When the Darkness Broke In

Chapter ~ V

Your Beautiful Triangle of Distortion

"Everybody helps me make my own mistakes..."Mansun

Draco lay back against the thin, crisp pillows in the hospital ward, feeling extremely sorry for himself. His throat hurt from retching, he had a throbbing headache and a shrill whistling in his ears that he couldn't stop and couldn't ignore. After having all manner of vulgar potions poured down his throat and the regurgitated substances examined, he was sincerely hoping Snape would have the heart to at least leave his lecture until the morning. No such luck.

Snape swept into the wing like an enraged tornado and stopped at the foot of the bed. He hovered over the boy, his face frozen into a look of icy disappointment. "Are you still unwell, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, folding his arms carefully.

"Yes, sir, I feel appalling," Draco replied miserably, moving slowly into a sitting position.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yes; I trust any further inclination to join the Other Realm is suitably assuaged for the time being."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco lied, looking up at him unflinchingly.

Snape leaned on the foot of Draco's bed, both hands pressed hard into the mattress. "You will not take me for a fool, for I can assure you I am not one," he told him quietly, "What I am, however, is interested. Interested to know why you found it more acceptable to run to Dumbledore's pseudo-prodigy that to your own HOUSE MASTER!" He drove his fist into the bed as he bellowed the last two words, his black eyes flashing menacingly.

"I wanted him to hear it from me," Draco replied levelly.

"That does not answer the question."

Draco glared back at him defiantly. It infuriated him that Snape's only pleasure in life came from running down the only person Draco himself wanted to be like. The only person beside his mother that he truly cared about. The one person they both owed for the fact that either of them had lived this long. He was a pathetic, bitter old git, waiting for a mid-life crisis and Draco was disgusted by his need to bully Harry just to make himself feel better.

"Harry needed to know," he said, refusing to clench his teeth as he'd so dearly like to.

"And you supposed we would neglect to inform 'Harry' or his... 'guardians'?" Snape demanded, tossing the words away from him like a soiled nappy.

"He needed to hear it from me; I had to tell him myself."

"Why would you turn to that sickening little brat? Why would you even care? Does your House mean nothing to you?" Snape spat, face contorted with anger. "When did you become a Gryffindor?"

Draco slid out of bed and stepped nearer to the professor. "I am no Gryffindor, sir, and I am no child that you can bully. I know what you are."

"You know nothing."

"I saw you," Draco said evenly, silvery eyes narrowed and piercing straight into Snape's, "I saw you at the Manor, with my father, and I know whom you came to see. Such a convenient co-incidence that you were there at the same time as your old friend, sir. Or was it? Perhaps I should inform Dumbledore where you were in June...?"

"Foolish boy! You know nothing of the situation -"

"I know enough to have you thrown in Azkaban at the click of my fingers."

Snape stood up straight and advanced upon him slowly; "You will do nothing, you will say nothing." He leaned close to Draco's face, his large, hooked nose pressing close to Draco's small, retrusé one, "You know too much, and yet so very little. Still, you have the power in your -" he glanced down at Draco's clenched fists and raised one slightly "-delicate little hands to jeopardise the very existence of the convenient little back-up group you have found yourself. Your stupidity could cost people's lives. Potter, Black and... the creature... well, they know deceptively more than they have let you know." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "They don't care about you. They have the information they need to protect the Celebrity, and if they happen to bring you through alive it will be nothing more than a happy co-incidence."

Draco glowered back at him, his usually attractive face twisted and hateful, 'delicate' hands clenched into fists so tight that his fingers ached; "You're lying," he spat. "Was this your task? Is this what you have to do to win back your Master's favour - ensure I make it to the Consumption? I bet you've had a pleasant little chat with my father, haven't you? I knew I should have got rid of you before I said anything!"

"Dumbledore would never have allowed it."

"Dumbledore and Harry will stop yo; by the end of this your Master will be dead and you can join your friends in Azkaban."

"No, Draco," he corrected, his voice so low and calm that it grew even more intimidating, "it is I who will ensure your position at the end of this. You appear to have forgotten that Harry Potter and his little entourage have failed to destroy him so far. Indeed, it was with the boy's own blood that he was returned to being, were you aware of that? Your new friend brought the Dark Lord back to the truly Living." He paused, probably to revel in Draco's shock as the information sunk in. "I am disappointed in you. You have lowered yourself to the level of the Boy Wonder, his filthy little know-it-all and the incompetent ginger idiot. Dumbledore was right to keep you away from the meddling Trinity; you will have nothing more to do with them. Nothing." He straightened and contemplated the pyjama'd boy in front of him. "Should you have anything further you would like to 'expose', you will come to me. If I discover you have disobeyed me there will be consequences. Very serious consequences." He turned in a flurry of black robes and left Draco to his thoughts.

As the ward door closed, Draco pulled the curtains tightly around his bed and crawled back between the starched sheets. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so afraid. His own head of house was threatening him, working for the very people he was hoping to escape from. Now that Snape knew it wouldn't be long before his father was informed. Maybe he already has been...

Curling up into a tight ball, Draco closed his eyes and remembered the warm afternoon in June, just a few days after he had returned from school, when he had stood outside the library and seen through the crack between the doors. Snape had been there, with Lucius, and Draco could hear their voices and the voices of others - people he was sure he would recognise if he saw them face to face. Then he had heard the chilling rasp of another voice, one he had heard in his nightmares and suspected was an echo from his very early childhood. The very sound of it had filled him with terror. He had felt like frozen fingernails were scratching down his shoulders; an icy snake slithered down his spine and settled around his heart. Draco had done the only thing that he had found himself capable of; he had turned and fled.

He scrunched his eyes up tighter and wrapped an arm around his knees, the other hand fisted against his lips. They're going to come for me. I'm going to die. He could feel a lump in his throat and his breathing hitched, but he was not going to cry over this. He wouldn't let them break him down; he would fight until the end if he had to. He thought of Harry; he was determined to prove to him that he was strong; that he had the courage his father never ascribed to him. If he had just one last chance to prove himself, then he would take it. He'd show them all that they'd underestimated him. He'd make Harry wish he'd accepted his friendship, if nothing else.

But by then you won't be around to appreciate it, will you? His own voice reminded him from the back of his mind.

-That isn't the point... I just want him to realise that we could have been close. That I am worthy of him...

'Potter, Black and... the creature...don't care about you...'

-He doesn't know that. Snape doesn't know that...

It's true, though. You know it's true.

- He cared enough to save my life...

Oh, but he's the Boy Who Lived - he wouldn't have wanted to ruin his reputation, would he? He probably only did it as penance for Diggory. He's a Gryffindor - his 'moral' streak couldn't have coped with the guilt.

- That's not true!

Oh but it is!

- He was nice to me, last night...kind.

He was spiteful. He hurt you and he knew he it. This is all an opportunity for revenge for him - don't you understand that? 'I don't go for blondes'? Don't kid yourself, Draco, he'll never love you; he'll never even like you. He - can't - stand - you.

- It's not true...

Don't be so pathetic, so weak! You're behaving just like Father always said you were.

- I am better than that!

You're not good enough for Harry. He can see that, why won't you?

- I am - I'll prove it.

To whom? Who cares enough to acknowledge it anyway?

- Me. I care. I'll prove it to myself - to you. And father - and Snape.... I'll prove it to everyone...

Draco rolled onto his back and tried to ignore the laughter in his head. His 'voice of reason' had always been spiteful. It inverted the venom he usually directed at the world in general and piece by piece eroded what semblance of self-esteem his father hadn't destroyed. There were times when he despised himself almost as much as everyone else did, but now he was going to prove that hateful, taunting voice wrong. All the powers of all the Realms wouldn't stop him, let alone Snape and Dumbledore. Harry was the only thing that mattered to him and he wasn't going to give up so readily.

For years he'd hated Harry, wished that he had never met him or that Voldemort would get the better of him and rid Draco of his existence for good. Then the feeling changed; it evolved into something entirely different. He realised that he would lose the biggest part of himself if Harry died; the potential void he would leave was so enormous that Draco couldn't bear to think about it. It would be like the Kiss, having his very soul removed - for that was more or less what Harry had become to him: his soul, the very thing that gave him the ability to feel when everything else had been numbed out. It scared him. He couldn't lose Harry, because if Harry was gone there would be nothing left for him to cling to, nothing to fight for any more -- no one worth fighting with, because only the scathing reproaches Harry threw back at him ever hurt. Their 'bond', if you could call it that, was a twisted sort of lifeline to him. It proved that he was still real, still human - still capable of the feelings his father had tried to crush out of him. Being in love with Harry proved that he was his own person, could think for himself, even if it meant he could never truly be what his father expected him to.

His grandmother had said, once, that it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. He wished he knew whether to have loved someone who hated you was also better than never having loved at all... To Draco it felt like a constant and painful hunger - a pain of the kind he had felt when he stopped himself from eating for days as punishment for displeasing his father - only infinitely worse. Every time he saw Harry, saw that he was happy the way he was - that he didn't need Draco the way Draco needed him - his world came crashing down around him. And it happened on a daily basis. Yet, when he saw Harry looking melancholy - or even suspected that something had upset him - Draco would feel depressed for days, wishing that there was something he could do to restore the other boy's radiant smile to where it belonged. He'd put him on a pedestal and Harry was coming precariously close to blocking out the light.

Yet, his grandmother had also said that if you wanted something strongly enough, and made the effort to achieve it, anything was possible. Draco wished that his grandmother were still around; he missed her desperately. Thinking of her reminded him of being a child. He remembered playing with her in the orchard in late spring, throwing sticks for Cerberus, as his heavily pregnant mother sat on the swing and smiled at the three of them. And he knew, as he stared up at the blank stone ceiling of the hospital ward - a canvas on which his mind painted pictures from his childhood - that he couldn't give up until his father had paid for his actions. He wouldn't let him get away with taking so many lives. His mother still had a chance if Lucius was gone - they could live happily ever after, just like the people in the stories his grandmother had told him so often. And if not, then at least he would have punished his father for all the things he'd put them through. And Harry - Harry always wanted what was right, and he'd said himself how evil Draco's father was. He'd show Harry whose side he was on, if he didn't believe him already. Snape could go and whistle, because if it killed him Draco was going to speak to Harry and find out where he stood. And then, he would sort out his father... one way or another.

~*~

Harry was careful to sit facing in the direction of the Ravenclaw table at dinner. Gavin hadn't arrived yet and he could feel his stomach bubbling with nerves at the knowledge that he would walk in at any moment. Hermione was giving him extremely curious looks and kept leaning in to whisper to Ron, who flapped her away and told her Harry'd tell her later. She clearly wasn't satisfied by his unswerving responses and kept peering over her shoulder at the Ravenclaw table until Ron firmly grasped her ponytail and pulled her head back to face the front.

When Gavin finally walked into the room with Simon Wood and a lanky boy that Harry had only ever heard called "Bambi" (which was, the twins claimed, short for Bamboo) he looked over at the Gryffindor table and gave him a broad smile and a wink. Harry thought his cheeks were about to catch light, they were burning so hot. He studied his robes nervously and glanced over his shoulder towards the Slytherin table, simply so he didn't stare at the Ravenclaw. To his surprise, Draco still hadn't arrived; in fact, by the time dinner was over Harry (and every one else who had heard the tale of Malfoy throwing up in 'Pugsy' Parkinson's cauldron in the middle of detention) had begun to assume he was still in the hospital wing.

As Harry followed a bickering Ron and Hermione out of the Hall he was growing considerably uneasy about the Slytherin's well being. What if we should have made him go to Madam Pomfrey yesterday? What if he's actually done some proper damage to himself or something? Some drugs can take days to kill you... Paracetamol! It's paracetamol, I'm sure it is... What if the pink packet had paracetamol in the pills? Ffff... frig! He ran a few paces to catch up with the other two and grabbed Hermione's arm.

"Herm, you know those pills?"

"The ones... er, from yesterday?"

"Yeah, those ones. What did it say on the boxes? What was it you thought was dangerous?" Harry asked, urgently.

"Pain killers," Hermione told him, "for period pains..."

"Yep, yeah no more detail on that front, ta, Hermione!" Ron interrupted quickly.

"What kind of pain killers, though? Because I remember one of the neighbours at Privet Drive tried to do herself in and Aunt Petunia was telling Mrs. Maple from two doors down that she'd taken paracetamol. It messed up her liver or something like that, but it would have taken her days to die from it."

Hermione looked at her friend's wide green eyes, less than surprised at the concern he was showing for the boy who was supposed to be his worst enemy. "Don't panic, Harry," she told him, "it was aspirin. Snape was right. I really don't think the amount he took would have killed him, anyway."

"Killed who?"

All three jumped as the twins appeared, broad grins stretched over their freckled faces.

"No one."

"Oh yeah? Didn't sound like it to us..."

"Well it's none of your business, so keep your noses out!" Ron scowled, prodding Fred on the tip of his and getting a clip around the head in retaliation.

"We're not interested anyway, are we, Fred?"

"Nope - we've got better things to be doing-"

"- too secret to tell you -"

"- more exciting -"

"- more fun. Catch ya later, scruffy head!" George ruffled Ron's hair and they set off through a false wall to a hidden staircase.

Ron shook his head to flatten his hair. "Told you," he said to Harry, "No bloody use whatsoever."

The three of them carried on up to the common room, but all through the first prefects' meeting of the year and the impromptu celebration that broke out after the names of the new members of the Quidditch team were posted, Harry could only think of one thing: How was Draco doing? By the time the Gryffindor common room emptied, after midnight, Harry had a full case of the jitters. He'd lost count of the amount of times Hermione had slapped his hands away from his mouth to stop him biting his nails and Ron finally demanded to know precisely what he was behaving like an expectant father for.

"I'm not!"

"You bloody are!"

"He's acting as though he worried, if you ask me..." Hermione mused, "And the only thing to be worried about at the moment is-"

"His date with Gavin Cross?"

Hermione shot him a dark look, "Malfoy."

Harry frowned. "Of course I'm worried! The bloody idiot tried to kill himself on my bed. Mine. I'm sick of people always dying around me, even if it is people I... Even if it's Malfoy." He stood up and made for the portrait hole.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione called after him.

"I'm fine. Really. I'm just going for a walk, that's all."

"Well, would you like us to come?" she asked, worriedly.

"No offence, Herm, but no." He stepped away from the portrait and it closed behind him.

Ron flopped back on to the sofa and picked up a left over pumpkin puff from the table beside them. "Bloody good Samaritan."

~*~

Sirius sat at the kitchen table with a cold mug of coffee between his hands. He was staring into it like a crystal ball and had been for the past two hours. He hadn't seemed to notice when Remus had stood in the doorway and watched him do nothing but think. He didn't appear see the worried expression on his friend's face. He'd had these moments every now and then since he'd moved into the cottage, but usually they would last twenty minutes at worst, and he would promptly snap out of it and act like an idiot again. Remus was starting to grow concerned, afraid that the dread of his friend's nightmares may be spilling over into waking life.

The first night Sirius arrived at the cottage they were both ecstatic to be together again - the last of the Marauders properly reunited. It had been a good night. They'd talked and talked and the fractured closeness was remoulded. They joked about old times as though the past fourteen years had been filled with prosperity and joy, not death and fear. The tranquillity didn't last, though, and Remus was woken sharply in the night by a chilling cry that caused him to leap out of bed and rush into Sirius's room in terror of finding a Dementor bowing over the other man, having just executed the Kiss. All he found was Sirius, lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, blankly. He was drenched with sweat and shaking; he seemed to be asleep with his eyes open and Remus had had no idea what he should do. He had spent the rest of the night sitting beside him, stroking his hair and waiting for the dawn.

Afterwards, Sirius had confided that memories of Azkaban plagued him in sleep, when he had no control over his subconscious mind and could be taunted by thoughts he had blocked out after fleeing the prison. They hadn't improved, although Sirius regularly insisted that he was fine and Remus shouldn't worry about him, and when they had heard Harry would be coming to live with them they had spent almost a week preparing Sirius's room so the boy need never hear his screams. The only problem with that was that Remus didn't hear them, either.

Slowly, Remus moved to the table and sat down close enough for his presence to be felt, but not close enough to encroach on Sirius's personal space.

"Sirius?" Nothing. This wasn't looking good, and Remus was afraid to touch him in case it had the same effect as waking a sleepwalker. "Padfoot?"

Slowly, Sirius raised his head and looked at the other man. "Hm?"

"I think that coffee must be cold, now."

Smiling wearily, Sirius asked: "What time is it?"

"Late. You've been sitting here for a couple of hours - are you alright?" Remus told him, carefully taking the mug from the other man's hands.

"Of course I am. When have I ever been anything but, eh?"

"Sirius, don't try and pretend there's nothing wrong when you've spent the past two hours completely catatonic with a cold cup of coffee in your hands," Remus said, searching his eyes for some clue.

"It started out hot!" Sirius retorted, mock-indignantly, "You make me sound like a madman!"

Sighing, Remus stood up and poured the coffee down the sink. "Do you want another?"

"Are you?"

"No, I'm going to bed soon..."

"Well, no thanks, then."

Remus leaned back against the sink and studied him again. "There was a time when you used to tell me everything - whether I wanted to know it or not." He gave a small, reminiscent smile. "Especially when I didn't."

Sirius nodded and picked at his fingernail. "I know, Moo."

"You can still talk to me if you want to. In fact, I wish you would, because I don't understand what makes you have these turns." He returned to his friend's side, crouching with one hand on the table and one on his arm, looking up into hollow blue eyes that lacked their usual sparkle. "James would think you'd lost your marbles, wouldn't he? He used to think you were losing it when you stayed still for more than ten seconds..."

Sirius's face was spread with a broad smile, but his eyes were unfocused, as though he were looking backwards into himself, searching for a memory hidden away somewhere deep within. "He did say that once, didn't he? That he thought I was going 'utterly mental' because I was copying down your notes from History..."

"Yeah, that's right," Remus smiled back, glad that he had picked a good memory to draw on. "He wanted you to help him fill Lily's bed with spiders while she was at book group..."

"And I didn't want to because I was..." Sirius paused and scanned Remus's face, almost as if taking it all in to help him draw the rest of the memory forward, "because I was..."

"Going to get a detention," Remus finished, standing up and running a hand through his greying hair.

"Was that all?" Sirius asked, frowning. "It would normally have taken more than that to make me copy out so many notes, wouldn't it?"

"Yes... normally." Remus gave a slightly pained smile and walked into the living room. "James persuaded Petey to help him, remember?" he said, loudly enough for Sirius to hear him in the next room.

"Did they get the wrong bed...?" Sirius asked, vaguely, appearing in the doorway between the rooms with one hand to his mouth, pensively.

"Um... No, I think that was when they wanted to plant cockroaches in her top drawer... and they managed to put them in Isobel Strange's instead," the other man corrected, "It was weeks before she'd speak to any of us, wasn't it?"

"God... Yeah, it was - and you and I hadn't even done anything!" Sirius sat down on the sofa beside Remus, chuckling to himself. "Where were we when that happened?"

It was a moment before Remus answered, and when he did so it was with one of the smiles Sirius had always called his 'charlie-grins'; charlie short for charlatan. "I don't know," the fair-haired man said, eventually, "Maybe I'm losing my memory in my old age..."

Sirius looked at him, scrutinising his face for further explanation. He knew it was there, but he couldn't place it.

Remus stood up suddenly, and murmured, "I'm going to head up, I think. I'll see you in the morning."

Staring after him in confusion, Sirius muttered goodnight to an empty room.

Later, Sirius lay in his bed, staring out at the black sky through the window across the room. He knew Remus was lying to him about not remembering and it hurt because he didn't understand why the only person he had thought he could rely on wouldn't help him. The memories were still there, hidden away where the Dementors hadn't been able to reach them, but Sirius had pushed the most precious ones down so deep he couldn't bring them back on his own. Sometimes they would float within touching-distance and useless snippets would come back, comprehensible only for a second before they vanished again, leaving him confused and frustrated. Even in sleep he was taunted by things he couldn't distinguish between products of his imagination or memories twisted and blurred into the madness of dreams. The things that did return, though, left him disorientated. So many feelings came without pictures but with an innate knowledge that they were associated with certain people - loyalty with James, protectiveness with Remus and mischievousness with Peter. Some were just emotions, scattered and meaningless with no reference points and no way of linking them to other things. He felt bereft and alone, although he went out of his way to hide it; confused by the closeness that Remus always seemed to sweep away when he began to grow sentimental. Sirius wanted to remember life before Azkaban - before it had all gone so terribly wrong - but without the help of the only remaining person he knew had been there, he realised that so many things could be lost forever.

He climbed out of bed with an effort and walked to the window. On the crooked sill stood a picture frame with a photograph from their passing out feast - their last day as children before they faced the outside world. Three and a half years before it all went so horribly wrong. All the Marauders were there, sitting on the bench with their backs to the table - in James's case sitting on the table with his arms around Lily on the bench in front, between Peter and Sirius himself. Their friends surrounded them; Isobel Strange, apparently having forgiven them for the cockroach incident, was perched on Peter's knee while Florence Fortescue sat next to James, leaning an arm on his shoulder. Sirius's younger brother Elias knelt on the table behind them both, waving and grinning; his short black hair and glasses making him look more like James than Sirius. Jennifer Potter sat next to Remus, smiling a smile exactly like James's. She had just finished her O.W.L.s and had got straight 'A's, so they had charmed a small lilac cloud to float above her, flashing the word 'GENIUS' in pink. And Miranda Fletcher sat cross-legged on the floor, pouting faux-pretentiously and twirling her brown curls around a finger.

The thing that always drew Sirius's attention, though, was the way he and Remus kept looking at each other. There were long, lingering glances and small smiles. It could be that they were 'thinking to each other' - as Peter always called it - moments when they seemed to communicate without saying a word. Remus had told him all about it, explained that they had come to the conclusion it was down to their canine counterparts and since they had been back under the same roof it was growing easier and easier to do - it was extremely useful when something needed to be said that Harry shouldn't hear, but what Sirius wanted to know was what they were 'thinking' to each other. If he knew perhaps it would bring some lost memory back - something that would make the rest of it make sense.

He looked out across the grounds to the castle, at the distant top of Gryffindor Tower and the flag billowing in the breeze. Harry would be sleeping there, now, tucked up in the very room the Marauders had planned most of their scams in. Harry's photo album... He put the photograph down and went to his godson's room. Harry left the album in his bedroom, now. The picture Remus had framed for him seemed to be enough to keep in the dorm, and he could always come home in the evenings and weekends and look at the album as much as he wished. Sometimes he spent hours going through it from cover to cover again and again... It made both Sirius and Remus sad to watch him, reminded them that he had been deprived of the most basic human right... So, when he was at home, Remus would tell him little stories of their antics - always focusing on James and Lily, of course - and Sirius would listen as intently as Harry, hoarding away the information for later piecing together.

Sirius opened the door quietly and slipped in. The room was tidy - tidier than his own bedroom had been at fifteen, anyway - and the album took pride of place on the neatly made bed (which was probably Remus's handiwork). Closing the door quietly behind him, Sirius crept over to the large, wrought iron bedstead and sat down. Lighting the bedside lamp, he picked up the album and opened the front cover hesitantly. The first image looking back at him was James and Lily with baby Harry on their first wedding anniversary. He remembered that with a flash of white light. He could hear Lily's laughter again for a second, as James told him to hurry up because he was sure the baby had just 'done a nasty one'. It echoed through him, coming in waves like a half-tuned radio.

'Come on, Siri, hurry up, will you?'

'He's alright, aren't you kiddo?'

'Yes, but James is holding him, not you, Padfoot...'

-Remus's laughter, close beside him. The smell of wine... Peter's voice further away, telling someone that somebody was supposed to be training up for the reconnaissance sector but couldn't even take a picture without attracting the attention of the whole room... James again, telling him to hurry... Lily cooing at the baby and allowing his tiny fist to grasp her finger...

Sirius gazed at the photo, but he could see the whole room... a party. Elias and Clara sitting at a table... James's mother and father looking on happily... James and Lily with their son... fumbling with the camera... James telling him to hurry... Telling me to hurry... I took this... I took this picture... Snapping back into real-time he closed his eyes. Things were coming back... They were so happy that night... we were all so happy...

Sirius opened his eyes and turned the page. The wedding... There he was, this time, laughing behind James as the groom gazed so lovingly at his new wife in her flowing white robes that it brought a lump to Sirius's throat. They were all there, again - Jennifer in her pale blue bridesmaid's gown, Miranda the maid of honour in pink, Florence with Miranda's brother, Mundy, her fiancé. Peter and Remus, the ushers, dressed in grey and red stood to James's right.

This was taken just before she threw the bouquet and it hit Remus in the face...He got pollen in his eye...he could hardly see for a week!. Sirius chuckled to himself as he heard Remus's string of old-fashioned exclamations all over again...

Lily fussing over him, making James laugh... 'Oh poor, poor Moo - I'm so sorry!'

'Flippingflamingblastedbothersome stupid bloody flowers!'

Laughter... lots of people laughing...

'Aww, that's our Moony - anyone else would have just shouted: "FUCK!"'

'Don't mck me, Potter.'

'Yeah, don't mock him, Potter, can't you see the poor lamb's suffering?'

'One more sheep's clothing joke, and I promise to find somewhere extremely interesting to put these, Sirius.'

'Well, I don't think I believe the superstition anymore...' - Peter, laughing at the fuss - 'because I can't see Moony getting married any time soon...'

Remus holding one hand over his eye... and a look... a look from Peter to Sirius... 'I'd better go and wash this...' Remus turning and walking into the rambling old hotel by the river where the wedding had taken place...

Lily again, troubled, this time: 'Peter...!'

'What? Padfoot can make a wolf joke and I can't even say that?'

James, sighing; 'It's a bit different, Pete...'

Sirius's own voice: 'He'll be all right, you know Remus...'

Miranda walking out of the large old doors with a drink... 'Yeh know, Remus jes' rushed pas' me lookin' like he'd lost a galleon an' foond a knut. Somethin' wrong?'

A murmur from the gathering... looks exchanged awkwardly...

'Maybe you should go and see if he's okay, Siri...' Jennifer, touching his arm...

'What? Why me?

James... exasperated... 'You bloody know why!'

'James! Don't-' Lily... Lily blushing and looking at Sirius.

'Because yeh're a dozy idiot and y'always cheer 'im up. Go on, go.'

Sirius struggled to pull more of the memory towards him, like a magician pulling a string of handkerchiefs from a top hat. There was a bathroom... a large gilt mirror and busy wallpaper... He remembered finding Remus just gazing at himself. Staring and staring, one pale hand clutching some wet tissue, but just staring at himself impassively. What had Sirius said to him? He knew there was something... something that had... That made him happy...

'Moo?'

Remus not looking at him... not meeting his eye... like when he tried to lie and couldn't keep up the act...

'I'm fine, Siri, go back to the reception...'

Jumping to sit on the row of sinks...nudging Remus with his fist... 'Nope.'

Big eyes... a rabbit in headlights... a green that reminded him of peppermints.

'You have to give your speech soon...'

'Stuff it, they can wait...'

'Sirius, please...'

'Not going anywhere unless you come with me.'

Remus's voice... desperate... sad... 'Please, leave me alone, Siri... just for a while.'

'He didn't mean to upset you, Moo.'

A smile...not a happy smile... a 'charlie-grin'...'Many a truth is spoke in jest...'

'Yeah, but many a joke is spoke in jest, as well and there's a wedding going on out there and the bride is worried about you.'

'Well go and tell her I'm fine and she can stop worrying.'

'But you're not, Remus, and Lily always knows when I lie. You know she does. And she cares about you...'

The flow of the memory broke. Tiny snaps of phrases filtering through haphazardly.

'...all care...you'

'...alone...'

'...got us...'

'...you...'

'...unhappy...sorry...'

'...stupid...always...'

'...understand...don't realise...I'm not...'

'...know you...'

'...joke...'

'...want me...anyway'

'...if...marry you...luckiest...alive...'

Sirius dropped the album as light flooded into the room. Looking up, he saw Remus standing in the doorway, almost silhouetted in the luminosity from the landing. And in that moment the floodgate broke; he knew what Remus was hiding.

~*~

Harry wandered around aimlessly for a while, taking random turns and staircases as he came upon them, repeating "He's fine, it's just Madam Pomfrey being over-cautious..." like a mantra, until the words became jumbled and he didn't even know what he was saying any more. He wasn't surprised when he found himself standing outside the hospital wing, even though he'd had no intention of going there. He stared at the dark wooden door and took a deep breath. What are you even thinking? Just go back to the Tower. It's stupid worrying so much when you know he's probably fine. He'd laugh in your face if he could see you now. And to think you accused him of being a stalker, yesterday! Never the less, Harry's hand reached out to hover above the doorknob, seemingly of its own accord. But what if he's not? What if he's really ill and it's all your fault for never giving him the chance to tell you? You'll have killed him, too. No. That's stupid. It wasn't my fault, I never asked him to do it. But he'll still be dead... I couldn't live with that, knowing it was my fault. But even if I walk in there now, I can't save him. He'd want me to be there, though; I know he would. And since when do I care what Malfoy wants? Since he gave up everything to keep you alive, that's when. That's a life debt, and you know it. You owe him, Harry. Harry closed his eyes and took a second deep breath, which was expelled in a small yelp as the door was flung open before him. He found himself staring into a pair of eyes that shone like a cat's in the darkness, and for an irrational moment thought he had been caught by Mrs. Norris.

"What are you doing here?" Draco hissed, staring up and down the corridor as though he expected Filch to leap out from the shadows at any moment.

"I'm... nothing. I was just walking around and I sort of... I just ended up here," Harry shrugged, blushing into the darkness.

"You 'just happened' to end up here?" the blonde boy asked, carefully, "No motive whatsoever?"

"Er...yeah. I mean no!" Told you to go to bed, you idiot!

Harry could feel his cheeks burning brighter and wondered why so many things had happened in the past few days that had made him blush. As if one thing at a time wasn't bad enough to cope with! In addition to his 'honorary godfather' thinking he was seeing Malfoy, Snape making a show of him in class, falling down the front steps, making an idiot of himself in front of Gavin Cross and snogging his best mate he had now also been caught loitering by the one person whose attention he'd have preferred to avoid. Sod's Law 6, Potter nil.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Harry asked, hoping to divert the conversation away from himself.

"I was coming to find you, actually. You've rather conveniently saved me the bother."

Sod's Law 7, Potter nil.

"Oh."

"Quite. Come on, you mindless idiot, let's break into some obscenely under-protected classroom and sit down."

Harry found that he didn't have much choice in the matter, as a pair of small hands with an oddly tight grip clamped onto his shoulders, turned him around and frog-marched him along the corridor. Between them they managed to break into the Arithmancy classroom without any problems and settled down on top of a couple of desks. Harry had never been in the Arithmancy classroom before. He stared around at the number charts and tables and was glad he hadn't chosen to take the subject.

"Snape came to see me, you know."

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the other boy. "Well, he's your House Master - and you're evidently his favourite student - he was probably worried," he suggested.

"He's working for Voldemort."

Harry opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Of course, he knew about Snape - he was infiltrating the Death Eaters and risking his life to help the Order. He didn't know what to tell the other boy to stop him thinking they were putting him at greater risk, because he couldn't blow Snape's cover.

"I need to know something," the blonde boy said suddenly.

"Well, if I know the answer I'll tell you. If I don't you'll just have to believe me, though..."

"Of course I'll believe you!" Draco replied a little too quickly, then stared off into the middle distance for a moment. "You're an honourable Gryffindor, after all." Harry gave a small smile and continued to watch him as his attention moved to the large, round window and the sky beyond it. "I need to know what happens now and I need to know why you're doing this."

"What? I - well, I dunno what happens now. That's something I really can't answer because I don't know what Voldemort's going to do - as much as I wish I did... But as for why I'm doing this... well, you asked me to. I couldn't have just ignored you after finding you unconscious on my bed, could I?" Harry absently picked at the splintered chip on the side of the desk he was sitting on. "I'm sick of there always being so much death around me... sick of it all coming back to lie on my shoulders because I'm the Boy Who Lived and now I have to make up for it by saving everyone else's lives all the time." He raised his eyes to the other boy's, "But I would have done all I could to save you, no matter who you were..."

Draco stared at him in silence (which made Harry feel deeply uncomfortable) before murmuring: "So it has nothing to do with you wanting to save me, it really was because you were making up for Diggory."

"'Making up for Diggory'?" Harry echoed angrily, "I can't believe you just said that. You think I wanted to save you - not that you actually needed it, if you remember, because you couldn't even kill yourself properly - you think I did that because I couldn't save Cedric? You actually think that's a worthy exchange? I... I just can't believe you, Malfoy. But I suppose I should have known that you'd be the first to blame me. What next? Planning to accuse me of actually killing him, too?" Shaking, Harry stood up and made for the door, only for the other boy to dart in front of him and engulf himself in flames so he couldn't even push past him. "Get out of my way, Malfoy."

"No." His eyes seemed to flicker with an icy white light, too cold to be rage, too controlled to be pain.

"You expect me to stay here after what you just said?" Harry half-yelled, feeling tears of anger try to force themselves out.

"That isn't what I said, and let's face it, you don't have much choice. This does burn mere mortals like you, you know."

"Are you planning to use that to get your own way all the time, now? It's a nice party trick, but it's not that much of a defence, really, is it? Not in a world where someone can kill you without being anywhere near you."

"No, but it's a fairly good preventative measure when it comes to temperamental Gryffindors."

Harry sighed and leant back against the nearest desk, feeling helpless. "What do you want from me, Draco? I've helped you out - I've done what I promised I would-"

"Yes, but why?" The flames disappeared, leaving the same perfect skin and immaculate robes unsinged, "I need to know, because I need to know if it's true." The imploring look confined solely to the other boy's eyes and touching no other part of his pale face made Harry's insides wrench in two directions, unsure whether to bolt for the door now that the obstruction had been removed or drag him into a hug and murmur 'There, there' as though he were a tot who'd lost his favourite teddy.

"I don't understand, Draco..."

"He said that now you've got the information from me you'll leave me to fend entirely for myself. If I come through this with my Life he said you'll consider it a 'happy coincidence'."

"Who said that? Snape?"

Draco nodded and fumbled in his pockets until he found a cigarette packet, which turned out to be empty. He scrunched it up and threw it on the floor in annoyance.

"Draco, I dunno what Snape's trying to do, but that's not true. Not at all!" Harry told him, moving to stand in front of him and squeezing his arm reassuringly, receiving a quelling look in return. He quickly let go and stuffed his hands under his arms. "Dumbledore - and all the teachers here - will rally round and protect you as much as they can. No one can hurt you while Dumbledore's around. You heard what he said - he admires your honesty and bravery! He's going to get you trained up to use your... whatever you want to call it - 'gift', I guess..."

"And in return I'll be expected to fight for the Order, I suppose?"

"If that's what you want," Harry replied, "but they aren't going to force you to do anything. They don't use intimidation like Voldemort does. They just... they let people make their own decisions. That way no one can really regret it. Not properly..."

"How very diplomatic."

"Well it's better than being trapped like some Mafioso or something!"

"Oh and that makes Voldemort the Godfather, I suppose?"

"Godfather?"

"That's what they call them, isn't it? Those Muggles who run Italian families?" Draco asked, smirking.

"Yeah, but how did you know that?"

"I'm not entirely incapable of absorbing Muggle culture, you know. Particularly if I feel I can identify with it."

Harry found himself laughing. Of all the surreal conversations to be having...

"How can you laugh about this? This is my entire future at stake, here!" the blonde boy demanded irately, reaching out as if he wanted to shake the Gryffindor senseless, but refraining with an obvious struggle and stepping back.

"I'm sorry - I wasn't laughing at you. It's just that I never would have believed I'd be sitting here like this, with you, talking about cult Muggle movies at one o'clock in the morning if you'd told me I would be, three days ago. It's quite... odd."

Slowly, a half-smile broke onto the other boy's face. "I suppose it is, a bit. But it doesn't change the fact that the only reason you're making the slightest ounce of effort is your over-blown Gryffindor dutiful streak."

"'Dutiful streak'?" Harry laughed in disbelief, "Just drop the self-pity, will you, Draco? The fact of the matter is that you didn't do enough to kill yourself. I did wonder, what with you being up here all day, but obviously you didn't, so I don't have to worry any more. And as you didn't do enough to kill yourself, and are seriously over-reacting, I don't understand why you're throwing such a wobbly about it now."

"You were worried about me?" Draco asked after a moment, barely above a whisper.

"For God's sake, how many times do I have to go through this?"

"He told me you couldn't care less about me."

"Draco, Snape cannot stand me. He hates me. And I strongly suspect that our 'feud' finally coming to a conclusion has thoroughly hacked him off. What he's doing is trying to convince you I'm the conceited little prat he thinks I am. Do you usually believe everything he says?"

"He's my House Master."

"What, and that means he speaks the Divine and Pious Word, does it? Are you telling me you actually do believe everything the man says?"

Draco scowled at him but didn't answer.

"Well, that answers the question..."

The other boy turned away angrily and, lifting his hand, punched the air towards the floor. The nearby discarded cigarette packet was instantly frazzled.

"Draco! Stop it, alright? This pyro stuff is really starting to freak me out!" Harry cried in alarm, recoiling from him nervously, "I can't believe you told Dumbledore you aren't trained!".

"I'm not 'trained'. Working it out for yourself can be hours of fun," the Slytherin replied sarcastically, transferring a tiny flickering flame from finger to finger.

"How do people deal with you, Draco?" Harry yelled, watching the other boy's hands, desperate to grab them, make them stop fiddling with the flame. It obviously didn't hurt him, but Harry's instincts were to stop him playing with something he automatically perceived as dangerous. "Draco, I said stop it!"

Reluctantly, Draco caught the flame in his fist then opened his palm to show Harry it was gone.

"I try to help you and all I get in return is tantrums and accusations," Harry said, rubbing his brow, "Tantrums, accusations and freaky games with fire... Either you want to sort this out or you don't. Just make your sodding mind up because trying to be patient with you is taking up a lot of energy."

"This is you being patient?"

Harry gave him a thoroughly irritated look and didn't trust himself to reply.

Clearly, Draco could also see the brink was painfully near. "I'm sorry," he murmured awkwardly, grey eyes looking anywhere but at Harry.

"Are you?"

"I just said so, didn't I? I never apologise for the same thing twice."

"You mean you regularly apologise for things once?"

Draco gave him a cold look.

"Alright, alright - apology accepted. But just don't start again, for God's sake..." Harry sat back down on the desk and decided to restart the conversation from where it should have begun. "So, are you feeling any better, now?"

"Slightly."

"Not likely to throw up all over this classroom? That was pretty toxic vomit, by the way."

"It reacted with the potion, that's all. And no, I'm not about to find you another little chore. I don't think so, anyway..."

"Good. Just please don't try that again," Harry said, "As much as I hate to admit it, you really had me worried..."

"Did I?" The tiny inflection of hope that slipped into Draco's voice made Harry's conscience twinge.

You're so harsh to him, even though you know how he feels...You should have been a Slytherin yourself, Potter...

"Yeah... Yeah, you did worry me. I really didn't want you to die, Draco."

"Thank you," he said, looking at him meekly, "You can't begin to realise how much that means to me."

Embarrassed by the other boy's rare display of weakness, Harry found himself muttering: "I couldn't help it - it wasn't intentional." He instantly regretted it when he saw the look in the other boy's eyes, but decided not to try and dig himself out of that particular hole. After all, it was true.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but Draco finally composed himself and broke the silence by asking: "Are you looking forward to going down to the village at the weekend? It's quite early this year, isn't it?"

"Er... yeah. They aren't sure how long it'll be safe enough to let us go down there, I think." Don't mention Gavin, don't mention Gavin, don't mention Gavin, don't mention Gavin...

"I'll be glad to get out of here, even if it is only for a few hours. I can't bear being stuck in the same place all the time. I hate feeling trapped, don't you?"

"Er, yeah, but growing up in a cupboard for the first eleven years of your life sort of makes you glad to have any space," Harry shrugged.

Draco's silvery eyes widened; "It's true? Those filthy Muggles really did keep you in a cupboard? I thought it was a stupid rumour!"

"No, it's true. But when I started here they moved me into Dudley's second bedroom - where he used to keep his toys. You should have heard the fuss he made..."

"The spoiled little brat actually begrudged you that?" Draco demanded furiously. "Do they even know who you are?"

"They know I'm a wizard - nothing else counted for much. They hate me even more than you."

Draco hesitated, as though he was going to say something about not hating him, but seemed to change his mind, instead saying: "I knew there was a reason I hate Muggles. They have no respect."

"And you do?"

"For people who deserve it! I cannot believe those barbarians kept you of all people in a cupboard! It's sickening. I can't believe you never did anything about it."

"Well, I didn't even know who I was until Hagrid told me and I came here. I thought my parents died in a car crash and that that was where my scar came from... Then Hagrid came and I found out the truth. After that things changed. Only a bit, admittedly, but it was better than nothing. I thought everyone knew..."

"Well I'd heard it, but I thought it was a ridiculous rumour. Like the one that Longbottom has been put forward to a scholarship at the Fecundfield Academy."

"Oh no, that's true, too," Harry told him. "Professor Sprout's really impressed with him. He's brilliant at Herbology. When he's done his O.W.L.s he's taking an entrance exam and after his N.E.W.T.s he's taking a V.I.N.E."

"A V.I.N.E.?"

"Very Impressive Nurturing Examination. Or something."

Draco gave a small chuckle of disbelief. "Wonders will never cease."

"Oi - Neville's not actually thick, he's just a bit hapless. He's spent all his life being brought up by a really strict granny and he's not very confident. Leave him alone."

"Oh I do apologise. I never realised he was such a sore point for you," Draco teased smugly.

"Do you know why he lives with his gran, Draco?"

"No, why would I?"

"Right, well I'm going to tell you something and I need to know I can trust you to keep it to yourself, alright?"

Draco looked vaguely taken aback but said: "You have my word, go on."

"He lives with her because his mother and father are locked up in St. Mungo's with Peter Pettigrew. They were severely tortured by the Death Eaters - mainly the Lestranges, I think - and it drove them insane. They don't even recognise him. And I'm the only one who knows. I was told in confidence and I need you to help me keep that. But don't ever put Neville down again, alright? He's put up with a lot more than I'd be able to."

Draco didn't answer; he merely looked at the floor.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked eventually.

"I'm fine."

"I don't think I believe that," Harry said, leaning forward to look beneath the other boy's curtains of silvery hair.

"The Lestranges were marked down as my guardians, should anything happen to my parents before the Consumption," Draco admitted, glancing at him. "I knew they were in Azkaban for things they did in Voldemort's name, but I didn't know it was that. Just another of my father's secrets... Aleister was brought up by his grandparents, when they were locked away. Poetic justice."

"Aleister? The one who won that award thingy when we were in the second year? Aleister's the Lestranges' son?"

"Well, that would be why he's called Aleister Lestrange, yes."

"There's no need to be sarky, Draco. He's five years older than us - I just assumed he was a nephew or something."

"Well he's not. He's their son, and I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking in keeping him here."

"You can't blame the sons for the sins of the fathers. Or so they say. Dumbledore was probably hoping to keep him on the straight and narrow. He trusts people."

"Then Dumbledore is a fool. Aleister Lestrange has never been 'on the straight and narrow'. The Lestranges are innately Dark. They have a name worse even than the Malfoys, among those with inner knowledge. They were brazen and unashamed supporters - they were revered for it. I never realised what they did, though. But I don't find it particularly surprising. Mathias, their younger son, was a few months older than me. I was told he died of cot death. It would not surprise me if he was given to Voldemort in the first wave."

"He's already taken people's Life?" Harry asked in alarm.

"Years ago. That was probably why you didn't kill him completely. He was harvesting babies; I was due for the next Consumption, I would imagine."

"God... this really is a major plan, isn't it?" Harry murmured.

"Yes, extremely."

"I'm glad you came to me," Harry said tenderly, "You may well have saved a lot of people, not just us. You're a bit of a hero."

"No, it was primarily a selfish act to save myself from something that was against my will and to keep you from the same fate."

"Well yeah, but you were obviously thinking of my welfare, too - you admitted that."

"Listen to yourself - ever the accommodating Gryffindor." He slid off the desk and moved over to the window, "Harry, the biggest reason I had to warn you was because if you were dead..." he lowered his voice and leant against the cold stonework with his arms folded, "then what hope did I have? What purpose?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He wished more than anything, though, that he could feel something for the Slytherin that was closer to what the Slytherin felt for him. All he felt was guilt at not being able to. Half of him wanted to get up and give the other boy a hug, but he was afraid firstly of being pushed away and secondly of giving the other boy the wrong impression. He didn't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily; it wouldn't be fair.

"I know you don't like me, Harry, I'm quite used to it. It's alright."

Harry looked up to find that the other boy was now leaning with his back to the window, studying his fingernails.

"Drac, I - well, I'm sorry... I do like you. I just...I can't..."

"You don't like me," Draco told him levelly, "you just feel indebted to me."

"No, Draco, honestly - I like you. I do," Harry insisted, and found he wasn't really even lying.

"Well, you're rather fickle, then, aren't you? You've hated me for four years, now you spend a few hours in my company and suddenly you like me."

"But I didn't know you, Draco, I-"

"You don't 'know' me now, either."

"Well I know you better than I did and I know you aren't half of the person I thought you were," Harry argued, standing up and tentatively making his way to where the other boy stood.

"So what, you want to be my friend, now, do you?" Draco asked, brusquely.

Harry hesitated. 'Malfoy's a prat and I have no intention of being his new best buddy...' It was less than a week since he'd said those words, but here he was, extending the proverbial olive branch. Ron is going to lynch you for this...

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'd like for us to be friends. I don't want fight with you anymore. There's going to be too much of that going on around us to put each other through it, too..."

For a moment, Harry thought the other boy was about to tell him where to stick his olive branch, but then Draco smiled at him - a wide, radiant smile that changed his face so totally he could almost have been a different person. "I don't think you and I will ever stop fighting," he grinned, "but between times I wouldn't object to giving it a try."

Relieved, Harry also broke into a grin. "Good. And you know, that's the first time I've seen you do that."

"What?"

"Smile. Properly, I mean - not just revel in someone else's misery."

The smile faltered and faded. "My reasons for smiling 'properly' are few and far between, so it's hardly surprising," he replied frigidly.

"Sorry - I didn't mean that nastily..."

"Perhaps. Doesn't alter the fact, though." They stood in silence for a few minutes before Draco asked: "So, do you have any plans for the weekend?"

Oh shit... "Um... I'm just going to do the usual, y'know? Go shopping, go to the Three Broomsticks..."

"Alone?"

"Of course not - people will be coming with me and there'll be loads of teachers around. Even Moony's giving up his Saturday to come. Although that's probably just him wanting to make sure I'm okay... He insists it's not, but he tends to mother me a bit... He should be feeling well enough by then, at least..."

"What do you mean?"

"Er - moon?"

"Oh. Yes, I forgot about that for a moment."

"Didn't you notice this morning?"

"Notice what?"

"His eyes? They turn amber in the last week before the full and they're back to normal the morning after."

"I can't honestly say I ever knew what colour Lupin's eyes were even when he taught here, actually. But they did have a yellowish tinge, this morning." Draco seemed to think for a minute before asking: "Is he safe, living just out there when the school is occupied?"

"Of course he is! Snape makes him Wolfsbane and he just curls up in front of the fire or he and Padfoot go for a long run in the forest like they used to. He's not dangerous at all if he takes that... he still suffers, though. It's really excruciatingly painful because of the deformation of the muscles and tendons and things... I feel really sorry for him. They made me stay in my room over the summer, when he was changing, but the sounds were horrible... Really horrible." Harry fell silent for a moment, remembering how the cries of agony had chilled him to the bone. "But no, Snape's Wolfsbane means he's completely safe."

"Snape?" Draco muttered darkly, "Snape?"

"What about him?"

"Do you have any idea how much he loathes Lupin? Any idea at all?"

"Yeah. They're old enemies from school. His battle is really with Sirius, now, though."

"Harry, Snape would probably poison the pair of them at the first opportunity and Lupin is drinking potions he is making him? Do you realise how absurd that is?"

"Draco, Snape might hate them, but he wouldn't hurt either of them..."

"He told us that Lupin was a werewolf in the first place, even though he knew what that would mean - I really think you're underestimating him. He refers to Lupin as the 'creature'!"

Harry's face drained of colour. He was so angry he could have walked into Snape's rooms and punched him full in the face. "He calls him what?"

"The 'creature'... Harry, I told you Snape hates him-"

"The hateful, wicked, petty old bastard. The mean, malicious little-"

"Harry-"

"I'd like to show him who's inhuman..." the Gryffindor seethed. "Bastard!"

"Do you have to keep swearing like that? It's disgusting!"

The bespectacled boy took a calming breath. "Sorry. Sorry, I wouldn't normally, but there is no word despicable enough for that wicked, iniquitous old git. There isn't. Remus is the kindest, most caring person I know. He's just... he's brilliant, and I cannot believe that even Snape could be as nasty as that about someone so fundamentally decent."

"I can. I see the way he is to you in class," Draco replied.

"Yeah, well..." the Gryffindor muttered, waving his hand dismissively, "That's different."

"It isn't."

"Whatever. It just upsets me more to think that someone would say that about him. It's like insulting someone's mother, for me."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but merely shrugged.

"Sorry... I shouldn't start shouting my mouth off, but that is just... just unnecessary."

"I'm sure it is," Draco nodded. "Listen, Harry, would you like to meet in the village, next weekend?"

Harry's jaw dropped. Oh great... "Uhm... We're not supposed to speak in public, are we?"

"Use the cloak."

"I don't want to spend all day under that thing now I'm finally allowed to go there without it, thanks. And you'd look like a complete idiot walking around talking to someone nobody can see, wouldn't you? Hermione hates doing it..."

"Fine. Don't worry, then," Draco said, turning back to the window to hide his disappointment.

"Sorry, Drac."

"Drac-o."

"Sorry - Draco. I'm just going along with what Dumbledore wants. He usually knows what he's talking about," Harry told him, half truthfully.

Reluctantly, Draco nodded. "I know... It's just going to be rather boring, that's all."

"Are you going to go alone, then? I mean, aren't Crabbe and Goyle going with you?"

"I avoid spending time with them, at the moment. Death Eaters' children aren't my favourite people just now."

"Oh... Well, what about-"

"No."

"What do you mean 'No'? You didn't even know who I was gonna suggest!"

"Yes I did."

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"Pansy."

"Ah."

"You're so predictable," the Slytherin tutted. "Let me warn you: spending time with Pugsy Pansy is even more likely to drive a man over the edge than the knowledge that he is to be used as a walking transfusion."

"Really? I mean, I know she's irritating, but can she really be as bad as all that?"

"No, no, of course not," Draco conceded. "She's worse. And her parents are Death Eaters."

Harry burst out laughing. "Oh God..."

"Yes, and she's absolutely convinced that if she pesters me enough I'll eventually give in and agree to marry her and together we'll be some super-significant power-duo under Voldemort."

"Really?" Harry chuckled.

"Unfortunately so," the blonde boy nodded. "But I won't give in. She'd be heartbroken to know-" he halted suddenly and glanced at Harry. "Well, she'd just be heartbroken."

There was an awkward moment when Harry was sure he could feel the air crackling with tension, but finally he said: "Draco, can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Oh... um..."

"Don't be an idiot, of course you can," he smirked, giving Harry the tiniest of shoves on the shoulder.

"Oh. Right, cool. Um, I was just kind of wondering whether you're actually gay... I mean, you obviously don't have to be gay just because... um...y'know... so I was just sort of curious..."

Carefully, the other boy lifted himself to sit on the windowsill. He didn't say anything.

"Draco? Look, you don't have to answer if that's too personal, I mean, I was just being nosy-"

"The honest answer?" Draco interrupted, sounding as though he was answering against his better judgement.

"If you don't mind telling me..."

"The honest answer is that I don't know."

"You mean you haven't decided? I suppose you could be bisexual - there are plenty of people who are..."

"No, I mean I've never felt anything for... well, for anyone that wasn't you."

"Really?" Harry asked in amazement, a reluctant form of pride welling up inside him. "Wow."

Making a valiant attempt at humour, Draco suggested: "I suppose it makes me Harrysexual."

Harry gave a small, polite laugh. Oh God... did he have to put it like that? This is so, so weird already. "Well," said Harry uncomfortably, "that wasn't the answer I was expecting by a long shot..."

"Well don't panic, I do not plan to molest you now any more than I did yesterday," the other boy told him, defensiveness only partially disguising the anxiety in his voice. He was deeply wishing he'd never said anything.

"Draco, you don't need to keep jumping to defend yourself all the time," Harry told him softly. "I asked, didn't I? It's flattering - I just feel bad for you."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I don't need your pity."

"I know you don't. It's not pity, it's more like empathy."

"Expert in unrequited love, are you?" Draco snapped, "Because you don't seem to know much about it."

"No, I'm not an expert. I've never... y'know - I've never been in love. I've had crushes on people who were horribly out of my league, but I've never been in love, no..."

"I know you're out of my league, Potter, there's no need to highlight the fact."

"That's not what I said, either-"

"You look down on me. You always have done, and after all, why not? I'm only the Malfoy boy, after all."

"I do not look down on you at all, you're just not-"

"Good enough for you?"

"You're just not my type!" Harry said, much more loudly and forcefully than he'd intended. A deathly silence fell upon the room. Draco looked absolutely thunderstruck. Carefully, he twisted sideways on the windowsill and turned to gaze through the glass.

"Draco?"

"Leave me alone, Potter."

"Look, I'm sorry..."

"I. Don't. Need. Your. Pity."

"Draco..."

"I thought I told you to leave me alone?"

"Don't feel bad about it-"

"What?" Draco asked in disbelief. " 'Don't feel bad about it'?" He mimicked Harry's voice as he continued, "I cannot believe you just told me 'not to feel bad about it'."

"Well you shouldn't-"

"What you don't understand, Potter, is that not being good enough I can do something about - I can change, I could prove to you that I'm better than you realise - but not being 'your type' I can't alter. There's nothing I can do about being me." The blonde boy's voice shook on the last word and Harry felt worse than ever. He wanted to cry with shame.

You cannot blame yourself for what you don't feel. It's not your problem...

-But it is. God knows it is...

"All I can say is that I'm sorry," Harry told him, feeling slightly choked, "and if I can only offer friendship then... I'll make sure it's worth it. I'm sorry..." He hesitated for a moment as Draco continued to stare through the glass, then turned and left the classroom.

When Harry stumbled through the portrait hole he expected the room to be deserted. In a large armchair in front of the dying fire sat Hermione, curled up in a ball, chewing the skin on the edge of her thumb, anxiously.

"Harry?" she asked as he climbed in, "Where have you been?"

"Around..." Harry muttered, swallowing hard.

"What's the matter? Is Malfoy alright? Nothing has happened, has it?" she said fretfully, climbing out of her chair and hurrying over to him.

"He's alright..." Harry said quietly, allowing her to take both his hands.

"Then what's the matter? You seem dreadfully upset."

"It's a long story..."

"Come on, sit down and tell me," she prompted, tugging him over to a sofa and making him sit down. She sat down beside him and tucked her legs under her gown. "It's obviously something to do with Malfoy... That is where you've been, isn't it?"

"His name's Draco, Hermione," Harry told her wearily, taking off his glasses and rubbing his closed eyes.

"Alright, so what's the matter with him, then?"

Harry couldn't find the words to answer at first. He just leaned his head back against the seat and pulled a nearby cushion onto his lap. "You mustn't tell Ron," he said finally, stroking the tassels on the cushion flat against his leg. "You mustn't tell anyone..."

"Why not?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Because he would give Draco such a hard time about it and I know he couldn't face that..."

"About what, Harry?"

"Promise me, Hermione."

"Alright, I promise."

Harry took a very deep breath and closed his eyes once more. "There's more to this whole thing than I told you yesterday..."

"What do you mean?"

"Draco does have another reason for warning me about Voldemort."

Hermione made a small noise in her throat that Harry had long-since some to understand meant 'I knew it.' "And what is this reason?"

"He..." Harry drew another long breath, "he likes me, Hermione..."

"He likes you," she echoed flatly.

Harry nodded, slowly.

"What do you mean, he 'likes you'?"

Harry was sure she knew but wanted to believe it wasn't true. "He likes me - as in... is in love with me."

"He's in love with you?" Hermione repeated, aghast.

Harry simply continued to nod.

"Well, what are you going to do about it? And why are you so upset?" she demanded, some of her compassion dissipating.

"What can I do? I just keep hurting him - I keep saying things that really upset him, and you know what he's like when he's upset-"

"No, actually, I don't. All I know of Malfoy is that he is cold, emotionless and cruel," she replied stiffly.

"Hermione!" Harry cried softly, "Hermione, you don't understand - he's extremely messed up, terrible things have happened to him - the only thing he's had to cling on to is me. And I keep hurting him... I feel really terrible about it. He begins to open up and tell me things he's probably kept bottled up for years and I open my stupid mouth and say something thoughtless which really, really hurts him." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I know he's been a really horrible person, but most of it because he's just jealous of you and Ron. He hates me because I refused his friendship and completely trampled on his self-esteem and because I'm the one who makes him feel so bad about himself..."

Hermione looked at him in a mixture of shock and confusion. "Harry, did Malfoy tell you all this?"

"More or less... some of it you can just tell from the things he says and does. I feel sorry for him... I really want to help him, Hermione."

Hermione listened to what her friend was saying with growing disquiet. This didn't seem right, somehow, for things so suddenly change after so long... "Harry, answer me truthfully, do you think you're growing to like Draco, too?"

"What? Well - well, yes, but not the same way he likes me... and that's the worst thing. That's what I told him... Why he was so upset when I left..." Harry admitted.

"He was upset?"

"Yeah... really upset. He got all snappy and told me to leave him alone. I wish I'd never raised the issue in the first place. It was a stupid thing to do. I don't want to hurt him any more than he already has been... I keep telling him he can trust me, and look what I do when he does!"

"Harry, just because Draco Malfoy claims to be in love with you it doesn't mean you have to be on tenterhooks all the time. That's no way to live! You have to carry on as normal. What are you going to do if things go well with Gavin? Put him off and be miserable simply to save Malfoy the heartache? You'd be a fool to, you know that..." She reached out and pulled him into a hug, stroking his wild hair gently. "You're too kind, Harry, too forgiving. Malfoy has spent years making you unhappy - you don't need to jump to his beck and call now, you really don't."

"I promised to be his friend," Harry told her, quietly. "He's all alone - he's pulling away from the Slytherins because most of them are in league with the Dark through their families and he doesn't want anything to do with it. I know how he's been, and maybe his excuses are a bit feeble, but he's trying hard to change towards me at the very least - or maybe I'm just seeing another side of him - but the Draco Malfoy I spoke to yesterday and tonight is different to the nasty little rich kid who called you and Ron names."

Hermione gave a heavy sigh and eased him off her shoulder. "Harry, you are my best friend and I will stand by you whatever you decide to do, but it will take considerably more than a few crocodile tears and confessions of love for me to accept that Draco Malfoy has changed. Leopards don't change their spots, do they?" She stretched out her legs and stood up. "I'm going to bed, and you should be, too. Don't worry yourself about him, Harry."

"I can't help it. He was even quite protective of Moony; he thinks exactly what I did when I first found out Snape was making him potions - that he's probably trying to poison him. He doesn't know Snape's on our side and he thinks Snape's gonna hand him back to his father or something!" He looked up at the girl, green eyes wide. "He needs us. Not just me - us-. Please, Hermione..."

"Oh Harry, what can Ron or I do? You know as well as I do that Malfoy wouldn't accept our help, even if we gave it."

"You seemed to care enough about whether he was ill or dead or not, though..."

"Whether he is alive and whether he is feeling sorry for himself are two very different matters, Harry."

"So? Either way he has no one!"

Hermione bit her lip and scrutinised him for a moment. "If it means this much to you I will be civil to him. I can't speak for Ron, though, and it doesn't mean I'll become a friend to him - but then I very much doubt that Malfoy would agree to that, anyway. I'm doing this because you asked me, Harry, not for Malfoy's sake. Goodnight."

~*~

In a classroom on the other side of the school Draco Malfoy still sat on the rounded stone windowsill. His elbows were rested on his knees and his hands were pressed into his cheeks as he watched the ancient stone of the window grow wet with his own tears.