Adamant and Starlight

Chapter 1: Be Careful What You Wish For

Harry came reluctantly awake, staggering up from a warm and lovely dream, to find the castle still asleep around him. The tower room was utterly quiet, and the new light had barely begun to penetrate his closely-drawn bed curtains. He blinked at the red draperies that hung above his head, struggling to bring his mind into focus and remember why, exactly, he had awakened so early.

Snaking one arm out from beneath the blankets, he reached under his pillow and pulled out his watch. Six o'clock. It was six o'clock on a Saturday morning, and no sane person would be awake at this hour. He stuffed the watch out of sight and burrowed his arm under the covers again. It settled naturally around the shoulders of the body lying against his, his fingers curving against one smooth, slightly cool arm.

Six o'clock. Harry groaned softly and closed his eyes, willing himself back to unconsciousness. What insanity had possessed him to wake up at this ungodly hour, when he had only fallen asleep a few hours ago? How could he possibly deal with the veritable mountains of homework he had to do, if his mind was clogged with exhaustion and his body too tired to move? He had to draw up a massive Astronomy chart, research his History of Magic thesis, dice nightshade roots to and set them to soak in armadillo bile for his revealing potion...

"Bloody Hell," he mumbled, plunging his hand beneath the pillow once again. This time, he brought out his wand and waved it at the curtains that hung so precisely around the bed. "Finite Incantatem." They ruffled slightly, as if caught by a passing breeze, then fell still. Harry pushed the hanging fabric aside to reach the glasses on his bedside table and shoved them onto his face.

Grabbing his companion's shoulder with a good deal less gentleness than before, he shook it and hissed, "Wake up!"

He received no answer, and the body resting half on top of his did not stir. Giving an exasperated sigh, he pushed the blankets down to expose a tousled, white-blond head lying on his chest.

"Come on, Draco, wake up! We've got Quidditch practice!"

Draco answered without lifting his head or opening his eyes. "I don't."

"Well, I do, you lazy sod. And if I don't hurry, I won't have time for breakfast."

"Don't let me stop you," Draco murmured, still without moving.

"Gerroff!"Harry growled, trying with a notable lack of success to sound threatening.

Draco finally bestirred himself enough to lift his head and rest his chin on Harry's ribs. "I don't think so."

"Trying to undermine Gryffindor's chances at the Quidditch cup? That's low, even for a Slytherin."

"No." He grinned at Harry, his winter eyes alight with mischief. "Trying to hang onto my bed warmer as long as possible."

"Is that all I am to you? A heat source?"

"There are worse things to be." He lay down again, with a yawn, and tightened the clasp of his arm around Harry's waist. "Don't be a prat. It's cold out there."

Harry couldn't decide whether to be annoyed with Malfoy for delaying him or tempted by the thought of an extra half hour in a very warm, very welcoming bed. He could get up and chase Draco back to the Slytherin dormitory, before anyone in Gryffindor tower woke up, or he could stay in bed and enjoy a reprise of last night at the expense of his breakfast. Either way, he was going to have something to regret, later in the day.

With a chuckle, Harry scrunched down in the bed, pulling himself under the covers. He knew better than to try to lure Draco out from under all those blankets, once he had retreated into them. So if he wanted some attention, he'd have to bring himself down to Draco's level... literally.

He found Draco lurking well under the blankets, in the warm darkness, perfectly willing to wake up if Harry was willing to join him down there. He was chronically cold in the Hogwarts castle, and once he had settled down to sleep, he tended to stay buried, head and all, where no stray breath of cold air could touch him. Harry couldn't sleep that way. It was too airless and uncomfortable. But he did enjoy lying with his head on the pillow and Draco wrapped around him, pirating his warmth, like some kind of sleek, bipedal, oddly affectionate boa constrictor. And absolutely nothing got his day off to a better start than burrowing down under the covers to find his cold-blooded love awake and feeling playful.

Draco was smiling when Harry kissed him. A smug, self-satisfied, annoying grin, Harry was sure, but in the darkness it hardly mattered. Besides, Harry didn't intend to let him wear it for long. He made short work of the smile and very good use of his half hour. When he finally popped his head out from under the blankets again, sucking in a great breath of fresh air, he was quite certain that even Draco the Deep-Freeze could not still feel cold. Whatever Draco was feeling, he was chuckling to himself and planting kisses on Harry's bare midriff that tickled unbearably.

"Okay, now you really have to stop that," Harry insisted, lifting the edge of the blanket to glare down at the other boy. "I have practice, and I can't be late!"

Grey eyes met his with a look of supreme innocence. "Go on, then. I'll keep the bed warm for you."

"Out, Malfoy. I mean it. You can't stay here."

"I'm not getting out of this bed until it's at least ten degrees warmer out there. And that's final. Besides," he yawned hugely, "I'm tired."

"You aren't serious..."

"Go away, Potter. You annoy me."

"And you are lying in my bed! In the Gryffindor tower! With four boys who would love an excuse to hang you upside down by the heels from a tenth-floor window for a couple of hours! In the all-together! If you really want to experience cold..."

"They won't even know I'm here. Go on to your Quidditch practice, and if you're really lucky, I'll still be here when you get back."

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Nonsense. What could go wrong?"

Harry laughed, in spite of himself. It wasn't that he had any illusions of secrecy. The entire school knew that Harry Potter was shagging Draco Malfoy, and all of Gryffindor House knew that they sometimes came to the tower to do it. But Harry went to great lengths to keep Draco's presence as unobtrusive as possible. He made sure that the Slytherin came and went under the invisibility cloak, and only when everyone was asleep. Once they were safely in Harry's bed, they spelled the curtains closed and protected themselves with a muting spell that even blocked out Neville's snores. Harry's roommates loathed this arrangement, but as long as it only happened once in a while and Malfoy did not waltz openly through the common room, they were willing to pretend they didn't know.

This morning, Draco seemed determined to thumb his nose at the Gryffindors, and Harry couldn't think of a good way to stop him, short of throwing him bodily out of his bed, which would take more resolution than he possessed and create enough of a stir to awaken his roommates. Looking down into his beautiful, smug face, Harry could do nothing but groan, shrug, and surrender. If Malfoy ended up being thrashed by the sixth-year Gryffindors, that was his problem. Harry had tried his best.

He disentangled himself from the clutch of the boa constrictor and rolled out of bed, not without a pang. Draco was right. It was cold out here. But Harry was used to getting dressed quickly in the early hours, pulling on his clothes every which way to get some layers between him and the chill air. He hurried into his practice gear, then he pulled on his warmest cloak and shoved his wand into his pocket. When he was ready to go, he twitched the curtains open and banished the muting spell. Draco lay under the blankets, only a few strands of his pale hair showing where they trailed up the mattress. Harry pulled back the covers ruthlessly.

"Cut it out," Malfoy mumbled, trying to burrow back into the warmth.

"If you think I'm going to walk out and leave you in my bed without even a goodbye kiss, you're mad," Harry whispered.

"I'm mad. Give me back the covers."

Harry laughed softly and bent over to claim his goodbye kiss. Draco gave him back as good as he got, because even when messing with Harry's mind, he could not hold himself aloof from Harry's kisses. But when Harry straightened up, he was instantly cool and superior again.

"Better toddle off to practice, Potter. You're going to need it when you play Slytherin next week."

"Dream on, Malfoy," he retorted, genially. "And cover yourself with the invisibility cloak, at least. Not that I care or anything, but if Seamus sees you in there, he'll pound you to jelly."

Draco did not bother to come up with a witty response. Shoving a hand under the pillow, he pulled out the invisibility cloak and let its silver folds spill around him. In a moment, only his head showed above its collar.

"I hope you freeze something important off, you git," he said, sleepily, as he pulled the cloak up over his head.

"You won't say that tonight," Harry laughed.

He pulled the curtains closed, making an effort to rumple them up, so no one would suspect he was trying to hide anything behind them. Then he collected his broom and headed for the door, turning back only once to look at the inscrutable red hangings that concealed Draco. With a small sigh of regret for the loss of his warm bed and sleeping love, Harry pulled the door shut behind him.

*** *** ***

Ron stumped back up the stairs to the dormitory, angry with himself for forgetting his cloak and wasting time with a trip up to the tower. He flung open the door and strode over to his bed. The cloak was on the floor under it, where he'd thrown it last night, not bothering to fold it and put it away. As he stooped to fish it out, he let his eyes stray to Harry's bed. And he froze.

There, hanging innocently from beneath the bed curtains where the sleeper had obviously flung his arm over the edge of the mattress, was a hand. A hand made of adamant.

Ron straightened up slowly, his cloak clutched tightly in one fist. The air hissed between his teeth and a red haze of rage clouded his eyes. Stalking over to Harry's bed, he threw back the curtains and stared down at the empty mattress. Except that it wasn't empty, and that arm falling out from under the covers proved it. He twitched back the covers, but still he saw only the mattress, wrinkled sheets, and an arm. One sweep of his hand pushed back the invisibility cloak as well, and Ron stared down, enraged, at Draco Malfoy's sleeping face.

This is it! Ron fumed, his fists clenching and unclenching. This is the bloody limit! Not only had Harry brought Ferret Boy into their room. Not only had he done whatever sickening things it was he did behind these curtains. But he had left his slimy Slytherin squeeze alone in the tower after he'd gone, and wearing his father's invisibility cloak into the bargain! It didn't matter that Malfoy was dead asleep, no threat to anyone in this condition. What mattered was that Harry had betrayed the trust of his fellow Gryffindors.

Ron had made what peace he could with Harry's choices, over these last months. He did not criticize. He asked no questions. When he met Harry and Malfoy around the school or sat with them in the stands at a Quidditch match, he was brusquely polite to Malfoy. But he said as little as possible to Malfoy outside of Harry's company, and he would die a horrible, painful, miserable death before he called the Slytherin a friend.

He could still remember how he'd felt, coming back from the Christmas holidays and realizing, at a glance, that Harry had done the unthinkable - and with Malfoy, of all god-awful people. It still made Ron shudder. Not so much because Malfoy was a boy, though that was seriously weird in its own way, but because he was Malfoy. It had been one thing to accept Harry's feelings for the other boy in the abstract, when faced with Harry's wounded eyes and obvious suffering. But this was not abstract. This was Harry - his very best friend in the whole world - lying in the same bed with Draco Malfoy and enjoying it.

And that was the final, rather sickening, word on the subject. Harry was happy. He loved that obnoxious, arrogant little piece of... well, Ron couldn't even think what Malfoy was, without breaking every rule of good manners his mother had ever pounded into him! And he couldn't do what he longed to do - hurt and humiliate Malfoy so badly that he'd never show his face in front of a Gryffindor again - without hurting and humiliating Harry as well. But oh, it was tempting!

Planting his hands on his hips, Ron fixed his most threatening glare on Malfoy and snapped, "Wake up, Ferret Boy!"

Malfoy stirred and yawned, drifting slowly awake.

"Wake up, and get your skinny, Slytherin arse out of my room!"

The other boy's eyes opened, and if he was disconcerted to find Ron standing over him, glowering, he didn't show it. Blinking once or twice to clear the sleep from his eyes, he smiled wickedly up at the Gryffindor and drawled, "Good morning to you, too, Weasley."

"You've got exactly thirty seconds to get up and dressed, before I make it a really good morning by knocking your teeth out."

Draco cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes!"

"I'm just trying to spare your delicate feelings..."

"Move it, Malfoy!"

He shrugged with elaborate unconcern, then slithered out from under the blankets to stand, stark naked, in front of Ron. The malicious twinkle in his eyes, as he sauntered to the end of the bed to flip open Harry's trunk, dared the Gryffindor to react.

Ron ground his teeth and refused to look away. Malfoy was baiting him, and he'd be damned if he'd show that it was working. So he ordered himself not to blush and kept his gazed fixed on Malfoy's face. Of course, he could not completely ignore the rest of him, and he privately had to admit that the Ferret was nice to look at. Good thing for all concerned that Ron didn't lean that way, or he'd be feeling jealous of Harry in yet another aspect of their lives. But as it was, Ron had no inclination to envy his friend. In fact, he felt sorry for him.

"Trying to move the merchandise, Malfoy?" he said, his voice pleasant.

"Why would I bother, when I know you don't have the cash?" Malfoy retorted.

"Oh, I have cash enough. What I don't have is the impulse to buy."

Malfoy shot him a grin over the raised lid of the trunk. "That makes two of us, Weasley."

"Then why the floor show?"

Now Malfoy turned on the innocent look, all the more ludicrous under the circumstances, and Ron almost laughed out loud in spite of himself. "You said thirty seconds, right? Well, I may be good in bed, but thirty seconds?" He spread his hands helplessly, the adamant one glinting in the morning light. "I need to see the buttons to fasten them that quickly."

Ron actually did laugh. He couldn't help it. Then he felt an instant surge of anger against Malfoy for making him let down his guard. "I should think you'd have plenty of practice by now," he snarled.

Malfoy smiled sweetly at him, as he stepped into his trousers and pulled them up. "It's much easier to get buttons open than closed, especially in the dark. And I usually have help."

"Some day, Malfoy, I'm going to damage that smirking face of yours permanently!" Ron said through his teeth.

Draco put on his shirt, then he, very quickly and neatly, pulled his long hair back into a black rubber band at the nape of his neck. A single lock escaped to fall over his forehead, catching in his eyebrow, and Ron reached up to scratch his own face in that exact spot. Draco smiled at him, the wickedness in his eyes dancing, and Ron blushed.

"You're not very good at hating, Weasel. None of you Gryffindors are. It's a definite character flaw."

"I manage to hate you quite easily, thank you. And your thirty seconds are up, Ferret Face."

"Are you going to knock my teeth in?"

"Don't tempt me."

Malfoy sat down to pull on his boots, then he rose and swept the regally to the door. "Try not to miss me too dreadfully," he purred, as he ducked out and pulled it closed behind him.

Ron waited until the door had shut, then he sank down on Harry's bed with a sigh. There were times when he wondered if it didn't take more effort to hate Malfoy than it would to give in and accept him. Then there were times when he thought he'd rather be sliced up and stir-fried than to even consider it. Today, he simply wanted some peace. One lovely, restful day, in which he could pretend that Harry was still Harry and the world still spun in the proper direction. Just one day without Malfoy.

*** *** ***

It looked as though Ron might get his wish. The day had started off with an unpleasant dose of Malfoy, but the Slytherin did not show so much as a single bleach-blond hair through the rest of it. This was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Ron had intended to go with his mates to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. But when he discovered that Harry planned to stay in the castle and study in a vain attempt to catch up on his homework, while Malfoy went into Hogsmeade without him, Ron abruptly changed his own plans.

He stayed in the common room for the day, sharing a table with Harry and struggling over his Astronomy charts. They didn't talk much, but it felt good anyway. And when they went down to lunch, they had a whole stretch of the Gryffindor table to themselves. Ron didn't mention his encounter with Malfoy that morning. He didn't say the evil M-word at all. Instead, they discussed Quidditch and exams and how unimaginably horrible Snape was being this term.

They spent the afternoon with Hagrid, drinking tea, gnawing inedible scones, and tramping through his vegetable patch in search of some rodents that had been nibbling on the vines. After that, they flew around the Quidditch pitch for a bit, just to feel the wind in their faces and see the ground streaking by below them. All in all, it was a perfect day.

The Gryffindors who had gone into Hogsmeade were home again by dinner time. Everyone was in a lighthearted mood, and the talk around the table in the Great Hall had them all laughing. Harry joined in with the rest, and Ron privately thought that his best friend had not seemed so much a part of the group in ages.

His eyes slid over to the Slytherin table and saw that Malfoy was not there. Hermione must have followed his glance, because she dug Harry in the ribs and asked, innocently,

"Where's Malfoy?"

Harry glanced up and around. When he saw that Malfoy was not seated at the Slytherin table, he shrugged and said, "He must have eaten in Hogsmeade. Why?"

"No reason. I just wondered. I didn't see him anywhere in the village."

Harry shrugged again and returned his attention to his food, Malfoy apparently forgotten in the fun of the lively meal. Ron couldn't help grinning at this turn of events. Not only was Malfoy absent, but he was unlamented, and as far as Ron was concerned, this was a very good thing.

He wasn't so sanguine about it the next morning, when the Gryffindors once again noticed Malfoy's absence at the Slytherin table. Harry had slept alone last night, much to Ron's secret satisfaction. Now they were seated in the Great Hall, stuffing their faces with scrambled eggs and buttered toast, and Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Harry didn't seem exactly upset, but he looked over at the other table more than once, and Ron caught him frowning. When Hermione - trust Hermione not to let sleeping Slytherins lie - once again commented on his empty seat, Harry gave her the same indifferent answer as the night before, but Ron was not fooled.

As they got up from the table to leave, Ron leaned close to Harry and muttered, "Why don't you just go find him?"

Harry was startled by this, unused to having Ron even acknowledge Malfoy's existence unless forced to it, but he shook his head. "It's Sunday. He's probably sleeping late."

"It's already late," Hermione pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes. "What is it with you two? You can't stand Draco, but you never miss an opportunity to play matchmaker for us."

"Do you need a matchmaker?" Hermione asked, her eyes sharp with suspicion.

"No, we do not. Draco is minding his own business, which is what I intend to do and I wish you both would do, too. We're not strapped together with Spell-O tape, you know!"

"Could have fooled me," Ron grumbled. But he let the matter drop and let Harry go back to his homework without further comment.

Dinner that night was the same. No Malfoy, Harry staring glumly at the Slytherin table, and Hermione nagging him to find out where his boyfriend had gone. Harry ate his meal without noticing what he put in his face. Then, without bothering to tell either of his friends what he planned, he suddenly got up from his seat and marched across the room to where a wall of Slytherins sat, glaring at him in hostile silence. Ron scrambled to catch him, unwilling to let him face that ominous horde alone, though he hadn't a clue what he could do to help if it came to blows.

Harry confronted the Slytherins with the air of a man facing his own firing squad, but Ron could tell by the mulish set of his chin that he was not going to back down, no matter how many holes they drilled in him with their eyes. Scanning the faces for a hint of sympathy, Ron was sorry to see that Crabbe was not among them. Crabbe was the only Slytherin who still spoke to Malfoy voluntarily, which put him in much the same position as Ron - attached to one half of a couple while hating the other half. It was an uncomfortable place to be, and Ron felt a certain affinity for the hulking great lunkhead who shared it with him.

Slowly, insolently, one of the biggest Slytherins rose from the bench to loom over the Gryffindors.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"I'm looking for Malfoy. Do you know where he is?"

The boy laughed, a harsh sound that grated on Ron's nerves. "What makes you think we're going to tell you anything?"

"Do you know where he is, or don't you?"

"If you can't look after your toys, don't come crying to us."

A dinner roll came flying from a skillful hand and struck Harry in the side of the head. That elicited more ugly laughter and a hissed obscenity that made Ron's ears turn a furious red. He grabbed Harry's sleeve and tugged on it. "Come on, Harry. These goons won't help you."

"Where is he?" Harry demanded, his eyes narrowed and glinting with anger.

The enormous boy grinned, showing too many teeth. "Potty Potter lost his pet! Go find yourself another one, Gryffindor, and better keep him on a shorter leash next time!"

"Bugger off, Potter!" another shouted.

Very deliberately, Harry turned and stalked away. A chorus of gibes followed him, punctuated by a few pieces of thrown food and a great deal of laughter, but Harry ignored it with a cold, aloof superiority that would have done Malfoy proud. Ron hurried after him to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione met them. That she was angry Ron saw at a glance, but he didn't know how angry until she cut loose with a torrent of words.

"Those filthy, rotten, hateful, jealous swine! How could they say those things to you? You?!Harry Potter?! How many times do you have to save their foul hides and their fouler families, before they learn to treat you with respect?! I ought to hex the lot of them! Throwing food. Throwing food at you, like you were some kind of..."

"Hermione, please. Give it a rest," Harry said, tightly.

"It's disgusting. They're disgusting! Dumbledore should have kicked the lot of them out at Christmas! At least Millicent and Pansy were honest about what they really are! This lot just hang around the castle, pretending to support the Headmaster, and then treat you like that!"

"What do you expect?" Harry's face was hard, twisted with a combination of bitterness and worry that made him look shockingly old. "I took away their Crown Prince and turned him into..."

"Don't say it," Hermione snapped. "Don't you dare say it!"

"What's the difference? Everyone else in the castle says it, every chance they get." He suddenly spun on his heel and headed for the door, moving blindly, by instinct alone, and so quickly that Ron and Hermione had to run to keep up with him. As they stepped out of the Great Hall and into the relative quiet of the entryway, he seemed to wilt before their eyes. In a small, desolate voice, he asked, "What if Draco finally listened to them and decided he'd had enough?"

"You think he's hiding from you?" Ron spluttered.

"You don't believe that, Harry," Hermione said, flatly.

Harry stopped at the foot of the stairs, reaching out one hand to clutch the marble banister for support. "I have to."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a baffled look.

"I'm missing something," Ron said. "You want Malfoy to throw you over and disappear?"

"If he isn't hiding from me, then where is he?" Harry glanced over his shoulder at Ron, giving him a glimpse of the raw pain in his eyes, then turned away again. "I can't even think about it. It makes me want to throw up,or..."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed.

"I can't." He shook his head, as if to banish an unwelcome thought, and went on furiously, "He's mad at me. He's hiding. Somebody gave him a black eye, and he's too vain to let me see it! He got drunk in Hogsmeade and is sleeping it off in a brothel! I don't care why he's doing it, but he's doing it deliberately! He has to be!"

With that, he bolted up the stairs two at a time, leaving Ron and Hermione to stare at each other in bewilderment.

*** *** ***

The sound of the portrait snapping closed startled Ron out of a light doze. He jerked awake and looked around in confusion, noting that the fire had burned down to nearly nothing and the clock on the mantel read nearly one o'clock. The room was empty, the entire tower wrapped in a sleeping quiet, but he had definitely heard the sound of the portrait shutting.

Suddenly, there was the rustle of light fabric, and Harry was standing in front of him, invisibility cloak hanging from one hand. Ron blinked at him, glanced again at the clock, then sighed. He had seen Harry leave earlier - much earlier - and guessed where he was going, but he had not expected to see him back in the common room 'til morning, unless...

"You didn't find him."

Harry shook his head and moved tiredly over to the chair opposite Ron's.

"Where have you been all this time, then?" Ron asked.

"Looking everywhere I could think of. Waiting on the..." He broke off and swallowed uncomfortably. "Someplace I was sure he would come."

"What about the dungeons?"

Harry's face tightened, making him look even more grim and tired than before. "They changed the password."

"Maybe that's a good sign! Maybe it means they're hiding him, and they want to keep you out!"

"Or maybe they did it so Draco can't get in, either." He slumped back in the chair and rubbed his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. "All I know for sure is that he isn't any of the places he should be."

Ron had no idea what to say. Harry was in a kind of pain he didn't understand, over something he didn't accept, and he had no clue how to make it better. His first impulse was to assure him that Malfoy was playing games with him and would be back when he got bored, but that meant painting Harry's lover as someone cruel enough to put him through hell for fun, and even Ron didn't believe Malfoy would do that to Harry. But if Malfoy wasn't messing with Harry's mind, then he was in real trouble.

Finally, he mumbled, in a weak attempt at humor, "He'll be back. He's like a virus - nothing gets rid of him."

"I don't want to get rid of him," Harry whispered.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was just trying to..."

"If he'd only stayed in the tower, this wouldn't have happened!" Harry cried, cutting him off. "Why did he leave? Why?!"

Ron stirred uncomfortably. "Er, the tower? What tower are we talking about, here, exactly?"

"Our room! He was in our room, asleep, when I left for Quidditch practice on Saturday morning! If he'd stayed there, he'd be safe now. He said he'd wait for me. He made a joke out of it, teasing me, but that's what he meant. So why did he leave?"

"I... I might have had something to do with that."

Harry jerked upright in his chair, weariness giving way to suspicion, and his eyes narrowed. "What kind of something?"

"Well, I kind of... threw him out."

"You did what?!"

"Oh, come on, Harry. What did you expect me to do? I found a Slytherin asleep in your bed - and don't tell me he's been there before, because I bloody well know it, but not alone - so I told him to clear off. I couldn't very well leave him there!"

"You saw Malfoy in the dormitory, and you didn't tell me. I bet that was a lovely scene, complete with insults and shouting and maybe a black eye or two, huh? Is that why you didn't say anything, Ron? You were afraid to tell me that you'd broken his jaw and thrown him out a tenth-floor window?"

"I didn't touch the little git!" Ron protested. "Sure, we insulted each other a few times, but what's the point in talking to Malfoy if you can't insult him? He was unbruised and as arrogant as ever when he left. And I didn't say anything, because I do not want to spend my weekends talking about Ferret Boy!"

"Don't call him that!" Harry snarled and flung himself out of the chair, headed for the portrait hole.

"All right! I'm sorry! I won't do it again."

Harry halted at the portrait hole and turned back to face him, his entire body stiff with outrage. "I'm not going to do this with you anymore, Ron. I don't have to apologize for who I am or what I feel. And I don't have to listen to you insult someone I love."

"I said I was sorry."

"That's not good enough."

Ron spread his hands helplessly. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to treat Malfoy like a person, instead of a disease."

Ron set his jaw and took a deep breath, bracing himself. "Done," he said, firmly.

Harry took a cautious step toward the fire, doubt written plain in his face. "It isn't just the Ferret Boy thing. It's all the insults and digs and jabs, the way you mutter under your breath every time I mention his name, the way you roll your eyes and make faces and complain..."

"I get it."

"I can take that crap from anyone else, but not from you. Not my best friend."

"I said, I get it." As Harry slowly sank down in his chair again, Ron offered him a crooked smile and added, "The truth is, I'm getting kind of tired of hating Malfoy. It's a lot of work."

"Then why do you work so hard at it?"

"Because you are my best friend and he's... well, he's Malfoy. It's hard to deal with my best friend ditching me to be with someone like that." Harry opened his mouth to protest, and Ron flung up a hand to forestall him. "I'm not insulting him! I'm trying to explain! Think, Harry. Remember how you felt about him up until a few months ago, and how he's treated me all these years. I don't have your... your connection to him, so it's not so easy for me to just erase all that."

"I know."

"I thought I was okay with it, back before Christmas, when you were eating yourself alive over him. I meant all the things I said then. But when it went from just talking to the real thing - watching you with Malfoy every single day, knowing what you were doing when I wasn't there to see - it turned out I wasn't so okay with it. I've been trying really hard. A lot harder than you know. And I've taken a lot of flak from people like Seamus and Lavender for defending you when they start in on Malfoy. But I guess I wasn't trying hard enough and for that I'm honestly sorry."

The anger had drained out of Harry, leaving him limp and exhausted. Ron almost wished he'd erupt in another burst of offended dignity, just to put a little color and life back in his face. Instead, he slumped back in the chair and turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm sorry, too."

"No, you were right the first time. Don't apologize anymore." Ron gazed at him for a moment, seeing the weariness and despair in him, then said, gruffly, "You should go to bed. Get some sleep."

"I can't."

"He's going to come back, Harry."

"Not if he's dead."

Harry's words fell like lead between them, striking the floor with an ominous thunk.

Ron goggled at him for a moment, then blurted out, "What?!"

"Voldemort's got him, or his father, or the Dementors, or someone else who wants to hurt him."

"You don't know that! Why would you even think it? Why would they want to hurt him?"

"Because I love him, and nothing I love is ever allowed to survive. Ever." Harry stirred, lifting his head again to gaze at Ron with eyes so raw with pain that the other boy flinched at their touch. "He's dead, or he will be soon, and it's my fault."

A hundred protests crowded into Ron's mind, a hundred explanations and excuses, but he uttered none of them. The look in Harry's eyes and the cold lump in his own stomach told him that it was true. And suddenly Ron knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he did not want Draco Malfoy dead - for Harry's sake and for his own. Much as he detested Malfoy, he had grown used to his presence, rather like his mother's dreadful sweaters piled up in his trunk. Life without Malfoy would be like life without a Weasley sweater - incomplete and rather cold.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "We?"

"I'm still your best friend, aren't I? And that means I watch your back, like I did today with the Slytherins. So what are we going to do?"

"Go to Dumbledore. He'll find Draco, if anybody can."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning, if Draco doesn't show up at breakfast."

"Why wait? Don't you think Dumbledore would wake up to hear this from you?"

"Yes, but we aren't sure that Draco is actually missing."

Ron chewed that over for a moment, then nodded."Right. He could still be hiding in the dungeon."

"Or the Slytherins could be playing a nasty joke. But either way, he won't miss classes tomorrow. If he doesn't turn up at breakfast, we'll know it isn't a prank and he's in real trouble."

"Okay." Ron eyed him narrowly and asked, "Are you sure you can wait that long?"

"I can wait, but I can't sleep. Go on upstairs, Ron. I'll just sit here."

Ron squared his shoulders and declared, stoutly, "I'll sit with you. Best friends, right? I've done worse in the name of friendship than lose a night's sleep!"

The two boys curled up in their overstuffed armchairs to wait. Ron was asleep in minutes, snoring happily, but Harry did not sleep. He sat in complete stillness, watching the fire burn down to ash, until the sky lightened outside the windows and he heard stirring in the rooms above him. Then he got up and headed for the shower, where he stuck his head under the hot spray long enough to wash the cobwebs from his brain.

Ron was still asleep when he came down from the dormitory, dressed and as close to groomed as he ever got. It wasn't until the Creeveys descended upon them that Ron finally woke up. Colin greeted Harry cheerfully, then teased Ron about putting in all-nighters, and by the time he had chattered for a few minutes, the room was swarming with Gryffindors in various stages of wakefulness.

Harry fell in at the back of the group headed to the Great Hall, with Hermione frowning at him on one side and Ron yawning on the other. As he entered the Hall, his eyes went automatically to the Slytherin table. No Draco. But Crabbe was there, and before Harry could find his own seat at the Gryffindor table, Crabbe was on his feet and plowing through the room toward him.

Harry met him between the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. By silent agreement, they dropped their voices and moved toward the back of the room, away from curious ears.

"I hear you had trouble with the Slytherins last night," Crabbe muttered.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

Crabbe glared at him, but there was little hostility in the look. Harry had gotten used to the fact that a glare was Crabbe's only natural expression other than blank stupidity. "So you don't know where Malfoy is, either?"

Harry's stomach contracted in fear. "No. I... I tried to get into the dungeon to look for him last night, but..."

"He isn't there. He hasn't been there since Saturday morning, when he left for Hogsmeade."

A quick look at the head table told Harry that Dumbledore was not there. Neither were Snape and McGonagall, which made the knot in his stomach tighten. "We have to tell Dumbledore."

He glanced at Crabbe and got a nod of agreement from him. Then both boys turned together and strode out of the room. Harry just had time to wave Ron back and to see him sink, glowering, onto the bench before he slipped out the door with Crabbe.

They met McGonagall and Snape leaving the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office, just as they reached it. Snape cast Harry a look of loathing but strode off without speaking. McGonagall gave him one of her signature tight-lipped frowns and said, "Go on, Potter. He's expecting you." Then she, too, hurried off down the corridor.

Harry swallowed his rising panic and stepped past the gargoyle, onto the moving staircase. Crabbe followed him, sliding reluctantly past the statue just as it moved to resume its place and nearly catching his cloak in it.

"I really hate this thing," he muttered.

Harry didn't answer. He was too busy remembering his own words to Ron last night and wishing that he could be wrong. But he wasn't wrong, and the presence of McGonagall and Snape confirmed it. Something dreadful had happened to Draco. While Harry had skulked about the castle, obsessing over his mandrake roots, something truly awful had happened to Draco. And now Dumbledore was going to tell him what it was, and Harry would have to stand there and listen, knowing all the time that it was his fault.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Harry walked into the Headmaster's office in a fog of guilt and despair. He saw Dumbledore rise from his seat behind the desk and cross the room to them, and he saw the genuine worry in his keen, blue eyes. Harry's heart turned over with a lurch.

"Come in and sit down, boys."

They traipsed over to the desk and took the chairs Dumbledore offered them. Crabbe clutched the arms of his so tightly that Harry wondered they didn't snap into matchsticks.

"I know why you are here," he went on, in a serious voice. "Professors McGonagall and Snape have already spoken to me about Mr. Malfoy's disappearance."

"Do you know what's happened to him?" Harry whispered.

"I do not. But I intend to find out. When was the last time you saw him, Mr. Potter?"

"Early Saturday morning, in the Gryffindor tower. But Ron saw him leave later that morning, and he was fine. He was going back to the Slytherin dungeon."

"And you, Mr. Crabbe?"

"I saw him in our room after breakfast. He was getting ready to go into Hogsmeade."

"Did either of you go into the village with him or see him there?" Both boys shook their heads. "Very well." Dumbledore sat back in his chair, frowning slightly. "Clearly, Hogsmeade is the place to start. I will set inquiries afoot - discreet inquiries - as to who might have seen him there."

"It's been two days," Harry said. "Anything could have happened in two days!"

"We would have looked for him sooner, had we known there was a need." Dumbledore eyed Harry over the top of his spectacles, his face inscrutable, and said, "Mr. Malfoy has been rather hard to keep track of this term."

"And it's no secret to anyone where he spends all his time," Crabbe growled, glaring at Harry. "We all thought he was with you."

"I thought he was in the dungeons!" Harry cried, panic once more bubbling up in him. "If I'd known he wasn't, I'd have gone looking for him two days ago! Please, Professor, you have to find him! You have to, before..."

"Before what, Harry?"

Harry swallowed, his eyes sliding over to Crabbe and then back to Dumbledore. "Before Voldemort does."

To his mingled relief and horror, Dumbledore accepted this statement without argument. "You realize, I am sure, that he likely already has."

"Oh, God, it's my fault!" Harry lifted his hands to cover his face, his fingertips pushing under his glasses and digging into his eyes in a furious attempt to hold back his tears.

"Your fault?" Crabbe demanded. "What have you done to Malfoy, you little...?"

"The Dark Lord has problems with Mr. Malfoy that have nothing to do with you," Dumbledore cut in, silencing Crabbe's outburst."Do not start blaming yourself for Voldemort's actions, or for Draco's, for that matter."

Turning to Crabbe before Harry could respond, he said, "You may go to class, Vincent. I'll keep you informed of what we learn, and I'll ask you not to discuss Draco's disappearance with anyone. The less gossip around the school, the better for everyone involved."

"Everybody already knows," Crabbe mumbled.

"Be that as it may, you will not feed the rumors. Understood?"

"Yes, Headmaster."Heaving himself to his feet, Crabbed ambled toward the door. He shot a hostile look at Harry as he went, but Dumbledore's presence kept his tongue between his teeth. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore spoke until the door had shut behind him.

Then Dumbledore leaned his elbows on the desk and pinned Harry with his sharpest, most implacable gaze. "As for you, Harry, you are confined to the school grounds until further notice."

Harry jumped in surprise. "What?"

"You may not leave the grounds for any reason. You may not leave your common room after dinner, without permission from your Head of House and a faculty escort. If you are caught breaking the smallest school rule or undertaking the most innocent late-night excursion, I will place you under guard. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry swallowed convulsively and asked, "Why? What have I done?"

"Nothing, yet, and I'd like to keep it that way." His face did not soften or his gaze waver, but the edge left his voice. "I know you only too well, Harry, so I am taking immediate steps to curb your natural tendency to run headlong into trouble. Losing one student is bad enough. I don't want to go hunting for two of you - especially not this particular two. You must believe that I will do everything in my power - everything - to find Draco, and you know that my resources are much greater than yours. Trust me in this. Help me with any information that you have. But do not make my task the harder by putting yourself in needless danger!

"I'm asking you, because I respect your strength and integrity. But I am also telling you. I will tolerate no infractions of my rules. None. Nor any from your friends."

"I understand."

"Excellent." He sat back once more, and this time, his face softened with affection. "We'll find him, Harry."

"Alive?"

The lined, wise old face turned suddenly sad. "I don't know, but we'll find him. Now, off you go. You're late for Charms."

Harry rose to his feet and moved numbly toward the door. He murmured a farewell to Dumbledore, though the words did not penetrate the fog in his own mind so he had no idea what he said. The door opened for him, he heard Fawkes give a musical call, then he stepped into the stairway and let it carry him downward.

The corridors were deserted. Crabbe had not waited for him. Harry had half expected to find Ron and Hermione lurking by the gargoyle to waylay him and was grateful that they were not. He started down the hallway toward the stairs, his eyes fixed blindly on the middle distance and his feet carrying him forward without conscious direction. Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, he stopped.

Very slowly, Harry fell against the wall and let his legs crumple beneath him. He slid down to sit on the floor, drawing his knees up tightly to his chest and burying his face in them. Then he began to shake.

To be continued...