Adamant and Starlight

Chapter 12: Up From the Shadows

Harry climbed through the portrait hole and strode across the common room, paying no mind to the handful of people seated around the fire. They all looked up in surprise at his entrance, and Hermione got to her feet.

"Harry?" she called as he hurried by. "What are you...?"

He did not slow his pace but muttered an incoherent apology and bounded up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. Her question died unfinished. After a long, tense silence, a babble of voices broke out in the common room below. Harry raced up the last few steps, flung open the door to his room, then slammed and bolted it behind him.

He did not want to be here. This room offered him no comfort and little privacy. But he had to stay where Dumbledore could find him, so his more isolated haunts were out of the question. The Gryffindor tower was the obvious place for a Gryffindor to wait - regardless of the fact that he had never felt less like a Gryffindor than he did now.

Harry looked around dazedly, seeing the scarlet curtains on his bed and the scattered belongings of his roommates through a fog of pain. Seamus had thrown his dirty robes on the floor. Dean had left several drawings strewn across his bed and rug, and had spilled ink on the coverlet. Neville had forgotten his Remembrall - again - leaving it on his pillow. Only Harry's belongings, which he had not touched since hastily packing for the trip to London yesterday, were where the house elves had put them, in perfect order and unused. The neatness of his bed, compared to the comfortably messy beds of the others, only served to impress upon him how little he belonged here.

He belonged with Draco, whether the Slytherin was alive or dead, awake or sunk in forgetful dreams. Apart from him, Harry felt hollow, disconnected, lost, and the feeling grew stronger than ever in this room that had been his home for so long. Draco was home to him now. Stone walls and curtained beds could not replace him or fill the hole left in Harry by his absence.

Voices sounded outside the door, breaking into Harry's thoughts and bringing a savage frustration boiling up in him. He recognized Ron's low voice, though he could not make out his words, then Hermione's much higher and more piercing tone.

"Yes you can, Ron! Go on! I'll make sure no one bothers you."

Ron mumbled something else.

Harry turned toward the door, his body shaking with an anger he had no way to vent, and shouted, "Go away!"

Someone pounded on the door.

"Open up, Harry," Hermione called. "Ron wants to talk to you!"

"I do not!" Ron protested, then his words died away into frantic mumbles again.

"Oh, honestly, Ron Weasley."

"Leave me alone!" Harry cried, furiously. He knew that his friends only meant well, but he didn't want well-intentioned meddling now. He wanted to be alone, to scream and throw things and... His eyes lighted on Neville's Remembrall, and he snatched it up. It fit neatly into his palm, just the right size for throwing. Whirling toward the door and the sound of his friends' muffled argument, he hurled the Remembrall against it with all his strength, screaming, "Go away!"

The glass ball shattered against the door, sending a cascade of glittering shards to the floor and a coil of crimson smoke toward the ceiling.

A shocked silence met his outburst, then Hermione grabbed the doorknob, shook it, and called, "You open this door, Harry Potter, or I'll spell it open!"

"Do it," Harry snapped, turning his back and flinging himself face down on his bed. "I don't care."

Hermione murmured a spell, the bolt slid back, and the door opened. Harry could hear Ron clearly for the first time. He was protesting in a squeaky whisper, insisting that he didn't know what to say and Harry didn't want any company. Hermione overrode him brusquely.

"You're the only one he will talk to, Ron, so quit fussing and get in there. I'll keep the rest of them out."

"Why don't you do it?"

"I'm a girl," she said, tartly, as though this simple fact explained everything. Abandoning persuasion for brute force, she shoved Ron bodily through the door and slammed it behind him. Another spell slid the bolt back into place, and Hermione's weight settled against the door as she took up her guard position outside it.

Harry lay very still, waiting for Ron to make up his mind whether or not he had the courage to speak. His burst of destructive violence had drained much of the anger from Harry, but the misery did not ease. He didn't want to break things anymore, just to curl up in a ball and cry until his body was empty of tears, but he couldn't do that in front of Ron. He couldn't do anything but lie here and hurt.

Ron took a hesitant step toward him, boots crunching on broken glass. "Rough day, mate?"

"About average," Harry retorted bitterly, his words muffled by the coverlet.

"Want to, uhmmm... Want to talk about it?"

"You don't have to do this, Ron." Harry pushed himself away from the mattress, rolled over, and sat up. Ron was standing just inside the door, surrounded by the splintered remains of the Remembrall, looking at Harry in a hang-dog, pleading way that made him look like a very tall, gangly five-year-old. He shuffled his feet noisily and ducked his head under Harry's brooding gaze. "I know you'd rather snog a Blast-Ended Skrewt than talk to me about Malfoy."

"I reckoned this had something to do with him."

That masterful understatement forced a short, humorless laugh from Harry. Ron glanced up at him and broke out in a shame-faced grin. "Talking to you was more Hermione's idea," he admitted.

"Yeah. I heard."

Ron sidled over to his own bed and perched on the edge of the mattress. "It's not that I don't want to talk. It's just that... I figured you'd rather be alone, what with you shouting at us to go away and all."

Harry sighed and flopped back on the bed. "You don't have to go, as long as you don't start in on Draco. I can't take anymore of that rubbish today."

"I promised I wouldn't, didn't I?"

Harry heard the injured note in his voice and turned to look at him. Ron sat with his head down, picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans, the tips of his ears turning bright pink.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said. "I... well, I thought you might slip up, now that Draco's back. You seem to do better with not hating him when he isn't actually here."

Ron shot Harry a look from beneath his lowered brows. "He isn't here now, so I think I can control myself. Mind you, I can't promise that I won't forget and call him Ferret once in a while, but only in the most affectionate sort of way."

Again, Harry couldn't help but laugh, though he had rarely been in a less humorous situation in his life. Something about Ron's face when he said affectionate - as if he'd just swallowed a particularly large and disgusting slug - seemed ludicrously funny to Harry. "Thanks," he said, with a tired grin.

Ron's ears started to glow with the heat of his embarrassment. "So..." He looked quizzically at Harry for a moment, then demanded, "What happened today that's got you throwing things and screaming like a bally idiot?"

"You don't want to know." Harry thought about that for a second and amended, "I don't want to talk about it."

"McGonagall told us about the trial. She said you and Dumbledore had a plan for rescuing Malfoy."

"Dumbledore had a plan. I sat and listened."

Ron looked suitably skeptical at that. "You just sat... you?"

"Okay, so I said a couple of things. Mostly to Fudge." Harry's lips twitched. "About his wife."

Ron's eyebrows flew up nearly to his hairline. "Does Fudge have a wife?"

"I don't know. That's not the point."

"The point is that you stood up to that old bugger."

Harry looked steadily at his friend, measuring the depth of his new-found tolerance, then said, softly, "I stood up in front of the whole Wizengamot and threw my love life in their faces, Ron. I made them accept that Draco and I are lovers, then I made them let him go. And it wasn't a brave thing to do at all; it was sheer desperation. I'd have done anything to save him."

"It's the hero in you. You can't help yourself."

"I wasn't much of a hero today."

"But you just said..."

Harry silenced him with a brusque gesture and turned his gazed to the hangings above his head. He felt the ache grow in his chest again, tears gathering in his throat and stinging his eyes. So many emotions churned sickeningly inside him, making it impossible to tell what was causing this fresh surge of grief and pain, but he knew that guilt was first among them. A dreadful, gnawing, agonizing guilt that threatened to overwhelm him if he didn't talk to someone about what he'd done, and this was one thing that he could never share with Draco. He had to tell Ron, or he'd burst from the pressure of holding it all in.

"I did something really awful today, Ron. So awful that I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it, in case..."

"You can tell me," Ron said, without hesitation. "You know you can."

"You won't say anything? Even to Hermione?"

"Word of Honor."

"I used an Unforgivable Curse." It came out in a rush, sounding almost silly when spoken aloud, as if he were trying to describe a hideous nightmare only to find that it looked childish and harmless in the light of day.

"Really?" Ron asked, eagerly. "On who?"

"Narcissa Malfoy."

That got more of the response Harry had expected. Ron's eyes flew open wide, and he whistled appreciatively. "Malfoy's mum? Was he... I mean, did he see it?"

"Yes." Harry covered his eyes with one hand, but it did nothing to soften the memory playing in his head. The images only became clearer in the darkness. "She tried to hit me with a Cruciatus Curse and... missed. She hit Draco instead."

"Bloody Hell," Ron muttered.

"I panicked. I didn't know how to stop her from hitting me with the next one, taking Draco away, giving him to the dementors... I couldn't think of anything else to do! So I used the Cruciatus Curse on her."

"Bloody Hell! Does Fudge know about this? Are they going to arrest you, like they did Malfoy?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But that's not the worst part."

"Going to Azkaban for the rest of your life isn't the worst part?!"

"I guess it will be, if it happens, but I'm having trouble worrying about that right now. I'm too worried about Draco."

"Hermione said he was in bad shape."

"He's in a lot worse shape now than he was when she saw him. Thanks to me."

Ron said, with a touch of impatience in his voice, "Thanks to you, he's alive and back at Hogwarts, instead of losing the rest of his mind in Azkaban. Are you going to start in again with that rubbish about You-Know-Who only torturing Malfoy to hurt you?"

"It's true."

"Not if Hagrid's got it right."

Harry sat up abruptly. "What do you mean?"

"Hermione and I had tea with Hagrid yesterday, and he told us about the centaurs. All that stuff Firenze said about how they couldn't let Malfoy die because the stars forbade it."

Harry gaped at him, while his brain churned helplessly, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

"If the stars are mixed up in this, then it's way past being your fault, or Malfoy's, or even his parents'. It's huge." Ron cocked an eyebrow at him. "Maybe You-Know-Who listens to the centaurs, or looks at the stars himself, and he knows more about Malfoy than we do."

"Dumbledore said something like that."

"Well, there you go," Ron said, smugly. "If Dumbledore agrees with me..."

"But that means Draco is in real danger," Harry blurted out, cutting off his self-congratulation.

"We knew that already."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, realized that Ron was absolutely right, and shut it again with a snap. After a quiet moment, he said, "How am I going to protect him, if I don't know why Voldemort wants him?"

Ron shrugged and answered, blithely, "We'll figure it out. We always do." He grinned at Harry. "Well, Hermione does, and we manage to catch on eventually. In the meantime, he's got Dumbledore, McGonagall, the entire Order of the Phoenix and the bloody Hero of the bloody Wizarding World looking out for him. Even Voldemort couldn't touch him!"

Harry gave a reluctant laugh and fell back on the bed once more, feeling much of the tension drain out of him. He was still miserable, guilt-ridden, angry and frustrated by his own helplessness, but at least he wasn't alone.

"Ron?" he said, after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"Hmm?"

"Did you know that your parents are in the castle?"

"Really? What're they doing here?"

Harry rolled onto his side and propped his head on one fist. Ron was sprawled comfortably on his own bed, twiddling his wand in his fingers and sending mustard-colored smoke curling out of its end. For a moment, it all felt so normal and relaxed that Harry almost forgot why they were locked in the dormitory with Hermione standing guard outside. He gazed at his old friend, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, and let the little flicker of warmth inside him expand.

When Harry did not answer immediately, Ron dropped his wand and demanded, worriedly, "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"No, they're here on Order business."

Ron eyed him suspiciously, sensing another long, convoluted, problematic story in his simple remark but choosing not to ask.

"I was just wondering..." Harry ventured. "If you get a chance to talk to your mum, maybe you could tell her, well, that you've changed your mind about Draco. Or at least that you're trying."

Ron gave a disbelieving snort. "Talk to my mum about Draco Malfoy? Are you mad?"

"I'm serious. It might help."

"Harry, she loathes Malfoy! Fred says she won't allow his name spoken in the house! She even threatened to hex my dad when he wouldn't let her send Malfoy a poisoned plum cake!"

"I know. But she's softening up a bit, at least toward me, and I thought you could sort of help her along by telling her that Draco isn't really such an awful person."

Harry could tell by the look on Ron's face that he was dying to make a nasty crack, but he controlled the impulse and said, in a slightly suffocated voice, "I could do that. For you, Harry. Because you're my best mate and a big, bally hero and the only one who can defeat You-Know-Who. And if you're pining away over Malfoy, you won't have your mind on your job, and you might just forget to save the wizarding world at the crucial time! Not because I would miss Malfoy's ferrety face around here if he disappeared again, or because he makes me laugh, or because he annoys the hell out of Seamus, which is a beautiful thing to behold!"

"Understood."

"Okay, then." Ron grinned over at him. "As long as we're clear on that."

"Absolutely clear." Harry returned the other boy's smile, letting his affection and gratitude show plainly in his face. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron's smile faded, an odd seriousness darkening his eyes, and he murmured, "I'd do pretty much anything for you, Harry. Don't you know that by now?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Short of snogging a Blast-Ended Skrewt, that is."

"I solemnly swear that I will never ask you to kiss a Skrewt."

"Hmph. But you did just ask me to talk about Malfoy - with my mother, no less."

"So Draco ranks above a Skrewt, now?"

"Very slightly, maybe, when I'm in a forgiving mood, but I won't kiss him either."

Harry's smile broadened into a grin, and he uttered the first genuine laugh he had managed in days. "I can absolutely promise that I won't ask you to do that! In fact, if you do, I may have to hurt you."

"Fair enough." Ron picked up his wand and spun it between his fingers, sending more of the yellowish smoke spiraling toward the ceiling. "So what do we do now?"

"Wait." Harry sank back on the bed and flung an arm over his eyes. "Just wait."

*** *** ***

Harry went to bed early, not because he had any real hope of sleeping but because he didn't have anywhere else to be and he couldn't face his housemates in the common room. He stayed hidden behind his bed curtains, even when the other boys clumped up the stairs just before lights-out, Seamus loudly regaling them with lurid gossip and jokes about Draco. When Ron told him to shut his fat gob, Seamus retaliated with a dig about Ron fancying "the pretty ferret" himself, but as this did not win him any laughs from Neville or Dean, he let it drop and crawled into bed, grumbling.

It was the longest night Harry could ever remember. He couldn't sleep, couldn't distract himself from what might be happening downstairs in the hospital wing, and couldn't think of anything to do to pass the time more quickly that wouldn't land him in trouble with McGonagall or Dumbledore. He was deeply grateful for his first glimpse of morning light through the bed curtains - so grateful that he didn't even mind having to face Seamus Finnegan over breakfast.

He passed the morning in a fog of worry and exhaustion, trailing after Ron and Hermione to class, paying no attention to what the professors said and barely registering what class he was attending. He completely ignored the sideways looks of the other students and the more pointed stares of his teachers, who had not seen him since the start of the new term and were both curious and irritated by his lack of attention. Nothing penetrated his stupor until they had finished their lunch and were headed to the first class of the afternoon.

As they crossed from the Great Hall to the dungeons, Harry came back to himself with a lurch and stopped dead in the middle of the entry hall.

"I'm not going to Potions," he said, flatly. "I'll go to the library instead, try to get caught up on my homework."

"Don't be silly, Harry," Hermione chided. "You can't get caught up in one afternoon, and you can't afford to miss anymore classes."

"I don't even know what potion we're making today! I haven't studied the recipe or prepared my ingredients or..."

"I'll help you," she said, as she caught his arm and tried to drag him toward the dungeon stairs. When he refused to budge, she shot him an exasperated look and demanded, "Do you want Dumbledore to know where to find you or not?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you have to stay where you belong."

"Maybe he's right, Hermione," Ron said. "Snape's bound to be in a foul mood."

"Honestly. How you two can still be afraid of Professor Snape after all these years, I'll never understand."

"He's evil!"

She gave a snort of disgust.

"If I were Harry, I wouldn't want to face a dungeon full of Slytherins," Ron grumbled.

"It won't be full of Slytherins. There are hardly any Sixth Years left, since the siege..."

"Another reason for Snape to be cranky."

"Harry didn't send them away."

"And you think that matters to Snape?" Ron demanded.

"Oh, shut up, both of you," Harry sighed. He shrugged his book bag higher onto his shoulder, clamped his cauldron to his side, and stalked over to the stairs with grim determination. "Even an afternoon of Snape will be better than listening to you two bicker."

"I still think you should skive off," Ron muttered, as he followed Harry down the steps. "We should all three skive off. Let old Snape pick on Seamus for a change."

"He'd only torture Neville," Hermione scolded, "and we'd lose points for Gryffindor - points we can not afford, may I remind you."

Harry sighed again and quickened his pace, trying to distance himself from the sniping pair behind him. He devoutly wished that Ron and Hermione would hurry their courtship along, get past the bickering stage and into the cooing stage, before they drove everyone around them barmy.

The class progressed pretty much as Harry had expected, with Snape hovering over him like a carrion crow, snapping out insults and taking points from Gryffindor for every imagined mistake, the Gryffindors muttering about Snape's unfairness, and the Slytherins sulking in their corner. Harry managed to brew a decent potion - at least it looked very much like Hermione's, which was a good sign - and not to melt his cauldron, but he still had no idea what he was making.

He was stirring the glutinous, swamp-green glop in his cauldron, wondering idly what would happen if he slipped it into Seamus' pumpkin juice at dinner, when the door opened and Professor McGonagall came in. All activity in the dungeon stopped as everyone turned to stare at the Transfiguration Master. She bent over Snape's desk and whispered something in his ear. Snape's black eyes came up to fix on Harry's face.

"Potter." Everyone in the room jumped at the crack of his voice; Harry's stomach dropped through the floor. Snape twitched his head toward the door, where McGonagall waited in tight-lipped silence. "Go with Professor McGonagall."

"Yes, Professor."

His hands shaking and his mouth suddenly dry, Harry got to his feet and began scraping his potion ingredients together, preparing to shove them into his bag.

"Leave that," Snape growled. "Weasley and Granger will clean it up."

Harry obediently dropped his bag, shoved his wand into his pocket, and slid from behind the table. Utter silence reigned in the dungeon as he crossed to McGonagall. She waved him past, her face inscrutable, then closed the door behind them. Harry only just heard Snape barking, "Quit gawping and keep stirring! Crabbe, I need you to take a message..." before the heavy door cut off his voice.

McGonagall started down the passage at a brisk pace, and Harry fell into step at her side.

"Is it Draco, Professor?" he demanded. "Is he awake? Did he say anything? Does he remember..."

"Relax, Potter. Don't forget to breathe."

"Please, Professor!"

McGonagall shot him a softened look and said, gruffly, "Malfoy is still asleep, but Genie Fox says that the potion has worn off and his sleep pattern is normal. She expects him to wake up any time."

Mingled panic and exultation surged up in Harry, forcing an wordless cry from him. He bolted away from McGonagall, ran full tilt along the dark dungeon passage and took the steps at the end in a bound.

"Slow down, Potter!" McGonagall called. "You'll break your neck before you get to the hospital wing!"

But Harry paid her no mind. He flew across the entry hall and up the main staircase without feeling the cold marble beneath his feet. Down the length of the first floor hallway he raced, as portraits started out of dozes or interrupted chats with their neighbors to watch him go by, then he slid to a panting halt before the locked door to the hospital wing. Only then did he remember that he needed McGonagall to open the door for him, but McGonagall was still somewhere back in the dungeons, and Harry had no intention of waiting for her.

He hammered on the door with his fist and shouted, "Professor Dumbledore, it's me! Harry!" A pause to listen, then he started pounding again. "Professor! Madam Pomfrey! Open up!"

The door flew open, and Harry only just checked himself in time to avoid smacking Dumbledore in the face.

"Oh. Sorry, Professor."

"Ah, Harry, it's you," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I see that Professor McGonagall found you. Where did you leave her?"

"Back there somewhere." Harry waved toward the stairway. "Is Draco awake yet? Can I see him?"

"Come in, my boy, and catch your breath."

Harry did not need a second invitation. He hurried past Dumbledore and over to the Room of Requirement, where Madam Fox stood at the patch of transparent wall, gazing intently at the scene beyond it. Inside the smaller room, Madam Pomfrey bustled about in her usual, efficient way, lighting candles with her wand, spelling long velvet drapes closed and straightening up items that already looked painfully neat to Harry's eyes. The stiff, corpse-like Draco had disappeared, and in the middle of the mattress, well hidden under layers of blankets, was a sizeable lump. Harry took one look at the familiar sight and broke out in a grin.

"He's better!"

Madam Fox gave him a wry look. "How do you determine that, Mr. Potter?"

"The way he's sleeping. He always does that - curls up under the blankets to keep warm."

"Like a bear in a cave."

"More like a snake under a rock," Harry retorted, thinking of his beloved boa constrictor and the many nights he had spent pirating the heat from Harry's body.

Madam Fox chuckled. "It's the Malfoy in him. I always said that Lucius was more viper than human being."

Harry's first impulse was to shout a denial at her, to protest any hint that Draco resembled his Death Eater father, but he thought better of it in time. Madam Fox couldn't know how deeply Harry hated Lucius Malfoy or how painful it was to him to be reminded that such a man had produced the love of his life.

Swallowing his angry words, Harry asked, "May I go in and see him now?"

"All in good time."

"But..."

Dumbledore strode over to them, holding up a hand to silence Harry's protests. He had Snape and McGonagall on his heels, Snape looking sullen and McGonagall looking worried. Dumbledore was smiling his warmest smile, but his words sobered Harry instantly, reminding him how very far they were from home free.

"I can't let you into Mr. Malfoy's room until we go over a few ground rules, Harry."

"He could wake up any minute."

"Then I suggest you keep quiet and listen." Harry shut his mouth with a snap, and Dumbledore nodded his approval. "We've done everything we can to make the Room of Requirement feel safe and unthreatening, with no visible trace of what is passing outside it to disturb the mood inside. Madam Pomfrey has even covered the windows, so Draco will not know what time of day or year it is."

"He's going to know that he lost a lot of time."

"Certainly, but not in the first few minutes after he wakes. Those minutes are crucial, Harry. They may determine whether he recovers fully, comes back to himself, or retreats again. This means that everything in his environment must feel safe. And everyone."

"So I have to be careful of what I say."

"And of what you do."

"That means," Snape interjected coldly, "don't try to kiss him. He can't fight you off with a Patronus this time."

Harry flushed angrily and pressed his lips together to hold in a furious retort. Snape was right, for all that he was doing his best to embarrass Harry, and it wouldn't help him any to get in a fight with the Potions Master. He'd only convince Dumbledore that he was too overwrought to be trusted around Draco.

"I'm not comfortable with this," Snape said to Dumbledore, his voice sour and his gaze sweeping Harry with disdain. "What if Potter gets carried away - again - and does something stupid? I think one of us should be with Malfoy when he comes around."

"Harry knows as well as any of us what is at stake, here," Dumbledore said, soothingly. "He is the obvious choice."

"And if Malfoy has forgotten all about their... association?"

"Harry will know how to handle himself. Won't you, my boy?"

Harry nodded mutely.

Madam Fox stepped in, forestalling another comment from Snape, to say, "The important thing is to keep your head. Don't panic. And don't jump to conclusions based on the first words out of his mouth. Just talk to him, get a feel for his state of mind, and let him set the tone of your conversation. Understand?"

"I understand," Harry said, as calmly as he could manage with his stomach roiling and his palms sweating. Would they never shut up and let him go? Draco might wake up any second, and Harry had promised that he would be there for his archangel. He couldn't let him wake up alone. He couldn't let him retreat in fear when he found himself in a strange place with no one there to explain. He couldn't break his word to Draco, not ever, no matter what. "Is there anything else?"

Dumbledore shook his head and stepped aside, giving him a clear path to the door. "In you go. We'll watch from out here, and Madam Pomfrey will stay in the room with you. I'm afraid we can't give you much privacy until we're sure that Draco is himself."

Giving a quick nod, Harry crossed to the door in two strides and put his hand on the latch "Lionheart." It swung open under his hand, and Harry walked into the Room of Requirement.

With the drapes closed and the candles lit, the small room felt very cozy and sheltered, like the Gryffindor common room late on a winter evening. Harry almost expected to find a cup of hot chocolate steaming on the little table beside his chair, so powerful was the atmosphere in the room, and he supposed that Madam Pomfrey's wand had been doing more complex magic than the simple lighting of candles. The nurse faded back into the corner by the window as Harry came into the room, nodding her head to him and settling into a chair where she seemed to disappear into the shadows.

Harry moved quietly up to the bed, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping Draco, and pulled a chair up on the far side, where he could sit without blocking the watchers' view. Settling into the chair, he propped is elbows on the bed and his chin in his hands, and prepared to wait. He didn't have long. Draco was moving about under the blankets, getting ready to poke his head out of his sheltering cocoon and decide if he really wanted to be awake. Harry, who knew Draco's habits better than he did his own, could gauge to a nicety how long it would take the predictable Slytherin to show himself.

At exactly the moment Harry expected it, the coverlet moved, and a tousled head appeared, grey eyes blinking in the light. Harry held his breath and waited for Draco's sleep-bleared gaze to find him, fighting to control his own nervousness, to react with all the calm and control Dumbledore expected of him.

"Hallo, Malfoy," he said, and he was surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.

For a wonderful moment, as his eyes found Harry's face and came into focus, Draco's expression was soft and unguarded, full of the warmth of lingering sleep and something Harry dared to call gladness at finding the Gryffindor at his bedside. Harry had to remind himself, very firmly, that he had already misread Draco's expression once, to nearly fatal effect, and he mustn't allow his overeager imagination to run away with him. He could not assume that Draco remembered what they meant to each other until he heard it directly from Draco's mouth.

Grey eyes blinked sleepily at him. "Hallo, Potter. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to wake up," Harry answered, with a smile.

Very slowly, Draco turned onto his back and let his gaze drift about the room. His face became more guarded with every passing second, and a frown began to draw his brows together. "Where is here?"

"The hospital wing."

"It doesn't look like the hospital wing."

Harry made a cautious stab at humor, saying playfully, "They gave you a private room. Someone must have warned them that Malfoys are contagious."

Draco did not respond to his bantering tone, only stared at him in growing doubt. "Something's wrong."

"You've been sick, that's all."

"I don't feel right. My head's all queer and..." He pulled his left hand from beneath the blanket, reaching to shove back his hair, and then he froze, eyes going wide and glazed with shock.

"Malfoy?"

"My hand." His voice sounded weirdly calm, but Harry was not fooled. He knew that sick, blind, white-faced look and knew what was coming.

"It's all right, Draco, I swear..."

"Where's my hand? What happened to it?" Pushing himself up on his elbows, he turned his horrified gaze on Harry and demanded, "What did you do, Potter?! Hack it off again?!"

A flood of relief so great it brought tears to his eyes went through Harry, and he gave a choked laugh. "No, it wasn't me."

"This isn't funny! Where's my hand?!"

"Dumbledore has it."

"Why does Dumbledore have it? Why isn't it on my arm, where it belongs? What in bloody hell is going on here?!"

"Just relax..." Harry began, while the sobbing, spasmodic laughter continued to shake him.

"I won't relax. I won't! And stop that laughing, you ruddy idiot!"

Harry tried to swallow the unwanted sounds that rose in his throat to choke him, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I can't help it."

Draco sat up with a lurch. "What's so damned funny?!"

"Nothing." Harry made a heroic effort to control himself, shifting forward in his chair to gaze at Malfoy with tearful intensity, his heart glowing in his eyes. "I'm not laughing at you, I swear. It's just so good to have you back!"

Draco threw him a wild, wide-eyed look, so clearly on the verge of hysteria that it sent a chill down Harry's spine. "Back from where? I don't understand." He held his truncated arm out to Harry and said, a frantic edge to his voice, "Why did you take it away? I was just learning to use it, and you were going to teach me to catch the snitch and... I need it, Harry. It's mine."

"I know." Harry looked at Draco for a moment, gnawing his lip and remembering the dire warnings Dumbledore and Madam Fox had given him. Then he mentally tossed them away and went with his impulse, with his heart, which he knew he could trust better than his mind.

Lurching out of his chair, he sat on the edge of the mattress beside Draco and caught the arm that was still held out toward him. At his touch, Draco collapsed like an unstrung puppet, his body falling against Harry's and his face turning into the hollow of the taller boy's shoulder. A shudder of relief went through him. Harry tightened his hold on the strangely fragile body in his arms and bent his head to rest his cheek against tangled silver-gilt hair.

After a long, quiet moment, Draco took a ragged breath and whispered, "I thought something was wrong. You just sat there, laughing, and didn't..."

"Forget about it, okay? I won't laugh anymore."

He shuddered again and whispered, "What's happening?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, honestly."

"Just how stupid do you think I am?" Draco demanded, with only a trace of his usual venom.

Harry felt another laugh rise in his throat at that, but he swallowed it before it could reach Draco's ears. His voice rough with threatened tears, he murmured, "I think you're a blithering idiot, and I love you for it. Oh God, Draco," his arms tightened around Draco's body, almost crushing him in his desperate relief, "I love you so much. I was so afraid I'd never get to do this again!"

An arm slipped around Harry's waist and returned the frantic pressure of his embrace. Draco turned his head, so that he lay more comfortably against Harry's shoulder and could speak without muffling his words in the other boy's robe. "You're not going to tell me what this is all about, are you?"

"I can't. Please, you just have to trust me and wait for Dumbledore. He'll explain about your hand and... everything."

"Dumbledore." Harry could hear the doubt in Draco's tone and feel the way he unconsciously shrank away from the implied threat in that name. "I'm in some kind of trouble, then?"

"Why do you say that?"

"The Headmaster never speaks to me, unless I'm about to be expelled or I'm about to die. Which is it this time?"

"Neither." Harry lifted a hand to push the snarled hair back from Draco's forehead, since his own free arm did not have the necessary parts to do it. Grey eyes frowned up into his, full of reproach and lurking dread. Meeting that troubled gaze squarely, Harry insisted, "You're not going to be expelled, and you're not going to die. You have my word on it."

"And mine," another voice said, bringing both boys' heads around with a start to find Dumbledore standing at the foot of the bed.

Harry had not heard Madam Pomfrey leave or Dumbledore come in, so absorbed was he in comforting Draco. He was glad to see Dumbledore, until he felt Draco pushing away from him and realized that the Slytherin would not allow Harry to hold him so intimately in front of the Headmaster. Letting go of Draco with the utmost reluctance, Harry stayed sitting on the bed, within arm's reach of the other boy in case Draco needed his support again.

Draco was struggling to look composed and dignified in front of a man he neither knew well nor trusted, and who overawed him by his mere presence. The best he could manage was stiff.

Dumbledore smiled at him, eyes twinkling. "I'm very glad to see you awake and feeling more yourself, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco swallowed nervously and held out his left arm toward the old wizard. "Harry says you took my hand."

"I did, but only for your protection. You may have it back when we're certain that you're on the mend."

"I'm fine." Draco faltered, his rigid manner slipping, and his eyes moved instinctively to find Harry. "At least, I think I am. I feel kind of... strange."

"That's not at all surprising," Dumbledore said. He sat down on the foot of the bed and turned a kindly, searching gaze on Draco. "The next few days are going to be difficult for you, Draco."

Draco flushed slightly at Dumbledore's use of his given name, and at the gentle note in his voice. Harry reached over and forcibly pulled Draco's right hand into his own lap, where he could lace his fingers through the other boy's and hold him tightly. Draco made one half-hearted attempt to pull away, then surrendered and let his hand lie in Harry's.

"You're going to grow very frustrated with us," Dumbledore went on, "and demand a number of answers that we cannot give you. I can only assure you that what we do now is for your own benefit, and when we think it's safe to do so, we will explain everything. I must ask you to be patient, to accept the answers we can give, and to trust us."

A mischievous smile danced in Dumbledore's eyes. "That's a tall order, I know, but you can begin with the easy part. Trust Harry."

"I do," Draco murmured through stiff, cold lips.

"Then you know that you have nothing to fear, as long as he is here."

Draco was breathing hard through his nose, his lips pressed into a tight line and his face unnaturally pale, even for him. Harry felt a tremor go through his fingers, then he clutched more fiercely at Harry's hand to steady them.

"He's telling you the truth, Draco," Harry said softly. "You're perfectly safe. We both are."

"What are you trying so hard not to tell me?" Draco hissed through clenched teeth.

"Ah. If we could tell you that, we would not have to try so hard, would we?" Dumbledore said, at his most droll.

"Don't... don't shrug me off that way! Don't treat me like..."

"Calm down, Mr. Malfoy." The jolly old ditherer was gone as swiftly as he'd come, leaving the awesome and deadly-serious wizard in his place. "You must keep hold of yourself, stay calm, or Madam Pomfrey will have to dose you with another sleeping potion."

Draco's face, so pale and so taut with strain that it barely appeared human, turned to Harry. His eyes were shuttered, blind with growing panic, and they cut Harry to the heart with a glance. "What in bleeding Hell is going on? What's happened that... that I can't remember? It's something dreadful. I can feel it. Tell me, Harry!"

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

Draco's face contracted with pain, and he started to turn away, but Harry stopped him with a hand against his cold cheek.

"But I promise you that I will, when you're well enough. And until then, you just have to believe that it doesn't matter now. It's over. You're here, with me, where you belong, and nothing else matters."

"I... I can't breathe...!"

Harry shot Dumbledore a frantic look and received a nod in answer. With an inward sigh of relief, Harry tightened his hold on Draco and drew him into a strong, sheltering embrace. Draco fought him for a moment, then let himself fall against Harry, both arms going around the other boy's waist and holding on for dear life. Harry wrapped his arms about Draco and closed his eyes, letting gratitude, warmth, and glittering golden wizard power course through him.

In the familiar heat of Harry's power, Draco began to relax. The rigidity drained from him, his clasp around Harry's waist became less desperate, and his breathing grew more even.

"Draco?"

At the sound of Dumbledore's voice, Draco tried to pull free of Harry's arms, but the other boy did not let him go this time. After only a brief struggle, Draco subsided, leaning heavily against Harry and still holding him tightly.

"There is one question I must ask you," the Headmaster said. "Do you know what day it is?"

Draco thought about that for a long minute, then murmured, "No."

"Make a guess."

"It's... January," he ventured. "Slytherin played Ravenclaw. We lost. But that was nearly a week ago, so..." Once again, his thought died out unfinished, and his brows drew together in a pained frown. "But if I've been out of it for a while... How long have I been sick?"

"You have been ill for some days, Mr. Malfoy, but you've forgotten more than that. I don't want to alarm you, and I don't want you to worry about the missing time, but you need to know before you speak to anyone else or even look out the window." He paused, gazing intently at Draco, then said, "It is now the end of March."

Draco stiffened in Harry's arms, and Harry promptly sent a fresh surge of wizarding power through him.

"That's impossible."

"It is, however, quite true."

"But, I can't... I mean, where have I... Harry?"

"It's okay, Draco. Trust me." Sending yet more power coursing into the other boy, Harry threw every ounce of certainty he possessed into his voice and urged, "Trust me!"

"Tell me the truth!"

"I am. The absolute, unvarnished, God's-honest truth. It's the beginning of third term, it's spring, the snow has melted, and Slytherin has lost another Quidditch game. I'm sorry, but there's no way you can win the Cup, now."

"I don't give a damn about the bloody Quidditch Cup!"

"Now I know you're sick."

"Stop it!" Draco gasped, his body once again trembling with the force of his rising panic. "Tell me where I've been, why I can't remember... Harry! Harry!"

This time, Harry did not look to Dumbledore for permission. Instead, he ducked his head to avoid the Headmaster's gaze, tightened his hold on Draco, and murmured into the soft tangle of his hair, "Terrible things happened, Draco, things too dreadful to bear, and we erased your memory of them so they couldn't hurt you. Professor Dumbledore has some of those memories in a Pensieve, and when your Healer says you're strong enough to stand it, I'll take you into them and show you what happened. But until then, you have to trust me. You can't remember, and I can't tell you about it. That hole in your memory - that queer, empty feeling in your head - is the only thing allowing you to stay well. And I have to keep you well, Draco, I have to!"

Draco had stopped shaking, and even through his own distress, Harry could tell that he was hearing, understanding, possibly even accepting what Harry said. He lay very still against Harry's chest, his face turned into the taller boy's shoulder, poised but not tense, listening. Harry lifted a hand to clasp his head. The mingled fear and gratitude in him - fear at the possibility of losing Draco to madness again and gratitude at the feel of that adored body in his arms after so long - filled his chest and clogged his throat, thickening his words with tears and making his heart knock painfully against his ribs.

"Please believe me, Draco. Please understand. I'll go mad if I lose you again."

For a long moment, Draco said nothing. Then, at last, he whispered, "I believe you."

Harry let his breath out in a gasping sob.

Another long pause, then Draco added, his voice sounding hollow and dull, "I won't ask any questions, and I'll try to be patient." He lifted his head and drew slightly away from Harry without actually breaking his hold, his eyes turning to Dumbledore. "But I want my hand back."

Dumbledore nodded affably. "Tomorrow, if you're still improving. In the meantime, I want your Healer to have a look at you."

Draco frowned at that, but he said nothing as the old wizard started for the door.

"I'll send her in."

Harry stayed where he was, perched on the edge of the bed with Draco still lying against him, wondering how Madam Fox would react to his presence. And how Draco would react to Madam Fox. He didn't have long to ponder either of these questions, however. Almost before Dumbledore was through the door, the Healer was moving past him into the smaller room, striding across to the bed, her lime green robes snapping forcefully with each step.

Draco stared at her, aghast, for the space of a breath, then pulled away from Harry and sat bolt upright in the bed. "Auntie Genie!"

"Hullo, Nevvy."

A delighted smile blossomed across Draco's pale face, transforming it in an instant. But in the next breath, he faltered, his eyes sliding sideways to Harry and his smile fading. Harry sensed, rather than saw, him withdrawing from the support he had clung to so fiercely just moments before.

Draco shot Madam Fox a doubtful look and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"Taking care of my favorite nephew," she replied, eyes searching his face as she drew up beside the bed. "But if you mean to play the high-and-mighty Malfoy with me, I'll save these old bones the trouble and take myself back to London."

Draco smiled sheepishly, though his eyes remained dark and troubled. "Sorry, Auntie. You know I'm glad to see you."

Harry smiled too, warmed by the current of affection that flowed between them. He could see a lot of Draco in the old witch - the lurking humor in her gaze, the way her smile curled up one side of her mouth and made her eyes dance wickedly, the way she lifted one elegant eyebrow when she said something teasing - though their faces looked nothing alike. And for once, Harry was pleased at the family resemblance he found.

Madam Fox chuckled and kissed Draco on the cheek, accidentally brushing the raw brand as she did so. Draco gave a hiss of pain and recoiled. Then he reached up with his right hand to touch the sore spot, fingering it gingerly.

"Ouch! What have I got on my face?"

"Take your hands off it, dratted boy," Madam Fox chided, slapping at his hand.

Draco looked mutinous. "Fetch me a mirror! I want to see it!"

"I'm not your house elf, and I won't be ordered about in that cheeky way. Hold still, now, and let me have a look at you."

To Harry's surprise, Draco made no further protest and allowed Madam Fox to lift his chin with one hand, turning his head from side to side, a thoughtful frown pulling her eyebrows together. "You're on the mend, no question, but still a trifle tender, here and there, eh? Wounds a bit raw? Well, time will take care of that." Her gaze flicked to Harry's face, and she smiled. "Time and proper attention."

Draco caught the quick exchange and threw Harry a startled look of his own. "Auntie Genie..."

"Hmm?" she grunted, absently, as she pulled out her wand, her mind still on her work and her gaze fixed on his face.

"Do you know about me and Harry?"

Her eyes twinkled at him, and the familiar smile tilted her lips. "The whole blessed wizarding world knows about you and Harry, my dear."

Draco flushed under her amused gaze. "Oh." He hesitated, then ventured, "It doesn't bother you?"

All trace of humor abruptly left her face. She looked narrowly at Draco and snapped, "What bothers me is the thought of you living in that house with Lucius and Narcissa, learning to hate and kill at the Dark Lord's whim. I couldn't get you out, couldn't make you see where they were leading you, but Harry Potter did." She winked at Draco, her face softening. "Anyone who can make a Malfoy see reason is all right in my book."

Her manner turning brisk again in an instant, she leveled her wand to point at Draco's nose and said, "Now close your mouth and let me get on with my work, young man."

Harry, who had kept his head down to hide the embarrassment in his face, heard the Healer mutter a spell and saw a flash of reddish light from the corner of his eyes. Draco's right hand lay in his lap, and at the touch of Madam Fox's spell, his fingers clutched convulsively at the blanket. Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then threw caution to the wind and reached over to cover Draco's hand with his. This time Draco did not pull away. Instead, he turned his hand under Harry's and returned the pressure of his fingers.

They sat together on the bed, hands linked, unmoving, through the Healer's examination. She cast a handful of different spells, asked Draco a few simple questions, muttered to herself a good deal, and occasionally worried Harry by frowning or pursing her lips. But when she finished, she had a smile on her face and a look of satisfaction in the gaze that rested on Draco.

"You're doing very well, my dear. You know that we performed a kind of memory charm on you?" Draco nodded. "Well, it's done the trick, for all that we didn't go as deep into your memory as I would have liked. You're a bit raw yet, as I said, but you'll mend, so long as you do what you're told and don't go prying into things better left forgotten."

She waited for Draco to respond to this, but he only stared at her in white-faced silence, his hand holding very tightly to Harry's. With a quick nod, Madam Fox shoved her wand into her pocket and leaned over to plant another kiss on Draco's cheek, being careful to avoid the brand this time.

"I'll be back tomorrow. I want to see that marvelous hand of yours in action."

"I can have it? I'm well enough?" Draco asked, the crack in his voice betraying his fear.

"We'll see tomorrow. Until then, you stay in that bed and rest. Mr. Potter, I expect you to see to it that he obeys my orders."

With that, she headed for the door, not waiting for an answer from either of the boys.

Draco watched her knock on the door, watched it swing open under Dumbledore's hand and then close again, leaving them alone in the room. Then he flopped back against the pillow and sighed.

"Stay in bed, rest, do as you're told... They're going to drive me mad, the lot of them. Since when does Dumbledore give a bloody damn about me? And you..." He turned to look at Harry. His eyes widened, as he truly saw the Gryffindor for the first time and absorbed what he saw. "You look ruddy awful, Harry."

Harry grinned tiredly at him, feeling exhaustion wash sickeningly over him in the wake of all the excitement. "Thanks."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't want to think about it."

"You're the one who needs nursing and mothering, not me. Why don't you get some rest?"

"I would love to, but I'm not leaving this room. Not until I'm sure you're all right."

Draco looked annoyed at that. "I don't need another nursemaid, and I didn't say anything about leaving." Sliding toward the far edge of the bed, he slapped the mattress and said, "Come on, you Gryffindor git."

Harry felt a rush of longing go through him. The thought of lying down in that warm bed, resting his head on that soft pillow and closing his eyes, with Draco close beside him, was so unbearably beautiful that it made his chest ache. But they were not alone, no matter how isolated the room seemed, and one or more of Draco's nursemaids were standing at that magical window this very minute, watching them. What would Madam Pomfrey do, if she saw Harry climb into Draco's bed? Or worse yet, Snape?

He looked nervously at the blank wall that concealed the watchers, then down at Draco. The other boy was gazing steadily at him, a lurking doubt in his eyes that gave the lie to his acerbic manner. He might snap and gripe at Harry, but he was, underneath the Malfoy mask, still deeply frightened. Uncertain. Waiting for Harry to put his mind at ease and show him that nothing had changed between them.

Mentally consigning Madam Pomfrey and Snape and anyone else who might be watching to the devil, Harry kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his robe and put his glasses on the cluttered bedside table. Then he swung his feet onto the bed and burrowed under the blankets, sighing as his head hit the pillow. He turned to look at the boy beside him. Draco lay propped up on his left elbow, gazing down at Harry through a tangle of silver-gilt hair, and from this close, Harry could see the question in his face even without his glasses.

Harry smiled. "Are you tired?"

"No."

Without another word, Draco lay down and wrapped his whole arm around Harry's waist. His head settled naturally into the hollow of Harry's shoulder, and his leg twined around the other boy's. Warmth and contentment flowed through Harry, easing weeks of pain and despair, driving the coldness from his innards, the ache of exhaustion from his limbs and the shadows from his heart. It didn't matter to him what tomorrow might bring, what challenges they both faced in the delicate task of bringing Draco back to full health. For tonight, for this brief, magical time, he was whole.

"Harry?"

The soft voice jolted him out of the first, blissful currents of sleep and snapped his eyes open. He felt a sickening lurch of alarm, then he felt the weight resting against him and the familiar body in his arms, and alarm turned to relief.

"Hmm?" he grunted, too tired and happy to bestir himself to speak.

"I need to ask you a question."

"I probably can't answer it," he said, with a huge yawn.

"It's about Auntie Genie. Do you know where she works?"

Harry came fully awake at that. "Yes," he ventured cautiously. "St. Mungo's, isn't it?"

"She's the head of the Spell Damage ward."

"I... might have heard that."

"So what is the wizarding world's leading expert on spell damage doing at Hogwarts?"

"Taking care of you."

"But why her? Why not old Pomfrey? She can fix anything - anything a Hogwarts student could possibly do to himself, anyway." Lifting his head, Draco propped his chin on Harry's chest and looked up at him, holding Harry's bleary green gaze with his own piercing grey one. "Just how sick was I, Harry?"

Harry unconsciously reached out to touch a bright strand of hair falling past Draco's cheek. "It was awful," he said in a hollow whisper. "I've never been so frightened, even when I met Voldemort face-to-face. I thought you were going to die or leave me forever, and I couldn't go with you. That's all I wanted, Draco... to go with you..."

"But I didn't go anywhere. I'm right here."

"Yes."

Harry slid his hand around Draco's head, clasping it and pulling it toward him. Draco obediently shifted closer, just as Harry raised his own head from the pillow. Their lips touched and clung together for a brief, ecstatic moment. Silver and gold flames flickered and danced behind Harry's closed eyelids, rushed through his body, filling him with heat, longing and love more potent than anything he had ever felt before.

He sighed and opened his eyes, as Draco pulled slightly away. They looked at each other, their faces so close together that Harry could feel the warmth of Draco's breath on his skin and see the reflection of candle flames in his eyes.

"I love you," Harry whispered huskily, "so much."

Draco did not answer him, but Harry saw in his winter-grey eyes the words he wouldn't speak and smiled.

"Go to sleep," Draco murmured.

Harry obediently lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Draco rested his head in the hollow of Harry's shoulder and tightened an arm about his waist, his body going pliant and soft in Harry's embrace. In a moment, Harry slept, a smile still lingering on his lips.

To be continued...