Conquering the Darkness

Chapter Seven: The Letter

Conquering the Darkness

***

Harry found himself trekking the long journey to the Hospital Wing the next night, as he knew he would. During the day, his thoughts kept drifting from his studies to Malfoy. He wasn't sure why, and it bothered him. Perhaps bothered wasn't the correct word, perhaps there was no word for it. It was just, Malfoy, sitting there alone in the hospital wing, seemed to call out somehow.

He shrugged his thoughts away as he approached the Infirmary's door. His fingers felt out for the cool metal knob, and grasping them about its worn and tarnished edges, he turned it with deliberate slowness, careful not to make a sound. There was still a great possibility that Madame Pompfrey could enter at any moment, and without his trust invisibility cloak hanging off his shoulders, he felt almost naked. His eyes immediately rested on the other boy in the darkened room, and he instantly knew something was different - wrong.

Something was wrong. Even the weak moonlight from the waning moon seemed not to penetrate the room. A frown creased his features and he made his way to the chair that had somehow found its regular position some three feet away from the bed. The fact that the chair was even out in the first place did not even register in his concern-clouded mind--he did not have time to think of it, nor the concern.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice soft, his green eyes traveling down the length of Malfoy's form. It was not as though he wanted to be concerned. Malfoy was his rival...and yet, somehow, he always found himself here, night after night. The beginning had not been so bad, but now...he didn't know if he could control his emotions much anymore. It was becoming harder and harder not to care.

"I have a name, you know," the frail boy responded with a scowl. His knees were pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around them, as though clutching on for dear life. His voice was muffled because his head was buried fatalistically in-between his knees, making it very hard for Harry to understand what the silver-haired boy was saying.

"What?" Harry questioned, slightly confused by what the invalid said. Of course he had a name, and Harry knew it oh, all too well.

"I have a name. You could try calling me it," the Slytherin restated tersely, looking up, his thin pink lips pursed tightly together. Harry could just imagine Malfoy looking up at him with those same grey eyes he remembered so well.

"Oh," Harry commented horribly. Hadn't he even called Malfoy by his name once? Thinking back to all the nights, already clouded in his memories, he supposed he hadn't.

"Draco," Draco prompted sourly, his voice already betraying his inner turmoil, when the boy failed to respond. "Draco Malfoy. It's my name."

"I know your name." Harry sighed annoyed. Did Malfoy take him for such a fool? It was impossible not to know Malfoy's name. Massaging his temples, Harry decided not to say anything. Something was wrong with Malfoy, and the boy was already walking on a thin and dangerous wire as it was.

"Then call me it. Call me Draco," he said. He raised his head his head again, his bandages looked wet and his face was flushed. It looked as if he had been crying. But for Malfoy to cry? No, such a thing would be impossible...

"Fine. Draco." Harry spat, rather nervously. It felt odd, saying Malfoy's first name. It was Draco now, but soon, perhaps all too soon enough, this temporarily world of first names would die, and once again they would be 'Potter' and 'Malfoy'. And that was that.

Draco nodded and buried his face back into his knees, as though slipping back into a shelter that he had created for himself. A world in which Harry couldn't enter, and Harry wasn't particularly sure he wanted to know what existed in Malfoy's world.

There was a long silence, so calm and cutting that it knocked the wind right out of Harry. It was always like this every time he came. He was never sure what to say, he was never sure what to do. It was like walking on glass, being around Malfoy. He had to make sure he gave nothing away, he had to hide all his tracks, there could be no mistakes, for if there were....well, Malfoy wasn't as stupid as Harry always accused him to be.

Looking out the great window into the black night, Harry sighed, and ran his hands together nervously. Something was wrong, more so than usual. It would have been so easy to let it slide, walk away, pretend nothing had happened--but he was a Potter, and he always made things more difficult.

He knew, that by saying anything, by even mentioning Malfoy's disturbed state, he would just make this evening more unbearable...

And yet, it was impossible not to say something. He had to.

"So, is that why you are so moody today? Because I don't call you," Harry paused and licked his lips nervously. This whole 'Draco' thing was unnerving. It had always been Malfoy. Always. Yet he was already beyond the point of no return, and he finished his sentence, however terribly, "D-Draco?"

Blinking, Draco looked up, and scoffed. "No, you git, that's not why I am upset. The world does not revolve around you."

Draco didn't particularly want to tell No One why he was upset, but already; he had a sick feeling that he would anyways. He was going to tell the prat against his will, he decided firmly; if the boy had the gall to ask. No matter how sick he was, no matter how weak, no matter how frail he was; he was still a Malfoy and would put up a fight until the end.

"Then what is it? What's the matter?" he heard the boy ask impatiently. Goodness gracious, No One, had no patience...it amused him.

"I got a letter, today," he responded simply.

"A letter? Is that all that's bothering you? I rather fancy letters, myself," replied Harry, chuckling softly, a grin gracing his handsome features.

"Yes, a letter," Draco snapped. His left hand shot out and groped his side table, his slender figures grasping and crumpling a piece of cream parchment. "You wouldn't fancy a letter written from Lucius Malfoy, would you?" The slender boy sneered as he heard the chuckling cease. "Yes. Got it this morning. It was wonderful, just bloody wonderful. Snape brought it to me and read it out loud. You know, since I can't see the damn paper to read it." He threw the paper toward No One. It glided to the ground and rested halfway between the two boys as the Slytherin continued to rant. "Pompfrey heard it, too. Now she and Snape know how much my father hates me!" he vented. He was startled at how easily he was revealing this information, and to a stranger, no less. But he couldn't stop know, he was too far deep. Might as well tell him everything. "Yes, he hates me. I'm a bloody failure. A filthy Mudblood gets higher marks than I do, Potter beats me at every bloody Quidditch match, and I don't want the damn Mark." He finished in a harsh whisper. He didn't care if Pompfrey came in at the moment. In fact, he wasn't even thinking of the fact that she could. He was just thinking that he knew the boy he was speaking to wouldn't tell anyone. How he knew, he wasn't sure. But somehow he knew he wouldn't.

Harry stood as Draco continued and walked noiselessly to the letter. Bending over, he picked the rumpled sheet up and moved back to his seat.

"That's right," he continued after taking a breath, "Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy name, doesn't want to be a Death Eater. He's not willing to blindly follow some wrinkled old wizard, You-Know-Who and the old coot Dumbledore, alike. And I make it known to my father, too. Oh, he's thrilled. Especially when I call him a boot-licker to a washed-up, old has-been." The blonde threw his head back and laughed bitterly, tears flowing from his eyes.

As Draco continued laughing mercilessly, Harry glanced at the elegant script on the parchment in his hand. His eyes scanned the lines of words and found his gaze harden at how cruel the elder Malfoy could be. He was accusing Dra-Malfoy of messing the potion up. Purposefully. He completely blamed Dr-Malfoy, and he didn't even know his side of the story!

Draco's laughter had subsided, and he resumed speaking: "Yes, so now you know a secret of The Great Draco Malfoy. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go and tell all of your friends about this, No One." His voice was quiet, not quite a whisper, but not his normal volume. It unnerved Harry how different the Slytherin was when not around others. When he wasn't "Malfoy," and when he, himself, wasn't "Potter." When they were just two boys, talking.

"Of course not," Harry responded in kind. How could Draco even think he'd tell anyone about this? After he thought about it a moment, he supposed, under normal circumstances, he would have told. But things weren't the same anymore, so, of course he wouldn't tell. And perhaps, Harry subconsciously knew that things wouldn't be the same anymore.

"Thanks," the silver boy whispered so softly Harry almost missed it.

The room was quiet once again, with that nervous silence that cut through Harry's bones, more painfully than he had imagined it could. Harry felt for Malfoy, even he would not admit to even that. He knew how it was to have a family that did not love him; he knew how it felt to be alone. Life was filled with regrets, of course, but it was managing to overcome them where the real award lay.

It was odd, and more so, disturbing, this fact that he could relate to Malfoy: the fact that he felt pity, the fact that he felt everything.

Harry sighed, and tried not to look at Draco, but instead closed his troubled green eyes. Somehow, Draco crying was more painful than he could have ever imagined. The boy must have been hurt far worse than he had displayed. No, this outburst was just the tip of the iceberg; this outburst...was just a whisper....

And yet, he could say nothing. There was nothing he could say which could heal the wounds, the damage was done. And what would his role be, Harry whispered softly to himself. Would he stand by, aloof, distant, as he the rival was supposed to? Or, would he take the road less traveled and try to bridge, however temporarily and however impermanent, this great gorge that now separated them blindly in the dark.

He stood quietly, softly in that dark room, and slowly made his way to the snake's bed. He didn't know why he was doing this--but, then again, did there need to be a reason? Did his actions always have to be questioned, and torn apart for the world to see? Was this one thing something private that he would be allowed to accomplish?

He did not know.

But he would try...

Draco's shoulder was warm, almost hot, beneath the thin garments of the hospital ward. The boy nearly jumped when he felt Harry's hand upon his shoulder, the long fingers curling about the edges, applying just the slightest amount of pressure, careful not to hurt the already wounded animal.

Draco was shocked at this display of... affection? compassion? pity? He wasn't sure what it was, but he was a Malfoy and he didn't like it. But that's not true, he told himself. He did like it. It felt...warm? Contented? Yes, contented was a close enough word.

His pale, right hand lifted and rested upon No One's. His slender fingers gently grasped the other boy's hand and Draco was slightly startled when the realization of his actions struck him. And even more so when he realized he didn't mind. That this little display of...affection...was so comforting. His head slightly tipped toward the hand, reveling in the warmth and comfort of such a simple gesture.

At home, he was never given this kind of attention anymore. He was too old. He was a Malfoy. He was never good enough. He was always something. He didn't even bother, anymore. But now, he thought he should.

He inhaled deeply and smiled slightly, smelling a mixture of cloves, cinnamon, and evergreen. Like Christmas and the first snow. He wouldn't mind smelling this wonderful aroma more often, he thought silently.

Whatever Harry had expected Draco to do, this certainly wasn't it. Whatever he had expected Draco to say, there was nothing. There was only the quiet mixture of their breaths, mingling together; one whisper after another...To say Harry did not know what to say would have been an understatement. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. He was a forever fixed mark.

Looking down at Draco from this viewpoint, Harry shuddered. Never had he been so close to the Slytherin in his entire life, never, willingly at least. It was strange, and disturbing. He was too close for comfort at this moment in time. He didn't like being this close; he didn't like not being in control of the situation. If he lost control, then all would crumble, and looking down at the snake, he found that he could already hear the pieces echoing in his ears.

Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, and tried not to think about Draco's warm hand atop his own. He tried, but to no avail.

Draco found it was getting rather warm in the ward and wanted to leave. He wanted to get up and to stretch his legs, or do something...anything. But he couldn't, even he knew his limits. He'd been bed-ridden for the past two weeks and there was no way he could get up by himself. Maybe No On would... No, he couldn't ask for help from him. That was a very un-Malfoy-ish thing to do. But, then again, the entire night, so far, had been completely un-Malfoy-ish. So, why not, he decided. He waited, not wanting to leave this safe place. When he finally thought No One had been standing long enough, he cleared his throat and whispered, "Can I ask you a favor, perhaps?"

Harry, somehow, managed to be caught off guard for about the tenth time that night. He should have expected something so weird to spew out of Malfoy's mouth, what with everything else that had happened; he should have expected it.

Feeling that he still should be rather sympathetic, he questioned softly, curious as to what the boy would ask, "Sure."

Draco flushed slightly and gulped inaudibly before venturing to ask, "Could you walk with me onto the balcony, perhaps? I haven't walked in quite awhile and I'm going to be very weak. It's like a Malfoy curse, I suppose, being to physically inferior," he sighed then continued. "Also, I won't be able to see where I'm going. I don't want to trip and fall of the balcony, now do I? What would the world come to without the wonderful Draco Malfoy?" he asked in a joking manner, a smile tugging at his lips as he tilted his face up to where he thought the other boys face would be, his hand still clutching No One's hand.

Harry felt a blush slowly creep up the length of his neck and he looked away, not wanting to gaze into Malfoy's face. All of this was so damn bloody awkward, especially for him, what, considering that he knew he was talking to Draco...while the snake hadn't a clue, most likely. He doubted very seriously if the boy had an inkling of who he was talking to, and if he did, the boy would probably throw up all the oatmeal and orange juice he ate.

Why was that, he wondered absently, that Draco didn't know it was him? Was this an affect of the potion?

Realizing he had just sighed rather loudly, Harry pulled his hand away from Draco's from, who, for a minute, allowed his own hand to remain on his shoulder.

Harry noticed, with some amazement, as a thin wash of blush appeared on the boy's exposed cheeks. So, he had embarrassed the Malfoy. He hadn't meant to be cruel, and yet...somehow, he didn't know if he could handle this. Since when had coming to visit Malfoy become a 'let's doubt everything you have ever known' time?

He wasn't sure he liked it.

Although this wasn't saying that he was having a terrible time, either.

But he had paused too long, and he could tell Draco was beginning to get antsy, and nervous, and more than likely angry.

After the blonde had been steadied, the two of them slowly and laboriously made their way toward the cold stone balcony that hung off the side of the building, like it overlooked the edge of the earth. The night air was cold and crisp, and slapped them in the face when Harry opened the small door, so small that the two had to squeeze through. Draco was so weak, and so very slim beneath his hands, Harry was afraid that he would break the poor boy.

Glad they had reached their destination, Harry shuffled Draco forward and out to the edge of the old outlook which gazed upon the great lake, and the surrounding mountains above, still clean from snow. The night was cold enough for it to snow, yet there were not enough clouds. Those that remained were lightly washed in the silver color of the waning crescent moon.

Harry exhaled a deep amount of breath and sighed, "It's beautiful out here, you know?"

Draco said nothing, but only curled his fingers, almost in a child-like manner about the edge of the stone railing. His breath was coming heavily, and he whispered to himself, "Look how weak I have become." He snorted in disdain and mirth, "What would my enemies say if they saw me like this?"

Harry tried not to think about enemies. There alliance was only temporary, this he was certain of. When that day came when Draco took off those bandages he wore so protectively, there would be no remembrance of yesterday, or even today.

To him, No One would be dead, the way he was supposed to be.

"Don't think about them, you'll forget about this once you get better," Harry comforted lightly, blinking up into the starlight that strung its way like faerie lights against the black night sky. It had been a long time since he had looked at the stars, and they seemed closer now than they had ever seemed before.

The hands about his waist did not move, but seemed rather content to casually hang there. It wasn't as though Draco minded or anything, but most people didn't wish to touch him for such a long period of time, or he didn't wish them too. But now, out in the cold night, he realized he silly he had been to not get a blanket. The clothes the hospital provided were thin and not constructed to hold in heat. The boy realized he was beginning to shiver.

Would No One notice?

But he didn't want to go inside, not yet. Even if he had to practically crawl to make his way out here again, he didn't want to leave just yet. Inside that musty hospital room, everything seemed to torture him. There was a constant battle between him and his thoughts, and he was beginning to grow tired of the battle.

Yet out here, out here in the deliciously rich darkness, he felt free and happy (if he dare use such a word).

It was a fragile moment, filled with uncertainties.

The fact was, he didn't want to forget about this moment. This moment amid the stars, if they should be shining, this moment in a darkness that no longer seemed quite so frightening, a moment with a person he trusted...

The night air stung at his sides and he unconsciously found himself in search of warmth, the only place providing it being No One's body behind him. He heard the intake of breath, but he did not pause. He had startled the boy, but then again, tonight was so different from others, it was expected that he would do something audacious, such as leaning against the mysterious person who now seemed to cover him with his warmth.

The night breathed on, its voice heavy and dark, the crickets all but silent, the gentle lapping of the lake far below, the call of an owl amid the lacy backdrop...

Yes. It was a quiet moment, more quiet than slumber...

The harsh chiming of the clock echoed in his ears, and almost collapsing in frustration, Draco swore silently to himself. It was three, and it was time for No One to go. He waited, waited for the words to whisper in his ear, and without fail, they came.

"I have to go, D-Draco,"

No One wasn't used to calling him by his name, it seemed, but then again, only Slytherin's were 'allowed to', and the two had already made it clear that they were from two different houses.

"I know," Draco found himself replying, almost bitterly.

The clock continued to chime in the darkness, and before Draco even knew what had happened, a great wash of air surrounded him, and then he felt himself being quickly lifted by a pair of strong arms so that he was being cradled, almost like a baby or bride. The voice instructed, "Put your hands about my neck."

Still rather confused, Draco did as he was told, finding that he was smiling broadly. Was he actually having a good time?

Harry, now holding Draco, coughed and laughed at the same time and quickly made his way towards the door they had entered some five minutes ago. Opening the door by pushing on it with his shoulder, he explained as he felt for the handle and made his way into the familiar interior, "It's faster if I just carry you, for now. I can't have Pompfrey come in and see me helping you along."

Draco, not knowing whether not to be amused or insulted at the accusation of fragility, decided upon, "That would be a very rare sight. To see a Malfoy being helped."

The person holding him laughed, and Draco tried not to laugh as well. Malfoy's did not laugh. They chuckled, they snickered; but they did not laugh so open and freely.

A few more seconds of the bouncy trail continued, and Slytherin was almost sorry when the ride came to an end and he felt the warm covers of his bed once again. He had never been carried, he had never been lifted up as though he was so light--it was unnerving and exciting.

The boy sat on the bed quickly and fell back with a happy and amused sigh before helping Draco back onto his bed. He paused for a second, as though uncertain of what he should do. Finally, he whispered, "Good bye," before the familiar tred of his footsteps against the marble floor greeted Draco once again.

Everything had happened so fast, and he was still out of breath. When he knew that No One was far away, he let out a low laugh to himself.

He was still laughing when Pompfrey came in to check on him.