Secare

Harry's sixth-year was completely unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

It wasn't like his first four years at Hogwarts, when he managed to go day-to-day without being overwhelmed by his memories and nightmares. When he still looked forward to his classes and had fun with Ron and Hermione.

It wasn't like last year, when he was left to spy and sneak, struggling to figure out what was really going on. There were no professors to hate, no secret clubs to form, no dreams to dread.

Sirius' death, Harry's rage, and the revelation of the prophecy brought about many subtle changes. Harry was in on things now - and with every decision Dumbledore made, he silently deferred to Harry's opinion, wants, and needs. Hermione was the only one who noticed, and who knew why. Ron was, as usual, in the dark.

But even things between Harry and Ron were different. There was an unspoken tension between them, a subtle current of animosity. Hermione, so often a little bit out of the loop, a little bit the third that made their crowd, was at the center of it.

They never spoke about it. It was just . . . there. Hermione would have to choose. Harry couldn't find it in his heart to pity her - he was too frightened of what might happen if the two of them turned their backs to him.

Eventually, it was Hermione who suggested the most useful therapy - dueling lessons.

"You are a good duelist," she said, almost reluctantly, when Harry asked why she thought he needed them. "But, well - things are getting more dangerous, aren't they?" A significant look crossed her face as she watched Harry intently. "You might need the practice some day."

"This isn't going to turn into something like the D.A., is it?" Ron asked warily.

"No, of course not," Hermione said. "It's just for Harry."

She was worried about him. It showed she cared, which was the only reason that Harry agreed to it. Hermione spoke to Dumbledore for him and set things into motion - she updated him occasionally, with little remarks like, "Dumbledore's having trouble finding someone good enough," and, "He's thinks you should keep practicing Occulmency, too."

Harry nodded and let her talk, careful not to make her angry with him. Ron, on the other hand, went out of his way to tease her - he didn't know about the prophecy; he didn't understand the danger. Everything was just a game to him. When one of them snapped at him, he scowled and grew quiet, barely speaking to them for days on end. Sometimes he seemed to be on the verge of saying something to Harry, but every time, he thought better of it.

When Hermione and Ron got to be too much, Harry paced the castle. After just two weeks, he knew it by heart - the shadowy corridors where no other students went, the soft, echoing sound of his footsteps, and the solitary shape of his lonely shadow. When even that wasn't enough, he flew, losing himself in reckless dives and turns.

And when even that wasn't enough, he went to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and talked quietly to himself, daring some creature to leap out and attack him. Molten lava flowed beneath his skin, needing only an excuse to pour out and devour the world.

Dumbledore found him in one of his lonely corridors, dusk-time shadows streaming through the windows. Harry, lost in thought, jumped when he saw the headmaster watching him.

He looked tired. Old. He was going to die soon. Harry knew this truth in his bones, the way he knew his name, the way he knew the shape of Ron's and Hermione's faces and the sounds of their voices. Surely Dumbledore knew it too.

"I have found you a dueling partner," Dumbledore said.

***

"The trick," the light, aristocratic voice said, "is not to hesitate." Colorless eyes inspected Harry's face.

Harry nodded, fingers splayed out and pressed against the ground. He was sitting in an uncomfortable crouch, ankles aching, calves straining. Every muscle was alert.

Draco stood casually several feet away, amusingly disheveled, sweat-stained and panting, like Harry. But none of his probing intensity was lessened by his appearance.

"Hesitating will get you killed," Draco continued, almost leisurely. The hungry, restless energy of his face - always vaguely intimidating, although Harry thought he might be getting used to it - seemed to devour everything in the room, referencing and keeping it all for further use.

Both of them had Seeker-quick reflexes. They were the same height, same build - but Draco was a skilled duelist, a talent no-doubt drilled into him by his father. He didn't like helping Harry, but he did anyway. Harry wondered why.

"You're a Seeker," Draco finished. Harry's recognized the signs - Draco was winding down, preparing to launch an attack. "Trust your reflex - Stupefy!"

Harry was already rolling, legs like loaded springs - he fetched up against the wall - "Impedimenta!"

Draco wasn't there. "Petrificus Totalus!"

"Expelliarmus!"

That one hit, but it wasn't strong enough - too hastily delivered, too close to missing. Draco ducked behind the unused teacher's desk - now he had cover, and Harry had none.

Harry swore. He'd been the one to pull that trick last time - he cursed himself for giving Draco ideas.

A soft, mocking laugh echoed through the room. "Worried, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, even though Draco couldn't see him. "What do I do now?"

"You expect me to tell you? You're the bloody brilliant Potter; figure it out for yourself."

Harry shrugged. Trust your instincts.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Rather than moving the desk, as Draco had done, Harry slammed a chair into it. He saw the top of Draco's head as he jumped, and then he was there, on top of the desk, Draco pinned in a headlock, wand at his throat.
Mid 'I win', Draco threw him, shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

Harry landed on his back, breath whooshing from his lungs. His hands were empty - Draco had his wand.

"Nice, Potter," Draco drawled, getting his feet under him and standing. Harry stared at his upside-down face. "You're inventive, I'll give you that."

"Thanks," Harry croaked. His lungs irritably told him to shut up and concentrate on breathing properly. "If I wasn't flat on my back, I'd appreciate that."

Draco flashed him a shark-like grin. He inspected Harry's wand theatrically, clearly waiting for Harry to demand it back. "Phoenix feather?"

"How'd you guess?"

Draco shrugged. He twirled both wands. Harry felt tension thrum through his veins - for now, he was at Draco's mercy. Such a strange concept . . .

"You know," Draco said, lazily, "I'm in control of what happens to you right now."

"That occurred to me, yes," Harry said, hearing the sharpness in his own voice. He got to his feet, tired of the game.

Draco watched him through insolent eyes. Again, there was that energy - sharp and deadly. Did anything stop that boy's mind from working?

He tossed Harry his wand suddenly. "Another go?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, rubbing his back. "I have a lesson with Snape."

"Remedial Potions?"

Harry glared. "If Snape hated you as much as he hates me, you'd need them, too."

Draco sneered. "If you were failing because he hated you, then he wouldn't agree to tutor you." His sneer turned even colder. "Unless Dumbledore asked him to, of course. Golden Boy Potter, gets all the rules broken for him."

"Shut up," Harry said quietly. He knew better than to provoke Draco - he needed these dueling lessons, and besides, Draco always won - but he didn't feel like listening to the same old speech.

"You're awfully bossy for someone who hasn't won a single duel."

"You're awfully nasty for someone who's being bribed to give me these lessons."

Draco shrugged. "I haven't hexed you yet, which means I've earned my extra credit." He turned and left the room, abrupt as always. Letting your guard down around Draco was always a bad idea.

Harry watched him go, face inscrutable.

He sighed eventually and pocketed his wand, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. Snape was waiting - he wondered again how he'd gotten himself into this, private lessons with two of his least favorite people.

And then he remembered. For Hermione.

Harry made his way to the dungeons.

***

For just a few moments, they were invisible to each other.

Harry was hidden behind a desk. Draco was hidden behind a pile of chairs. They couldn't see or hear each other at all. Trusting to chance that the other was still there, and had not disappeared.

Harry's Invisibility Cloak was tucked into his robes, shrunken to half its size. Restoring it to normal took only a tap of his wand - he made a mental note to thank Hermione for the spell.

With the barest whisper of cloth, Harry drew it around himself.

A smile flitted across his face. Draco had told him, repeatedly, to use any weapons, all weapons. When Harry hid behind the desk, Draco mocked him. When Harry rolled behind the desk and levitated it at Draco, he approved.

Harry wondered what he would think of this new development.

Part of him realized that this was foolish. Wrong, even. Knowledge was power, after all. And Harry felt a pang in his stomach every time he thought of what Sirius would have said, if he'd known - letting a Malfoy see him use James' Cloak! He never would have approved.

His smile vanishing, Harry slipped from his hiding place.

It took almost two minutes of stealthy tiptoeing to see Draco's face. He was sitting quite comfortably, clearly waiting for Harry to get impatient. He was still quite alert, however - at the barest rustle of cloth, his head whipped around.

For a moment, his eyes scanned the spot where Harry stood. It was like he could see him, Invisibility Cloak or no. Surely nothing managed to hide from those eyes.

Draco lifted his wand, sliding gracefully to his feet. Soundlessly, he made his way to the far corner of the room, taking cover behind an open closet door - its contents were spilled across the room, both to create obstacles and to throw.

He made a complex gesture with his wand, which Harry recognized as a seventh year Wordless Charm. Whichever spell Draco decided to cast next, it would be totally silent.

Duly impressed, Harry ducked into the empty doorway.

Draco's mouth moved silently, his wand pointed at the ceiling just above Harry's former hiding place. A jet of blue light splattered against the stone with a crack!, raining dust and pebbles upon the slightly battered desk.

If Harry had been hiding there, he would probably have had the wits scared out of him, not to mention some irritated eyes and lungs. But Harry wasn't there, of course.

Shoulders shaking with subdued laughter, Harry watched Draco step halfway out of his cover and stare, obviously mystified. When the ceiling finally stopped crumbling - what on earth was that spell, anyway? - he stalked over to glare at the floor for several long moments. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Harry stepped backwards into the hallway, trying desperately not to snort.

Draco searched the room thoroughly, like a disgusted cat that had misplaced a toy. When Harry remained gone, he stuck his head into the hallway.

Scowling ferociously, Draco made his way back to the center of the room.
When Harry got his amusement under control, he found Draco standing, arms crossed, glowering sullenly at the floor. It was an oddly amusing and endearing expression - clearly, Draco wasn't used to being outsmarted.

Harry fixed Draco's position in his mind and ducked out of sight, shedding the cloak. He waited for less than a second, in case Draco moved - he leapt into the doorway, shouting, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Draco's wand was up and "Stupefy -" was on his lips with incredible speed, but it was too late. The spell caught him in the chest, paralyzing him.

The frozen expression on his face was too much. Harry collapsed into laughter, brandishing the Invisibility Cloak so that Draco could see it clearly. "I win!" He was gloating but he didn't care - Draco gloated, too. It was a great deal of fun.

When Harry finally took the spell off of his 'teacher', Draco - caught mid-motion when the spell hit him - tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap.

Laughing all over again, Harry stood by and watched the back of Draco's head as he clambered to his feet. When the other boy turned to face him, there was a sharp, shrewd grin on his face.

"You win," he admitted. "For the first time in a month of dueling. That's not much to be proud of, Potter."

Crouching, with his elbows on his knees, Harry shrugged, dipping his head briefly. "It's something."

"Which is more than you had yesterday." Draco stared at him for a moment, an emotion oddly like approval in his eyes. A swift shake of his head, and then he strode to Harry's side. His white hands laid themselves upon the Invisibility Cloak; he lifted it, straightening, and inspected it closely.

Harry felt something wind itself around his heart and tighten. He watched Draco mutely for a moment, wondering if the other boy would give it back immediately, but Draco showed no such inclination.

"Give it here, Malfoy." Harry heard the clear note of warning in his voice.

Draco's eyes ticked to him briefly, before returning to the object in his hands. "Afraid I'm going to cut it up, Potter?" he drawled. "With what? My wand's - hell, I don't even know where my wand is right now." He'd dropped it after the Body Bind was removed from him - Harry could see it, glinting on the other side of the room. "I'm certainly not going to hurt it with my bare hands - these things are supposed to be indestructible."

Harry knew it was true - he'd stepped on the hem often enough to know that nothing so much as strained the threads - but the tension in his chest did not let up. Swallowing back an angry comment, he watched Draco's eyes devour the sight of the Cloak, the silvery fabric running through his long fingers.

Harry straightened suddenly, breath coming hard. "Give it here, Malfoy!"

Draco didn't twitch in his direction. "What are you on -"

Without warning, Harry tore his father's cloak from the other boy's grasp. Grey eyes flashed as Draco looked up at him, a snarl crossing his mouth. "What the hell is your problem, Potter?"

Harry felt his face flush, and he couldn't think of a single reasonable thing to say. "It's mine," he said, shortly, casting the Reduction Charm that Hermione had taught him. "I told you to give it back."

Draco stared at him in silence for a taut moment, and then laughed, incredulous. "You really are full of yourself, aren't you, Potter? What's next - hexing me because I won't summon a Butterbeer for you - King Potter -"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Harry could feel his face coloring - rage, never far away, boiled up inside of him.

"Oh, of course, would you prefer 'Lord', then?"

The title 'Lord' brought to mind Voldemort's evil face. Harry felt his head snap up, felt his control slip a little bit more. "Just shut up, Malfoy - sore over losing, are you?"

Draco laughed, mockingly, stepping back and away, swift and graceful. He swept up his wand and Harry felt a surge of adrenaline - a genuine duel with Draco Malfoy? Who would come out on top?

"That's rich, coming from someone who's lost every time we practice." Rather than brandishing his wand, Draco pocketed it. With distance between them, Harry felt his temper cool abruptly. "Don't let a single victory go to your head, Potter - you used a trick to win. You can't order me around."

Harry let his grip on the Invisibility Cloak slacken slightly, convinced Draco, too, had reined in his temper. "That's not why I was angry," he said, making peace, but his voice sounded funny in his ears - too cold, too tight. "The Cloak was my father's -"

"Shut up, Potter!"

His explosion startled Harry; Draco, who'd been picking his books up from the floor, straightened with a ferocious glare. Harry stood by silently as he strode from the room, his anger crashing around him, knocking obstacles from his path.

Once he was gone, Harry let out a startled breath. His face was burning.

"What was that?" he asked himself. The ping! of a pebble dropping from the ceiling was his only answer.

***

After another long, tiring lesson with Snape, Harry dragged himself back tot he Gryffindor Common Room. Every lesson became more and more difficult, draining him of energy to the point of lethargy. He didn't even notice when he walked right past the portrait - the Fat Lady's voice brought him back. "Password, dear?"

Blinking, he focused bleary eyes on her. "Um . . ."

For the life of him, he could not remember it. Finally, with a slight roll of her eyes, the portrait swung open. "Go on in."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, mildly pleased. He nearly killed himself in his attempt to climb through the hole, but the sight of the common room - red and gold, warmly lit, as always - woke him up a bit.

Ron and Hermione were sitting in their favorite chairs by the fire, with Hermione's books piled in a third chair to save it for Harry. Stumbling only slightly on a rug, Harry managed to make his way over. Hermione caught sight of him and swept her books up, returning his grin when he dropped into the plush armchair.

"You look awful, Harry!" Despite her smile, Hermione's eyebrows were drawn sharply together in concern. "I don't know how you can keep up with all of this."

Harry waved his hand at her, pleased by her worry. "I'm fine."

Hermione sighed. "You don't have to keep taking all of these lessons just because I asked you to," she said. "They won't do any good if you're dead from exhaustion after all."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron said, paging irritably through his Transfiguration textbook. "When has Harry ever done anything just because you asked him to?"

Hermione turned a frosty look on him. "More times that you have," she said coldly. "I've noticed that you completely ignored me when I told you what chapter we're on -"

"We're not on that chapter - you weren't paying attention in class, you moved ahead too fast -"

Hermione was scandalized. "Of course I was paying attention in class!"

Ron and Harry shared a snort of laughter. Frowning at their skepticism, Hermione snatched Ron's book from him, flipping to a page. "See, Harry, isn't this what we studied today - 'The process of transforming an inanimate object - a hunk of stone, a quill, etc. - into an animal begins with the rudimentary Switching Spell, in order to transfer the essential element of life that cannot be created by even the most powerful of wizards.' "

"No," Harry said ruefully. "You weren't paying attention, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him silently for a moment. Face reddening suddenly, she handed Ron's book back. "Sorry, Ron."

Ron looked mildly harassed. "Sure," he grumped, staring down at the page Hermione had turned to. "So that's what we're doing next, eh?"

"It sounds like fun," Hermione said eagerly. "D'you remember on the first day of class, when Professor McGonagall transformed her desk into a pig - well, we'll be able to do that soon!"

Harry was mildly impressed, but Ron just looked exasperated. "Hermione, how d'you remember what happened on the first day of class when I can't remember what happened last week?"

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. "I pay attention, Ron -"

Grumbling, Ron turned back to his textbook.

Pressing her lips together in a frown, Hermione turned her eyes to Harry. "Anyway," she said, shooting Ron a glare, "as I was saying - Harry, you need to think about dropping something. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"I'm fine," Harry said. It was true. Sitting by the fire with Ron and Hermione made him feel better, and almost made him forget about his argument with Draco earlier.

Hermione seemed entirely unconvinced. "Harry, I'm serious. You need to either give up your Occulmency, your dueling lessons, or Quidditch -"

At this, both Harry and Ron let out horrified yells.

"- which I know you'll never do, so it has to be one of the other two," Hermione finished hastily. "Honestly, Ron, stop glaring at me like that. I didn't say anything wrong."

Ron choked. "You didn't say anything wrong -"

Harry laughed, heading off the brewing argument. "I'm not going to quit any of them," he said. Hermione's face fell slightly. "I don't need to. I'm perfectly fine."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "See, Hermione? Now drop it."

Hermione's gaze turned cold again. "I really don't appreciate it when you do that, Ron," she gritted. "I don't need you to treat me like some kind of mental incompetent."

Instead of arguing with her, Ron's face turned red. "Sorry, sorry."

Harry shook his head. "I'm going to go on up to bed." Ron and Hermione looked at him, surprised. "I'm tired. I'll see you guys in the morning, shall I?"

"Yeah, g'night." Ron waved carelessly. Hermione gave a tiny smile, her eyes still clouded with worry. Her eyes moved briefly to Harry's untouched books, although she didn't mention them. "Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."

He flashed them a last smile and made his way up the stairs, collapsing gratefully into his bed. The minute his eyes closed, images flashed across his eyelids - Cedric, Voldemort, and the image of his parents from the Mirror of Erised. Memories, dredged up by his Occulmency classes.

And now he had one more memory to add to the list: the vision of Draco snapping at him and storming from the room. He felt his face burn with humiliation once more - all right, he'd been out of line, but he hadn't done anything to warrant that. To think that he'd almost considered Draco to be one of his friends . . .

With a sigh he rolled onto his side, staring dully out the window. He could be grateful for one thing, however bleak - he had never seen Sirius' death, never been forced to relive it. Snape still did not have that memory, although Harry was quite sure he would have wanted it.

It wasn't until much later, when Ron came up and Seamus and Dean crept in, that he managed to fall asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Immobulis!"

The spell splattered against the floor where Draco had been. His Jelly-Legs Jinx almost hit Harry, but he was too fast, jumping out of the way and firing off, "Rictusempra!"

It hit Draco around his stomach, but his Hex Deflection Shield repelled it, sending it back towards Harry. He was already moving, however, and Draco's next spell - "Tarantellgra!" missed him.

He got a shock as he rolled under Draco's hole in the ceiling - it was raining outside, and a spray of water covered his glasses. No time to worry about that, though - "Stupefy!"

"Furnunculus!"

"Immobulis!"

"Stupefy!"

The spell hit Harry, but didn't knock him out - due to the fact that Draco was mid-roll when he cast it, it was only a half-power. He felt his body go numb, however - he half-stumbled, dropping his wand.

Draco's laughter brought him to his feet, grabbing the other boy's arm to keep him from casting a spell. Completely unperturbed, Draco cast a spell that sounded like 'Acutus', although nothing happened.

Harry's leg swept out, sending Draco to the floor. A brief moment of wrestling, Harry fighting to pry Draco off of him, when something cold and hard was suddenly pressed to his throat. His first thought - that it was Draco's wand - was disproved when he felt the shape of it.

A blade. A knife of some sort . . .

Harry stayed very, very still. Unlike the hexes and curses that they'd been throwing at each other, this could very easily be fatal.

Draco grinned at him, sprawled on top of him. "Your mistake," he said, as if Harry had asked, "is that you lost control - you always have to be in control. Whether it's because I'm chasing you or not, you must never let me call the shots."

Harry didn't so much as twitch.

The knife at his throat pressed just slightly, and Harry realized that it was the flat of the blade that he was feeling. Unless Draco jerked suddenly or twisted his wrist, Harry wasn't in any danger.

"But you already know that one," Draco said abruptly, rolling off of Harry and kicking him his wand. "If not, you never would have survived your encounter with Voldemort, would you?"

Harry thought about it briefly - rolling to the side, hiding, dodging curses and hexes from Death Eaters. Yes, he had - innately. Or maybe that had just been terror.

Something occurred to him. He lifted his head, eyes narrowed, to find Draco watching him strangely.

"You said Voldemort's name."

Draco seemed to think about this a moment. "So I did," he said, and left it at that.

***

"Come off it, Potter!" The Ravenclaw Captain shouted at Harry from the stands, his fists planted on his hips. "You've been up there for three hours!"

Harry ignored him. The Ravenclaw Captain - Something Douglas - had been shouting since he and the rest of his team showed up. No matter how many times Harry told him that the time had signed up for the field, he kept carrying on. Rather than reply and risk his temper fraying even more, Harry gestured for the team to keep practicing.

After Angelina's graduation, Harry had been named Captain, to absolutely no one's surprise. Harry had realized it was surprisingly easily to play both Seeker and Captain at the same time - there wasn't much to do either way, except catch the Snitch and occasionally straighten up a move.

The Chasers were practicing between themselves, Ron watching and teasing Ginny about something or other, when Douglas started shouting at Harry again.

Biting back a curse, Harry forced himself to approach the Ravenclaw team. "What!"

"You've been up there for ages," Cho said, rather cooly, before Douglas could respond angrily. "It would be nice if you played fair and gave us a turn."

"It would be nice," Harry said tightly, "if you signed up the way you're supposed to instead of distracting us mid-practice. If you want to kick us off the field, go talk to Madam Hooch. If not - then go away."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in, evidently having sensed the brewing fight. "Technically, what you're doing is considered spying."

"Spying!" spat an anonymous Ravenclaw. "How on earth are we spying? Counting on Potter to catch the Snitch is hardly a strategy -"

"Never mind," Cho interrupted. She shot Harry a disgusted look. "Let's just get out of here."

This last was aimed at Douglas, but he didn't move. Suddenly aware of his scrutiny, Harry glared right back. An uncomfortable feeling shifted beneath his skin - suddenly, he was dying for a fight.

"Yeah," Douglas agreed suddenly, gesturing for the team to go. "I guess Lord Potter will let us know when we can finally practice -"

Harry never really remembered grabbing his wand or pointing it: although he did realize what he'd done before he actually fired off a curse. A gasp rose from the Ravenclaws - in the background, the Gryffindors also fell silent.

"Harry!" Ron flew forward, probably preparing to stop Harry from hexing Douglas, or something else suitably idiotic. "What're you doing?"

Douglas looked almost frightened. Harry noted his expression with grim satisfaction. He should be.

"Get out of here," Harry said. His voice was dangerously soft - no one fooled themselves for even a minute by thinking he was anything approaching calm. "Get out of here, and never call me that again. D'you understand me?"

Douglas swallowed hard, choking back his pride, and nodded. Harry pocketed his wand, and the Ravenclaws left in a group, Douglas at their center, as if they were protecting him.

When Harry turned, he found the entire team watching him, and Ron just a few inches away, hand still out like he was going to grab Harry's wrist. Ginny was only a few feet away from her brother, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"What was that?" she asked calmly, apparently undisturbed by the fact that me might be angry with her. "You know they're going to come back tomorrow, if for no other reason than you made them mad. You should've just let them be."

Ron dropped his hand, a strange, frightened look in his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said, before Harry could respond, but the rage in his veins had frozen Harry's brain and he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"It does matter," Ginny said. She looked completely unafraid. Belatedly, Harry remembered that she, too, had been possessed by Voldemort, as she had reminded him last year. "What were you thinking? You owe your team an explanation, at least."

There was no accusation in anger in her voice - if anything, her voice was completely bland. Later, Harry would wonder where it was that she got to be so good at acting.

"Why do you want one?" he muttered, low. Only Ron and Ginny could hear him, he was certain. "Afraid I'm going to go off on a killing spree like Voldemort?"

Ron jerked and hissed at the name. Ginny didn't bat an eye.

"Why?" she asked. "Are you?"

If she had been closer, he might have struck her, consequences be damned, but she wasn't, and he knew better than to try and hex her with Ron in the way.

"Harry," Ron said - "Gin - come on, don't fight -"

But he looked even more frightened than ever. With a curse, Harry dove towards the ground at breakneck speed, landing hard. The pain shooting up his ankles felt nice, and distracted him from the tight vibration of his rage.

He didn't even bother going to the locker rooms, knowing that the team would be quitting soon. As he left the pitch, he heard Ginny call for him, but he ignored her. The sound of her voice sent anger shooting through him again. How dare she? How dare she say that to him, be like that to him? Hadn't he saved her life? How dare she be suspicious?

He didn't remember that the suspicion hadn't come from her, it had come from himself. His whole body was shaking with anger - without even thinking, he made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, hoping devoutly that it was empty.

It wasn't, of course. He paid no attention to the faces that turned to look at him until one called out his name.

He turned, forcing his eyes to focus. Hermione darted to his side and grabbed his elbow. "Harry! What happened?" Anxiety widened her eyes, made her mouth tremble.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Nothing at all."

She led him to a chair away from most of the crowd. "Something obviously happened - where's Ron? The two of you didn't fight?"

"No," Harry said, his voice dreadfully hollow. His jaw ached from were he was clenching it, and his eyes didn't want to focus or hold still. He resented Hermione's grip on his arm and almost jerked himself free. "He's too frightened of me to fight with me."

Hermione hesitated, looking at him intently. Much more gently, she sat across from him and ducked her head, peering into his face. "Harry, tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened," he said. He looked into her face, reading the emotions there - concern, as always, and a little tiredness. Lively intelligence, the thing about her that always amazed him, that he adored. And just beneath it all - apprehension, anxiety. She was worried. Afraid . . .

Harry drew himself away from her, feeling cold. "Nothing happened," he said again - for what, the fourth time? - and left her sitting there.

In the hall, he passed by Ron, both of them still in their Quidditch robes. Ron almost said nothing - sometimes they didn't talk to each other, when they passed in the hall, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between them.

But he heard Ron hesitate. "Harry, mate, what's up?"

Harry didn't respond, didn't look back, unforgivable words on the tip of his tongue. He left Ron standing there, knowing that he would return to the common room, and find Hermione. They'd put their heads together and compare notes. When he returned in a few hours, they'd have some rehearsed speech to give him, both of them working to conceal their fear. Closer together for all that he put them through.

Harry slammed his fist into a wall as he passed it, not caring if anyone saw. He hated this, he hated being the thing that brought them together; being the thing that chased away the girl he loved . . .

But did he love her? He thought of the fear in her eyes and felt a rush of loathing, uncertainly directed. Did it matter? She didn't love him.

She didn't love him.

***

Hollow and cold, Harry didn't realize he'd made his way to his and Draco's practice room until he was there. Remembering his embarrassment from the day previous didn't help his mood any.

A large jug, clearly an old Potions container, was in his path. He kicked it as hard as he could, watching as the magically strengthened glass bounced off the wall with only a slight crack. Another object blocked his path - furious, he sent it flying. This time, it shattered.

A voice drawled from behind him suddenly. "You know, we do have to return this classroom when we're finished with it."

Without glancing over his shoulder, Harry kicked a small metal shelf, watching it nick the stone with grim satisfaction.

"You're the one who took a chunk out of the ceiling," Harry said finally, turning to face his teacher and rival.

Draco shrugged idly, hands in his pockets. He tilted his head up, looking at the hole in the ceiling - reluctantly, Harry did the same. It had worsened itself somehow, and now revealed a peek of the sky.

"It's going to rain," Draco observed.

"And this room is going to flood," Harry said flatly. The sprinkling from a few days ago had already left a moldy smell in the air. He looked away, allowing himself only a glance at Draco, turning his eyes to the window instead.

"That's all right," Draco said easily. Harry could almost feel gray eyes watching him. "You need practice dueling in water."

"So you've decided to keep on with the lessons?"

He felt rather than saw Draco's surprise, and felt a rush of satisfaction.

"Yes," he finally said, voice neutral. "Just because you're an arrogant prat doesn't mean I'm going to pass up extra credit."

Harry smiled tiredly. "Fine," he said. "Blame me if you want. It hardly matters, does it?" He kicked a small cauldron and watched it crash into the wall and skitter across the floor, creating an impressive amount of noise.

Draco watched him with sardonic amusement - when Harry lifted his head to glare at him, he barely twitched an eyebrow. "Something bothering you, Potter?"

"Like you give a damn."

"Too true. However, I am a slave to public opinion. Sometimes, I can barely resist the urge to throw myself at you like all of your Gryffindor friends."

Unwillingly, Harry's lips twitched into a smile. "Oh, shut up."

"And yet, I am always tragically rebuffed." Draco was smiling now, too, a mocking, sarcastic smile, but the most real expression Harry had ever seen from him. "My love must carry on, unfulfilled."

Harry shook his head, resting his hip against the windowsill and peering towards the Quidditch pitch. "If you have anything for me that's unfulfilled, Malfoy, it's homicidal intent."

Draco snorted. "Fine," he said, "Pout away. Are we going to practice or not?"

Surprised, Harry glanced over. "It's not time," he said. He turned back to the window. "It's not even the right day of the week."

"Then why are you here?"

"Why are you here?"

Draco clicked his tongue rebukingly. "I asked first."

No longer amused, Harry scowled. Blue-robed figures practiced on the pitch. "I was bored."

"Doesn't have anything to do with that little tussle you got into with Douglas, then."

Harry felt something in him tighten. "So everybody knows about that already, do they?"

"A few people, here and there." Draco's voice was musing. "Most of the Ravenclaws, naturally. A few Hufflepuffs. Everyone who was in the Great Hall a little while ago, eating dinner, when Douglas and Chang burst in, arguing at the top of their lungs, and giving extremely detailed accounts of your explosion to anyone with functioning ears."

Harry gave a tiny, bitter laugh. "Nice," he said, coldly. "So, everyone."

"Personally, I think you should have hexed the little bastards." Draco sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "Shown off some of those skills I've been teaching you."

Harry said nothing. Draco's words coincided a little too nicely with what his actual thoughts had been.

"Come off it, Potter." Draco sounded irritable, suddenly. "Don't tell me that's why you're up here moping - because they kicked you off the pitch?"

Equally irritable, Harry turned his face slightly. "If they kicked me off the pitch," he said, "why did they go storming into the Great Hall afterwards?"

Draco stared at him. His eyes narrowed sharply. "So you got into a fight with Weasely over it, then. Who cares?" He shrugged swiftly, as if to show that he didn't. "D'you want to practice or no? I don't want to sit here all day and listen to you whine."

Harry grabbed his wand. Draco, always alert, jumped to the side and had his own wand out without a word being spoken. Two Stupefys echoed through the air at the same time, and then Draco was rolling across the floor and Harry was kicking a chair at him.

It collided sharply with his shoulder, halting him. "Impedimenta!"

Draco was already on his feet. "You really need to be more creative in the spells you chose, Potter," he snapped.

"Debilito!"

Draco's eyes widened as the curse almost hit him - both of them remembered the time in fourth-year when Harry hit him with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. He ducked behind the desk - before Harry could throw something at him to chase him out, he shoved it backwards, into Harry's legs.

"Oof!" Harry rolled over the desk, almost landing on top of Draco. For half a second, he didn't do anything - by the time he thought to roll away, Draco was already in motion.

"Stupefy!"

Everything went sharply black.

Harry woke up a few seconds later, in precisely the same spot. He jerked into a sitting position, adrenaline flooding through him -

Draco laughed quietly from behind him. Forcing his heart to stop pounding, Harry turned to look at him.
He was leaning against the desk, only slightly disarrayed. "Good job, Potter," he said, sarcastic. "Less than a minute - I think that's a record."

Harry glared at him, irritated by his smugness, and slowly got to his feet. His knees ached. "Christ, did you have to slam the desk into me?"

Still lazily amused, Draco pointed his wand at Harry's legs, casting a Healing Charm. The pain faded, but the embarrassment remained.

Harry sighed and tugged a fallen chair upright, sinking into it gratefully. He felt exhausted, suddenly - he'd been flying for hours, after all, before having a desk rammed into his knees.

Draco watched him intently. "Want another go?"

Harry groaned. "God, no. You win."

Draco grinned sharply. "Yes, but the point is to make you better, isn't it? Come on." He straightened, as if the issue was settled.

Harry lifted his head, glowering mildly. "I don't see why," he said. "The only thing I'm learning how to do is beat you - how will this help in a real duel?"

"It'll help because you'll have practiced against someone good." Draco seemed completely unperturbed by the fact that he was praising himself. "You'll be two steps ahead because you'll be expecting me."

Harry snorted. "Go ahead, pat yourself on the back a little more. Try not to knock yourself over."

"Potter," Draco drawled, amused, "when you're as good as I am, you can flatter yourself, too. Ready?"

Harry jumped up from his chair and set it flying towards Draco - he leapt over it in a rather amazing display, but Harry didn't pause. "Exportatio!"

The Banishing Charm only grazed Draco, but it was enough to knock him off-balance. "Petrificus Totalus!" He missed by a foot.

"Impedimenta!"

Harry rolled, caught the cracked jug from earlier and threw it. Draco ducked and rolled, shielding himself from the falling glass. "Stupefy!" Miss! "Stupefy!"

"Explodo!" The Blasting Curse hit his legs - they were knocked out from beneath him, sending him flat on his stomach. He rolled as fast as he could, hit the desk, and ducked behind it.

He was on his feet half a second later. Hiding may have worked on Voldemort, but it would not work on Draco. "Exportatio!"

He had expected Draco to be prepared, but clearly, Draco had expected Harry to stay hidden a second longer. He'd already cast an Acquiring Charm on the desk - the Banishing Charm threw him into the wall, and then he was hit with the fast-moving desk.

Harry dropped his wand, running to Draco's side, catching him before he hit the ground. He was thoroughly unconscious.

Harry swore, setting the other boy onto the desk's dented surface. Thunder crashed suddenly, making Harry jump and scowl.

"Nice omen," he muttered. "Ennervate!"

The spell only worked on magically induced sleep, someone who'd fainted, or unconsciousness caused by a minor injury. He could only hope that Draco hadn't hit his head too hard.

He hadn't. His eyes slitted open. ". . . the hell?"

Harry grinned, sharply relieved. "Welcome back, Malfoy," he said, backing up slightly. "Gotten yourself sandwiched between a wall and a desk, lately?"

Draco grunted, sitting up slowly. He swore and rubbed the back of his head. "What'd you do?"

"Woke you up."

Draco gave him a look. He seemed to be regaining his wits with incredible speed - Harry stayed alert, in case he decided to start the duel up again. He really should go over and pick up his wand, but . . .

"Before that, I meant." Draco slid slowly off the desk, wincing. "And that's the second time today, by the way."

Harry blinked. "What is?"

"Well," and here Draco looked up, eyebrows faintly raised. "One, that you hesitated. And two - that I won."

Harry moved, but it was far too late. "Stupefy!"

***

Expression somewhere between a scowl and a smirk, Harry clambered into the Gryffindor common room several hours later than usual. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, smeared with dust, and his hair was glued to his head. That aside, he had looked much better than Draco had - Harry might have lost fifteen out of fifteen times, but he still gave Draco a run for his money.

It wasn't till he was on his way to get a shower that he noticed Ron and Hermione sitting by the fireplace, clearly waiting for him to notice them and go talk to them. Biting back a surge of irritation, Harry turned his back on them. Let them wait. If he were lucky, they'd get bored, and wander off. He could hope.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Hermione and Ron were standing in front of the door. Ron sent Harry an 'it's-not-my-fault, mate' look, and glued his eyes to the ground.

Torn between genuine annoyance and affection, Harry looked at Hermione. She didn't wait for him to say anything.

"Harry," she said. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry blinked at her, considered sarcasm briefly, and settled with, "What d'you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your fight with Douglas!"

"Oh," Harry said. He'd forgotten all about it, really. He'd been expecting her to say something about coming late or neglecting his homework. "He made me mad."

"He made you - Harry!"

Ron glanced up. "Well, that's settled. Might as well get to -"

"What was I supposed to do?" Harry asked, striving for calm. Ron slumped. "Let him keep shouting and insulting us?"

"Yes!" When Harry would have walked away, she caught his elbow and pulled him back. Harry let her, as it was the first time she'd touched him in weeks, but she yanked her hand quickly away. "If it meant avoiding another stupid house rivalry -"

"The house rivalry isn't stupid," Harry said, irritated and embarrassed. "Douglas was asking for an argument. I gave him one, is all."

Hermione tilted her head. "And when you pulled out your wand?" she asked coldly.

Harry thought fleetingly about walking away - very carefully, and very calmly - when Ron spoke up. "Listen, Hermione, Douglas was being a git. I told you -"

Harry and Hermione were involved in a staring contest. "Harry needs to learn to control his temper," she interrupted, talking to Ron, although her eyes were aimed at Harry.

"Hermione," Harry said, also talking to Ron, also looking at Hermione, "needs to learn to mind her own business."

Hermione's face turned red. Harry stepped past her - very carefully - and went up to the dorm.

***

Three days after the Potter-Douglas Fight, as it had come to be called, Harry woke up suddenly.

He sat up quickly, scanning the room. Neville was snoring blissfully a few feet away - Ron was visible through the hangings of his bed, arms akimbo in sleep. Dean and Seamus had their curtains pulled tightly shut. Purely out of concern, Harry tiptoed closer and peeked.

Dean's bed was empty, but Seamus' was extra full. Restraining the urge to wake them up and give them a good-natured ribbing, he crept back into bed and tugged the heavy curtains shut.

No one had been there, no one had entered his room. Relief alleviated his tension, but only a little.

Darkly, Harry cast a glance in Ron's direction. He and Hermione had been spending a lot of time together - too much, his more jealous side insisted, although he tried not to be too resentful. He knew he frightened her. But all she needed was time . . . she'd get used to him eventually; surely she didn't expect him to be a virtual child all his life, like Ron . . .

He rolled onto his flank, suddenly anxious. Nothing he did seemed to alleviate the worry. What if she didn't? What if he had to spend the rest of his life alone?

But he knew she wouldn't, he knew it. She cared about him. Loved him, maybe. And if not like that, then in other ways. He wouldn't lose her, he wouldn't lose Ron, but the panic hit him anyway, tightening his gut. What if, what if, what if.

Resolute, Harry screwed his eyes shut. No, he wouldn't think about that, about all of the horrible things that might happen to his friends because of him. And distracting himself was easy - he was a sixteen-year-old boy, after all.

Thinking about Hermione like . . . that . . . was easy, even if it made him feel vaguely guilty afterwards. Brown eyes, thick, slightly rough hair - smiling and giggling and blushing. Too easy. He tried to think about Cho, but the look she had given him on the Quidditch pitch three days ago stuck in his mind.
He thought suddenly of Draco, and drowsy, he let himself. If Seamus and Dean were . . . then he could . . .

His eyes fluttered shut. His thoughts danced from his grasp like windblown threads - before he gave up to sleep entirely, he wondered, will I remember this in the morning?

Immediately, he wondered what it was he was supposed to remember, and gave in to the heavy waves of sleep. He didn't think twice about the dream that had woken him . . . the indistinct image of Severus Snape, lying almost as if in sleep, traced in pre-dawn light, a pool of some viscous, red fluid spreading out beneath him . . .

***

A few weeks passed in relative peace. But everything was hectic in its own right, and the coil of tension in Harry's gut was tighter than ever before.

Sometimes he woke up feeling fine. Sometimes he woke up irritable and tense, snapping at everyone, and venting his frustrations on Draco before burying them in his lessons with Snape. Still other times he woke up tired and cold, drifting from class to class, skipping practice with Draco, and suffering through Occulmency.

When he glanced in the mirror, it was hard to read his own expression. Was he angry? Bored? Grief-stricken? He couldn't tell. It was some explosive cocktail combination of the three, and Harry suspected that if it were not for Draco's lessons, he would have broken down from the strain months ago.

Today was one of the tired days, where just keeping his eyes open was an immense effort. He put his head down during dinner, listening as Ron and Hermione bickered and Seamus and Dean tried to pretend that they weren't holding hands beneath the table. Harry couldn't blame them. If he was as gay as they were, he'd probably try to hide it, too - the thought was uncharitable and made him feel guilty, but he was in a vindictive mood.

Ron and Hermione's voices petered out, along with several others. Grinning to himself, Harry laid extra-still.

"Potter," Draco drawled, "I know you're awake, you git. I need to talk to you."

Harry didn't twitch. He half-considered starting a practice duel with Draco here in the Great Hall, imagining the surprised teachers and students with glee. Draco wouldn't mind, he was sure. Hmmm . . .

"Anything you need to tell Harry, you can tell us," Hermione said, voice clipped. "We'll tell him when he wakes."

"Thank you, Granger, but I feel no desire to utilize the Beaver Messenger Service today."

Instantly, Harry sat up, amusement mostly vanished. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Knew that'd get you up." Draco grabbed the scruff of his neck and yanked him upright. "Thanks for playing, Granger. See you in Potions." He waved jauntily as he dragged Harry away.

Hermione gave a loud, "Humph!"and the other Gryffindors shot Draco death glares, but he ignored them.

"Malfoy?" Harry said.

"Yes, Potter dear?"

Grinning in spite of himself, Harry said, "Get off of me."

Draco obliged, tossing out a last smirk. "I thought you were going to whip out your wand and start a practice duel in the Great Hall. Figured I'd better stop you."

Harry let out a laugh. Draco shook his head, pushing the doors open and letting them swing back into Harry. "You were, weren't you?"

"I considered it. It'd wake everybody up, that's for sure."

Draco scoffed lightly. "It'd also get us expelled, you stupid prat." He led the way down the hallway, glancing briefly over his shoulder. "Not to mention that Granger would probably throw herself in front of you heroically, or something equally insipid. So humiliating for you both."

Harry frowned at the back of Draco's head, throat tight. "That's not funny."

Draco shrugged in a manner that said he found this to be blatantly untrue, but he let it drop.

Harry finally cottoned on to the fact that Draco was leading him somewhere. "Where are we going?"

"Snape's office."

"What! Why?"

Draco grinned. "He's making you repeat Potions," he said. "He wanted me to come so that I could get in a few minutes of private mockery before everyone else found out."

Harry's mouth gaped open indignantly for a moment . . . and then he scowled. "You're lying."

"I prefer to think of it as a simple good-natured rib. Consider it incentive to actually pass Potions - you won't have to deal with me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't do things like that, Malfoy."

Draco snorted, then stopped suddenly, pushing open a familiar door. "Ladies first, Potter."

Harry sighed to himself, staring into he and Draco's training room. It was a veritable disaster zone by this point - several chunks had been taken out of wall and ceiling, not to mention the rainwater that puddled on the rough stone.

"I don't feel like practicing," he said, suddenly mulish. "I'm tired."

"At which point did I give you the impression that I cared?" Draco nudged him in with his shoulder. "If you don't practice, I don't get my extra credit. So practice."

Harry scowled ferociously. "I'm missing dinner for this?"

Draco threw him a smirk, halfway across the room. "Believe me," he said, "there are worse things that you could be doing - I believe that Professor Snape has some Potions texts he wouldn't mind quizzing you on?"

Harry grimaced to himself. He wished Draco wouldn't constantly remind him about that. He didn't need the reminder that everyone in the school thought he was an idiot, or that Draco didn't know even the slightest bit of truth about him.

"Fine," he grunted, shrugging off his robes. Draco followed suit. "But only because you brought up Snape."

Draco grinned, flashing white-teeth and a too shrewd _expression in the gloom. "Heaven forbid that it be anything else." And before Harry could ask him what he meant by that, his wand was up, and it was time to dodge.

***

Harry fully intended to get a shower and go to Occulmency when he entered the Gryffindor common room. Snape had already told him - several times - that if he so much as skipped a single lesson, that would be it. It seemed a rather cruel, drastic measure, since Harry was only taking the class to protect himself and his friends, but it was Snape.

Something about the day had been so extraordinarily off-key, however. He'd started out in a perfectly horrible mood, and somehow, had been cheered by his dueling lessons with Draco, as strange as the thought was.

Feeling unusually joyful, Harry glanced around for Ron and Hermione. They weren't in the common room. Rolling his eyes slightly, Harry made his way down to the library.

Sure enough, he spotted Hermione's things on a table. Fighting an urge to tiptoe - the library was just so quiet - he entered the stacks, peering over books and between shelves to find his friends.

He heard them before he saw them. There was a rather startled, "Oof!" from Ron.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said absently, clearly not sorry at all. "Here, I'll take some -"

"Why do you need all these books, Hermione?"

Harry opened his mouth to remind Ron that it was Hermione; she didn't need an excuse, but Hermione beat him to an answer.

"I don't need them." She sounded rather stressed. "We're doing this for Harry, Ron, I'd think you'd remember that -"

"I do remember that." Ron sighed, and there was a thump as something hit the ground. "Sorry. It's just, why are they so bloody heavy?"

"Because they're filled with information?"

"Really nice, pleasant information," Ron said, abruptly conversational. "A Guide to the Dark Arts and How to Defend Yourself from Their Darkness. Horrible Curses and Lovely Defenses." He sighed. "I wouldn't understand this stuff if you spoon-fed it to me. Hermione, this is just rubbish -"

"It is not!" Hermione sounded rather shrill. Ron 'oof'-ed again - clearly, Hermione had given him more books. "It wouldn't be in the school library if it was rubbish!"

"I didn't mean the books, I meant the fact that you're making me check all of them out. No one in their right mind would actually think I would read them!"

"Well, I've already checked too many books out, Madame Pince won't let me get anymore."

"All on the Dark Arts?"

"Well, yes." Hermione led Ron from the stacks to their table, the boy setting his load down with relief. "You've seen how much those dueling practices are helping Harry - and I'm finding plenty of useful spells for him. So, it's worth it."

"I guess so," Ron said, looking glumly at the pile. "You're sure Harry won't be sitting in the common room, noticing me carrying a great whacking pile of books in? It might make him a bit mad to know we've been sneaking around like this."

"He has lessons with Snape now, he refuses to miss them. And he wouldn't be mad, you know he wouldn't. But hurry up - I'll need time to carry them up to my room, since you can't go up there."

"Sure thing . . .". Grunting, Ron hoisted the books again and staggered off after Hermione. "I still think he'd be a bit irritated with us . . ."

But he wasn't. If he had seen Ron come into the Common Room, carrying 'a great whacking pile of books', he might have been.

But something about the sight of them, running around behind his back, trying to protect him and help him despite his snappishness, despite his continually flowing rage - his two friends, whom he so often resented and frightened . . .

Harry waited till they were gone, and left the library, eyes vague with thought.

***

Hours later, Harry sat in Draco's classroom, staring blankly out a hole in the wall.

The floor was wet. There was a rather large puddle just a few feet away, rippling softly with the late fall wind. It was dark - he was out past curfew, but he didn't realize it. His wand lay beside him.

Occulmency had never been so brutal. He was tired, tired in every part of his body, and slowly, unwillingly, he came to the realization that this had nothing to do with exhaustion, that it was about something inside of him, something raw and ugly and bleeding.

He had seen it, seen Sirius' death. Vivid, real, as painful and horrifying as it had been in real life. He could see him falling, hear his own screams, taste the salt in his throat, smell the stale air. His eyes closed.
Of all the things he had not wanted to see, he had wanted to see that least.

He opened his eyes. A lifetime of horrors flashed before his eyes - his life, he realized dimly. What an idiot he'd been to expect anything different, to expect a break, a chance to be happy. A chance to be safe.

What an idiot.

His right hand moved, almost of it's own accord, to the wand that sat beside him. Without looking at what he was doing, he cast the spell that he had heard Draco use - "Acutus."

His wand trembled in his hand for a moment, and then the blunt edge sharpened itself, turned silver, long, and deadly. A knife.

The wind stilled, stopped, as if the world held it's breath, playing witness to this desperate moment. His hand tightened. His first urge - to plunge it into his arm, watch the blood spray - surged and waned, leaving him nauseous. Shaking suddenly, he dropped it, dimly noting the clatter of wood and metal hitting stone.

He buried his face in his hands. He wanted to hurt himself, rail and rage against himself, but the thought of inflicting pain upon himself left him sickened - he wasn't that far gone, not yet. Spots danced before his eyes, and he thought he might faint.

A faint breeze moved against his back - not from the hole in the wall. He lifted his head slowly - but before he could look around, a hand buried itself in his hair and ripped his head back.

Something cold pressed against his throat, just below his Adam's apple. He resisted the urge to swallow, heart pounding dully.

"Don't you know you're never supposed to hand your enemy a weapon?" Draco murmured.

Harry said nothing. His hands hung limply at his sides.

The knife pressed ever so gently more. He realized it was only the flat of the blade against his skin, once again, and felt disappointment well up inside of him.

The hand in his hair slackened suddenly. His wand clattered to the floor.

Harry reverted back to his original position, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his elbows on his knees. Slow, even footsteps moved behind him, around him - when he finally looked over, Draco was leaning against the desk, legs crossed, watching him.

"You're miserable," the Slytherin said, shattering the silence. His cold, proud voice was nothing compared to his eyes - unspeakably frigid, they turned the air between them to ice. The winds returned as abruptly as if Draco had summoned them.

"How long," Harry asked, voice hoarse, "did it take you to realize that?"

Draco's face tightened subtly. His eyes were sharp, sharp like the knife that rested at Harry's side. "I didn't particularly care."

"I didn't think you had to."

Draco said nothing, although his eyes did tick away. A small victory

Freed from the scrutiny of his teacher's gaze, Harry openly inspected him. His hair, usually slicked back, was cleaned and tumbled around his face in casual disarray. It was longer than Harry thought it would be, although it would have had to be, in order for it to lie flat. He was wearing a rumpled set of robes, a sweater and slacks. His feet were bare.

A knife was the perfect metaphor for Draco. A dagger. An ice dagger, one that killed not with its cutting edge, but with its coldness. Searing and intense, but pure.

Harry let his gaze drift away. An uncanny silence fell between them. Wind whistled mournfully, then subsided again.

"Any specific reason you're here, Potter?"

"No," Harry mumbled. He resisted the urge to leave; he'd been here first.

He searched desperately for the fury that he'd been carrying around for the past few days, but it was gone. In its place was a heavy, hollow feeling, as if a part of him had been ripped away. It hurt.

Distractedly, Harry reached out and found the knife at his side. He inspected it closely, watching the moonlight strike the silver. The wind blew sharply again, and before he could doubt, question, hesitate, Harry drove the knife towards his arm.

Something stopped him.

Face twisted with rage, Draco was there, holding tight to his wrist. "You fucking idiot," he snarled. "You stupid fucking idiot. What the hell are you doing?"

Harry looked at him, unable to summon up even the slightest hint of indignation at Draco's insults. "Get off me."

"Why, so you can kill yourself in peace? I don't think so." Mastering his rage - barely - Draco yanked at the wand in Harry's hand. "Give it to me."

Stubborn, Harry wrapped both hands around his wand tightly. Draco glared coldly into his eyes and yanked again, an oddly futile gesture, as if he knew it wouldn't work. Sharp, stinging pain shot up Harry's arm - shocked, he realized he'd wrapped part of his left hand around the razor-sharp blade.

He said nothing.

"Why are you doing this?" Draco demanded. He released his grip and rocked back on his heels, staring at Harry as if he was some weird foreign creature.

Harry took a deep breath, a thousand reasons summoned to his lips, but when he looked up, met Draco's eyes, they all fell away. Suicide was such an extreme . . .

"I'm tired," he finally whispered.

He didn't expect sympathy, but Draco's sudden fury surprised him. "You're tired?" Draco got to his feet, towering over the other boy. "You're tired? Why the hell are you tired? You don't have any - you stupid little -"

Aching inside, Harry simply closed his eyes. Draco shut up.

"I'm tired," he said again, with an air of finality. He could feel the blade he had conjured pressing against bone, carving it. He wondered how hard he would have to press to make it cut all the way through. "I'm so tired of all of this. I'm not a hero. I'm not . . . anything, really."

The sounds of Draco moving reached his ears. Cold hands pried his fingers from his wand, slipping in the blood. Draco was silent as they silently fought for control, and then at last, Harry let it go. When he opened his eyes, he was looking down, at his and Draco's blood-stained hands.

The sight of the wound made his head spin. Draco cast a Healing Charm, but it only deadened the pain - blood continued to gush, glittering, trailing down his arm and dripping to the floor.

"I'm taking you to Madam Pomfery," Draco said quietly, but nothing about his manner was tender. It probably never was. "Get up, Harry."

Harry said nothing, refused to move. "I don't want Dumbledore to know."

He saw Draco roll his eyes. "I'll Memory Charm her if I have to," he said. "Get up."

Harry didn't move. "Don't. Just . . . don't. Leave."

He felt rather than saw Draco's surprise. "Is that what you want me to do?" he asked, derisive. "Leave?"

Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head, swimming in a sea of miserable darkness. This cannot go on forever, he thought. Something had to happen - something had to break him free, anything. This could not be the rest of his life, this despair.

He opened his eyes and looked at his hand again. The white hand that rested on his was bloodstained, white-knuckled with tension. They stayed like that for several minutes, until Draco let out a long sigh and sank more comfortably to the floor.

Voice abrupt, sharp, he asked, "D'you think you're the only one who knows what it's like to be tired?"
Harry gave a tiny shake of his head.

"Sometimes I'm so tired I don't breathe, I don't think. I remember my father coming home a few months ago, half-insane from just weeks with the dementors, screaming and striking anything that moved." This was probably the most open that anyone had ever heard Draco be - disbelieving, Harry lifted his head to watch his face. "I remember hearing him beg Voldemort for mercy, and giving my mother up to buy his own life. I remember listening to her scream curses at him."

Harry watched him with a sort of cool wonder. A half-forgotten fantasy played in his mind.

"I remember visiting her in that tiny room, three times. How the final time, she begged me to bring her tea with poison in it, mathin, so that she could die painlessly. I remember watching the Death Eaters come from her room, sated."

Draco's body was vibrating with tension. And again, Harry was struck by his intensity, even though he couldn't see it - he could feel it, in taut muscle and hear it, in that softly strained voice. Taste it in the back of his throat as if it was his own.

"I'm tired too, Harry." Draco lowered his eyes, looked back up with fire in them. Draco was the sort of man who honesty always hurt. "Because I can't sleep, because every night, when you go to lessons with Snape, I go to lessons with Dumbledore, and he makes me tell him about the things I heard and saw last summer. He makes me justify myself to him, pointing the flaws in all of my thoughts, the holes where all my morals ought to be. He tells me to empower you so that you can free her."

Draco's hand found his chin, suddenly, gripped it tightly. It was not a gentle gesture. "And then you want to die like this."

In that moment, for the first time, Harry thought of the prophecy in terms of not himself, but of others. And instead of ringing in his head like the fast-approaching footsteps of his own doom, it felt a lot like responsibility.

Harry felt his eyes stinging and burning. He narrowed them sharply. "I don't think I can," he said, voice hitching. "I honestly don't."

"You had better," Draco said. "Because if you don't, I'll go with you, and then I'll be dead, too, and you won't have anyone to duel with."

They stared at each other, challenging, searching, for several long minutes. Draco made a little motion towards him, like he might pull Harry to his feet, drag him to Madame Pomfery, and Harry suddenly wanted him to, very much.

Instead, Draco looked past him, at the door, and lifted his chin in a subtle greeting.

Inexplicably knowing what he was going to see, Harry turned to look, too.

Dumbledore's pale eyes met his own, wreathed in a face full of sorrow. The strength in Harry's shoulders vanished - he had not wanted him to know, not Dumbledore, who had protected him for so long, who seemed to hold him in such high regard.

"Come with me, Harry," he said. "I shall escort you to Madame Pomefry."

Nervous, Harry obeyed instinctively. He glanced back at Draco and saw an expression of bitterness on his face.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask him why. To tell him that the things he'd said mattered, that they changed things.

Impassivity colored Draco's face again. He got quickly to his feet, swift and graceful as always.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said to Harry, brushing past him. "Same time?"

Harry could only nod.

Dumbledore and Draco were silent as the Slytherin left the room. Dumbledore gestured, and Harry fell into step beside him.

They walked to the infirmary in silence.