When the Darkness Broke In

Chapter ~ III

To Break the Image of Your Father's Son

"All the flesh, all the sin, there was a time when it used to mean just about everything..." Nine Inch Nails

Harry sprinted towards Gryffindor Tower, Ron - still completely clueless as to what was happening - close behind him and Hermione straggling behind, lugging a large bag of textbooks. "Butterscotch! Butterscotch!!" he panted as he reached the Fat Lady, "Come on, quick!"

The fat lady in the pink dress scowled at him. "Another one with no manners!" she snapped. "Just open, please - it's an emergency!" Harry pleaded desperately, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. The Fat Lady narrowed her eyes.

"Oh alright - seeing as it's an emergency..." The portrait swung forward and Harry and Ron immediately darted inside; behind them they barely heard Hermione stop and ask:

"Wait a moment - was somebody rude to you?"

Harry flung himself through the dormitory door and immediately buried his head in his trunk to find the map which had mysteriously re-appeared under his pillow soon after he had arrived at the cottage, "Good job we've got this," he puffed, throwing clothes out of the wooden case, "we'd probably never find the stupid git otherwise..."

"H-Harry...? If you m-mean Malfoy, I don't think we're g-gonna need... it..." Ron stammered. His face was so drained of colour that his freckles stood out the same vivid orange as his Cannons scarf. He raised a hand and gestured to the colourless form on Harry's bed.

"Oh no..." Harry's voice was a dry croak as he looked up and saw the boy laying on his bed. He scrambled to his feet, half tripping over his Quidditch pads, and shook the boy gently, "Malfoy? Malfoy? Ron, go and get Madam Pomfrey!" Ron just stared, his mouth hanging half open in disbelief. "RON!!" Ron turned to run down to the hospital wing, but crashed straight into Hermione as she scrambled up the last step.

"Harry, he's-"

"Here..." Harry mumbled, gaping at the Slytherin in muted horror. He reached out and gave his shoulder a firm shake, "MALFOY! WAKE UP!" The body on the bed gave a small groan. "He's still alive!" Harry gasped in relief, "MALFOY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Malfoy raised a hand to his head and snapped, "Of course I can hear you. You're bellowing in my ear!"

Ron huffed and raised both hands in a gesture of utter incredulity. "He's fine, listen to him! And to think I was actually bothered that you might be dead! What is it, some kind of sick and twisted joke, eh? C'mon, Lord Snooty, get up and out of our sodding tower!" He reached down to yank the Slytherin's arm and drag him out of the dorm room, but Hermione stopped him.

"Ron, no..." she said softly, pulling him back. Malfoy was blinking awkwardly, half covering his face with a pale limb. Hermione moved closer to him and gently asked: "Malfoy, listen to me, what have you done?" Without answering, he fumbled for one of the small containers and tossed it at her.

"You took those?" Harry asked, shocked almost to the point of regaining calm, "Right, so - how many? What are they for and where did you even get them in the first place?"

At the bottom of the stairs there was the sudden sound of footsteps on stone and Seamus Finnigan's unmistakeable Gaelic lilt. Immediately, Hermione grabbed Ron and steered him towards the door a look of barely restrained panic on her face, "Get rid of them, quick! Quick, Ron!" she hissed.

"But...!" Ron hovered uncertainly, looking between the boy on the bed, Harry and the door, not wanting to miss out on the action.

"We can not let them see him here - they'll have a fit! GO!"

He reluctantly set off down the stairs and Hermione shut the door firmly behind him, bending to pick up the small box. Harry had sat down on the bed and was attempting to lift the other boy's eyelids and check his pupils. He had no idea what he was looking for, but the doctors always did it on Muggle medical dramas.

"Get off me, Potter - it's too late. I took them all - three boxes. I'm going to die - to 'drop dead', just like you wanted me to and there's nothing you can do about it," Malfoy sneered almost proudly, struggling to sit up, but deciding it was too much effort as the room began to whirl around him again.

"You complete prat, Malfoy! I didn't mean it literally! You know I didn't!"

"The world doesn't entirely revolve around you... I have my own reasons, wasn't that clear? I'm gone, Potter, get over it..."

"Actually," Hermione corrected, moving closer to the bed, "you're probably healthier than either of us..." Both boys stared at her in bewilderment.

"What?"

"Malfoy, how did you plan to kill yourself with vitamin pills? Transfigure yourself into a giant orange without the use of magic..?"

"V-vitamin pills...? Wha-?" Harry stared from his friend to the boy sprawled on his bed, "I don't...?" Then the bottle beside Malfoy caught his eye. He picked it up and checked the label. "Vodka? VOD... YOU'RE JUST BLOODY DRUNK! I don't believe it! You... You complete bastard! You complete and utter... bastard, Malfoy! Faking your own suicide... That's low. Even by your standards that's really bloody low!"

For once, Draco Malfoy appeared genuinely speechless. He stared at Harry with saucer-sized grey eyes and began to shake his head slowly, but found that doing so unleashed a very aggressive troll inside his skull. Instead, he reached for the pill boxes on the bed and raised them to his face, struggling to focus on the writing on the labels.

"Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was clear and stern and he slowly turned his head in her general direction, his eyes lowered to the rug over the ancient floor boards; he winced as violent flashes ripped through his vision. He felt very, very sick. "Malfoy, give me the boxes, please." She reached out a hand to take them from him and he dropped them a few inches short of her fingertips. Sighing, she stooped and retrieved them deftly, before pointedly studying the labels.

"Well, what else has the idiot been shoving in his mouth?" Harry fumed, staring fixedly at the blonde boy. As far as he could tell the Slytherin had deliberately set this up to scare the living daylights out of him, and as much as he was reluctant to admit it, he had done. Now he was just trying to decide whether he was going to get Gred and Forge to hang him from the Gryffindor flagpole by his underpants or hex him into singing their 'alternative' (banned) version of 'I'm a L ittle T eapot' - complete with full hand signals - while tap dancing in Snape's dinner.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Hm. Saccharin tablets - so your teeth are safe, it would seem... and these..." she held up a pink box with a simplified image of a woman on and gave a tiny sigh, " 'Pour les maladies feminique'...Well, let's just say that you probably won't have to concern yourself with period pains for quite some time..."

If Harry weren't quite so annoyed he would have laughed himself silly at the expression of Malfoy's face: sheer horror. Not so smug now, are you, Minion? But the 'Minion' suddenly did something quite alarming. He drew his wand, stared at it for a moment, then fixed his eyes on Harry's. "Pain is the last of my worries... Goodbye, Potter." He raised the wand to his temple and whispered "Autonovada Kedavra!".

In the split second before Draco finished the second word, Harry dived, knocking the wand askew and sending a blinding flash of spearmint-coloured light ricocheting around the dorm until it hit the mirror, shattering the curse into innumerable harmless splinters.

"Oh, stop, stop, you fool!" Hermione wailed, shuddering and carefully dancing out of the range of errant shards of the suicide attempt. Harry was pinning the other boy to the bed, trying to wrestle the wand out of his hand.

"MALFOY I JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE - YOU OWE ME A FAVOUR - SO GIVE-ME-THE- BLOODY-WAND!!" Harry yelled, yanking the thin magical instrument from Malfoy's fingers and smacking himself in the face with it, causing it to emit violently pink sparks.

Draco stared up at him, his silvery eyes narrowed. "I would have thought, Potter, that straddling me was a rather inappropriate position to be in while demanding control of my wand, wouldn't you?"

Harry leapt up so quickly it looked as though he had been plucked off the bed by an invisible hand. He brushed down his Quidditch robes and blushed vividly as he caught Hermione's eye. He knows. He definitely knows...

"Malfoy, what are you trying to do?" Hermione asked, scrutinising the blonde boy, carefully. He scowled at her and affected a look of mock-thoughtfulness.

"Oh, I don't know - the pills, the killing curse, the suicide note... I was planning on declaring myself to Weasley in the hope that he would elope with me to Kathmandu."

Hermione ignored his facetiousness and impatiently demanded: "But why? Why in the Tower and why us?"

"Not 'us'. This is not about you, Granger. Ask Potter - he knows... he knows everything, now..." Harry shot Hermione a blank look, shaking his head slightly. "The letter?" Draco reminded her, a look of impatient wonder on his pale face, "It's all in the letter: my father, Voldemort, the way I feel about him - 'why I'm doing this'... Do you really think I'd do something like this without a full explanation?"

"W-why would you tell me how you feel about Voldemort?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair and sitting down heavily on Ron's bed; this was simply too bizarre. He'd been through such a wild range of emotions in the past ten minutes that he didn't know which one he should be feeling any more. Anger that the Slytherin had subjected him to such a nightmare or deep, gratifying relief that the great pillock hadn't managed to do more damage to himself? When he looked up, the other boy was gazing at him, looking as though he had been slapped.

"You - you didn't read it, did you?" His voice shook slightly under the heavy accusatory tone of betrayal, "You didn't even bother."

"Well, some of it I did, yeah - I... we just ran up here when we'd read the first bit - I didn't read all of it..." Harry admitted, feeling inexplicably guilty. He knew by the look on the other boy's face that he'd said something very wrong. Maybe this wasn't the wicked prank he'd taken it for.

"'We'? What do you mean, 'we'? You didn't let them read it?" Malfoy's face was pure white. He was mortified. Weasley and Granger had read the letter he had painstakingly written out for Harry? Just for Harry. Now he genuinely wanted to die; on the spot preferably. He was so deeply humiliated that he could feel a lump clogging up his throat. He concentrated on forcing it down, remembering how his father had taught him how not to cry - never to cry. Crying was for babies - babies like Lilith. And look what happened to little Lilith... His eyes began to burn. He rubbed at them with the balls of his palms and whispered "It was private, Potter, private."

Harry stared at him. He wasn't sure if Malfoy had suddenly lapsed into drunkenness, madness or some side effect of taking the 'girly pills', but his demeanour was rapidly sinking frighteningly close to what Harry would label 'tearful', and Harry didn't like it one bit. "Malfoy... Hermione barely looked at it - I didn't think about it, I just panicked when I read what you were going to do! No one's ever told me they were going to... y'know: do that, before!" he gestured vaguely towards the bed where the scattered articles lay, "What did you expect me to do?"

Malfoy struggled to his feet. "I expected it not to matter. I expected to be dead before you got to me..."

Harry fumbled in his robes trying to locate the parchment and was meekly handed it by Hermione, who had kept hold of it when they ran back to the castle. Malfoy winced and shook his head in obvious disbelief. "Here," Harry said struggling to do something positive, holding out the letter for the other boy to take, "If you don't want us to read it, you can have it back."

Draco stared at it. God, how he wanted to take that letter back and for none of this to ever have happened! It had seemed so desperately important that Harry knew everything - but that was when he thought he wouldn't be around to face the consequences. But if he took the letter back, Harry would never know what was going on. If just ran out now - through that common room full of Gryffindors - they would all think he was madder than he thought himself for ever doing this in the first place. And Harry needed to know what was in that letter. He really needed to know. He'd already been humiliated by his own stupidity, how could it get any worse? And maybe... maybe there was still a chance that things would turn out alright, as though Harry had listened to him before... So Draco Malfoy swallowed with great difficulty and shook his head, provoking the aggressive troll even further. "You have to read it."

"But, you said..."

"Read it. Just you." He turned his eyes to Hermione, giving her a meaningful look.

Against her better judgement, she glanced at Harry and cleared her throat to speak. "You know, I should probably go and check on Ron - he's been worryingly good at keeping Seamus and whoever else out. I'll be just downstairs, Harry - all you need to do is call and we'll be up here as though we'd apparated," she began to back towards the door, "Just call, okay?"

Harry nodded. I'll call if I'm not dead before then, he thought, knowing somehow that Malfoy really didn't pose a threat - although it was a fairly intriguing way to get him alone. "So..." Harry began, not sure what Malfoy was hoping he would do.

"Read it, Potter," he ordered quietly, as Harry eyed the envelope uneasily, "this is quite serious, you'll find."

"But why, Malfoy? Why me?"

"Read it. It explains everything. I don't believe I could put that into words again."

Studying him uncertainly, Harry unfolded the parchment again. He took a deep breath and began to re-read, absorbing the neatly written sentences proclaiming that he wanted to be perfectly clear that it wasn't "tediously puerile teenage angst" motivating him; the simple, matter-of-fact statement:

"I feel that the only justifiable course of action is to take my own life."

Harry paused at the end of the paragraph, glancing up at the other boy. He was reclining on Harry's pillows, studying something in his hands. Harry sighed silently and continued reading.

"I am aware that the animosity between us is long standing and deep-rooted, but I wish to break the cycle. It is a pity that my death would be the only way for it to cease, but I tried to speak to you and you refused. I do not blame you - I have treated you badly, worse than was necessary, but I had reasons, however poor.

"The most important issue at stake is your safety. Voldemort has returned, as you know, and he is reining in all those who chose Darkness before. Beyond that, he is gaining new converts, corrupting the minds of more innocents and planning to absorb the final dregs of power he requires by way of the Darkest magic he possesses. Within a year there will be a brutal assault on the Light side and the Order will suffer great losses if nothing is done to stop it. I do not know what it will entail, but it will come in the summer, shortly after a ceremony he will hold to finalise his Imperia. Your body will be the centrepiece of a celebratory feast. If you ever wondered how the Death Eaters acquired their name, now you know: they devour the corpses of their victims."

"Cannibalism?" Harry whispered, feeling quite queasy. "They eat people?"

Malfoy nodded, "The last taboo... They take great pride in the fact. It is the greatest disrespect that can be paid to a victim."

Harry shuddered and hesitantly returned his eyes to the parchment, unable to comprehend quite what he was being told. Things were slowly growing clearer, though - Malfoy had confirmed that Voldemort was after him again; there wasn't a lot else he needed to know.

"It will be the culmination of a plan he set in motion before you were born, and it was the reason for my conception. Some people 'find' their vocation; I was given one before I was even conceived. I was to feature in someone else's master plan and become part of the Blackest dictatorship our world has known. But you foiled him when he came for you."

Harry paused again, ice in his veins. "But you foiled him when he came for you..." When he came for me? "Malfoy, you s-said here that Voldemort..."

"Came for you?" Malfoy finished quietly, glancing at him with an eyebrow raised, his eyes distant and glistening, "Yes, he wanted your parents to join him - and when they didn't he destroyed them - but more importantly he wanted you." Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and completely speechless and after a moment Malfoy continued, "Your parents were exceptionally good wizards, Harry..." he hesitated, glancing down to his left, "it was obvious that any child of theirs would be phenomenally powerful. He wanted your Life. A strength such as yours would be priceless to him."

Harry closed his eyes. She really did die to protect me...to save me from him. He looked up to his bedside table, searching for the picture of his mother and father and Sirius and Remus - the four people who meant more to him than anyone else in the world - but it wasn't there. He drew a sharp breath and stood up. "Where is it?!"

"What?"

"My picture of my mum and dad!"

"It's here, Harry..." Malfoy said calmly, handing it to him. "I didn't hurt it. I just looked..."

Harry snatched the picture from him and held it close to his chest, studying the Slytherin awkwardly. "It's my family..." he said quietly, not taking his eyes from Malfoy's.

"I know; James and Lily, and Black and Lupin. They look very young. Our age."

There was something in Malfoy's voice that seemed almost soft; that almost seemed to care that two of the people in the picture were dead and that the other two had been torn apart by their loss. Harry hesitated then moved to sit on his own bed, beside him.

"They were our age... It was mum's sixteenth birthday, Remus told me..." Harry held out the picture to show him, "She has a card poking out of her pocket, see? Dad made it for her."

"Very thoughtful of him."

Harry smiled distantly for a moment; "Yeah, he was very kind... So I'm told." He swallowed with difficulty and shrugged, attempting an air of impassivity. It wasn't very convincing.

"You should read the rest of the letter, Harry, it's rather important." Taking a deep breath, Harry laid the picture on his lap and returned his attention to the parchment.

"You destroyed his power and left me redundant. My parents were stuck with a baby neither of them actually wanted and I was brought up at arm's length by a father who loathes me and a mother who resents me - however much she would try to hide it. I couldn't even get my birth to my father's specifications, you see, and he insisted upon a caesarean section so that I would be born on time. Only, there were complications and I was still born behind schedule. I was almost two months premature and so weak I nearly died then, which of course would never have done at all, because Voldemort would have been furious if my father had failed him. My mother was left with a livid scar across her stomach, and she never forgave me for that, but at least she grew to love me - which my father never did.

"All through my childhood I was taught that he would return and that I would be "of great assistance to him", I was led to believe that I would be at his right hand. I was a child - a Malfoy heir - to have power and to impress people was what I was brought up to crave; if I was Voldemort's right-hand man I would surely have all the power and influence I could imagine - what did it matter what the cost would be? At least, that is how my juvenile mind saw it. I became arrogant and self-assured beyond my station; it was expected of me. I needed that attitude to carry the weight of what I thought I was to become. I had no idea that it was simply to cover what they had planned for me.

"As a Malfoy there are certain 'qualities' that you are expected to portray, and many which you are not. To ensure I became a model member of the family, I was 'trained' by my father. This included physical, emotional and psychological abuse, although I did not recognise it for what it was at the time. I was sent to school to be taught by one of my father's fellow Death Eaters. I was more greatly versed in the Dark Arts before I came here than most of the wizarding world will ever be. I enjoyed it, when I was a child - I practised cruel little spells on animals at the Manor, just little things like turning them inside out or expanding the heads of mice or rats in the grounds until their eyes popped out. I regret it, now, but I don't believe it is much worse than pulling the legs off crane flies - especially in contrast to my father's actions.

"However, my father is a brazen hypocrite and despite his using any creature from Muggles to house elves as subjects of torture with which he planned to harden me to the suffering of others, he punished me for my actions. I had a puppy at the time, a black labrador named Cerberus whom I utterly adored; my father made me kill him, he made me slit his throat. I can remember it clearly; I refused at first, so he put me under Imperius and made me do it, then punished me severely for disobeying him. My paternal grandmother was the only member of my family who I was close to. She never approved of the way my father raised me, and made it quite clear how she felt about the incident. Around the same time my mother fell pregnant again - she gave birth naturally to a baby girl when I was eight years old..."

Harry stopped reading. "I didn't know you've got a sister..."

Malfoy didn't look at him. "Keep going, Potter..."

"-but her gender was her curse. Death Eaters consider women weak and inferior. He did not want to be the first Malfoy to spawn a female in a century and a quarter, so he killed her. And then he killed my grandmother.

Harry clenched his teeth. Lucius Malfoy had killed his own child and his own mother. He hadn't even had a reason - not even a feeble excuse such as loyalty to a Dark Emperor. He had just killed them as though a life could be thrown away that easily. Harry clutched the parchment, his hands shaking with rage and horror. He had no idea what to say, but if he didn't hate Lucius Malfoy before, he would happily prove that he did now.

"Malfoy... I'm sorry... about what your father did... I-"

"Don't."

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know..."

"Potter, you didn't hold a wand to his head and make him do it, so you can drop the patronising sympathy act."

"I'm not patronising you! I'm genuinely -"

"Sorry. Yes, you said. And will you stop calling me 'Malfoy'? Don't you understand? I was planning-to-kill-myself-to-escape-my-father-and-what-he-plans-to-do-to-me. Do you honestly think I want to be called by his name?" Draco said through his teeth, as though talking to a small child.

Harry felt himself blushing. I think, Harry, you prat, that he might just be serious. "Alright, I'm sorry..." Draco cast him a derisive look, "It's just that... well, you'll always be Malfoy to me."

"Oh thank you, I'm touched."

Malfoy didn't sound touched. He sounded as though he wanted to garrotte him with his own bootlaces.

"It's been four years... Draco... I'm sort of used to hating you." Harry replied, half-joking.

"Yes, and I'm sure it's been a pleasure."

"What do you mean by that? I was never the one looking for a fight! I didn't harass your friends or behave like a complete prat for five years, did I? I wasn't exaggerating when I said I couldn't stand you, you know... You've been 'insufferable', as Snape would say, although never about you, of course."

"Well if you'd stop prattling and just read that damn letter you might understand slightly better," Draco snapped, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his temple, "Just read it and don't whine at me again until you've finished... I have one hell of a headache."

Harry thought about making a retort about whose fault that was, but decided against it. It wasn't worth the aggravation. He shot Malfoy one last disgruntled look and settled further back on the bed to lean against the headboard.

"My mother was broken by grief at losing the little girl she had wished for since she was a child herself. I was a boy and she had never wanted a boy, so I simply wasn't good enough. She still loved me, but she hid herself away and even from the day it happened I was aware that she wished it had been me. So I spent my time trying to please my father, trying to win the fatherly affection I was deprived of from the moment I was born. And when, just before my first year at Hogwarts, Voldemort returned, I suddenly had a genuine purpose again. My father attempted to find him and finish the work he had begun with my conception, and I was very much the Golden Boy for the first time in my memory. A new form of training began. He made me torture living creatures - sometimes Muggles - so that I would come to view them as sport and become resilient to their suffering. I was further tortured myself, with the use of the Unforgivable Curses and other almost equally potent spells. I had learned not to cry from the age of eighteen months, because the more I cried, the more my father gave me reason to cry. I was developing into a 'perfect' Malfoy. With this extra training I grew into the cold, spiteful creature you met at school."

"Your father...?" Harry couldn't finish the sentence, because he didn't know what to say. He paused and reassembled his thoughts. I suppose I should have known, if the man can kill his own family that would be nothing to him. No wonder Draco's so messed up. But what did you say to someone who had been tortured by their own father? Harry was certain he didn't know.

"Yes, yes, he used the Unforgivable Curses on me; common practise in child discipline among his supporters, I believe. Keep reading." Malfoy's levity regarding the matter alarmed him. But then, he realised, the Dursleys would have done it to me if they'd known how, and I don't find it shocking. Not very.

As he read through the careful script he felt his stomach drop as memories flooded back. Malfoy (Draco, whatever...) had written about their first meeting - in the robe shop down Diagon Alley - and Harry was amazed both at how clearly the other boy seemed to remember things that had happened years before and to find that his own memories were just as vivid. He could still see the fleeting wounded look on the Slytherin's face when he had refused to take his hand on the train. It was just his pride that got hurt back then; smug git, Harry assured himself, casting another glance at the other boy. He was sitting back, propped against a pillow, his eyes closed. Oh, go on, make yourself at home, don't worry about me, Malfoy. He gave him an irritated look and turned back to the letter.

"I was brought up with stories of you, Harry, twisted, disproportionate stories full of bias and fundamental lies. You were portrayed as a monster and as an entity to be revered and respected, intermittently. I was never sure if you were to be my enemy or someone I was expected to affiliate myself with in the hope that if Voldemort did not return to power, we would at least be on the winning side. And then I met you in person. It threw everything out of perspective because I was drawn to you almost magnetically. You were nothing like my father told me, but you automatically caused such a stir all about you and I was fascinated. I couldn't stop talking about you; I would go so far as to say I was obsessed.

I realise, now, that you were like me in many ways: a product of your upbringing; a casualty of the environment in which you have always lived. It is no more your fault than it is mine, the way we have turned out. I don't deny that I was phenomenally jealous of you. I don't recall why, but I knew from the moment I met you (in Madame Malkin's, being measured for robes before we started school, do you remember?) that I liked you. I remember your ridiculously out-sized clothes - a red checked shirt and jeans - and your hair was a complete state; your glasses had been so shoddily repaired they looked as though they would fall apart at any moment. You were pleasant and seemed so much brighter than the idiots I was used to, even though you seemed so in awe of it all and didn't look any wealthier than a Weasley, and I gabbled on about how excited I was to be starting secondary school. I didn't know then, of course, that you were the Great Harry Potter, that you had no idea what was waiting for you... But you were going to Hogwarts, and I hoped even then that you would be sorted into Slytherin where I was certain to go."

Well, near miss there. Thankfully.

"When I approached you I genuinely wanted to rescue you from what I had been brought up to believe was a fate worse than the Dementors' Kiss: associating with those beneath you."

And you were on my level, I suppose?

"I was brought up to believe that I was superior - a wealthy pureblood -"

A spoilt little bigot is how I would've put it, I think.

"I could have shown you an entirely different world. In retrospect I am deeply glad that I didn't, because it would have made it so much easier for Voldemort and my father."

Harry paused in reading. He thought back to what Ron had said in the storeroom after D.A.D.A. that day: 'The only light Malfoy would like is that of the fires of Hell...' Maybe you were wrong, Ron.

A small voice in the back of his mind - that sounded remarkably like his quick-tempered friend - argued:

He's saving his own skin and trying to twist the knife in his dad's back as much as he can, Harry! It's not about you - he's a scheming little git!

Harry stared at the other boy for a minute. He hadn't moved and Harry was just starting to wonder if they'd underestimated the effect of a box of saccharin tablets when his eyes snapped open.

"Yes?"

"Um... nothing, I was just..."

"Where are you up to?"

"Um... just the bit about being glad your dad couldn't get hold of me because we're not friends..." Harry explained, scanning down the page.

"Oh. Then you don't have a reason to stare at me like that, yet. Keep reading, will you?"

"A reason for what?" Harry asked, confused, but the look Malfoy gave him quickly killed the words. "I'll just keep... er... yeah..." He returned his eyes to the parchment with the oddly relieved feeling he was sure he would get if he fled the room.

"But I was deeply resentful of Weasley and Granger. You see, they were classic examples of the type of people I believed were beneath you. And it was obvious that you thought I was the one that was beneath you, not vice versa. I was greatly affronted, and you left me feeling the unthinkable - I was jealous of a pauper and a Mudblood!"

"You've really got a way with words, Malfoy, I'll give you that," Harry said, annoyed at the description of his friends.

"Oh for pity's sake, Harry! JUST READ IT!"

Harry did as he was told. Malfoy actually was quite scary when his eyes flashed like that.

"For years I was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. And I kept on getting burnt - and slapped - and yet I still carried on. It took until the third year for me to realise - or maybe to accept - the reason I took such great delight in being vicious towards you."

Other than the fact that you're a nasty little git?

"When I was cruel to you or your friends you noticed me. It was undoubtedly a rather masochistic manner in which to conduct myself - certainly a second-rate way to get what I wanted so very much - but while being malicious and venting my anger and resentment for those you chose to surround yourself with, I also attracted your attention."

Erm... "Malfoy?"

"Oh for God's sake, Harry!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're getting incredibly irritating."

"No, in the letter... about... um... me noticing you...?"

Malfoy murmured "Oh..." and gave him a small nod. He leaned over and scanned the parchment, before pointing out a paragraph then ducking back to his side of the bed almost self-consciously and closing his eyes. Harry could have sworn a pink tinge was colouring his cheeks, but felt sure that the Slytherin was above blushing.

"When things happened to you, Harry, I was ripped in two. Half of me was glad, because every terrible encounter was one step closer to my own freedom; the other half was distraught because I was terrified of losing you, even though you were really something I never had for myself. Some time over the past four years I accidentally stepped over that fabled fine line between love and hate. And the stronger the love grew, so did the hate I felt towards you. You ruined everything I'd been trained to be - everything I thought I was. You worked your way under my skin and nothing and no one mattered as much to me as you did; no one could leave me feeling as pathetic and worthless as you - not even my father. Your opinion - the way that you perceived me - was everything to me; but the way I wanted you to perceive me was the way my father wanted me to be, not as someone you could ever have considered as a friend. As far as I understood at the time, it was those so-called 'qualities' that made a person worthy.

"You became my weakness and at times the thing that spurred me onward. I craved your attention as much as I did my father's, even if it was only to call me names in retaliation to my own actions. When my father told me what is planned for us both the only thing I could think of was that I had to tell you - to warn you - and that doing so would make things all right. I never expected it to be an easy task, but I wasn't convinced it would be impossible. Clearly, I was mistaken.

"If you're reading this letter now, I will have gone through with my secondary plan and the ridiculous hopes I never truly dared to entertain will have become impossible. I'm sorry, Harry, for what I was, and I hope you will realise that despite my actions, I was always on your side.

Look after yourself - you will need to,

Draco. _x"

Harry blanched at what he had just read, then felt embarrassment flood his cheeks. He ran through it a few times, not sure what to make of it. He tried not to look at the other boy sitting tensely beside him, but the more he tried, the more it felt his eyes being drawn to him.

"There's no need to look so utterly horrified. I don't plan to molest you."

Harry cast the other boy a bashful glance and mumbled that he wasn't horrified.

"Well you don't appear to be praising Hecate," Draco observed, dryly.

"That's 'cos I'm not."

"So you are horrified."

"No, I'm just a bit..."

"Mortified?"

"Shocked," Harry decided. "Shocked and quite embarrassed, if you must know..."

Draco sat up straighter and adjusted his position against the pillows, adopting a rather disconsolate air; "So you find it embarrassing, do you? Well I hardly feel the urge to charm it into the clouds in the Hall, but there's no need to be rude."

"Malfoy, I - sorry, this is really hard to get used to... Draco - I wasn't saying that. I just meant that I'm really, really surprised-" More than you could possibly appreciate, trust me. "-And I... nobody's ever... I mean - well, I don't think anyone's really had a proper crush on me apart from Ginny and -"

"It is not a crush!" Draco snapped, sounding disturbingly like Snape for a moment. "What do you take me for, some enraptured thirteen year old girl?" He made to stand up, wobbled precariously, then sat back down on the bed, trying to look as dignified as possible. No escaping just yet, then. "I'm insulted."

"Yes, well, I know how that feels - as do my friends, thanks to you."

There was an awkward silence while they looked away from each other in mutual annoyance.

"Did you know about me?" Harry asked finally, the question rising into his mind as he wracked his brains for incidents in which he might have spotted clues; the recent occasions in which he'd made references to Harry's sexuality sprang simultaneously to the fore.

"I know everything about you, more or less."

"Has that got anything to do with this? I mean, I realised you must know from the things you said... that you must have found out from somewhere, but..."

"Wait - what specific issue are you talking about?" Harry blushed still redder. "About... y'know, me being gay ..."

Draco was sitting with his back to Harry, but it was still obvious when his shoulders tensed at the words. "You're what?"

Harry closed his eyes, kicking himself for not checking Draco knew first and thinking up a string of expletives that the twins would have been proud of. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh it most certainly does! After what I've just confessed? I think you owe me that."

"Alright, alright...I'm..." his voice dropped to a half-whisper, "...gay."

Malfoy gave a small snort of a laugh. "Well, I do believe all my Christmases have come at once."

"What? I didn't say I felt the same!" Harry protested ardently. "Just because I like some boys doesn't mean I like all of them!"

"Quite. And you've also never experienced a Malfoy Christmas."

Harry wasn't sure he could answer that. He stammered silently for a moment before attempting a line of questioning that wasn't quite so personal. "Draco, why didn't you say any of this sooner?"

"Do you really think it would have made any difference?"

"To some stuff, yeah. If Dumbledore knew he'd never have let all this go on - he'd have had your dad locked up in Azkaban before now for what he's done."

"Precisely. That is precisely the point. He is still my father, and up until a few pathetic weeks ago I still believed every line he fed me. It is only recently that I have even begun to want to escape. Do you realise what will happen to me when people discover what I've told you? There are far more Dark families in this school than even Dumbledore realises. Voldemort is back, Harry. He's getting stronger and stronger and his supporters are coming back to him. When this gets out - when he finds out that I've betrayed him and my father..." he stopped and shook his head as though he couldn't bring himself to name whatever horrors he was anticipating, or perhaps that he felt explanation was wasted on the other boy.

Harry moved nearer to him and gingerly rested what he intended as comforting hand on his shoulder. Draco flinched and almost cowered away from him for a second, as though Harry had made him jump out of his skin. He stared at him with wide silver eyes and mumbled: "Don't do that."

Harry was almost shocked by his reaction. He had noted, through the years, that Draco was not the sort of person who was comfortable with physical contact, but to shy away from it so visibly - it just didn't seem natural. "You're terrified, aren't you?" Harry murmured softly, tempted to reach out again, but deciding against it, "Draco, you have to trust me if you want my help. And Dumbledore, too - he'll help you."

The blond boy gave a harsh, stilted laugh. "Dumbledore doesn't care about me. How deluded are you? He couldn't care less about us!"

"'Us'? Who's 'us'?" Harry asked uncertainly. Dumbledore cared about everyone - Dark or not - he just didn't want to see any more lives lost. He wanted to avoid the war and return their world to peace, to rebuild a society in which nobody had to live in fear. He wanted the same as everyone else.

"Slytherins, of course! You can't tell me you haven't noticed how he goes out of his way to give you the House Cup, every year. You can't tell me that he doesn't believe that every single one of us is evil, just because ours is the House that spawned Tom Riddle, who just happened to be a megalomaniacal psychopath."

"Of course he doesn't!"

"Oh you are just so very blind, aren't you, Potter?"

"Well what about Snape? Are you saying he doesn't favour the Slytherins and go out of his way to take points away from us because he can't stand us winning?"

"He was a Slytherin too, didn't you know? He went through this exact same thing with your father and his stupid little gang, it's always been the same."

Harry glowered at him furiously for a moment before telling him through gritted teeth: "Don't you ever talk about my father and Sirius and Remus like that again, Malfoy. He treated them like dirt - especially Remus -they weren't just going to sit back and watch, were they? Of course they retaliated! I really don't ever want to hear you speak about them like that again. I mean it."

"Why not? I can't think of anything you can do that would be worse than what my own father will do to me when he finds out that I'm sitting here telling you this."

Harry's rage quickly dissipated. Oh he was still angry, yes, but he kept on telling himself that the other boy was stressed out. He was frightened. He didn't mean any of it. At least, he'd better not mean any of it... "Look, Draco, you are going to have to learn to trust me. And Dumbledore. I don't want to see you die. You have no idea how much it terrified me to see you lying there like that... I don't want anyone to die, but if this war is allowed to happen no one knows how many lives are going to be wasted. You've got information on this that could help the Order prevent Voldemort even returning to power. Telling me all this is fine, but you've got to tell people with more influence and authority than just me, and the people with the authority are the ones that can protect you. These maniacs are trying to destroy everything we view as good and right and we've both been drawn into this whether we like it or not - it's a risk we've got to take. "

"Risk?" Draco echoed. "It's as if you think I don't realise how critical a situation I've landed myself in. I do know. I'm fully aware of the danger, but I did this for you, the rest doesn't matter to me. As long as my father pays, I couldn't care less about Muggles or any of it. I might not agree with them - in fact I abhor what they're trying to do - but I can certainly see why they're so angry. Your perfect little tribe of Light Fighters don't understand anything beyond 'us: good, them: bad', and what makes 'them' bad? That you don't like their methods, that is what."

Harry faltered, looking at Draco's face. He was a picture of defiance. He hated the Death Eaters, yet he could understand their point of view. He had been brutally abused by one of their number, yet he was still gracious enough to accept that they were doing what they were doing for a reason. Harry knew, deep down, that there was something in what the other boy was saying and that for all his intolerance of others, he might actually be less biased than Harry himself. In Malfoy it simply didn't seem to fit. He took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. "Draco, I want to help you. You came to me for help, so let's not argue about this..." The blonde boy took a deep breath and nodded awkwardly. "Explain to me again - why did you try and do this to yourself? Why here? Any why with Muggle pills, when you clearly know how to do it using magic?"

Draco swallowed and began to try to explain, "The pills... were a personal revenge for my father. You know how he feels about anything Muggle-related. Snape knows the antidotes to any poison I can make and I wanted to be sure, because for all I know he could have discovered a way to reverse spells like that, as well; ironic, really...After I was 'gifted with the knowledge' of what is planned for me - for both of us - I escaped the Manor as much as I could and spent most of the summer in London. Some of it I spent with Muggles - mingling with them - talking to people I met, sometimes. They're really not as terrible as they are made out to be, are they? Some of them seemed relatively intelligent."

Harry shook his head with a half-smile. Well I never expected to hear that from you!

"I wanted to find you - warn you what was going to happen - so I waited for you, and that day when I saw you outside Flourish and Blott's I wanted to take the only opportunity I might have. If you had just listened to me, Harry!" Draco looked at him, a strange echo of desperation shining in his eyes, "You should never have been out there without Black and Lupin - someone other than me could have found you and who knows what would have happened then?"

"I know, and do you realise that's almost word-for-word what Hermione said?" Harry asked, intrigued and vaguely amused by the fact that Draco's opinion should be identical to his friend's.

"Well she was right. You should never have been in that position - and they should never have let you be," he said stiffly, obviously reluctant to agree with her.

"Okay, okay - you're both right. I just wish people would realise I can look after myself, sometimes."

Draco flicked his hair out of his eyes, looking doubtful, and continued: "I asked to come with you because I didn't want you to be alone in such an exposed environment... Especially after the Triwizard Cup! I was concerned for your welfare, would you believe? But you refused to even talk to me, and when I went back to the Manor I spent a long, long time thinking about it. I realised that even if I couldn't get through to you in person, you needed to know. I just couldn't let you carry on like that - obviously oblivious to the immense danger you were in - as per usual. If no one else was going to protect you, I decided that I would do as much as I possibly could for you. Except, you didn't want to be helped, did you? You still wouldn't even give me the time of day. But while I was still at the Manor I'd thought out a secondary plan - which I imaginatively dubbed 'Plan B' - catchy, don't you think?"

"Er... yeah... wish I was that smart," Harry grinned, seeing the ironic self-deprecating humour and realising that it was something rare to savour.

"I thought so. And this is Plan B. I'm not letting him have my Life, Harry. I won't do it. And if this is what it takes I will still go through with it. You know all that it is necessary for you to know, so my work here is effectively done. To die now would be adequate - I could do so without leaving anything behind unresolved, more or less. But I don't want to die, I want..." he stopped and looked away, "But we can't always have what we want, can we?"

"No, not always, but it surely depends on what you wish for...?"

There was a lengthy silence.

"The reason I did this here is because I wanted you to know - to realise - what you had done. I genuinely believed you could help me, but you wouldn't, even though I was trying to help you. So I wanted to show you just how serious this is. It is a matter of Life and death - yours! I thought I could shock you into comprehending the magnitude of the situation. You've played with Death himself so many times that you've started to think you're invincible, haven't you? But you're not, and Life can run out - like...like air from a balloon. It can be released slowly, so that it deflates naturally, or the balloon can burst, releasing it all at once, or - if you work out how - it can be released quickly and caught in another balloon, replace the air which escaped naturally - and yes, that is an atrocious metaphor, but do you understand, now? That is what Voldemort wants to do to us - he wants to take our Life to replace his."

"I understand - I do - and I don't think I'm invincible; I'm well aware of my own mortality, trust me. But I don't understand why your parents would conceive you for that before he was defeated the first time?" Harry asked, frowning in concentration as Malfoy began to show signs of becoming frenetic.

"Life runs out, Harry. He wanted immortality, and with a constant supply of Life he could go on living for as long as he chose. But in doing so he needed to take the Life of others. From the point you are born your Life begins to dwindle, to diminish, and it is most economical to choose victims with the most Life within them..."

"Babies?"

"Babies. Correct. I was to be one of the first to be given to him. Most of the boys who are doomed for it now were to be given to him as babies..."

"So they'd all be in our year?"

"Mostly."

Harry took a moment to absorb this. For all he knew he could be sitting in classes with boys who were destined to die at the hands of Voldemort - upon their parents' wishes - and he would have no idea. He shuddered. It was a sickening thought.

"Are you alright?"

"Um... yeah... just a bit...y'know..."

Draco nodded sombrely. "Only too well."

Harry studied him, as though finally seeing through a dirty window still too smeared to clearly make out what lie beyond, but certainly clean enough to gain an impression, "You're serious about this, aren't you? You really are on our side..."

"Yes!" Draco swallowed and clenched his teeth, "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm absolutely serious, and I want my father to get what's coming to him for what he did to my mother and grandmother... and Lilith."

"Lilith?"

"My sister."

"Oh...sorry - of course..."

"It's alright. He made my mother suffer more than he did Lilith. My mother was left to live with the memory of her child being murdered by her own husband, after he had me ripped out of her as though she were already dead... Maybe that's how he wanted her..."

"Dead?"

"She's nothing but a complication to him - it'd be easier if she was dead. He forced a caesarean before I was due, wanting me to be born on Halloween because it's supposed to be lucky. It didn't even work. I was seven minutes late and he never forgave me - or my mother. It ruined her. I actually believe she loved him, once... After what happened during my birth she was almost destroyed, and then he took away the only thing she'd hoped for, her little girl. She became introverted and remote - she hides away in her wing and doesn't speak to my father unless she has to. She never really leaves..."

"She was at the World Cup, though..."

"Of course she was, my father was playing happy families. She was under Imperius, Harry, like a puppet - she wasn't there through choice."

"Oh - yeah, sorry, I should have realised..." 'Should have realised'! Because, of course, everyone I know has a psychotic father who treats his family like that - of course you should have known, Harry, well done. "I mean, I should have realised after you said..." he cringed. "I'm sorry - I'm pathetic with stuff like this and when it comes to parents I can't really sort of...identify. Sometimes I think that maybe I was lucky they died when they did, because I can't miss what I never had, can I? I suppose it could have been a lot worse - if I'd really known them and then I'd lost them. I still wish I could remember them, but all I can remember is the sound of my mum dying and that was because of the Dementors... I'm almost jealous of Ron and Hermione at times, because they've got their parents and they've got both of them... I haven't even got one. It must be even worse for you..."

There was another difficult pause before Draco's hushed voice shakily explained: "Losing Lilith sent my mother over the edge... Sometimes there are glimmers of how she used to be, weeks when she makes sense, but that is almost worse, because it makes you stupid enough to hope that... that she might get better. She won't, though - everyone knows that really - but if it weren't for me she would have been taken back to France a long time ago. She's sane enough to refuse to leave me with him, but she shut herself away in her own dark little room inside herself and locked the door. And of course, my father won't let me go because of what I am. I have to get away from him, Harry. If I can, then my mother can..."

Harry struggled for words. This was not the sort of thing he was used to dealing with - and especially not from Malfoy. Suddenly, the almost matter-of-fact tone he'd been using seemed to have crumbled, and he sounded like an entirely different person. All of the years that the other boy had been so hateful and vindictive and Harry had simply blamed it on irreparable character flaws; he had never even thought to question it. He simply allowed himself to fall into a pattern of blind loathing. "I had no idea..." And not just about your mother.

"Of course you didn't, nobody knows. Not Crabbe or Goyle, or that little yapping Parkinson creature, or Snape or Dumbledore - it's a Malfoy secret, and Malfoy secrets are exceptionally well kept."

Harry wasn't sure if he could stomach any more of these revelations in one helping. Things were already swimming around in his head, making him feel anxious and confused. Dimly, at the back of his mind, he found himself yearning for a Pensieve in which to collect and order his thoughts. He was almost expecting Lucius Malfoy to sweep in through the door and suck out their Life as though he were a Dementor coming for their souls. "So, um... now you've told me...erm... everything, what do you want to do? About Voldemort, I mean."

"Well, oh Boy Who Lived, you are the expert on him - shouldn't you decide?"

Harry looked at him intolerantly but said nothing for a moment. "Is that really how you perceive me? Does everyone think of me like that? Like I'm some sort of expert? That man killed my parents and all of my family! He was the reason that my godfather spent twelve undeserved years in Azkaban! He had Cedric Diggory killed and has repeatedly attempted to kill me. If I was an 'expert' I could have found a way to stop all those things happening, couldn't I? I'd know what he was planning now and I could try and help stop it. But I'm not. Whatever people like to see me as, I'm just me. Just Harry. I've still got to take my O.W.L.S, I still get spots and I still get scared when things like this start happening again. It's Dumbledore people should be looking to, not me! I'm only just fifteen years old - what do I know? I want to know nothing about him except for the fact he's dead."

"I'd want to be an expert on him. Know thine enemy."

"Well I'm not you. We're different , Malfoy..."

"Glaringly so," the pale boy replied, staring towards the window, "But also not."

"Not? Look, don't start telling me we're soul mates, now, Malfoy," Harry said wearily, "I've never believed in that kind of thing, and I'm not about to start." He paused before adding: "And I never thought you were the type to, either."

Draco turned back to look at the Gryffindor with dulled grey eyes, "You don't know me." He took a breath and pointed out challengingly: "We both want to avenge our parents, don't we?"

"Well, yes," Harry agreed hesitantly, "but..."

"We've both had difficult childhoods, haven't we?"

"I - I suppose so, yeah, but Malfoy, look..."

"We both have very deep emotional matters that need to be dealt with, don't we?"

"Well, you could put it like that, but I still don't really think..."

"Face it, Harry, we have things in common. I know how it must pain you to acknowledge the fact, but it's true, and the things which you and I have in common are the ones you cannot share with Weasley and Granger."

"They understand," Harry insisted, not wanting to admit that there was some truth in what the other boy was saying.

"I'm sure they try to understand... For what it's worth."

"It's worth a lot!"

"If you say so; but I think we could understand each other far better."

Harry scrutinized him carefully, "Are you coming on to me?" he asked dubiously after a moment.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter."

"You're the one who just declared undying love, Malfoy."

"Oh, you're such a Gryffindor! Everything has to be so black and white for you, doesn't it?"

"Well call me mad and everything, but when someone tells you they love you and they want to 'protect' you how else are you supposed to take it? I take it to mean they're stupid enough to love me and want to protect me!" Harry retorted, before adding more softly: "And it's really not a situation I'm used to at all, okay?"

Malfoy studied him silently before shaking his head in apparent disbelief. "Half the world loves you and wants to protect you and you don't even realise it, do you?"

"Maybe half the world wants a good look at my scar and to be able to say they've met the Boy Who Lived as if I'm some sort of film star, but they definitely don't love me, Malfoy," Harry sighed, "I doubt that even you would still think you did if you really knew me."

"Prove me wrong."

"Pardon?"

"Prove me wrong. Prove to me that you're not the person they all think you are. And try to disprove that you're the person who ruined my life."

Harry stared at him. "I didn't ruin your life!"

"I'd say that was for me to judge, wouldn't you?" Draco replied, cocking an eyebrow challengingly.

"Well... I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"How noble of you."

"If you like me as much as you say you do, why do you feel the need to be so spiteful? I never asked you to like me."

Draco looked at him again, large metallic eyes almost burning through him. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his Quidditch robes around himself to try and avert the icy stare. "Potter, you haven't the faintest idea how much I despise you. And the reason I despise you is because, due to an unfortunate weakness, I am in love with you. I hate the fact, I hate myself for not being able to change it and I hate you for making me feel it. It's one very vicious, very tiresome circle."

"But I don't 'make' you feel it - it's not my fault!" Harry protested, not at all glad at the resurrection of the subject, "I'm sick of being blamed for all this, Malfoy - it's as if you can't take responsibility for stuff so you lay it all on me - especially this." Malfoy's infatuation intimidated him and he was most discontent to discuss it further; especially if Malfoy was going to claim Harry had somehow inadvertently encouraged him!

"I don't remember saying there was any logic in it," the Slytherin pointed out coolly, "Sometimes things just are and the only option you have is to work with them or around them; this is one of those things. And I can assure you I gain no pleasure from it whatsoever."

Harry felt a small pang in his stomach at that. He had no idea why, but he was slightly insulted by the fact that Malfoy's crush on him was such displeasure. Suddenly he did want to know - he wanted some answers and if Malfoy wanted his help then he'd just have to give them. Clearing his throat, Harry posed his first question. "When did you know?"

Grey eyes looked at him sidelong, "Know what?"

"That you were 'in love' with me?"

"There's no need to be quite so condescending, Potter..." the other boy replied, still sounding very cold. He paused before answering; "Third year - towards the end - when I heard the story about Black breaking into the Tower and scaring the life out of Weasley with a machete in the middle of the night."

"It wasn't a machete - just a knife," Harry corrected without thinking.

"The story I heard told it as a machete, which is why I said it. Anyway, I heard that story and I was sick. It could have been you. It should have been you. We all thought he was after you, didn't we? Trying to kill you... He'd come so close that I realised how fragile mortality is, how easily he could have killed you in your sleep. Some how it was never so frightening when you faced Voldemort because I knew you'd done it all before, I had confidence in you. When it came to Black it was a completely different matter, and I was utterly paranoid on your behalf. To be that concerned for you I realised there was something very wrong with me. It turned out to be that."

Harry thought back to the terror of his third year - of the Dementors and the sound of his mother's screams whenever they came close, of wanting to kill Sirius and believing that Remus was helping him try to murder him - he closed his eyes and shook the memories from his head. That was in the past, now; he knew the truth about both Sirius and Remus: they only wanted to protect him. Protect me the same as Draco does... The thought felt almost like a slap to Harry. It hit home with such velocity that he almost felt stunned for a moment. The enormity of what he was being told and what Draco was actually doing began to filter through. Suddenly, Harry felt very humble indeed.

"Well - thank you for caring, even if it's horrible. Especially as it's horrible..." he managed, sure beyond any shadow of doubt that his face matched perfectly with his clothes.

"I didn't have a choice. But... maybe I exaggerated very slightly on how awful it is," the other boy conceded with a dignified shrug, "Not to say I enjoy it at all."

"No, of course," Harry nodded empathetically, feeling like an idiot.

"So, when did you realise you were wearing the wrong robes?" Draco asked, reaching into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes. He moved to offer Harry one as an after thought, but found him gazing down at his Quidditch gear in bemusement.

"The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin..." he admitted vaguely, "But I asked it not to."

"And what has that got to do with anything?" Draco asked, rattling the box of cigarettes under his nose to draw his awareness to them, "Although it's a rather interesting piece of information..."

"Oh - um, no - thank you. I don't, er...smoke."

"I don't suppose you drink either, do you?" the blonde boy said with a slightly derisive laugh.

"No. It's not really something I'm bothered about," Harry told him. "So - what did you mean about the robes? I mean, you weren't talking about Quidditch, apparently."

"For God's sake!" Draco exclaimed in exasperation, looking rather like he wanted to bang his head against a brick wall. "How can you be so innocent at your age?"

"I'm not 'innocent'!"

"Well, you can't tell a euphemism when one's thrown at you, can you?"

"What euphemism?" Harry demanded, realising as he said it exactly what the Slytherin meant. "Oh! Oh - that, right, sorry..."

Draco said nothing, but his self-satisfied smirk was fully expressive enough.

"I don't think it was something I ever really realised... I just developed crushes on boys, but well - I thought I had a crush on a girl, once..."

"Really? Who? Not Granger? I always thought you liked her," Malfoy said with distaste.

"No, not Hermione - it doesn't matter, now."

The blonde boy narrowed his eyes and barked: "I want to know."

Harry was momentarily taken aback by his abruptness, but quickly regained his equanimity and firmly stated: "It's none of your business."

"I'm making it my business. Who-was-she?" The other boy was fixing him with a determined glare and the silvery eyes had begun to flash unnervingly once more. Harry had a distinct feeling he should make life easier for himself and just say, because Malfoy didn't seem about to give in.

"Cho..." he muttered reluctantly, under his breath.

"Bless you."

"I said Cho. Cho Chang!"

"Cho Chang?" he echoed in disgust. "I thought you said that, but I didn't want to believe it. Cho Chang!"

"What? She's very pretty, even if I don't feel... y'know - like that about her."

"She's a Ravenclaw."

"So?"

Malfoy made a noise that suggested he feared he might throw up.

"You're a really stuck-up little git, did you know that?" Harry told him irritably.

"No, it's just that I have standards."

"And what's wrong with Ravenclaws?"

"They're only a few million brain cells removed from Hufflepuffs. They're dull, they can't hold an interesting conversation because the only thing they think about is schoolwork, they're irritating beyond comprehension, they are appallingly predictable sportsmen because they virtually play by numbers..."

"At least they don't cheat!" Harry retorted.

"True, but they don't win either, do they?"

"They beat Hufflepuff on a fairly regular basis..."

"You say it as if that's some kind of achievement!"

"Well," Harry muttered finally. "Cho's a good flier. I thought I liked her; I'm so very sorry if that offends you."

"I fly better than her, but it doesn't mean you like me, does it?" Draco scowled.

"No, it doesn't, but it might have done if you hadn't been such an utter git all your life."

Draco glowered at him, then folded his arms and said: "And I see we've returned to where we started. So, apart from this ridiculous episode with Cho Chang, when did the proverbial knut drop?"

"It's 'penny', Malfoy."

"Well, maybe if you've been raised by Muggles."

Harry sighed and decided not to argue. "Well, I've had crushes, as I said, but I think I really realised there was something odd about me when I didn't get like Ron over Fleur Delacour."

"The veela girl from Beauxbatons?"

"Yep."

"She was beautiful, if somewhat dim."

"Well, I don't go for blondes." Harry shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on the bottom of his jumper. The silence from the other boy brought his eyes back up from his hands and he looked at him curiously. His pale skin had taken on a slightly green hue and a small point in his jaw was pulsing oddly. "What's the matter?"

"Where are the bathrooms in this place?" he asked, looking away from Harry.

"Well - the bathrooms are at the top and bottom of the tower, but there are toilets on each floor... Are you going to be sick?"

"No, I'd like to inspect the House Elves' handiwork," he snapped sarcastically, breathing irregularly and swallowing a few times.

"Oh, right. Well, it's three steps up on the left - you can't miss it."

He stood up and made to step away from the bed, but staggered and only barely managed to remain on his feet by grasping at the curtains of the bed. Harry leapt up and moved to steady him but found himself roughly shrugged off. "I told you not to touch me!"

"I was just trying to help - you'll never make it in there on your own! Come on, let me help you." Harry insisted, holding out his hands in case the other boy should stumble again.

"No." He made a defiant attempt at moving further and managed to retain his balance. Harry followed him closely, not wanting the obstinate fool to break his neck falling down five flights of stairs. He followed him right up to the cubicle and waited slightly to one side, grimacing at the wretching noises.

"You alright?" he asked during a pause. He pushed open the door slowly and found the blonde boy kneeling on the floor, one elbow on the bowl, his forehead rested on his hand. He looked dreadful.

"Yes, I'm fine," he mumbled and promptly wretched again. Harry moved into the cubicle and crouched behind him, reaching round to hold his hair out of his face and rubbing his back with the other, but ensuring he was looking very much in the opposite direction. The other boy was apparently too unwell to bother protesting by now.

"Well," Harry said optimistically. "It's probably better to get it out of your system I suppose."

Draco made an odd hiss and groaned "Piss off, Potter."

Once Draco had finished bringing up seemingly everything he had ever eaten since he was weaned, Harry helped him back to the dorm and gave him a drink from the ever-full jug on the table. "Think yourself lucky - I didn't do that for Ron when he cursed himself full of slugs," Harry told him, trying to cheer him up. The other boy gave him a dark look and muttered that he was honoured. "I think you ought to go to the hospital wing, you know," he went on with a slightly smile, "You can just say that you've been chucking up and not say why - she doesn't have to know what you did."

"Pomfrey? Not know? Pull the other one, Potter, it has bells on."

"Just lie and deny everything - you're good at that."

"Oh shut up."

Harry decided not to sit beside the other boy, but perched on the edge of Ron's bed again. "Tomorrow morning, don't go to breakfast, meet me in the entrance hall at half past seven and I'll take you to talk to Sirius and Remus - they'll know best and they'll probably bring Dumbledore down, too..." The look on the other boy's face spoke volumes. He didn't want them involved. "Draco-" Harry said as reasonably and pacifyingly as he could, "You just have to believe me on this, I know what I'm doing, alright? You want my help and I'll give it to you, but you have to do things my way; and my way involves them."

The Slytherin took a deep breath and insisted: "The moment they start judging me I'm leaving."

"Fine. That's fine - just be there, alright? I think you should be at least going to bed if you're not going to the hospital wing, though, and Ron and Hermione can't keep the others out of the dorm forever."

"No, I expect not."

Harry got up and moved to his trunk, pulling out the garment that had been of such great assistance to him since his first year. "You'll have to use this," he said, holding it out to Draco. He looked at it for a moment before reaching out a hand and touching the material with an almost reverential expression on his face.

"An invisibility cloak? You've got an invisibility cloak?"

"It was Dad's," Harry explained, pride welling inside him.

"So all this time, when I've been wandering around the school at night trying to find out where you were you had that? It's hardly surprising I never found you, is it?"

"If I'd known you were looking I would have read up on concealment spells, too," Harry teased, grinning, then, as an after thought, asked: "Hang on - why would you be trying to find me in the middle of the night?"

"Why not? It at least gave me something to do when I couldn't sleep," he shrugged, standing up and draping it around his shoulders. Harry nodded; it seemed a fair enough excuse.

"Right, we'll go. I'll take you through the common room and out of the portrait hole, then we'll find somewhere that you can take that off and we can go our separate ways, alright?" The other boy nodded, then turned to throw his things back into the bag he had brought. Together, they then made their way down the spiral staircase, Harry holding onto him to ensure they stayed together.

He let go at the door and hissed: "Stay by me, okay?"

The pair of them stepped into the room and immediately Harry was accosted by half the year. Seamus, Dean and Neville made their way up to the dorm giving him playful shoves as they went past and could finally get changed out of their outdoor robes. Ron and Hermione approached him, too, and quietly asked if everything was alright. He nodded reassuringly and whispered that he would explain later, but that he had to get down to the changing rooms and would be back shortly. Both Ron and Hermione nodded in understanding and Harry and Draco made for the portrait hole, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Inconspicuous, that is, except for Draco, who seemed to find it impossible to resist knocking over Parvati's king and shove Lee Jordan's head as he passed, so that he spilled the drink he was sipping down his front. "You're a complete git, do you realise that?" Harry frowned as the portrait closed behind them.

"You do keep reminding me, yes. But you'd be disappointed if I wasn't." To Harry's surprise, he found that it was almost true. A 'nice' Draco wouldn't be nearly as entertaining (Lee's face had been quite funny, after all).

Together they made their way down the corridor and hid in an alcove while Draco slipped off the cloak. "So, tomorrow morning, then..." Harry said with an encouraging smile.

Draco nodded. "Half past seven." He handed over the cloak and stepped out into the corridor, but hesitated and turned back to look at Harry. "One last thing, Potter..." he said quietly, reaching out a hand as if to squeeze his shoulder, but never actually making contact, "Thank you." He turned again and strode away. Harry smiled at his retreating form and made to say that it was nothing, but within a moment the other boy had disappeared behind a tapestry and was gone.