Splitting Hairs

From inside the changing rooms they could hear the crowd going crazy. The team huddled. Harry was slumped against the wall of the showers. He was in no condition to fly; he'd slept through breakfast, and Ron had had to pull him out of bed just in time to get to the field with the other players before the match proper began.

Colin Creevey - who, to everyone's immense surprise, had unlocked serious flying talents the year before - knocked urgently on the door.

"Harry! We have to go. Madam Hooch is calling."

He paused for a reply. None came. "Harry?" he called more desperately, "Harry, please, open the door!"

Ron looked around wildly. He was torn - he knew Harry couldn't fly, he'd probably fall on his face and kill himself trying to walk out onto the pitch, but he also desperately needed to see Gryffindor win this game. Ron was one of the Beaters on the team - the other was a burly third-year who flew like...well, he flew like a Bludger, really, there was just no other way to describe it. Alfie Knotch seemed to actually understand Bludgers, the way they whizzed through the air, which was why he was so good at getting them out of the way. It was actually quite scary, Ron often thought. Knotch had a knack for interpreting their swerves and directions, and intercepted them before they got anywhere. But, like Harry said, as long as it worked, and was within the boundaries...well, anything goes, really. Their two Chasers were Colin Creevey and Susan Diggs, a friend of Ginny's; Bert Finnings was their Keeper.

Harry Potter was their new captain. Harry Potter, however, was also currently in the shower cubicle, for all intents and purposes half-dead. Ron buried his head in his hands and groaned. Then -

"Harry!" Colin sounded high-pitched, relieved, "Quick, quick, get into your robes, we've got to go!"

Ron looked up, Colin was dancing around Harry's feet. Feet that dragged listlessly along the ground as Harry shuffled himself towards his broom. Ron stood.

"Are you sure you can fly?"

Harry gave a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Ron didn't know what to do, whether he should encourage Harry by helping him with his Quidditch robes, or tell him not to be stupid and stay in the changing room and get a lie-down, tell him that going out there was suicide in his state. In the end, he just watched as Harry got his things on and then set off in front of the others as they flew out onto the pitch. The Slytherins were already in position. Harry led them up to the middle of the field, managing not to let his hands shake too much, or wobble too dangerously on his broom. He could see Hermione in the stands, standing beside Ginny and waving at him a little sombrely - she had tried to get to him, to persuade him not to fly today. Having spent the night in the library, she'd rushed back with her findings in the morning. She'd come down to the Great Hall and not found Harry there.

In truth, Hermione didn't know whether or not what she'd figured out was less or more dangerous than what they'd been counting on. It certainly wasn't life-threatening, but it was definitely more...permanent than what they'd foreseen. And she didn't like the implications. Or what it looked like Harry would have to do.

Harry waved back, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach and the headache pounding through his tired brain. He had resolved in the shower not to let his team down, he would get the Snitch, or he would, as his own captain had once told him - admittedly with unfavourable results; he'd ended up in the hospital wing (but they'd won, that time, Harry tried to focus on that) - die trying. Then he looked up and came within inches of Malfoy's face, and he nearly lost his grip.

Oh god, thought Harry, he's just in front of me. Nose to nose with Malfoy, secret sharer of his most intimate thoughts. His subconscious. He's so beautiful, Harry thought. If only he could remember...perhaps then he wouldn't feel so empty. If he had something concrete to put to the fleeting feeling of pleasure when he opened his eyes, perhaps his anguish would be more bearable. Malfoy was smiling, and not in a nasty way. It was more...competitive. Cheeky. Harry felt a bit thrown by this unprecedented boyishness. The black Stain lingered still on his hair, as if unwilling to leave, making it look a sexy, dirty blonde under the sun.

"Ready, Potter?" Malfoy whispered softly, so that only he could hear, "Because here I come."

Harry swallowed. If he only knew. Malfoy grinned as the whistle blew, and they were off, seven green blurs, and six red ones. Six, because Harry was rooted to his spot, unable to take in Malfoy's grin.

Malfoy didn't grin, surely. It wasn't in his nature.

"Harry! Harry, move! What's the matter with you?"

Ron was yelling at him from the skies, Harry looked up and saw him, red hair oddly contrasting with the red Quidditch robes. He looked worried, and angry. Harry forced his broom upwards, getting back some of his earlier resolve. Don't let Gryffindor down. You can heal. The House standings can't. He wasn't sure if he was thinking clearly, but it seemed the logical thing to do, at that point. So Harry concentrated on not falling off his broom, and looking for the elusive little flutter of gold.

Above him, Susan threw the Quaffle to Colin, who was attacked by both Bludgers at the same time, and panicked as he glided away with a tiny squeal. To his credit, however, he kept his head enough to hang on to the Quaffle, and as he careened off-balance, managed to align his broom such that he hurtled straight at the terrified Slytherin Keeper, who flew out of his way. He went straight on, through the goal-posts, Quaffle tucked safely in his arms, and Gryffindor was thirty points up. The stands decked in red went wild. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He flew higher up on his broom, feeling a rush of welcome delight at this dizzying height. He scanned the field as closely as his dulled sense would allow, then decided that flying closer to the ground would be wiser. He wouldn't be able to spot the Snitch from here, his eyes were starting to blur. At least there was the small chance of the Snitch flying near enough to him to be seen, if he was nearer down. As he descended, he felt Malfoy follow. Too drained to play mind games, he turned.

"I haven't seen the Snitch, Malfoy," he said, brushing hair out of his eyes, "so don't follow m- "

But he stopped as he looked up, as he saw the speck of gold over Malfoy's shoulder, just on the other half of the field. His eyes lit up, and Malfoy noticed. He turned. He saw.

Harry looked at him, and he looked back; for a second their eyes met. Then they were off, flying together in perfect unison, side by side, nudging their brooms forward at the same breakneck speed. Harry felt Malfoy's body press against his own, and their legs were tangled, moving against each other. Malfoy felt soft and warm; Harry felt flushed. He could feel the way Malfoy's body tensed when he altered his direction slightly, or when he tried to gain speed. Harry tried to inch closer to Malfoy without seeming like he was, and, not quite thinking clearly (or so he said when he looked back later), shifted his weight to his left, to lean against Malfoy's warmth. Malfoy looked around at him, momentarily thrown, and then regained his wits.

"Not here, Harry." he hissed, and moved away, breaking the contact.

Harry, unable to balance, fell.

And as he fell, he wondered why Draco had said what he'd said, and why the name Harry seemed to sit so comfortably on his lips. He thought he heard Draco call out his name, but he wasn't sure. He felt himself hit the ground, and then he knew no more.

*     *     *

"Ron, you need to get a shower..."

"But he's - not - awake..."

"Sitting here isn't going to help, he needs the sleep..."

Muffled voices.

Very slowly, and with a great deal of pain, Harry roused himself. He groaned. As much as the rest of his body hurt, however, his mind felt clearer than it had been in a long, long while. He knew he was in the hospital wing. It was still light outside.

Ron, Ginny, and Hermione came into focus above him. They each wore different expressions: Ginny's of extreme relief, Hermione's of worry, and Ron's...Harry closed his eyes. Ron looked like he could kill someone.

"W...what happened?" he croaked.

There was no answer, just exchanged looks. Ron was gripping the side of the bed so hard his knuckles were white.

"What happened, Herm?" he asked, in a slightly steadier voice. Ginny cracked.

"You fell off your broom, you idiot!" she wailed, tears starting to fall, "you knew you couldn't fly, and you still went and flew, and look where that got you! Oh, Harry..."

She flung herself at him, hugging him very hard. Harry patted her back awkwardly, motioning with his other hand for Hermione to help.

Hermione shushed her. "Ginny, why don't you and Ron go tell Madam Pomfrey that Harry's awake? She'll be wanting to come in and see him."

As they left the room, Ron's anger like a tangible force, Ginny's sniffles echoing off the stone, Hermione pulled up a chair and sat by Harry's bed.

"What's going on, Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't really know where to start." she paused thoughtfully. "Firstly, you've been in here three days, sleeping. You broke three ribs and your arm; Madam Pomfrey mended them. But you wouldn't wake after. Did you know that? Do you know why?"

"No, but I..." Harry trailed off. "Three days?!"

"Yes. You've been asleep. Sleeping off all the tiredness, I suppose. Making up for sleep you haven't been getting for the past week or so."

Harry frowned. "I've been sleeping alright the past week. That's what had us confused. We've been over this before." A thought crossed his mind. "Oh, Herm, what happened at the match?"

Hermione looked worried. "I don't know..."

"What d'you mean, you don't know? What happened after I fell?"

"Well, it was really strange. Malfoy..." she gestured helplessly.

"What? Malfoy - what?"

"Well, he went after you. He yelled your name, he yelled 'Harry', and then he flew away from the Snitch and tried to get to you before you hit the ground, but he was too late. Then...then he called off the game."

"Malfoy flew away from the Snitch?" Harry said, dumbly, "and he called off the game?"

She nodded. "And he insisted on seeing you to the hospital wing. He was the one who brought you up here, with Madam Hooch."

"What? But why?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know."

Harry sank his head back into the pillow. "Have we found out anything about...about my tiredness?" He looked at her hopefully.

She nodded. "Actually, I have. I was in the library before the match, and I've had the time to confirm some of my suspicions the past three days. Ron's been sitting by your side the whole time, he was too worried to do anything."

Harry smiled. "Why's he so angry?"

She looked uncomfortable. "It's got something to do with what I found, actually...Harry, you haven't been sleeping at all, the past week. That's one thing I figured out in the library."

"Oh, Herm...you saw me asleep. You saw me, you said you heard me..."

"Yes, but Seamus saw you awake, didn't he? At the same time."

Harry rubbed his temple. "I don't understand."

Hermione sighed impatiently. "I told you, I don't know where to start..." she tapped her finger on the side of the bed. "Ok. Ok, maybe I should show instead of tell. I'm actually not very sure of this myself, so maybe if we both saw it, we'd understand a little better."

She stood up. Harry felt a little nervous. Hermione went round to the other side of the bed and held his arms down. Harry began to sweat.

"Er...Hermione?"

She ignored him.

"Ok, close your eyes." Harry did as he was told. "Now, I want you to imagine the far corner of this room. I want you to imagine...well, imagine Malfoy sitting there. Got it?"

"Yeah...yeah, I got it."

"Good. Now. Imagine...imagine that he's doing...er...doing something that makes you want to go over to him, more than anything in the world."

Harry blushed, but did as he was told.

"Ok."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the speed with which Harry complied. Thankfully, his eyes were shut.

"Now, go over to him."

"What?"

"Go over to him."

"Er...you're holding me down. Oh, wait, do you mean in my imagination, or you mean really go over to him? I mean, he's not there, but if he was...but you're holding me down. I don't understand, Herm, I'm sorry..."

"Just shut up, and go over to him. Do what you want to do, you've done it before. You know what to do."

Harry was highly skeptical of her teaching methods up to this point, but once again, did as he was told. He closed his eyes, and sank into his consciousness, feeling the darkness grow around him, and hearing the silence build up until he couldn't bear it...this all seemed incredibly familiar, and Harry was reminded of mornings he'd felt like this...the darkness grew, and grew, in intensity as well as volume, and swallowed him up, swallowed him until he couldn't breathe, and his one thought was this: get to Draco. He saw Draco's face, He was touching Draco's skin, breathing Draco's scent. All around him the darkness persisted, his feet landed on solid ground, he felt stone under his fingertips - and then all that was gone as he sank back into soft bedsheets - but all he saw was blackness, until suddenly -

Harry opened his eyes. And gasped.

Standing in the far corner of the room, with a slightly surprised look on his face, Harry in the corner turned, and faced Harry on the bed.