Conquering the Darkness

Chapter Six

The Friendship

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The night was calm and dark and it called out to Harry subconsciously through his slumber.

He hadn't expected to go visit Malfoy tonight, seeing as he had been overpowered by an obscene amount of homework.

Yet, at two in the morning he found himself awakening to the quiet once again, just like clockwork. He had tried desperately to return to his dreams (which, for a change, had actually been pleasant) but to no avail.

Silently crawling out of his bed, he found his slippers beneath the bed and slipped them on. He knew that there would be no other way to get sleep tonight if he didn't go and visit the prat, even for just a few minutes. He did have a test come tomorrow morning in Potions, which, no doubt, he would fail.

Suppressing a sigh and hoping that Crookshanks wasn't about; Harry arrived in the common room and glanced hurriedly about him. He didn't know what he felt guilty about. After all, he was out of bed during hours, and he was going to visit his rival...but that wasn't so bad. He wasn't breaking so many rules, was he?

"God, what am I doing?" he whispered to himself as he crawled out of the portrait hole.

He was startled to find the fat lady replying, "I don't know, but you're out of bed after hours."

The halls were silent, quiet, and colder than he had expected. The weak light of the fading moon highlighted the steps leading down, down, down towards the hospital wing.

Pulling the invisibility cloak over his shoulders, Harry chose not to reply and quickened his step towards the hospital wing.

Draco sat in bed, oblivious to the moonlight that pooled around his form. He fidgeted with the coverlet as he waited for the familiar sounds of his visitor. A smile spread over Draco's face as he heard the wooden door quietly open, the sound echoing throughout the empty ward. Wiping the smirk from off his face, trying to hide any emotion he felt whatsoever.

"Hello, No One," Draco whispered to the mysterious boy once the door closed and the footsteps approached him.

Harry paused, flushed, and looked down. So, Malfoy had been expecting him then? He felt slightly guilty at brushing off the visit for sleep, but then again, it wasn't as though they were friends or anything. No, certainly not. They were just acquaintances, if even that.

"Uh, Hullo," Harry mumbled softly, not having yet look at the Slytherin. Every time he saw the boy, he always felt guilty. Sure, it wasn't his fault or anything, but...He sighed to himself. This berating would get him nowhere, unless deeper into a depression. This visit was purely for him, and that was it. He couldn't care whether if the boy was lonely or expecting him--it didn't matter to him a bit.

He just wanted to get back to sleep.

Pulling up his chair, which had by now become his "usual chair," he questioned softly, "So, any luck today then?"

Draco blinked behind his gauze. "What are you talking about?" he asked. Any luck with what? It wasn't like he could do anything, he was stuck in bed all god damned day.

Harry, finding that he was blushing again, gulped and explained hurriedly, once again feeling like an idiot in the presence of Malfoy, "Oh, erm, I meant, if they found out the reason why you went blind."

"Oh. Umm, no, not yet. No, Snape and Pomfrey are working on it. Still nothing, though," he reported to him. He shrugged lightly. He was finding that he didn't really mind having to stay in the Hospital Wing if he got to talk to his mysterious man and miss classes. He got waited on hand-and-foot, too. This, he supposed, was like being treated royalty - like he, a Malfoy, should be.

Harry glanced out the window but said nothing. It was so hard talking to this boy; he didn't even know why he came. It wasn't as though he had a good time. If anything it was interesting, but fun? No, hardly, Harry insisted crossing his arms and a grimace forming on his face.

"Oh, I see." finally decided upon, after a moment of watching Malfoy, waiting to see if the boy moved. Yet, the boy was as still as stone. But, then again, that didn't surprise him.

Malfoy did not reply, except a small nod of his head, and Harry sighed. Good lord, was he supposed to lead this conversation? With Malfoy, everything became a struggle...

"So, erm, I take it you didn't hear about the Quidditch match, did you?" Harry nervously began, finding that he was gripping the edge of the chair in anticipation for the answer. Since when had he actually become anxious and giddy to hear Malfoy's reply? Good Lord, he was screwed up.

Draco chuckled softly when he heard the strain in the voice of his visitor. "Why're you so tense? I'm not going to pull out my wand a hex you, or anything," he informed the boy. You could almost hear his eyes rolling. "And no, I did not. Not the specifics, at least. Pomfrey was squawking about how Quidditch is a horrible thing and it should be banned..." He chuckled. "So, what happened? Did Potter win, again?" he added spitefully.

Harry chuckled against his will. This was all so off. Malfoy was actually being decent, which seemed completely foreign to him. He didn't know how to really react towards the boy. Clearing his voice, Harry instructed, "Well, actually, Potter didn't play. It was a Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game."

Draco snorted, and replied promptly, "That must have been absolutely fascinating," Finding his glass on the table tray before him, he paused for a moment as he took a sip of water and continued, "I mean, because it's so hard to beat the ponce-y Hufflepuffs and the bookworm Ravenclaws. I mean, the only real competition, other than myself, of course, would be Potter."

"Of course," Harry responded dryly, rolling his eyes heavenward.

Draco chuckled. "I am right, you know. He's the only half-decent player on all the teams. Besides me, obviously," he retorted pompously.

Harry smirked softly to himself. "Obviously." Well, this was news to him. The fact that Malfoy actually considered him worthy competition was absolutely amazing. Of course, Malfoy was his only real competition as well, but then that was common knowledge and the pulling of teeth was not required.

"Am I wrong?" he asked dubiously. He sure hoped this person wasn't a blabber mouth and wouldn't go spouting off at the mouth revealing this information. Everyone, just as he, knew that Hogwarts kept many things to itself. However, secrets weren't one of those things. To put it succinctly, he just didn't want this information getting around. He had worked five long and hard years to make sure that it was common knowledge that he hated everything about the Gryffindor, right to his unruly hair.

"I don't know if 'wrong' is the right word, you know." Harry continued tenaciously. It wasn't as though Malfoy was a bad player or anything, but realistically, if you looked at it, he, Harry, had the raw talent. After all, he had been playing for only five years, while Malfoy on the other hand had been riding a broom, probably (or at least he surmised so) since he could walk.

"What do you mean?" he demanded incredulously. He and Potter were the best bloody Quidditch players in the entire school, it was an undisputed fact. How could he be arguing with him on this! It was like saying Snape favored Slytherin.

Well...yes...

"Misinformed, I believe." Yes, that was the correct term, Harry decided smartly, a smile sprouting on his face, one that Malfoy couldn't see. It was true; he continued to argue with himself. Although and Malfoy had never actually gone head to head out on the pitch, Harry had a feeling inside him that he would win. After all, Harry thought smugly, he did have a Firebolt...

"How am I misinformed? Potter and I are the best players from all the teams. I'm the best, of course; but I suppose he would be a close second," he responded arrogantly. He was wondering whether or not this person actually watched Quidditch or not. All he was doing was sticking up for Potter. Or, rather, opposing himself. It was kind of amusing, so he tried not to say anything too scathing.

"And that's why you can't win a match against him then, is it?" Harry chuckled to himself mentally. As he did so, he noticed for perhaps the first time ever that he was having a conversation about Quidditch with Malfoy about himself--and he wasn't taking offense. It all seemed strange, if not surreal. But, then again, this whole experience was. The whole fact that he was even here, willingly, was just beyond belief.

Glancing at the clock, he found that only ten minutes had gone by, and he felt more alert and awake than ever before. He realized he wasn't going to sleep any time soon...

"He's just a bloody cheat. Every time he causes a foul everyone turns a blind eye, but if I even sneeze too loud I get fouled. They'll let Potter get away with anything. And he has a better broom than I do. It's like apples and oranges, No One," he retorted.

Draco found he didn't mind talking about Potter to this person because it was kind of amusing. Sure, he could throw in a couple of insults, but they would be wasted. And he didn't really feel the need to.

"Hardly anything, they won't let him do anything more like it. Quidditch is just like everything else." Harry began. Deciding that he was giving too much away as it was, he coughed slightly and tried to find another topic of conversation on which to diverge upon. Quickly smoothing over the pause, Harry questioned, "But, why are we talking about Potter anyways? I mean, that that the school talks about most of the time, isn't it?"

Harry blushed. He was beginning to sound as arrogant as Malfoy now. For his own sake rather than Malfoy's, he adjoined, "Either that or Vol--em--You-Know-Who."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "You brought up Quidditch. There is no good Quidditch game unless Potter and I are in it. But we can change topics if you want to. What do you want to talk about?" he fidgeted around. He wanted to stand up and stretch his legs. Too bad he was confined to his bed.

Harry remained quiet for a long and hard moment, trying desperately to think of something to talk about. Finally, he settled upon the least mundane he could fathom.

"So, are you planning on going home for Christmas break?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally. "I usually do, but Father hasn't written me a letter yet since that first one saying why I am confined to this bed. Why, are you?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He hoped he would be staying here so that the two of them could continue their nightly escapades during the break. Otherwise, he may just end up going insane with the lack of human contact.

But this wasn't to say as though he was looking forward to it or anything. It was just something to pass the time, this No One. It wasn't anything particularly wonderful or anything; after all, he didn't even know who the person was. It was obvious that he wasn't a Slytherin (a Slytherin wouldn't dare show his face to him, whether he could see or not). And, despite his lack of articulacy he sounded more intelligent than a Hufflepuff. Maybe, he could possibly have been a Ravenclaw, but he didn't sound that intelligent. And so, however disappointingly, that only left Gryffindor.

This was a most pathetic state of affairs; he was actually looking forward to talking to his rival house.

"No. probably not," Harry decided upon firmly. "I don't really like going home at all."

"Oh, really? Well, that's a pity, I'm sure. Why not?" he drawled. He wasn't really concerned, let alone interested, but whatever it was, seemed to be bothering whoever it was.

Harry contemplated the question for a second before finally replying, "Well, really, I don't get along with them, even though they are the only family I have. I mean, they are just so different. It became worse when I started at Hogwarts.

Mentally checking over what he had just said, Harry confirmed that he hadn't given too much away. It wasn't as though he had gone and said, "Yeah, my Muggle relatives hate me because I threaten them with magic," or anything like that.

"Hmm," Draco replied. He bit his tongue, not wanting to insult his 'friend'. Last time his visitor left and he seemed rather upset. In truth, Draco hadn't expected him to return to visit. Draco was glad he did, though. He had rather come to vaguely look forward to these nightly visits. "I'm sorry," he added, because it seemed the right thing to say. He wasn't that good with emotional things like this.

Harry looked at his adversary. He knew his rival, perhaps better than anyone; and at this moment in time he could tell that Malfoy was holding back. Deciding that he didn't want this relationship (if he dared to even call it that) like the one they shared before, Harry promptly instructed, "You know, just say whatever it is you are going to say. I can tell you want to say something." paused, and found a grin growing on his features, "It'll be three in fifteen minutes anyways, so if I get upset I'll just leave early."

Draco frowned. "But I don't want you to leave early," he found himself saying before he could even think about it. He clamped his mouth shut and felt a flush creep unwillingly over his cheeks. He cursed mentally to himself, knowing he shouldn't have said that.

Harry was at a loss of what the boy had just uttered. This had been the first time ever that Malfoy had wanted him around. Willingly. This whole concept had seemed strange and foreign to him from the beginning, but now... But now, he was in over his head.

"All right, then. I promise I won't leave. But you might as well tell me it straight. No matter how bad it is. Controlling my temper will be another story, though," Harry informed the silver-haired boy.

Draco blinked, eyelashes fluttering against the bandages around his head. He wanted to tell his stranger that he didn't want him to be mad at him either, but he didn't. Malfoy's had pride, and saying things like that was very un-Malfoy-ish

Harry remained silent, waiting for a response, however impatient.

But after two minutes of dead silence (besides the occasional owl call outside the window) Harry's patience grew thin and he sighed exasperatedly, "You know, some of us do need to sleep. I never thought Slytherin's would be so wishy-washy."

"I'm not wishy-washy," Draco snapped irritably, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink, "What do you want me to tell you if your parents hate you? That everyone's parents hate them? And that you should grow up? Is that what you want me to tell you?"

It was now Harry's turn to be silent, but not for long. He didn't know whether or not to be embarrassed, or just plain mad at the boy. He was highly tempted just to storm out, but then again, as usual, Malfoy would have the upper hand against him. He had given the prat his word, and he realized that it had been a stupid thing to do. Why had he wanted to hear what the Slytherin said? It's not like any good would have come from it.

Draco sighed. Perhaps he had been too hard on whoever it was. It wasn't like he knew the situation or anything like that. Opening his mouth to say something, he was cut off all too soon by a familiar voice ringing in his ears.

"You would know, wouldn't you, Malfoy?" Harry's voice was bitter and angry, but somehow, he was managing to control his temper. It wasn't easy though, and he imagined himself walking the short distance to Malfoy's bed and punching him. But, his conscious, somehow managed to get the better of him; and he briskly stood from his chair and announced coldly, "It's getting on three. I better be going."

Not bothering to say goodbye, Harry stormed out of the room. He wasn't feeling particularly tired or anything like that, but he certainly didn't want to be in the same room with that hypocritical, snotty, and self righteous cripple. Grumbling something underneath his breath that sounded remotely like "Damn Slytherin's" he exited the room, the door slamming behind him; once again, leaving Draco alone in the dark.

Draco listened as the steps grew fainter and fainter deep into the night's darkness. Frowning, he heaved a great sigh before collapsing onto his pillow. Well, that had been bloody brilliant.

His visitor, he didn't know if he could call him a friend anymore, had stormed out on him again. Twice in a row. Things weren't looking so well for them, were they?

Him and his bloody mouth; that was why he had no friends. Crabbe and Goyle were hardly friends, more like henchmen, following in the footsteps of their fathers, only searching out the Malfoy's for leadership because they certainly didn't have enough brain cells to do much of anything. Pansy, bleh, he didn't even want to think about her; simpering and gossiping all day long. She was hardly a friend, more like a forced girlfriend that his dad had directed to him from day one. And Blaise, well, he supposed Blaise was his friend, although only for the time being. It wasn't as though Draco really liked the prat or anything but at least the conversation was more intelligent from anything else that could be found in Slytherin dungeons. But, no, Blaise was just a "friend" that he would drop at the first convenience. And he was sure the feeling was mutual.

But now, now for the first time in his life, when he was actually rather (dare he say 'glad'?) to have had a friend, he had gone and been idiotic about it. He could have just lied; it would have been that easy...oh, him and his damn Malfoy pride. It always got in the way of everything. It always made things more difficult, and once again it had proven true.

Draco highly doubted if No One (or whoever it was) would make an appearance again. Deciding to not think about it, he sat up and angrily grabbed a glass of water on top of the side table, he felt its cool surface for a moment before bitterly flinging it across the room. It landed with a shattering ping which echoed through the chamber for some time.

Madame Pomfrey, who had just come to check on the patient, scowled deeply.

Draco on the other hand just sat hunched in his bed, his eyes unseeing once again.

"More tantrums, then?" Madame Pomfrey sighed bitterly as she repaired the glass with a swish of her wand. "What is it about this time?"

Draco's lips curled in anger and he spat, "None of your damn business, you bloody old bat. Just go away. It's not like I can leave this god-forsaken bed anyway. I run into something every three steps and fall. I make so much damn noise you can hear me from the Great Hall. So what's the use of checking on me? It's not like anyone will come and see me either. I'm Draco bloody Malfoy. So just go hell away and stop plaguing me."

His rant finally ended and he collapsed with a heavy sigh onto his pillows, curling up rather helplessly against his will.

Madame Pomfrey's eyes fell to the chair, but said nothing; comprehension drawn upon her features and overpowering her faded blue eyes. Turning towards the door, she cast one last glance at the boy, a slight sad smile upon her lips. Her footsteps echoed throughout the chamber and out, into the same direction as the last visitor had gone.

Harry stormed through the hallways, hardly seeing where he was going, not like it mattered of course. He just needed to get away, away from that boy. Why was it that every time he came here, he always left angry and upset? Sure, he had asked for it, but was it impossible for the Slytherin to actually stay hospitable for more than ten minutes? Obviously not.

The boy had no tact.

Exhaling a large amount of breath, he continued to make his way down the hall. Arriving at the staircases he groaned and found that the stairwell had decided to move.

Of course, Harry sighed to himself, looking up into the dark. It would probably be a good ten minutes before they found themselves in the proper places again.

Glancing over his shoulders, he found the cool night air enticing. It wasn't as though he wanted to go out, but he was so overheated and angry that nothing else seemed remotely appealing. He could have just swallowed a sleeping potion or something that he had stashed away in his trunk upstairs. But right now, he wanted to think. It didn't matter if he thought rationally or irrationally, it didn't matter whether he was angry or upset. He just wanted to think. About whole bloody situation.

The fact that he was actually upset at the boy for not being 'more sensitive', the fact that he came and visited for reason's he couldn't quite comprehend, and most importantly why he even cared. Malfoy was the enemy, Malfoy was his rival, Malfoy was a person he couldn't stand.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, he had every intention of visiting him the next night.

Having made his way out onto the silent and starlight studded pitch, he looked up at the hospital wing and found that no lights were on.