Mirror Tricks

06/? - Unlikely Allies

Harry began to wake up and knew instinctively by the slight echo, the feeling of space and whiteness, and crisply starched sheets that he was in the infirmary again. He tried to move, but his aching body wouldn't respond, and his eyes felt swollen and thick. A low moan escaped his lips. Gentle hands touched his forehead, dabbing something cool and moist and Harry flinched as if the touch caused him pain.

"Harry? Harry, dear, open your eyes now. Come on now, Harry."

Harry instinctively tried to curl into a ball, anything to make it go away, but his limbs merely twitched unhelpfully. More hands were helping him sit up, pillows thrust under his head and back, but their softness did nothing to soothe him; he felt raw all over. He managed to open his eyes to thin, blurry slits, and winced as the bright light of the infirmary stabbed at them.

"I-I think... I'm going to be..." he croaked, and a bucket was thrust under his chin just in time, as his stomach wrenched violently. The same cool pair of hands pushed sweaty hair out of his face and eyes. Eventually, the spasms eased and stopped, leaving Harry feeling wrung and exhausted, with a distant ringing in his ears of half-remembered dreams. He felt his eyes welling, and a lone hot tear of utter misery leaked from his eye and scorched a path down his already flushed cheek. His eyes fluttered closed without having seen anything. He could still hear soothing words being whispered to him, but they stopped, assuming he was asleep.

"What's wrong with him, Poppy? Does this have anything to do with his head injury?" That was McGonagall, her voice low and worried.

"No, definitely not," came the brusque chirrup of the matron. "Although I did hear that he went flying yesterday when I precisely warned the boy not to."

"He was dreaming again." Dumbledore's low, reassuring tones broke into Harry's consciousness.

"Yes. The boys from his dormitory said he was screaming and clutching his scar, like the night Arthur was attacked." McGonagall again.

"This is unlike last time, though," Madam Pomfrey insisted. "Last time, he had no loss of consciousness, and the vomiting is worse now. He looks like someone who has been attacked for long stretches of time by the Cruciatus Curse. His body is pale and covered with bruises, and yet his face, head and neck are flushed as if with a fever. I'll treat him as best I can, although I don't understand it. Headmaster, do you know what this could be? It has to be magical in origin."

Dumbledore was silent for a time, then Harry heard him sigh.

"Yes, Poppy, I believe it is. It appears that Harry's link to Voldemort is growing stronger. Last night there was an attack on the Butterworths' down in Hampshire. Leonard and his son were tortured through the night; it was only this morning that their bodies were found. There was no Dark Mark," the headmaster mused. "Although Harry's reaction makes it almost certain that Voldemort was there in person. This is worrying, Minerva. We knew Harry had a link with him last year, but it seems that the Occlumency has failed completely, and has in fact done more harm than good to our poor boy."

"We couldn't have known," McGonagall said, in a wretched whisper as if she blamed herself. "Will you teach him this time, Albus?"

"To start with, yes. I hope Harry will be able to respond more to me than he did to Severus, although I rather suspect the damage has been done." He sighed. "I always seem to get it wrong where you're concerned, do I not, Harry?" Harry felt a warm, dry hand grasp his. He tried to squeeze it.

"I'm... sorry, sir," he whispered almost inaudibly. He felt inconsolable. His eyes flickered open to see that Dumbledore sat very close to his bed, gazing down mournfully at him. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall hovered in the background.

"Harry, you have no cause to apologise to me. Indeed it is I who owes you a further apology. I suspect that had I trusted you with the truth much earlier, many things might have been prevented. Had I explained the vital importance of your lessons with Professor Snape you might have adhered to them. But I was afraid to tell you these things. And if I had not distanced myself from you, you might not have learned not to trust me."

"I do t-trust you." Harry breathed unevenly as the distant pain began to resurface. "Al-bus!" Harry hissed desperately, the only word that came to mind, as a sharp spasm of pain arched his back and caused every muscle in his body to go rigid.

Harry did not register that Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall had leapt forward to start muttering incantations over him, or that Dumbledore had snatched his wand from within his robes and was holding it fast in his left hand, purple light billowing over both of them from its tip. All Harry was aware of was the leathery fingers and palm gripping his firmly, a blessedly safe pain, the centre of his world.

~*~

The next time Harry awoke was to low, murmuring voices, whispering on the other side of the room. He shifted where he lay, his head tilted to the right, and was surprised to find that his body no longer hurt, merely retaining the ache he barely remembered from before. The relentless nausea of then had also gone. He shivered slightly, as if cold but without actually feeling anything. The voices stopped as he opened his eyes, squinting vaguely without his glasses. They were handed to him and he put them on, wincing at the twinges spiking along his arm.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey was by his side, Professor McGonagall behind her, coming forward to sit where Dumbledore had.

"Better," he croaked, then grimaced. "Terrible."

Pomfrey seemed happier with this qualification.

"You had us worried for a time, there. Do you remember anything, Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"I was dreaming, I think. My scar was hurting, and my whole body was burning, but despite the pain... I felt elated. It was horrible." He shuddered as he remembered, dark images scuttling across his memory.

McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey shared a look, as if something they had expected had been confirmed. Madam Pomfrey nodded briefly.

"Harry," she began. "I'm afraid you're going to have to stay in the infirmary until further notice."

"What? Why?" Harry sounded distressed.

"These dreams of yours are quite frequent, are they not?" She evaded his questions.

"Not that frequent. I've only had a couple like this before. It was real, wasn't it? Someone was attacked."

McGonagall nodded her head solemnly.

"Leonard and Theodore Butterworth. Their bodies were found earlier this morning. Potter, Professor Dumbledore and I believe that your connection with Voldemort has grown much stronger. I'm sure you are aware of the implications. We would like to try an intensive course of Occlumency, here in the infirmary where you can be monitored closely. This will start as soon as you feel well enough."

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly. His brain seemed to be stuck and couldn't quite process what he had just been told. Tears at the death of two unknown wizards pricked his eyes.

"Why can't I know in time to save people?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"Potter, you cannot hold yourself accountable for those things beyond your control. You are not resp-"

"But I am! It's my fault if those people-"

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall interrupted, her voice hard but her expression compassionate. "Believe me, I understand how you feel, but these attacks are no fault of yours! You are not responsible." She emphasised each word. "Voldemort is responsible, and all those who throw their lot in with him. Do you hear me, Harry?"

Harry nodded dully.

"Now." The professor took a deep, steadying breath. "You have missed today's classes and will be excused for the next week. Although I do expect you to catch up on your studies eventually. Professor Dumbledore will begin tutoring you privately from tomorrow morning. You will stay overnight in the infirmary until your lessons with him are completed. These Occlumency lessons will be your priority and I urge you for your own safety and peace of mind that you apply yourself absolutely."

At the overwhelmed look on his face, McGonagall softened.

"Don't worry, Potter. You will be allowed to spend your spare time with your friends in the common room, or in the library as you choose. I do advise you to attempt to keep up with the lessons you will be missing. No doubt Miss Granger will be able to help you in that respect."

She smiled as Harry relaxed somewhat.

"Will I be able to play Quidditch?"

"As recreation only, and not for a couple of days, if you wouldn't mind. I respect your decision to train with Mr Malfoy, interesting though that choice is. I would gladly see you make the school team. You will have ample chance to train in the week preceding the trials. You will stay here tonight," she continued brusquely. "I've arranged for Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to have dinner with you in the infirmary, if that is what you'd like?"

Harry blinked and nodded. "Thank you."

"They will be here in a minute. Poppy has informed me that you may not feel like eating food, but try to eat as much as you can. You need to regain your strength for your lessons with the headmaster. You will tire quickly at first, but if you take the tonic she has prepared for you, she's certain you will recover fully quite soon."

A quiet tap at the wide double doors interrupted anything else Professor McGonagall had been about to say.

"Come," she called, rising from her seat by Harry's bed.

Hermione and Ron came softly into the room, looking relieved to see Harry awake. Hermione broke into a tearful smile as they both hovered by the door.

"I shall be leaving you then, Harry." Professor McGonagall headed for the doors. "Please think about what we've discussed. It could prove vital."

"Thank you, Professor. I will," Harry assured her, not sure they had really discussed anything.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

"Professor," they replied together, turning their attention back to Harry as she exited quietly, closing the door behind her.

"Hey."

"Hey." Harry smiled.

Hermione ran to Harry's side, flinging her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. He grasped her back, desperate for her warm scent, not caring that her embrace caused spasms of pain to shoot across his shoulders and chest. She seemed to banish his fears.

"Thank God you're all right!"

Ron patted his back, grinning awkwardly, but evidently as relieved as Hermione.

"You sure gave us a scare, mate."

"I'm really sorry, Ron. I must give you guys nightmares in the dormitory."

"Ah, we're used to it by now," Ron said, waving his arm. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Harry nodded, looking away briefly, but steeled himself and told them what had happened. Hermione grasped his hand as he talked, sat on the bed. Ron nodded seriously from his place in the chair.

"At least you have Dumbledore this time," he said.

"Yeah. I couldn't bear to spend any more time with Snape than I have to."

All three of them chuckled.

"Potions was hell without you, you know."

"Ooh, tell him about Malfoy!" Ron instructed, eyes bright with gossip.

"Oh, yes. Well, everyone had heard that you were in the infirmary, in a coma or something people were saying. Of course Professor McGonagall had talked to all the sixth years telling us you were okay, but you can imagine the rumours. Well, when your absence was commented upon by Snape, Malfoy, who'd been being ignored by all the other Slytherins in our class, looked straight up at me and demanded to know if you were all right. In front of everyone." She shook her head. "I couldn't believe it, nor could anyone else. Snape was so angry he took five points off Slytherin for the interruption."

"That's got to be a first," Ron commented.

"He asked if I was all right?"

"Yes. There was a really strange expression on his face. I don't know what to make of it."

"Weird."

"That's Malfoy for you."

"That's not normal Malfoy behaviour, though, Ron."

"But Hermione, the guy's probably capable of anything. Who knows what could be going through his sordid little mind?"

A thought suddenly came to Harry.

"Hermione, would you do me a favour?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"I was supposed to meet Malfoy tonight for more Seeker practice. Could you meet him instead and tell him what happened?"

Hermione looked between Harry's determined expression and that of building anger on Ron's face.

"If... you're sure, Harry. I'll do it."

"Hermione! Harry, you can't be serious?"

"I am. I think we're going to need Malfoy." He turned back to Hermione as Ron sighed in defeat. "Leave out the bits about me being linked to Voldemort, unless he mentions it first. I think he may know about it but not to its full extent. But say that I'd like to see him, in person here, if he'll come. He may not even turn up if he thinks I'm in here."

"Harry!"

"Ron, he's not going to do anything with Madam Pomfrey around the corner. And anyway, I thought the plan was to find out if he's sincere and what it is he's after? From what Hermione says he may well be swayable to our cause, if he's not there already. Albeit for slightly different reasons than our own," he amended with a grimace.

"All right, but let me go with her."

"Ron! I'm perfectly capable-!"

"No, Ron, it's better if she goes on her own. He'll never come if you're there eyeballing him. You can give me a game of chess, if you like. I've still got to break in my new set."

Ron sighed, then assumed a lofty expression.

"It wouldn't be fair to take advantage of an invalid, so I'll tone down my game for you."

Harry grinned and swiped a feeble hand at him.

"Hey, you shouldn't mock the afflicted!"

Madam Pomfrey came in at that moment with three dinners on a large tray, with commands to all of them to eat well. She breezed out again, leaving the trio to eat in peace. Harry did indeed find that he couldn't eat much, but did his best. It was almost soul-destroying to have to hand over the rest of his treacle tart to Ron, who appeared to be about to put on another growing spurt. As if he wasn't tall enough already, Harry thought to himself, smiling at the sight of his friend wolfing down the tart, the custard a sickly green today.

"Right, well, I'd better go and extend our invitation to Mr Malfoy," Hermione said stoutly, standing up. Harry sat up stiffly to grasp her hand and pull her towards him. He kissed her lightly on the lips.

"If you're not back in an hour, Ron will come after you."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Don't worry. Malfoy doesn't scare me."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"See you both in a bit. Really, don't worry," she said, as she stopped by the door, then disappeared through it.

"She'll be fine, right?"

"Of course. Would you take on Hermione?"

"Not a chance!"

"Game of chess, then?"

"Bring it on."

~*~

Hermione walked quickly though the corridors swarming with students returning to their common rooms after dinner in the Great Hall, weaving in and out of people against the general trend of direction. She made it to the entrance hall and slipped outside into the grounds that were brightly lit by fine evening sunlight. She looked about her as she strode rapidly onwards, her robes flapping behind her, coming closer to the Quidditch pitch.

"Granger!" a voice hailed her roughly from behind one of the audience seating towers.

Hermione spun to her right and saw a figure holding a broom beckoning her into the shadow behind the structure. She took a breath, thinking of Harry, and walked calmly forward.

"Hello, Draco," she said pleasantly, smiling at the blond boy disarmingly, or so she hoped.

He blinked in surprise, frowning at her, and walked around the tower into the patch of sunshine hidden from sight of the castle on the other side. He sat down against it, looking up at her until she did the same.

"Did he send you?"

"Yes," she said serenely, making herself comfortable, tilting her face up to the sun and closing her eyes blissfully.

"We were just going to fly," he said, almost defensively.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Do you think Harry doesn't talk to me? I know you approached him with information, and I know that you're not the bastard you've always pretended to be."

"Oh, sod off, Granger, I don't have time for this."

"That really isn't up to your usual standard, Draco."

"Yeah? Well, associating with Gryffindors plays havoc with my digestion."

To his surprise, she laughed.

"Now I know why Harry enjoyed talking to you."

"He did?" Draco couldn't help but ask, although he hated himself for it.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes. Couldn't you tell?"

"To be honest with you..."

"Yes?"

"It doesn't matter," Draco muttered, turning away from her intent gaze. "What is this, Granger?" He flared. "The last time we spoke, you had your wand levelled at me!"

"You had yours levelled at Harry!"

"Fair point," he conceded, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Look, Malfoy, I just want to know if you intend to hurt Harry, or to sell him out to Voldemort by gaining his trust? Is that part of your plan? Since being his enemy obviously hasn't worked out too well for you."

"I'd rather not talk about this with you."

"Tough luck! You are going to tell me your intentions regarding my boyfriend! I don't know what the hell you've done to him, but he's far too willing to trust you! You being here to hinder Harry all these years does not explain the complete vindictiveness you have displayed to us, all of us!"

"For god's sake, Granger! You're Gryffindors! What do you expect?"

"Just because you're Slytherin doesn't mean you don't posses the power to make up your own mind! Some of the other people in your house don't treat us like we're the scum of the Earth, but you and the other sixth years seem to take a perverse delight in going against everything Gryffindor stands for! Our two houses are not mutually exclusive, you know!"

"Yeah, well it's not like you Gryffindors are exactly civil to us, either!" Malfoy shouted back at her, despite the fact that only a metre or so separated them. "Bloody Gryffindors always think they're better than everyone else, so brave, so fucking noble! But none of you have to go through what Slytherins do! We are hated by everyone, sometimes even our own families, just because we're too ambitious, or intelligent, or too afraid to stand up to them!"

Hermione stared at him for a moment. He was breathing heavily, pale eyes manic and his face oddly flushed. He was gripping his wand in two hands tightly, but it was not pointed at anything.

"Harry did," she said softly, tenuously putting a hand on his arm, pity for him suddenly overwhelming her against her better judgement. "Look," she said, after a moment of silence had passed. "I can't understand what you and other Slytherins have been through, and I won't pretend to, but you could let us help each other. You told Harry that you didn't want to join with Voldemort, right?"

Draco nodded, warily, looking at her hand still on his arm.

"Well, that may not put us on exactly the same side, but it does mean we have a common goal."

He choked out a brief, humourless laugh.

"You might try explaining that to Potter. He seems to think that because I'm not exactly enamoured of our favourite dark wizard it means I'm ready to become one of the children of the light."

His tone was so dry that Hermione sniggered, removing her hand from his arm to cover her mouth.

"Is that what you think of Gryffindors? God, the Marauders would have loved that!"

"Who?" Draco shook his head. "Anyway, that doesn't change things. He sees things so black and white."

"His life has been pretty black and white so far. I've always thought it was part of his charm, myself." Hermione smiled, inwardly.

Malfoy grimaced distastefully.

"Whatever. Anyway, are you finished with me?" He made to get up.

"No, not a chance." Hermione grinned, viciously. "Once a Gryffindor gets an idea in their head, they never give up. Harry wants to know if you'll come up to the infirmary?"

"Oh." That seemed to stump him.

"No one would have to know."

"What happened to him?" he asked, as if only mildly curious, looking at her sideways.

"He gets these dreams."

"True dreams?"

"Um, you could say that. Well, anyway, they have a very nasty effect on him. He looks awful at the moment." She got to her feet, suddenly solemn. "Do you want to come?" She looked down on him. "He could explain it much better."

Draco looked at his feet.

"It's him, isn't it? I heard there were attacks last night in the south. Voldemort causes this in Harry, doesn't he?" His eyes had risen to Hermione's, bright and fierce.

"Did you know already, or did you figure it out for yourself?" Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

Draco stood, his eyes now level with hers.

"A little of both. My father is aware of some kind of link between them, but I didn't realise it was in this form until just now. If Father knows about Potter's dreams, he hasn't told me about it."

Hermione considered him for a moment, then decided he was sincere.

"It's a bit more than just that. They're more real-time visions than dreams, although when he sleeps he becomes more receptive to them. He said not to mention this to you unless you brought it up first."

Draco snorted.

"He's got some sense, then."

Hermione decided to ignore that.

"These dreams are how he knew that Arthur Weasley had been attacked last Christmas." She sighed. "Voldemort must have figured it out, because he used this against Harry, making him think that Sirius had been captured and was being tortured at the Ministry this summer." Hermione rubbed the upper left side of her chest absently as she spoke. "Sirius wasn't there, but when he found out we were all in danger, he rushed to the Ministry." She paused. "Sirius was killed. Bellatrix Lestrange pushed him through the Veil."

"I know." Draco continued when she looked at him quizzically, "She's my aunt, my mother's sister. Sirius Black was my mother's cousin. She couldn't believe it when he was accused of Pettigrew's murder; she knew he wasn't in Voldemort's Circle." He took a deep breath. "Harry's really cut up about it," he observed.

"You have no idea," Hermione muttered. "He blames himself."

"He shouldn't."

"Yeah, well, you could try telling him, because he won't listen to any of us."

There was silence for a while as they both stood, not looking at each other.

"Shall we go up, then?"

She looked at him in surprise, then a smile twitched the left hand side of her mouth.

"Decided to join the children of light?"

"Don't hold your breath," he muttered, and shouldering his broom, headed off back towards the castle, without waiting for her.

Hermione's smile widened as she turned to follow him. She could barely believe she had just had a civil conversation with Malfoy of all people.

~*~

Hermione pushed open the door to the infirmary, beckoning to Malfoy to follow. He looked petrified for a moment, then squared his shoulders and walked in after her. She felt quite proud of him for a moment, then shook her head, this was Malfoy for heaven's sake.

As they approached the bed they saw Harry propped up on pillows, his face turned away from the door. Ron was sitting in the chair with his back to them, his head resting in his right hand whilst the other pushed vocal chess pieces around a toppled board.

Draco rounded the bed, prompted by a look from Hermione. Ron sat up as Draco passed, looking up at Hermione, and smiled half-heartedly, obviously strained. Draco was now on the other side of the bed, his broom still held loosely in his left hand. Harry's face was turned towards him now, pale and framed by dishevelled hair, eyes closed and his breathing soft. He did look awful, Hermione had been right. His face was pasty, let alone pale, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. He looked strange without his glasses, Draco thought, absently, noting that they were in Harry's hand outside the white sheets on his lap.

"He fell asleep ten minutes into the game," Ron was saying.

"Useless commander, why can't we get anyone good?" groused a fallen knight.

"Oh, shut up," Ron muttered wearily, flicking it until it was quiet.

Hermione sat on the bed where she had before, her expression gentle as she stroked Harry's hair. Draco looked away, feeling he was intruding on something inherently private. Harry stirred, eyes blinking myopically up at Hermione.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Rough," he admitted, raising his eyebrows and closing his eyes again, breathing out through his nose.

"Pomfrey assaulted him with another potion," Ron explained, pointedly ignoring Malfoy, who hovered, very unsure of himself but trying not to let it show.

"Maybe you should come back tomorrow," Hermione suggested, looking up at Draco.

Malfoy nodded, silently, his expression inscrutable, and turned to leave.

"Draco," Harry said, without opening his eyes.

"I'm here." he turned back, gripping his broom firmly as Ron frowned at him. Harry now regarded him with hooded eyes.

"Thank you for coming." His voice was drowsy.

"Well, I had nothing else to do." He shrugged. "Flying alone is dull."

Harry laughed weakly.

"Can't wait for me to whip your arse again, huh?"

"Potter, the only way you'd get close to me is if I had to run after the Snitch."

"I'd like to see that."

"So would most of Gryffindor, I'm sure," Draco muttered dryly.

Ron snorted. Harry's eyes snapped to him.

"Please, Ron."

Ron subsided, albeit ungraciously.

"All right, but Malfoy, I don't trust you, and won't ever. I don't like the fact that you're here, but if you can help us, then I won't stand in your way."

Draco fought the urge to snigger. Poncy bloody Gryffindor.

"Don't worry, Weasley." Draco sneered with relish. "I'm not about to compromise your virtue."

Going by the glint in Potter's eye, Draco was sure he was trying not to laugh, although his face remained lazily impassive. Ron turned red and looked away in disgust.

"So, what are we here to discuss?" Malfoy put on an aloof air.

Harry looked up at Hermione.

"How much did he know?"

"All of it," Hermione said firmly. "He figured most of it out for himself though."

"Good." Harry's eyes looked back to Draco. "Draco, I'm fed up of my life being controlled by Voldemort. I'm sure you can sympathise with that."

Draco nodded, he definitely could.

"Does your father have any idea that you feel like this?" Hermione asked.

"It's not my father I have to worry about," Draco muttered, pacing at the bottom of Harry's bed.

"Not your mother?"

"Why does everyone always think that my mother doesn't have anything to do with the Dark Lord's Circle?" he asked irritably.

"Well, when I saw them at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, there were only men. I assumed that's all there were, other than those he mentioned as being absent," Harry said, confused, his brow wrinkling. "And then the only woman Death Eater I remember is Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Oh, Aunt Bellatrix," Draco said, disgusted. "She's not happy with you. When she was at the Manor last month, she tried to bribe me to poison you with oaksbane. Don't worry, Weasley," he said as Ron bristled. "Mother told her not to interfere. Anyway," he continued, "the Circle is more than just the Death Eaters. I'm not sure how far it extends, but I know there are links to other factions."

"Do you know the names and members of these factions?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued.

"Yes, some of them. I don't think you all realise the amount of support Voldemort can count on in the wider wizarding community."

"We know he's made movements towards the giants."

"That's not the half of it. He's made to contact the goblins and the centaurs, not to mention a dragon breeding program in Estonia-"

Draco broke off at the sound of quick footsteps outside the infirmary. He looked wildly at Harry, then walked quickly towards the door.

"We'll continue this some other time, Potter. Same time tomorrow?"

With an arch of a pale eyebrow, he disappeared through the door, leaving the trio staring after him in a stunned silence.

"I guess that answers that question, then," Ron muttered.

A moment later, Madam Pomfrey came through, carrying a small tray of brightly coloured bottles, looking behind her with a frown on her face.

"What did the Malfoy boy want?"

"Something for a headache, I think," Harry said, innocently.

Madam Pomfrey looked at the three of them as if registering them properly for the first time. She put the tray down on a table in the far corner and wiped her hands on her apron.

"What are you two still doing here? Come on, off with you. Potter needs rest, and he's not going to get any with you pestering him."

Harry smiled, noticing how easily diverted and predictable the matron was. He waved off Ron and Hermione, saying he was exhausted, which, he had to admit, was true. Hermione kissed him on the forehead as he held her hand briefly, then left quickly with Ron, shooed out the door by a fussing Madam Pomfrey.

Harry sighed and submitted to three different colours of vile-tasting potions before he was left alone in the darkened infirmary. Madam Pomfrey closed the door with a soft click, shutting out the evening noise of the castle below. He settled down amongst the pillows, trying to get comfortable, but not sure if he really wanted to sleep. He sighed wistfully, wondering what had brought on this melancholy mood. His sleepy thoughts spun to Malfoy. Could he be trusted? He had certainly appeared willing to divulge information, it was just a shame they had been interrupted. Harry turned over on his side, hoping the tightness in his limbs would go away. Dreading sleep, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing it wasn't so quiet in the large, open room.