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Chapter Ten - Fear

But I fear

I have nothing to give

And I have so much to lose here in this lonely place

Tangled up in our embrace

There's nothing I'd like better than to fall...

~Sarah McLachlan, Fear

"You kissed me, Draco." The words were stark and clear, tearing their way in a trail of shards to the very centre of Draco's mind. I... Oh God. It did happen, it really did happen. Bloody hell, what am I going to do? Harry's eyes were on him, seeming to see through every mask he had ever worn, directly into his soul.

"I... what?" The words came out without his conscious volition, born of confusion and the desperate hope that this was a trick, a joke, some kind of dream. Except that Draco's recent dreams of Harry hadn't been jokes. They hadn't been funny at all.

"You kissed me." Harry shrugged, looking as uncomfortable as Draco felt. "I mean, at first I thought it was just that you were dreaming, that you didn't know who I was, but then you said my name and I..."

What Draco had thought was only a dream came vividly back to him: Harry's arms around him, Harry's body beneath him, Harry's lips soft beneath Draco's... Oh no. "I can't have," he protested weakly, more on instinct than anything as he desperately tried to find a way to twist this into something innocent. What if Harry thought Draco had designs on him, what if he refused to help him any more, left him to the nightmares? "I wouldn't do a thing like that!" But it was a weak lie, because Draco knew that he would, that he'd do it again in a moment.

"Yeah, well." Harry folded his arms across his chest defensively. "You did."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" Draco twisted the hem of his robe between his fingers, unable to meet Harry's eyes.

"Why would I dream that?" There was something unconvincing about Harry's stance, his expression, but Draco was too occupied within himself to try to analyse it.

"I can't have," he protested again, staring helplessly at the other boy. There was something in the eyes, something deep that hinted of pain and weariness, and Draco didn't understand himself at all, couldn't comprehend why this made his stomach twist even more than Harry's closeness or the way his robes outlined his figure. Furious, Draco grabbed onto his self-control with both hands and lashed out randomly, desperate to stop Harry from seeing how he really felt about this. Let him think I hate him - I do, I do damn it! "Look, Potter, I don't know what you're playing at but I don't appreciate this sort of thing!"

"What?" Harry backed away, confusion and the beginnings of hurt on his face. Draco drew his robes around him - it was cold, he told himself, just the cold, nothing to do with feeling defensive or helpless - and tried to stand up straighter, to stare Harry down. Let him drop this, he prayed, let him leave it at this and assume I never meant it. After all, at the time, Draco hadn't ever intended to kiss Harry. I still can't believe I did that. It was only later that the idea - and the desire - had grown on him. Grown to fill him. Draco swallowed. This was very, very wrong.

"Give it up, Draco," Harry sighed, scrubbing at his unruly hair with one hand. "It happened, all right?"

"Well, so what if it did?" Draco demanded, taking belligerence as a far better option than falling apart completely. "Why are you even telling me this?" To humiliate me? Is that all he wants? I knew this helping thing couldn't last...

"Malfoy - Draco... oh, God." Harry leant against the solid certainty of the wall as though he needed it to hold him upright. Draco suppressed the desperate desire to go to him, to put his arms around Harry and hold the other boy as he had so often been held himself. Irrational, he told himself firmly. Irrational.

"Look," Harry said suddenly, refusing to meet his eyes, "I tried to ignore it. I tried to forget about it, I thought it was just, you know, some weird dream, some random thing like that. But it just - I couldn't stop thinking about it, and it wouldn't go away, and I have to know."

"Know what?" Draco blinked slowly, somewhat baffled and hoping he wasn't about to hear some desperate plea not to impinge on Ginny Weasley's sacred territory. The idea made him feel a little sick.

"Whether you..." Harry swallowed, and Draco watched in fascination as his eyelashes fluttered against those ridiculous lenses as they fell shut. "Whether you meant it."

It seemed to be difficult to breathe. Suddenly every particle of air that he dragged into his lungs tasted overwhelmingly of Harry, every thought in his head seemed to be prodding him towards that little word 'yes' that would set the final seal on everything he had never wanted. Shame whirled through him in a giddying flush. Oh God, what do I say? There's nothing to say...

The silence stretched out, and Draco couldn't look. The tension felt unbearable, he could feel it pulling at him, demanding his answer, and he had all but cracked when Harry made a sort of choking noise and grabbed at his arm, forcing Draco to look up, to meet his eyes. The shock of it was like a knife stabbing through him, cutting at him, and Draco gasped, eyes widening. Harry...?

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, dropping Draco's arm as though it was a live snake. "But - God - I know you didn't mean it and I know you never wanted it but it's all I can think about and I can't stop wanting it and will you just please tell me...?"

Draco felt his eyes open wider than he could ever have imagined, and a funny incoherent sort of sound come out of his mouth, because his mind was too caught up with thoughts like he wants it and he wants me to let him speak, and he had no idea what to do, and then right at that moment an eerie, piercing note split the heavy silence, wailing through the corridors of the school and stabbing like knives into Draco's brain. He swore, and through the ringing in his ears Draco heard Harry exclaim in something that sounded like pain or surprise. Fwooper song. Shit, what's happened? They're supposed to be under Silencing Charms! Draco clapped his hands hastily over his ears, trying to muffle the sound, and then looked helplessly at the door.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." Harry pushed him roughly aside and yanked the door open with a long-suffering look. "A few seconds exposure won't hurt you."

"I don't want to go insane," Draco protested, keeping his hands over his ears in a vain effort to keep out the sound. I'm mad enough already... But Harry had gone, ducking under the tapestry and out of Draco's sight, and a moment later the Fwooper song cut off with a strangled squawk and he heard Harry's voice: "Silencio!"

Hastily, Draco ducked out of the storeroom himself, pulling the door to behind him. Harry was sprawled on the floor of the corridor, half on top of a very disgruntled-looking lime-green Fwooper that Draco thought he recognised from Care of Magical Creatures. Harry scrambled up, keeping a tight hold on the Fwooper's legs so that it couldn't fly away. It levelled a malevolent look at him and opened its beak wide, then went cross-eyed in astonishment when no sound emerged. Although, Draco thought as he looked around, it wasn't exactly silent. Faintly, in the distance, he could hear other Fwoopers carolling shrilly to the world at large, and a high-pitched chittering noise could be heard from just up ahead, where a pair of Cornish pixies seemed to be attempting to fly off with a portrait of an elderly wizard, who was shouting and brandishing his wand in annoyance. A gnawing sound from the floor made Draco look down; a furry black Niffler was wrapped around his foot, chewing at the silver eyelets on his shoe.

"Hey!" Draco reached down and grabbed at the little creature just as Harry pointed his wand at the pixies and yelled "Stop that! Petrificus Totalus!" They froze in mid-air, the portrait dangling precariously, and the dark-haired boy grabbed the picture with his free hand, lowering it to the floor. One hand clutching the delightedly-wriggling Niffler, Draco had just moved to help Harry when a huge voice boomed through the corridor, freezing him in place.

"All students are to return to their Houses immediately." It was Dumbledore's voice, although the Headmaster was not present. "All staff and Prefects report to the Entrance Hall, please." The high-pitched chitter of another creature could be heard as the voice cut off. Draco looked at Harry. He looked serious and concerned, his clothes and hair still rumpled from where he had dived to the floor. The rather attractive effect was spoiled a little by the acid-green Fwooper dangling from his right hand - he appeared to have Stunned it, too - and the pair of pixies clutched in his left. His wand was stuck through his waistband, and Draco mentally kicked himself for even thinking about Harry's waistband at a time like this. It could wait. It could all wait.

"Come on," Draco yelled, breaking into a run for the Entrance Hall without looking to see whether Harry was following him. The Niffler was enthusiastically trying to burrow into the crook of his arm, whuffling at his robe interestedly. He could hear Harry's footsteps pounding behind him, and absently he wondered what the dark-haired boy looked like running. Like he did when he was flying? Or gawky and uncoordinated? Exasperated at himself, Draco yanked his wand out of his sleeve as he ran, telling himself that if they met something he was not only the one in front, but the only one with a hand free. The Niffler was now investigating the enamelled silver of the Prefect badge pinned to his chest, seemingly trying to gnaw it off his robes.

Draco hurtled through an open door into a small round room and out through an archway on the far side, Harry in pursuit. It was a short cut through here; if he turned left into the next corridor and went down the steps he'd be in the Entrance Hall. Just here... He rounded the corner... and froze.

The narrow corridor was dark, black as pitch, and out of the shadows before him a tall, robed figure stepped. Draco could feel himself starting to shake, could feel his wand dropping out of his limp hand, could even hear it clatter on the floor off in some distant part of his brain, but could do nothing at all about it. He was frozen, petrified in place by the fear that swirled and clouded within him, swallowing up his every rational instinct. The figure stepped forward again, raising bone-white hands to its hood, and Draco could see the face now, could see the dull glow of those red eyes, could see the bloody gash of a mouth and snake-slit nostrils, could hear the hiss of Voldemort's breath as the Dark Lord reached out a hand to touch him... Draco wanted to back away, wanted to run, wanted to scream, but all that emerged from his constricted throat was a hoarse gurgle...

"Riddikulus!"

There was a sharp crack and Voldemort vanished, replaced by a hooded Dementor.

"Riddikulus!" the voice shouted again, and with another crack the Dementor vanished in a greasy puff of smoke. Feeling vaguely sick, Draco looked around. Harry was standing just behind him, Fwooper and pixies discarded in a heap on the floor and his wand in his hand. He had a grim look on his face that Draco had never seen before; he stared helplessly as Harry stepped towards him, one hand outstretched. It... it was a boggart? Oh...

"Draco, are you okay?" Harry actually sounded vaguely concerned, and Draco realised that he was still shaking. The Niffler in his arms was still, grey snout burrowed deeply into the crook of his elbow.

"Y-yes." Draco took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together a bit. It wasn't Voldemort. It wasn't him. Just a boggart. "I'm fine. Come on..."

"Yeah, we'd better go." Still, Harry was looking at him closely as he pushed past Draco to take the lead. "You sure you're okay, Malfoy?"

"I'm fine," Draco repeated, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs drowning out the lie.

***

Half the staff were already there when Harry pelted down the stairs into the Entrance Hall just in front of Draco. They were clustered in a worried-looking group around Dumbledore, who was standing in the direct centre of the room looking very serious. A little way away, several Stunned creatures were laid out in unconscious rows on the stone; Harry deposited the Fwooper and the pixies at the end of the row, and went to join Hermione, Padma and Justin, who were standing by the wall, keeping an eye on the professors. Hermione was beckoning urgently to him.

"Hey," Harry muttered when he reached them. "What happened?"

"We don't know yet," Hermione answered with a frown. "Harry... why did you come down the stairs with Malfoy? Were you duelling again? Honestly Harry..."

"No, nothing like that," said Harry hastily before she could get started on a lecture. "We kind of ran into each other in the hallways, is all." He looked around surreptitiously; Draco was standing by the far wall with his back turned, talking to Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh." Hermione was chewing on a nail, a sure sign that she was worried and distracted. "I wonder what he was doing up over there, then? He shouldn't have any reason to be in the North Tower at this time."

"Don't ask me," Harry protested rather loudly; one or two of the professors looked around, and Snape fixed him with a vicious glare before turning back again. Harry lowered his voice. "I've got no idea what the git does." It felt strange to say such a thing, the words thick and unnatural on his tongue.

"Hmm. He's been weird all year," Hermione began, but at that moment Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly and a hush fell over the room - a hush punctuated by the distant sound of chittering and squealing.

"We have a small emergency on our hands," Dumbledore began as the students drew in closer to hear him. He wasn't twinkling at all; it must be more serious than it seemed, Harry thought. "Whether by accident or design, the magical creatures that are normally kept caged in the south wing conservatory have been released into the school at large. Not only that, but the Dark creatures which Professors Lupin and Moody have been using in lessons have also been freed. I have sent the rest of the school back to their common rooms, but we," and Dumbledore indicated the rest of the staff with a sweep of his hand, "will need your assistance in rounding up the errant creatures. There is nothing loose in the castle which you have not already studied; you will each be partnered with a member of staff and assigned to clear a section of the building. Is that clear?"

Nods all around. "Sir - what about outside?" Hermione asked in her best Head girl voice. "Do you know if anything has got out?"

"Hagrid is patrolling the outside of the castle," McGonagall said briskly, pulling her wand from her sleeve.

"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, if that is all we shall begin." And he beckoned to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who looked somewhat overawed at being asked to assist the Headmaster. Hermione had already been collared by McGonagall, and Harry suddenly swallowed; what if he was going to have to work with Snape? He looked around quickly, but the Potions Master was already leading Draco away in the direction of the dungeons. Draco... Did Draco mind working with Snape? Harry wondered. A tap on his shoulder made him start; he whirled around to see Lupin grinning wryly at him.

"Come on, Harry, we've got work to do."

"Okay Professor." Harry followed as Lupin led the way out of the Entrance Hall towards the South wing. "Where are we going?"

"Back to the conservatory," Lupin called back over his shoulder. "We're going to be re-securing the cages and putting... There's another one," he pointed with his wand, interrupting himself. Harry looked; a Niffler appeared to be digging at a crack between stones in the wall, only its rear end protruding from the hole it had made. "Filch is going to have a field day," Lupin muttered, bending down and scooping the little creature up. "Here." He deposited it in Harry's arms; it immediately tried to wriggle into the neck of his robe. Harry got a firm grip on it and hastened after the teacher.

As they rounded the corner into the South Wing, a curious noise made Harry stop and blink. It sounded like someone was talking in one of the classrooms - more than one someone. He could make out two hissing voices... Hissing?

"Professor Lupin, can you hear that?"

"That hissing noise?" Lupin peered around Harry's shoulder as he opened the door.

"I think it's one of the Runespoors," Harry murmured, still listening to the strange conversation.

"...never heard anything so ridiculous in our life, you cretin. How on earth or below it do you expect they'd ever let us get that far?"

"Well, what do you suggest then?" There was a hiss of irritation.

"Why bother? They'll catch us again whatever we do."

"Not if we hide."

"Oh, please, you idiot, just look at us. We're far too obvious to be able to hide in a place like this."

A strange, lazy sort of hiss. "I... like hiding..."

Silence for a few seconds, then: "Is he finished?" Harry stepped quietly into the room, following the sound and hoping that the snake was too occupied to sense him coming.

"Looks like it." It was coming from under the teacher's desk. Carefully, Harry bent down and peered beneath it. The Runespoor appeared to be engaged in an argument with itself, the left and right heads glaring at each other insofar as snakes could glare, while the middle head gazed blankly into space.

"Um, excuse me?" Harry asked, still slightly surprised by the hissing tones that escaped from his lips.

"What was that?" The left head whipped around rapidly, but the right had spotted Harry first.

"Now look what you've done," it accused the left head haughtily.

"Okay, come on, you're going back to your cage." Harry reached a hand under the desk, trying to grab hold of the snake, but it wriggled aside with an angry hiss, the right head darting towards Harry with fangs extended. Harry snatched his hand back just as Lupin voice shouted "Stupefy!" from behind him. A jet of red light struck the Runespoor, which slumped to the ground mid-bite. Lupin pushed past Harry and yanked the creature out by its tail, the three orange and black-striped heads hanging limply. Harry stared at his hand in bemusement for a moment, then shrugged and let it fall.

"I never thought it'd actually go for me."

"You're lucky," Lupin muttered darkly, beckoning Harry to the door. "They can be vicious. Come one, lets get it back to its cage before it wakes up."

"Yeah..." Harry followed Lupin out into the corridor and around the corners to the conservatory that doubled as Hagrid's menagerie. God, I'm an idiot. Almost got myself bitten... I never thought it'd go for me, I trusted it too easily...

The conservatory was a mess. Wire cages had been pulled from their shelves and strewn across the floor, many smashed into shapeless tangles of wood and metal. In one corner, where Harry knew that Hagrid kept tanks of fish and other water-dwellers, a mess of shards and puddles was all that remained. The sad, limp remains of at least a dozen Shrakes, Plimpy and other miscellaneous fish lay strewn among the wreckage, some of them looking gnawed-on, as though the other released creatures had decided it was past lunchtime.

"Oh, dear, what a mess." Lupin sighed, surveying the devastation. Harry had to agree; the floor was covered with sawdust and droppings from the overturned cages, and there wasn't a clean patch in sight. Harry turned slowly, taking in the full extent of the scene. This... this couldn't have happened by accident. Even if one of the Kneazles or Crups got out, they couldn't cause this, and they're the biggest things that were in here. Nifflers can make a mess, but not on this scale.

"Professor, who did this?" Harry asked as Lupin picked his way over the tangled remains towards the fireplace.

"We don't know, Harry." Lupin turned and looked at him, and the expression on his face was one that Harry had rarely seen outside of a serious emergency - the kind of emergency that was usually related to Voldemort. "Professor Dumbledore has his suspicions, but..."

"But someone must have done it - someone in the school? Death Eaters? Why would anyone want to do something like this?"

"That," Lupin murmured, turning away again, "is the question we all want answered. Harry," he continued in his normal voice, "if you could begin fixing the cages so we'll have somewhere to put the creatures when they arrive... A simple Repairing Charm should work."

"Okay, Professor." Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket, and looked around, wondering where to begin. The tanks, I suppose. Glass crunched beneath his feet as he made his way carefully over to the former aquarium area. First, he would have to do something about the dead fish that littered the floor. "Wingardium Leviosa." There was no way, Harry thought with a shudder of disgust, that he was going to touch the limp, slippery dead things with his bare hands. And the Shrakes were far too spiny to touch, anyway. He levitated them carefully to the corner of the nearest shelf, where they made a sad, wet pile, and then pointed his wand at the piles of shards on the floor. "Reparo!" Razor knives of glass leapt up at his command, fusing together in mid-air and rejoining the jagged metal bases. Hopefully, when the other groups reported in, there would be something to put in them.

***

"Stupefy!" Draco ran to catch the Augurey that Snape had stunned before it hit the ground; its feathers had a strange, oily feeling against his fingers. Hastily, he stuffed the thing into the half-full sack and waved his wand to levitate it again - he was a Malfoy after all, and a wizard, and why on earth should he be expected to engage in manual labour?

"Malfoy!" Snape's voice echoed down the corridor; he had already moved on to the next room. Draco hurried to catch up with the Professor; he had realised as soon as Snape had collared him in the Entrance Hall that his Head of House was in a spectacularly foul mood. Already he had been quizzed practically at wandpoint as to why he and Potter had arrived so close together. Draco had thought very quickly, telling Snape that he had rescued Harry from the boggart they had met, and that had been enough to deflect the Potions Master's wrath. Snape would believe anything derogatory about Harry; it was his one weakness as far as Draco was concerned, although the rest of Slytherin House would have thought differently. But then, Draco's opinion of Harry wasn't exactly meshing with traditional Slytherin dogma recently. Harry again. Why can't I forget about him?

Snape was waiting impatiently by the fireplace in what looked to be an abandoned torture chamber. He had already lit a fire in the grate; by its light Draco could see that the chains and implements on the walls gleamed as if they had been oiled only yesterday. Filch and his peculiar habits, he supposed. The man was a sadist, and Draco wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that he used his toys on himself whenever there was a lack of students to punish. The Squib had always given him the creeps.

"Bring that sack over here," Snape demanded waspishly just as the head and shoulders of Professor Lupin appeared with a soft pop in the fireplace. The werewolf had his face turned away, talking to someone over his shoulder.

"Can you do the aviaries now, Harry? Some of these look like they're waking up..." Draco hid a wince even as Snape's expression grew stonier. Potter again... And I still have no idea what I'm going to tell him - what if he won't help me any more? Does he really... like me? How can he? Maybe Harry was as mad as Draco felt. Maybe he really was completely insane and it was all just a hallucination.

"Here, Lupin," Snape barked, yanking the sack out of Draco's hands and thrusting it into the flames. "Hurry up, we don't have all day."

"Of course, Severus." Lupin's voice was mild as the sack disappeared from view. Draco wondered if the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor knew that his refusal to become angry only infuriated Snape further. Lupin probably did know, he decided, collecting the empty sack that the werewolf held out through the fireplace. He had an amused sort of expression on his face as he looked at Draco, and the tone of his voice as he wished them luck - even fading as the flames died down - held a hint of laughter. Oh, great, get him even madder. I'm only the one who has to deal with him, after all. Bloody typical.

Draco followed the fuming professor back out into the damp corridor. Already they were two or three levels beneath the Slytherin common room; Draco had tried to keep count, but that had become more difficult when the staircases had stopped taking them down whole stories; the place was a maze in more than just the usual two dimensions. It was cold down here, a dank chill seeping out of the walls as though the stones felt the combined weight of all the winters they had stood through. The darkness was thick and musty, pressing in on the little circle of light that emanated from the tiny blue-white ball hovering over Snape's shoulder. Within their puddle of light, the shadows were sharp and defined, shifting as the Potions Master moved onwards. Outside, they seemed to gather around the edges, writhing and whispering and pressing inwards. Not for the first time, Draco wondered just how old these dungeons were. The masonry of the walls seemed different down here somehow, dissimilar to the rest of the castle. Even on the upper levels the stones were smaller; closer set, and seemed to be unmortared.

Now they were descending a set of uneven stairs into even deeper darkness. Draco looked around uneasily; it reminded him far too much of the nightmares. I could disappear down here and no one would ever find me, he thought nervously. I wish Harry was here... The next moment, he blinked in astonishment. Had he really just thought that? Surely not.

"Here." Snape's curt tones startled Draco, and he almost tripped on the stairs. They had arrived at the bottom of the steps, and suddenly there was no way ahead. The corridor terminated in a large, iron-bound door which was set directly into the bare rock of the walls. Looking closer, Draco realised that the door itself was carved from a single heavy slab of the same stone. There was no handle, only a series of large keyholes, set into a large iron panel one above the other. Snape reached out towards it with one hand, and brushed his fingers carefully down over the row of holes. There was a low, soft sound, almost as though some invisible being had plucked a harpstring, and Snape turned, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's it, we're done. Come on, Malfoy, back up."

Draco scrambled to obey, turning and stumbling up the stairs. There was no room for Snape to move past him with the light, and Draco could barely see where he was putting his feet. Remembering the potholes and loose flagstones of the upper dungeons, he pulled his wand from his sleeve and hastily lit the tip. The extra light only seemed to make the shadows press further in on him, and Draco shivered involuntarily.

***

"Here's the last o' 'em." Hagrid lifted his huge hands, each of which held a struggling Crup by the scruff of the neck. "They were almost to the Forest before Fang caught their scent." Behind the half-Giant, Fang whined quietly, pawing uncomfortably at the stone floor. From the nearest cage, a mackerel-furred Kneazle hissed at him, and the black dog jumped quickly backwards, tail between his legs.

"Here." Harry hastily swung the door of the largest cage open, and Hagrid tossed the two doglike creatures through it as easily as if they had been mice. Harry slammed the wire door shut behind them and shot the bolts. "Is that it, then, Professor?"

Lupin looked up from the rocking trunk that contained his spare boggart. "Oh? Yes, I think so, Harry. All the teachers have reported in, and they've combed the castle thoroughly."

Hagrid had been looking around, taking stock of his creatures. "We're still missin' a Fwooper. That orange one; yeh remember it, Lupin? An'..." His beetle-black eyes fell on the aquarium tanks, and his face screwed up in puzzlement. "An' the Malaclaws an' all. Didn't no one find none of them?"

"Apparently not." Lupin rose and followed Hagrid's gaze. The largest of the glass tanks that Harry had mended earlier was, indeed, still suspiciously empty. "Well," Lupin shrugged. "I'll have a sniff around later, but I'm sure if they were still around someone would have found them. Curious," he muttered absently as if to himself. Then his gaze fell on Harry and he smiled once more. "Thank you for your help today, Harry. You can get off back to your common room now."

"Okay, Professor." Harry shoved his wand back into his pocket, nodded good night to Lupin and Hagrid, and left the South Wing feeling that if he never saw another magical creature again it would be too soon.

When he got back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron and Hermione were already ensconced in their usual armchairs before the fire, talking quietly to each other. For a brief moment, Harry wondered whether he should interrupt them - they might be having a private conversation, and he needed to have a wash anyway after spending the morning in the messy ruins of the menagerie. Just as he was about to cross to the dormitory stairs, though, Ron glanced up, saw him, and immediately beckoned urgently with one hand. Shrugging, Harry crossed to the fireplace.

"Hey, you two. What's up?"

"Harry," Hermione's voice was low. "I think this was deliberate. An attack, I mean." She shot a look at Ron, who seemed to think differently.

"Well, from the mess in the conservatory I kind of gathered that." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "Lupin says Dumbledore's got suspicions, but he wouldn't tell me what about."

"Hmph." Hermione crossed her arms irritably. "That's more than Professor McGonagall would tell me. All she said was that's none of your affair, Miss Granger."

"Well, it was pretty obvious that an escaped animal couldn't have made that sort of mess. There were cages and things thrown around all over the place."

"Yes, but if it was an attack," Ron put in, looking irritable, "then what was the purpose of it? All it really did was make a mess and send everyone scurrying around rounding things up. Ow!" he protested, rubbing his arm where Hermione had hit him.

"I do not scurry," she observed mildly. Harry grinned.

"Me either. I suppose it could have been a prank or something - Peeves?"

"But surely," Hermione protested, "the staff would have known if it was him. And besides, he's far too scared of Dumbledore to try something like that."

"Not to mention the Bloody Baron. One of the Slytherins?" Ron suggested. "I wouldn't put something like this past Malfoy, if he thought he could get away with it."

"It wasn't him." Harry spoke without thinking, and tried unsuccessfully to control his blush as both of his friends stared incredulously at him. "I mean, it can't have been; I ran into him over by the North Tower about half a minute after Dumbledore's announcement, and besides, he had to help clear up too."

"Oh." Ron subsided. "But still, it's more likely that it was someone in the school rather than Death Eaters, Hermione!"

"No, wait. You said yourself that everyone went rushing about sorting out the mess." Hermione's eyes were bright; she reminded Harry of her younger self, proposing that they drug Crabbe and Goyle and lock them in a cupboard in order to interrogate Malfoy. Hermione had always loved nothing better than a challenge to her abilities.

"You mean, a decoy?" Ron sat up straight, staring away into mid-air. "You might be right - but what else could they have been after, then?"

"I don't know. Something in one of the teachers' offices?"

"Don't forget there were creatures running all over the place," Harry added. "If whoever-it-was wanted to get hold of something, it must have been something that's usually kept locked up. Something confiscated?"

"No, it's too much effort to go to for that, and too much risk of being caught." Ron still seemed to be staring at something only he could see. "In terms of probabilities, it's far more likely that whoever did this was inside the school. There are too many protections; if it had been an attack from outside, Dumbledore would have known immediately."

"So... someone at Hogwarts is working with the Death Eaters?" Harry asked slowly, unable to get the image of Snape's sneering face out of his mind.

"Tell us something we don't already know," Ron snorted, ignoring Hermione when she tried to shush him. "Half the bloody Slytherins, in all likelihood. Malfoy probably tells his precious father every little detail, Death Eater or not."

Harry made a vague sound of assent. I know he's not a Death Eater. And I know he's not consciously working with Voldemort. Yet. That was the operative word, of course; in spite of the nights and the dreams Harry had shared with Draco recently, he still didn't fully understand the other boy's motivations. Draco was a Slytherin; surely he would look out for his own skin above all - and yet, in the end Draco would make his own decisions. And the chance was always there, the possibility that he would choose to face down his fears, to follow his blood and his upbringing and Dark Arts training to Voldemort. The chance was there, and if it came down to it Harry couldn't say what Draco would choose. He mumbled something about going to take a shower, and left Ron and Hermione arguing about the dubious morality of the Slytherins, climbing the stairs to the seventh-year dormitories without really looking where he put his feet. What would Draco choose?

I know he's not a Death Eater. I'm sure he's not passing information to his father. And I think I'm falling in love with him. It wasn't a comforting thought.

***

Draco leant against the side of the window, staring at the icy grey landscape outside. In recent nights the edges of the lake had begun freezing, displaying delicate, lacy sheets of crackling ice in the mornings that had usually melted before noon. Soon, December would bring the start of the snow, and Hogwarts would be blanketed in suffocating white for at least a month until the spring thaw. Even trying to think that far ahead seemed impossible right now; the cold of the world seemed appropriate to the way Draco felt. Refused to feel. If he thought about the future, thought about his father and his heritage and Voldemort, fear settled over him like a heavy blanket, strangling his mind. Three more weeks.

Only three more weeks, and it would be too late. Three weeks, and he would have to make the decision, would have the choice he dreaded forced on him. Whether to go home for the holidays as his father wished him to, to submit to Voldemort and try to choke down his fear, or to renounce him. Renounce everything, stay at the school, give up everything that made him him. And now, as if his burden wasn't already enough, Draco had another choice. Harry.

What was he supposed to do about Harry? Draco had no idea. He needed the other boy, needed him to help stave off the nightmares, to keep his mind clear. He wasn't sure he could bear being dropped back into that world of pain and fear and nightly terror again, wasn't sure he was strong enough to face it. Maybe he really was going mad...

But then. Being close to Harry was difficult, now, when even a glimpse of green eyes or black hair brought the other dreams to the forefront of his mind, made him squirm with uncomfortable and unfamiliar desires. To want to talk to Harry Potter had once been bad enough; that Draco couldn't help but want to touch his skin, slide his hands beneath the hem of Harry's t-shirt and kiss him so hard he forgot how to speak, that was utter humiliation. And actually touching Harry - that was the worst, because when Harry slept beside him, calm and innocent, or held him in the aftermath of nightmare, Draco could feel his body wanting more. Wanting to touch, to kiss, to taste and explore and possess, to know for certain whether those dreams of sweat and lust and skin sliding against skin were anything close to the reality. Even the thought of it made his body react.

Draco took a deep, steadying breath and pressed his forehead against the chill stone of the wall. Up here, in this tower room, the windows were unglazed, letting the wind shriek through in all its force. Overhead, the ceiling beams were exposed and scarred, and Draco had wondered before this whether this room had once been the precursor to the modern owlery. Whatever, it was cold in the winter, set a long way from the living quarters' of the students, and so could reliably be counted on to be deserted. After the smothering darkness of the dungeons that morning, Draco had found the idea of spending any more time underground intolerable. At least up here he could see to the horizon, to the edges of his world.

He had to make a decision, and he knew it. Soon enough he would have to face Harry, and then there would be no more avoiding the issue. Draco closed his eyes, remembering the look on Harry's face earlier when the other boy had stood awkwardly in the broom closet under the North Tower and told Draco about the kiss. Told him what he'd done, what he'd started, and asked him what he was going to do about it. He had seen so much behind those glasses; fear, wariness, resignation, desire, and a careful sort of hope that only confused him. He wants me, Draco thought. And I can't seem to stop wanting him. But - he's a Gryffindor. He's the hero of the Wizarding World, and I'm the son of the Dark Lord's most prominent servant. How could that ever work? We've hated each other for too long - he doesn't know me at all.

Draco sighed. It was true; Potter knew nothing at all about the power of obligation, the responsibilities of position, knew nothing about the music Draco moved to. They had always been on opposite sides of that unmentionable divide, glaring at each other across a chasm neither could breach. To imagine that a shared fear could cross that, could bring them together... no, it wasn't possible. In the end, as always, they were too different. And suddenly it was simple: there was only one choice. Draco turned away from the window just as the door creaked open and Harry Potter stepped into the room.

***

The cold hit him like a solid wall, and Harry shivered, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring a cloak with him. Stuffing the Marauders' Map back into his pocket, he shut the door carefully behind him. Draco was standing over by one of the window apertures, the chill breeze stirring his hair and lending an extra pallor to his skin. For a moment as he blinked at Harry, he seemed shocked, and strangely vulnerable, but then between one breath and another his face closed down until all that Harry could read was a faint sense of resignation.

"Aren't you cold?" Harry tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shifting uncomfortably. Draco blinked at him again.

"You get used to it. How did you find me?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, noting that there was no question as to whether he had actually intended to find Draco. "Magic." It was true, after all, and something deep inside him writhed uncomfortably at the thought of having to explain about the Map to Draco. He squashed it down, telling himself he was just being concise. I trust him... don't I? "Malfoy - Draco - about this morning..." There was an uncomfortable silence for several moments, until Draco finally broke it.

"It's okay, I think I know. What you said..." he trailed off, then started again, swallowing. "I... kissed you, and you want to know whether I meant it. Whether I... feel anything for you. Yes?" He sounded so detached, so matter-of-fact, that Harry blinked in startlement, a heavy, unpleasant twinge of disappointment settling into his stomach. I knew it...

"Harry." Draco had turned away for a moment, staring out of the window. When he turned back, his face was as still and cold as the world outside. "There's nothing I can give you."

"I..." Harry finally found his voice. Draco's eyes were like lumps of ice, opaque glass marbles betraying nothing beyond a cloudy disinterest. "I... it's just, I thought... and you kissed me, and then... you said my name..."

"I know." The words were as clear and precise as crystal, and as emotionless. "I'm sorry. It was an aberration. It won't happen again."

"But - but what if I..."

"Want it to?" Harry nodded miserably, unable to meet those inhuman eyes for a second longer. Draco was right, he thought, it had been stupid of him to even entertain the idea in the first place. Nightmares or not, fear or not, this was Draco Malfoy. "It would never work, Potter." The icy detachment in Draco's tones made him shiver. "You're too much of a Gryffindor. You'd never be happy without a Great and Wondrous Love -" and, oh, the sarcasm in that was painful - "and I'm a Slytherin. I'm not even sure I believe in love."

"Oh. Well, actually, I was thinking more along the lines of gratuitous sex," Harry said flippantly. "Do Slytherins not go for that either, then?" He had been expecting a smile for that piece of idiocy; the expression of sadness that he got was startling, and Harry reached out before he could stop himself. "Draco..."

"No." The word was spoken so softly that Harry could barely hear it, and after a moment he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side. "You're not a Slytherin, Harry. Even if you started out with a purely physical relation ship, you'd end up wanting more. You need love, and loyalty, and happiness. You won't find any of that with me."

Harry stepped forward, unable to help himself, sure that there must be more than the chill of levelled eyes and detached expression and cold, cold words. "Draco - please..."

"No," Draco repeated, that sadness creeping across his face again, and Harry couldn't bear the pity, couldn't bear the loss of the person he'd thought he knew. It was loss, he knew. Draco held the life of something that never was in his hands, and Harry could feel its warmth slowly freezing from the inside out. Desperately, he tried to cling on to something, anything...

"Is this the part where you say 'let's still be friends'?"

Draco laughed, but there was no humour in it. The pity in his eyes was stronger than ever, and Harry wanted to hit him for it, wanted to hurt him and remembered with surprise that this had once been his only impulse around the other boy. "We've never been friends, Harry. No. Thank you for the help you've given me - you'll never know how much - but I'll be able to manage on my own from now on." It's too difficult, his eyes said, with this between us, and Harry knew that it was true.

It hurt. He had never realised that anything could hurt this much; he felt the loss like a gaping hole in his chest that he had never realised had been occupied. He stared helplessly into Draco's eyes, unable to speak, and saw them soften slightly. When Draco spoke, though, his voice was as cold and dispassionate as ever. "There's nothing I can give you," he repeated, and then he was moving, crossing the room, and passing Harry, and then he was through the door and gone and there was nothing left but the numb coldness and the moaning of the wind.