harry's never managed to convince anyone when he sees or hears something unusual, so until he knows more, he won't even bother trying this time.
When Ron goes back to his work, Harry chances a look over at Hermione.
She too has a glow around her - strong, unwavering blue that ripples as she reads. Her glow has a few more wrinkles than Ron’s, but some of them smooth themselves out in time, and new ones take their place, like the surface of the lake under the wind.
Harry wonders what the glows mean, and whether or not he has one.
He goes to the bathroom, peering into the mirror curiously.
Sure enough, his glow is a dark, forest green, with just as many wrinkles as Hermione, though many are larger, and, unlike hers, his stay put without changing.
On his way back to the common room, Harry passes by one of the first years he’s never spoken with before. When the kid spots Harry, the pale orange glow surrounding develops a small new wrinkle next to his ear.
Harry nods at him with a polite smile, and the wrinkle suddenly vanishes.
Strange.
Over the remaining hour, the glows remain visible, but vanish when a whole hour passes.
Harry makes note of any changing wrinkles in his friends’ glows, and decides to stop by the library later to see if he can find any mentions of the spell he’d tried.
There are no mentions, nothing even in the Ministry-sanctioned alphabetised spell dictionary which is updated every year.
However, Harry does read some about auras, as he suspects the glows represent.
He finds some writing on the subject, though minimal and not particularly credible. The tone of the books remind him strongly of the sketchy claims Trelawney makes about divination.
According to the books, some Seers are able to perceive a person’s aura, but their existence is still hotly debated and has never been strictly proven. Harry's not surprised when Trelawney's name comes up listed amongst notable Seers who believe in auras. Naturally. Other Seers claim auras are the result of too much inhaled smoke. Harry doesn't have a hard time believing that either.
Still. Harry's seeing something.
Before mealtime, Harry casts the spell on himself and takes note of distinct auras in his friends. How they glow a bit brighter when the person is pleased, and the little wrinkles that form when they're distressed.
Most of his friends have auras similar to Ron’s - generally intact with a healthy light and minimal disturbances in its surface. Colours seem to have no correlation to house, personality or gender. Harry has to wonder how the colours are assigned, and if they act as a magical fingerprint, with no two shades exactly identical.
A few people around the hall have strange auras, like Luna, whose aura is a soft lavender but with crisp scalloped edges instead of blurred lines. That doesn’t surprise Harry very much.
Zacharias Smith’s aura is puce in colour, and does not extend very far past his body. Dick.
The teacher’s auras are wrinkled, like most of their faces, but that too doesn’t surprise Harry, with all the stress they're under.
McGonagall in particular has a vibrant scarlet aura, wrinkled and worn, but it has a strength and severity that matches her own. Snape's is a dull brown with even more wrinkles, as well as lopsided, rising much higher on his right side than his left.
Out of habit more than an actual expectation to see him, Harry checks across the room for Malfoy, but his seat has been empty more often than not this year. Harry wonders if the boy who'd been sorted so quickly into Slytherin has a forest green aura to match it.
At any rate, Harry hasn’t learned enough about this strange new spell to feel ready to tell his friends about it, so he keeps the knowledge to himself.
Hermione’s aura is especially wrinkled today. She’s hunched over a book, but her eyes keep darting up to where Ron and Lavender are sitting together in another corner. There's an ever growing wrinkle by her elbow that jumps to twice its previous size every time Lavender giggles.
Harry wonders…
As discreetly as he can, he imagines reaching out, smoothing her wrinkles out by his magic.
He directs his wand at her from under the table, thinking very hard about pressing the wrinkles away.
It works. Hermione’s shoulders relax, and she breathes out a bit heavier than before. The Ron wrinkle has smoothed out, and her focus stays on her book even as Lavender squeals loudly at something Ron says.
In the next few days, Harry smooths out Ron’s wrinkles about the game, Hermione’s wrinkles about school, Dean’s wrinkles about Ginny, Ginny’s wrinkles about Harry’s textbook, and Snape’s wrinkles about Harry.
That last one causes great satisfaction for Harry, as he manages to slip in a barb about Snape’s teaching before quickly smoothing out the wrinkle almost simultaneously as it forms, and Snape seems to not care about it even as Harry’s friends cover their mouths to stifle their snickers. So far, it's the second most useful he's ever learned at school.
Harry walks to dinner alone - Ron had stopped off to throw up again, his stomach unsettled by the upcoming Quidditch match.
Without much thought, Harry pulls out the Map, looking for the familiar dot reading ‘Draco Malfoy.’
A strange feeling runs through him when he finds it a floor below, in one of the boy’s bathrooms, with none other than Moaning Myrtle.
Harry approaches the door silently and presses his ear to it, listening for suspicious sounds, but hearing none.
He pushes it open to listen closer, and finally hears Myrtle’s croaking voice.
“Don’t. Don’t, tell me what’s wrong, I can help you-”
“No one can help me.” Malfoy’s familiar voice responds. “I can’t do it- I can’t, it won’t work, and unless I do it soon- he says he’ll kill me-”
Frowning, Harry opens the door more to peer inside.
Malfoy is leaning over a sink with his back to Harry. He hasn’t seen Harry in the mirror yet, but he's bound to look up at any moment.
“Ostendoaura.” Harry whispers, then pockets the Map and his wand quickly.
Malfoy lifts his head then. Harry’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees Malfoy’s tear-streaked face. He's never seen Malfoy cry when it's not for show. Maybe it's for Myrtle's benefit, though Harry can't imagine why.
In a second, Malfoy spins around, holding his wand up with a shaking hand, and has it aimed at Harry. Harry lifts his empty hands.
Because Malfoy’s aura is torn .
It's a pale, uncertain green that looks like it’s seen better days, hanging limp over his left shoulder. No other aura in the school has looked as scraggly and dull as Malfoy's. Malfoy himself looks like shit.
“I’m not armed.” Harry says, stepping inside and letting the door fall shut. Myrtle had vanished into a cubicle.
Malfoy watches Harry with eyes glimmering with tears that haven’t fallen yet, and he hasn’t lowered his wand. But he hasn't cast yet, either.
“Put your wand away, Malfoy, I want to help you.” Harry says. Malfoy doesn’t move. “I want to know why you’ve been using the Room of Requirement.”
Malfoy’s face betrays him, and finally his wand arm falls, like it was taking too much energy to keep lifted.
“Spying on me again?” He spits.
“Spying on you still .” Harry corrects. “Why is Voldemort threatening to kill you?”
Malfoy again looks like a deer caught in headlights, and his hand still gripping his wand tightly twitches.
“I could help, you know.”
A new wrinkle forms in Malfoy’s aura.
“I don’t need your help, Potter.” Malfoy says coldly. "I don't need anyone's help!"
Against his better judgement, Harry approaches Malfoy. Slowly, like he's approaching a frightened child or skittish animal.
“I know you won't believe me, but I know better than anyone how it feels - the pressure of being picked for a task you never wanted. I might be the only person in the school that knows."
“I did want it." Malfoy says weakly, tilting his sharp chin up. "I will prove myself and my loyalty.”
“You did want what?”
“Why are you here? Dumbledore sent you to get information from me? He should know I’d never talk, and unlike you, I’m a capable Occlumens.”
Harry scowls then, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Why are you here?” Malfoy repeats, louder. “Don’t you have professors to woo? Friends to argue with? A team to rally?”
Content with his taunts, Malfoy seems to have gotten a grip on himself. He’s not shaking anymore, but his ruined aura still heaves with his every breath, like it’s barely keeping itself together.
He stiffens as Harry steps even closer, his wand hand lifting ever so slightly.
Harry wishes he’d taken a drop of Felix Felicis before coming in here, as it’s very possible he could be sent to the hospital wing with some curse Malfoy throws at him.
Still, Malfoy doesn’t raise his wand entirely before Harry is right in front of him, his palms raised in a placating gesture. Malfoy looks suspicious, his pale eyes examining Harry's face.
“I’m not going to fight you.” Harry says very quietly. Malfoy’s frown deepens.
"Why shouldn't you?"
"I'm not."
Very slowly, very gently, Harry takes his wand from his pocket. Malfoy’s is suddenly pressed against Harry’s throat. Harry freezes.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What are you doing?” Malfoy breathes, his eyes fixed on Harry’s wand held gingerly in two fingers.
“I’m going to fix it. If I was planning on hexing you, I would have done it by now."
Malfoy considers this, then lowers his wand, still focused sharply on Harry's. Harry raises his wand and points it at Malfoy, their eyes locked, praying to any deity listening that Malfoy will allow Harry to fix his aura. Malfoy nods, nothing more than a slight dip of his chin.
Harry directs his attention to the gash in Malfoy’s aura, and he imagines very hard, lacing the opening back together with his own dark green magic.
As the first thread of his magic touches pale green, Malfoy's knees buckle with a high-pitched cry, and his wand clatters to the floor.
Harry catches him with his left arm as Malfoy slumps down, and he uses the sink to pin Malfoy upright. Malfoy's hands grip Harry's waist tightly.
“Stay still.”
His own magic stands out starkly against the weak green of Malfoy’s.
Once the gash is reattached, if clumsily, Harry turns to look at Malfoy’s face again, lolling back slightly like he can't be arsed to stand up at all.
“Are you alright?” Harry asks, eyeing his rival’s half-lidded eyes.
Malfoy wheezes. Harry drags him over to the nearest surface, the large bathtub, and sits him down on it. It's a moment before Harry thinks Malfoy's awake enough to hold his torso up.
“What did you do to me?”
“I fixed it.”
He doesn't elaborate. If he hasn't told Ron and Hermione, he's not going to tell Malfoy of all people.
“What did it feel like?” Harry asks curiously. Mending Malfoy was nothing like the subtle ironing of his friends' auras, and it's clearly had a much stronger effect on Malfoy.
But it’s like Harry’s question breaks Malfoy out of a trance, and despite how wobbly he is on his feet, he dashes out of the bathroom without glancing back.
Harry glares after his retreating form. Malfoy hadn't even taken his wand.