Conquering the Darkness

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Conquering the Darkness

Chapter 5: The Conversation

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Harry had come to the Infirmary for several nights now. Nothing much was said, as Harry didn't know what to talk about, so they mostly sat in a companionable (or often times ominous) silence. He didn't really know why he kept coming, or even the reason behind it. It was true that he didn't feel as guilty as he had before, but something, something, still remained unsaid and unsettled.

It was not as though Harry Potter was expecting to become friends, or even wishing to become friends, with the famed snake of Slytherin. The two of them lived in two separate worlds, and if once, long ago, they might have managed to become friends, that time was long dead...it was long over.

Harry did not know whether he regretted this or not. He didn't, in reality, like to be enemies with anyone.

Nights had passed, and the full moon came and gone...it was now waning in its cycle, and Harry often times found himself looking up bleary-eyed at the stars at two or perhaps three in the morning, when finally, half dead from lack of sleep, he could crawl back to his warm bed in Gryffindor Tower.

It had been perhaps a week since these nightly escapades had begun, and rather astonished that he had willingly spent seven days with the snake, Harry decided that he should mark this anniversary with...something special.

"So, what do you do all day?" The raven-haired boy ventured nervously as he found himself fingering the fabric on his cloak in anxiety. What would Malfoy say? Would he be a prat and shove off his attempts to be civil? The green-eyed boy was disturbed, and tried to remain calm in the chair as he had for the past week.

Startled, Draco turned his head toward the voice. "Excuse me?" was his automatic response. Yet in reality, Draco had secretly been wondering when his visitor would talk or if they were just going to sit in silence forever. It wasn't as if he cared but he hated this feeling of limbo--being both nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Things had to be one way or the other; never both. He could neither have a friend who was an enemy or an enemy that was a friend. It was just not in his character.

"What do you do all day? I mean no offence of course, but there isn't much you can do stuck in an Infirmary bed all day, you know," his intruder continued hesitantly.

Draco sat in thought for a moment.

What did he do all day? In reality, nothing. After all, what could he do? Sleeping grew dull, but nearly as soon as he was awake he found himself itching to do something, anything--and if that was sleeping, then so be it.

Sometimes, he could blatantly eavesdropped while pretending to be asleep, although Draco had a nagging suspicion that Dumbledore knew he was awake whenever he came into visit Madame Pompfrey.

Draco decided that he had to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to sound as though he was an invalid...but...what else could he say?

Harry, who was still waiting for Malfoy's response, hoped he hadn't angered him by talking, but he was growing bored of not saying anything all night. When the light voice of the Slytherin echoed through the deserted hospital wing, Harry subconsciously found himself exhaling a sigh of relief.

"I sleep a lot. And Granger comes in and rattles about class work I've missed after she has dinner. And, well, that's about it, really. There isn't much I can do, you know," he answered primly, sitting up straight in the bed, his neck craned almost naturally towards the moonlit-filled window. It was as though he yearned subconsciously to be outside, amongst the wilds and the woods--rather than here, forever chained to this bed. His expression turned sour for some odd reason, Harry noted, and he added with a sneer, "And what about you? What do you do during your sight-filled with day?"

Harry frowned. He hadn't meant to anger Malfoy, only start a conversation.

But it is impossible not to anger him, even if he doesn't know it's me, he is like this to everyone. Except, maybe Slytherin's. I guess he figured out I am not a Slytherin...

"Err, well, I get up and go to breakfast, go to classes, eat lunch, go to more classes, eat dinner, study a little, get some sleep, then..." he trailed off. He wanted to finish with "then visit you," but he didn't. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he didn't want to confess that out loud, he supposed. Harry didn't want to admit that coming and visiting his rival had become part of his schedule. Not yet.

This is only temporary, only until I feel better.

Harry told himself this a few times, but somehow found it unconvincing.

Deciding not to dwell on the subject, Harry looked down at his fingers and sighed.

"Then... what?"

He looked up, and found that Draco was staring at him, and even through the gauze, he could feel the power of the Slytherin's eyes, as powerful as the hypnotic gaze of a snake.

"I, I don't know."

Draco's face creased with a frown. "What do you mean, 'you don't know?' You must know what you do after you get some sleep." The blond retorted with his normal sneer. Really, if he wanted to talk, he could at least say something.

Opening his mouth, Harry promptly shut it. He...didn't want to say anything, in reality, Maybe it had been a bad idea, actually talking to Malfoy. There were so many things he didn't want to say, so many things he could not tell. Why? Because he was afraid, afraid that Malfoy would discover it was Harry Potter who had come to visit him.

Everything, even this weak bond of civility, would end.

"I wake up again," Harry finally decided upon, laughing jokingly, more so at himself rather than Malfoy, "What else would I do?"

He wanted to die, and bury his head in his arms. God, that sounded terrible--but, it has satisfied a temporary predicament, and that was all it was meant to. Everything was only temporary.

"Well, come and visit a strikingly handsome Malfoy, I suppose," the debonair young man in the hospital bed countered arrogantly. This boy should flatter him more, really. And he shouldn't be dim-witted. He hoped the boy "across" from him wasn't a stupid Hufflepuff.

He thought he should ask, but, for some reason, didn't. He supposed it was because they had finally started talking as it was, and it was rather general, so he didn't want to dissuade the boy to quit talking to him. He secretly enjoyed these midnight encounters, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone else. He enjoyed the company of someone other than the adults who came to check up on him, as well as, of course, his Slytherin companions, who didn't know what to do without their leader.

Harry snorted. Malfoy? Handsome? He would sooner call Dudely an emaciated genius. No, Malfoy was not handsome. Different, maybe, but not handsome; Harry was a guy, and he wasn't supposed to notice these things. It wasn't as though he spent time during classes or anything watching or looking at the Slytherin. After all, how could he? The blonde prat sat behind him in Potions, and it would hardly seem fit to turn around and say, "Oh, don't mind me, I am just going to see if you are handsome or not."

No, Harry admitted, Draco and his level of 'attractiveness' to the opposite sex was definitely not number one on his list; he was having a hard enough time trying pass Potions.

"You? Handsome?" Harry found himself chuckling as he eyed the silver-haired boy in amusement. Malfoy's expression turned sour, and against his will Harry continued to laugh. "If you are handsome, then I would say that Snape is pleasant!"

Draco was abashed by the git's audacity. "E-Excuse me?" the blond stuttered. "Snape can be very pleasant, as long as you're not a Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Weasley, know-it-all Mudblood, or Harry Potter. So, your argument is completely invalid," the Slytherin huffed, arms crossed over his chest indignantly. Honestly, this person must not be that bright to insult him and his Head of House in one sentence.

Harry flushed and clenched his fists in anger. He would not get mad, he told himself. Malfoy was a sick invalid, who was frail and temporarily crippled. It was not nice to pick on the weak--and he was not as low as Malfoy to play on unfair terms. So, with a very concentrated effort, he bit his tongue, and replied only with, "You're just jealous of m-err, Potter."

"Oh, Merlin, don't tell me," the blonde boy groaned, his hand rising to the side of his face.

"What?" Harry gasped. Sure, it was a lousy retort, but he just couldn't let Malfoy get away with it, even if he was blind and hadn't a clue (or so he hoped) who he was talking to, "What do you have against Potter? I mean, sure he is a Gryffindor, but there are plenty of Slytherin's who are friends with Gryffindor's!"Headjjjjjjjjjj

"You're one of his fans, aren't you? Part of that ridiculous 'Potter Fan Club," or something, aren't you? What's wrong with Potter? Please, there isn't enough time in a day to list all the things wrong with him... What Slytherin what stoop so low as to befriend a Gryffindor?" Draco countered. He had a nagging suspicion his "friend" was a Gryffindor, but he wasn't going to say anything. Yet.

Harry gulped. He hadn't counted on Malfoy calling his bluff--for reasons he couldn't quite classify. Had he expected Malfoy to be any the less nicer and just let this comment slide? No. That had been foolish of him. He sighed, and thought aloud, "Well, erm, lets see...uhm, there are those two first years, Radcliff and Felton? I don't know if they like each other that much--wait, didn't they get in a fight today?"

Harry heard Draco snort in indignation, but chose to ignore him. Since when had this school been so divided? Shivering as a draft from a crack in the window sped through the open window and wrapped about his frame. Murmuring to himself, more so than the indignant Slytherin, Harry continued, "There were...those two...no, wait, they hate each other. Wait! I got it! The ghosts are friends!"

"The ghosts aren't alive," Draco practically pointed out, still adjusting to the thought that this 'no-one' was a fan of the elusive golden boy. How did this work? He and Potter were practically enemies, and this one person, whoever the hell it was, was here. This nobody--he was here, at his bed, talking to him...and his instinct told him that person was someone under normal circumstances he would not have spoken to.

"Oh...," Harry sighed. That did count he supposed. The ghosts were dead. "Well, I'm sure there has to be someone, surviving without anyone knowing." He finally decided upon, nodding smartly to himself.

Draco found himself smirking, "Oh? Like who? Who would stoop to be a Gryffindor's friend?"

Harry gulped. This conversation was going in the wrong direction as he had originally anticipated. Even when Draco didn't know who he was, they somehow managed to turn everything sour. Harry was too tired, and it was too late to get into a screaming argument against the philosophies of the two houses.

"Yes, I suppose," he brushed over quickly, "But why do you hate the Gryffindor's so much? What have they ever done to you?"

Maybe this course of action would work.

Draco blinked, his eyelashes brushing the gauze over his eyes. "What do you mean, "Why do I hate them?" Isn't it obvious?" he asked, trying to disregard the question.

"Actually, no, it isn't."

"..." Draco frowned. "How could I not? They hate me, I hate them. There isn't a long, complicated theory behind it," he huffed, arms crossed belligerently over his chest. How dare this boy be questioning the time-old traditions of this school? It was like asking why the sun shines.

There it was again. That excuse. "What does that have to do with it? Sure, its tradition, but so what? It's not like every Gryffindor is out to get the Slytherin's or anything like that. Really, you and your 'ideas' are stuck in the dark ages."

Like the rest of your family, Harry thought silently to himself, massaging his temples. Continuing on, he explained, "Take Potter for example, I don't know about him, but I don't think he really hates anyone, except Vol--erm, You-Know-Who."

"And maybe," Draco smirked knowingly, a slight chuckle emitting from his throat, "The Dementors."

"Yeah, well, the Dementors too, I guess." Harry admitted exasperatedly. Of course, Malfoy would bring that up--him and his damn stunt third year. Neither, it seemed, had forgotten that.

Draco snickered again. "Yes, that was so very amusing. But, anyway, why do you think that that Potter doesn't hate me? Of course he hates me, why shouldn't he? I'm a Malfoy, he's a Potter. It's inevitable that we despise each other," the blond said nonchalantly with a shrug. His arms uncrossed and fell onto his lap where they fiddled absently with his blankets.

Harry thought about this for perhaps too long. In reality, he didn't know if he even hated Malfoy, or, for that matter, if he should. The boy was an arse, and had been through most of the years he had known him. What he was witnessing right now was probably the softest side to Malfoy he had ever seen.

"I don't know. You should ask him." He finally decided upon. After all, once Malfoy got his sight back, everything would return to normal. It wasn't like Malfoy would find out that it was he who was Harry Potter anytime soon.

Draco scoffed. "Yes, it's a grand idea; I'll just waltz up to him and say, 'Hey Potter, do you really hate me?' That's bloody brilliant. Really. And then his damn Weasel friend would go and attack me or something."

Harry chuckled. That sounded like Ron. Not even believing that he was even saying this, Harry shrugged nonchalantly and suggested, "Why don't you? I thought Malfoy's weren't afraid of anything, even weasels."

The silver-haired boy gaped at this stranger in disbelief, "Yes, that would be very Malfoy-ish, after he refused my friendship," he said spitefully, "Then we can be chums, and have tea. Yes, that would be brilliant."

Harry blinked. What was that? Refusing his friendship? Was he complaining about that thing in first year? That was ages ago. More so than that, Malfoy certainly hadn't made the offer all that appealing. Yes in the train car with Ron watching on? He couldn't choose like that, and Malfoy had been a prat for assuming he could.

So. He was still hung up on that?

"I don't think he thought you cared--at least, that is what I heard..." Harry fumbled terribly. This lying was going to prove harder than he had at first believed.

Scowling, Draco bit back, "He may not care, but I do. He chose that damn weasel over me, a Malfoy. Malfoy's don't take lightly to rejection."

Harry had a ready reply to this one, "I don't think Potters do either. At least, from what I have seen."

"What are you talking about?" Draco questioned, aggravated, leaning forward slightly.

"Well, think about it from his perspectives. He just found out he was a wizard just less than a week before, at least, that was what the papers said--and then everything happens and he is uprooted from who knows what. I can't even comprehend what it must have been like with all those Muggles." Harry thought quickly, this was going to prove a very delicate conversation. Perhaps it would be better if he didn't talk about himself anymore--that would make things easier on his part. "And then, he makes a friend, Weasley, or whatever his name is, and then you come, making him have to give it up. And, remember, he didn't even know who the Malfoy's were. He hardly knew who or what You-Know-Who was!"

Draco said nothing for a long moment, and then questioned briskly, "And how is it you know so much about the inner workings of Potter?"

Harry gulped. Damn, damn it all. "Uhm, I heard rumors and stuff, and he told me a bit one day during break."

Draco raised an eyebrow but let the matter drop.

"You don't really believe all that rubbish about how he just found out about being a wizard, do you? He is one of the most famous bloody wizards of all time, for something he didn't even do, mind you. And he didn't even know he was a wizard? I find that highly unlikely." Draco paused, pursed his lips together, and continued on again, "I didn't make him give up being friends with the Weasel; I just told him I could have given him better friends. Of course, eventually, he would have given up the weasel, but that is besides the point."

Harry opened his mouth to say something rash, but was interrupted by Malfoy once again.

"And how could he not know who the Malfoy's are? Everyone knows who the Malfoy's are!" he informed his visitor pompously.

Harry looked down at his hands and found that they were clenched in anger. Somehow the bloody prick always managed to royally piss him off. How could he not understand? He had just been a normal Muggle before, pruning the weeds for Petunia and trying not to burn the bacon for Dudley, and cleaning out the fireplace for Vernon--there had been nothing special, there had been nothing magical. Why didn't he see that?

Was that ass really as blind as all that?

Wanting to throw something in the bandaged faces, he opened his mouth to vehemently yell at the git. However, just in time, the chimes from the clock struck three and, stiffening slightly at the sound of Malfoy's voice, Harry paused in his actions.

"Oh, bloody hell. Pompfrey will be checking on me any moment now. You better go if you don't want to get caught." Draco informed, settling back into his pillows, as that it looked as though he had been sleeping there contentedly the whole time.

Nodding subconsciously, Harry quickly put the chair back in its proper place and walked towards the door without a parting word. He didn't know if he could trust himself to say anything at all, not even a simple farewell.

Just as Harry was about to exit the room, he heard a voice call feebly across the great marble expanse.

"Same time tomorrow?"

There was a hopeful tone in his voice, one that even Harry could recognize. He nodded softly, and whispering, "Sure," just loud enough to ensure that the Slytherin heard it, he slipped out of the room, feeling both angry and a bit melancholy at the same time.

Draco listened for a moment to the echo of his visitor's footsteps against the corridors before settling back into the pillows and awaiting Pompfrey with a small smile gracing his features.