Seekers Play Rough

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

I swear.
I just found everything I need.
the sweat in your eyes the blood in your veins are listening to me.
well I want to drink it up and swim in it until I drown.
my moral standing is lying down

Chapter 2:

Amorelation

The full moon rode high on a ghostly wisp of silver cloud as the stars kept their vigil over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Moonlight streamed in silent cascades through floor-to- ceiling windows. It was after hours, when all students were meant to be tucked away safely in their Towers.

And yet, one was stirring.

On cat- silent feet, a figure padded along a deserted corridor, awash in pale, ethereal light. Through doors, past dozing portraits on the walls, sliding down stairs, the form made its way to the main entrance of Hogwarts. There, immersed in shadow, it froze briefly, before gliding out.

Once outside in the cool night air, Harry could relax. The thoughts that had been nattering in his mind ever since the confrontation with Draco that afternoon seemed to be whisked away on the breeze. Letting out a relieved sigh, he padded briskly down the steps, staring up at the shining moon. Finally able to think, free in the whistling wind and dancing grass, Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets and let his restless feet carry him wherever they willed as his mind mulled over the day.

He had lost to Draco. He had been shoved off his broom on the Quidditch pitch. He, Harry Potter, who was supposed to be the best seeker in decades, James Potter's legacy, had lost in a match of speed and agility when Malfoy attacked him.

Malfoy.

All day, his thoughts had been returning to those moments in the grass, when Draco had been helpless and quiet in Harry's hands. Granted, he had been unaware of the world at the time, but something about it gave Harry goosebumps.

Draco.

He loathed Draco Malfoy.

Didn't he?

With an impatient snort and toss of his head, Harry considered the grass passing under his feet. Maybe he didn't loathe Malfoy.

Then what did he think about this boy that all the girls whispered and blushed over?

Honestly, I don't know. I wish I did.

Maybe, he did. Maybe some deep repressed part of his mind knew the truth, and was trying to force him to realize it, as the more "rational" parts of his mind beat it down and rejected it.

Had it always been like this? Or had things changed today? What exactly had happened between them on the pitch?

Nothing happened, he told himself firmly. For God's sake, he pulled you out of the sky!

... And landed in your lap.

Harry considered this quietly as he slipped through the shadows.

There had always been something between he and Draco, he decided. Ever since they had first met, he knew there was something. Those cold- eyed glances they exchanged, the fierce and undeniable pleasure they felt when taunting each other, every comment and malicious attempt, the way Harry never felt more fulfilled and satisfied as when he was under Draco's skin, the mild disappointment whenever he managed to win in a battle of wits. The way a single glance fired at one another would make the people around them shudder and tense, knowing something was happening. It all meant there was something between them.

Harry had always assumed it was hatred, pure and simple. Draco was his enemy and had been from the very start. They had to hate each other, it was just too perfect not too--in rival houses, children on either side of warring factions in the Wizard world. They were destined to be against each other.

Or were they destined to be together?

Oh bugger it all.

With a sigh and shiver, Harry turned back to towering castle. Maybe things would make sense in the morning.

Then again, maybe not.

~*~

"Starting today and for the remainder of this week, we will be focusing on how to recognize the symptoms of a certain elixir."

The bright Tuesday sun was shining outside, bathing all of Hogwarts in the warmth of the prolonged summer, though one would never be able to tell in the dim and dank Potions class. Severus Snape sat perched on the edge of his desk before row upon row of students, curled over their desks like fists as the quills shivered with frantic note- taking.

"Knowing how to recognize when you are under the influences of this elixir can save you infinite amounts of trouble. Failure to recognize it --" He paused dramatically, casting cold dark eyes about the room, "--can result in death."

A murmur passed through the attending Gryffindor and Slytherin like a wind passing through rustling leaves. Snape contemplated them all with a sharply arched eyebrow until the whispers faltered and died under his stare.

"Now." He looked down at them from the dais like a foreboding black bird. "Can anyone tell me what elixir it is we will be studying." What Draco supposed was meant to be a question fell as flat as Snape's voice always did when it was meant to be infused with emotion. Seated in the back of the class with his feet propped up confidently on his desk, Malfoy scanned the room, looking shrewdly at anyone who might show signs of knowing the answer, as he did. To his eternal surprise he found that Granger wasn't even making a move to respond, she instead had her head ducked low, whispering urgently to Potter.

Predictably, Snape's black eyes came to rest upon Draco. "Care to enlighten us, Mr. Malfoy."

With a jaunty toss of his head and a quick, pointed grin, Draco let his eyes fall on Harry. "Why don't you ask Potter, sir?" he drawled. "I'm certain he knows."

Potter froze as Snape whirled on him. Staring up at the professor like a mouse hypnotized by a swooping owl, the dark- haired boy cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses. "Uh... "

Draco snorted with laughter, pleased at how cold it managed to sound, especially since he had moments before been studying the shape of Potter's lips. "Go on, boy-wonder," he cat-called from his seat. "Amaze us."

After shooting Draco a look spilling over with disgust, Harry responded slowly. "It's called the amorelation elixir, sir."

"Layman's terms." Snape snapped quickly.

"Well..." Potter shifted uncomfortably. "A love potion."

Another ripple of response diffused through the students.

"A love potion?" Patil called. "I thought those were just myths!"

Snape turned to her, another eyebrow raised archly. "Not at all, Ms. Patil. They are, however, quite illegal."

Draco couldn't resist grinning maliciously at these words. He likewise couldn't resist sneaking a peek at the reactions of the Triumvirate of Perfection. Granger looked absolutely appalled and horrified, the Red Weasel wrinkled his nose in disgust, but Potter, now, that was new--Potter looked thoughtful, neither excited nor apprehensive, as most of the students around him were. Suddenly, so unexpectedly that Draco toppled in his precarious seat, the bright green eyes met his. The hard look of hatred was replaced by--what?

What's all this, now?

The eyes were considering him with an enormous amount of curiosity, as though Potter had never seen him before and was absolutely fascinated. Quickly, Draco sketched a quite obscene gesture in the air, then pointedly returned his gaze to Snape, who was continuing his rapid lecture.

"The amorelation elixir can be quite easily hidden in food and drink." The importance of this statement settled as heavily on the class as a lead blanket. With a lazy wave of Snape's wand, a small frothing cup appeared before each student. "One of these drinks contains a true amorelation elixir. The rest are placebos." He eyed the frozen students coldly, sliding his wand back into the drooping sleeve of his robes.

"You expect us to drink these?" Blaise said incredulously.

"But of course, Ms. Zabini," was the cold reply.

"But...why?" Longbottom wailed from his seat.

Snape regarded the Gryffindor as if he were something particularly distasteful found on the sole of one's shoe. "I began by saying, Mr. Longbottom, that we will be learning how to recognize the effects of the amorelation elixir. Once you drink these, you will have roughly two hours before the elixir takes effect. After those two hours of leeway, it will rapidly make itself known once you see another human being, be they male, female, friend or foe."

The class' mutinous cries echoed off the cold stone walls of the dungeon.

Snape's eyes flashed with harsh amusement. "How else will you know until you've been under the effect of one?"

A flurry of arguments met this last.

"How will you know anyway?"

"I refuse to do this."

"This is insane!"

"What if you just get a placebo! Then you won't know!"

"This is stupid."

"What if you fall in love with Filch?"

"Or Hagrid?"

"Or you?"

"Can I have two?"

Some Gryffindor girl burst into hysterical tears.

During the confusion, Draco sneaked another look in Potter's direction. He was looking down at the small stone cup with an apprehensive gaze, brows forming a small dimple in his forehead. Draco looked down at his own drink. The pale green froth bubbled down the rough side of the cup, pooling on his desk as the jade- colored liquid within reflected his face back up at him.

To Hell with this.

His sudden movement caught the attention of the entire class as he slid to his feet, sweeping the cup up and holding it as if calmly proposing a toast. "Enough of this." Glancing about one last time to make sure all eyes were one him, including Potter's, he tossed back the drink in one huge swallow. The jade drink burned its vengeful way down his throat, causing him to sputter in a rather undignified manner as he plopped heavily into his seat. The entire class watched in silent fascination, but for once, Draco didn't care about all the eyes upon him. In fact--

Stop staring!

The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end and goosebumps prickled all over his body as he felt the fire burning through every nerve and vein in his body, spreading to his fingertips. Trying his best to remain calm and composed, Draco leaned back in the chair and croaked out "Natch."

All around him, glasses clinked as one by one, the other students followed his example.

As it should be.

Any further self- indulgent thoughts were swept brusquely from his mind as a jolt of fire shot down his spine, causing his hands to spasm. His unconscious glance around the room to see if he was being noticed stopped abruptly as his vision blurred, fading in and out.

Shit.

The world faded away slowly as his ears rang with the sound of his own pounding blood, and his vision narrowed to a cloudy view of his own hands balled into fists in his lap.

Shit.

Another jolt of fire ran through him, as every muscle tensed. The world around him faded to nothing, he was floating on fire, no sound, nor touch or sight--

"Malfoy?"

Shit.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Vision returned. Feeling returned. Fire abated. Muscles relaxed.

Holy Hell.

With a shuddering gasp, Draco shook his head, feeling his senses finally clear.

A heavy hand was shaking his shoulder, and a voice persisted:

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco raised his eyes, gazing up at the swimming face of Snape. His vision blurred, defined, then blurred again.

"I'm fine professor," he choked out, shrugging the hand away. "Just surprised me."

With a final wordless glance of worry for his favorite student, Snape glided away. Draco looked around the room, blinking owlishly. The students all around him seemed to be suffering similar reactions, shaking, coughing or just slumping in their seats.

"Now." Snape settled himself on the edge of his desk once more, gazing around as students righted themselves, clearing their throats and glancing around curiously, all with the same question on their minds.

"As I stated before, it will be two hours before the potion kicks in with its full potency. I will be waiting at the end of the week with the antidote, and only then will I reveal who truly got the amorelation elixir in their drink."

Ah, Draco thought shrewdly. So Snape knows exactly who got the cup. He risked another glance around them room. But who, I wonder?

His gaze fell again on Potter, as it had been doing often, recently. The Boy Who Lived was looking curiously at the empty cup in his hands, his mind evidently whirring away about something. Granger and Weasel were conferring in low, urgent voices, gesturing with their cups. The movement was enough to draw Snape's sharp gaze.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn and endangering school supplies." His gaze then fell on Draco. "And ten points to Slytherin for sheer guts."

Amid the flurry of half- hearted protests the bell chimed through the corridors of the dungeons, announcing the end of the class, and the beginning of lunch. Conversations started, faltered and died as students gathered their things and filed out of the class. Eyes flitted from face to face, and people clutched their books close, looking at friends and foes alike in a new light, the same question etched starkly on each face.

Who got the amorelation elixir?

~*~

"I didn't like that class," Goyle grumbled insightfully.

"Me either," contributed Crabbe, adding to the brilliance of the conversation.

"Love potions are stupid." Brilliance.

"Snape is stupid." Better and better.

There was a lapse in the conversation as the philosophers paused to shove food into their mouths. Draco curled his lip in distaste, stopping his eyes from rolling upwards in a plea for patience by a force of sheer will.

In a desperate bid for something more stimulating than the oafs on either side of him, Draco glanced around the packed dining hall. Ravenclaw's table was only half- full, predictably, as most of its students deigned to spend their free time in libraries. The few students there were eating sporadically as they pored over large hide- bound volumes and stacks of notes on parchment. Hufflepuff's table was quiet as always, conversations held in calm and contained voices, with plenty of smiles. However, the nearby teeming Gryffindor table caused enough of a ruckus to make up for four more of the quieter tables. People were shouting down the length of it to each other, food was being thrown, laughter exploded wildly and unexpectedly, spreading through the entire table. Gryffindor's sat in each other's laps, punched each other, pushed one another off the benches, hooted, jostled and bellowed from one end to the other. Except for one.

Harry Potter sat with his head ducked, as Weasel and Frizz conferred over him. They were evidently having a normal conversation, but it didn't appear to involve Potter in the least. His disheveled mop of black hair fell attractively in his eyes as he studied the food before him with apparent - and growing--disgust.

Suddenly, Draco remembered potions class. It had been perhaps an hour since they had all had their potions. That left an hour before they kicked in. An hour left of lunch.

Malfoy didn't have to look around him to realize that the last thing he wanted was to be caught between Crabbe and Goyle when he might be under the influences of a love potion. Without a word to either of them--they were too engrossed with stuffing their faces anyway--Malfoy glided to his feet. What he needed was to be alone, where no one would be nearby if--or when--the potion finally asserted itself. With that final thought, but with no real conscious decision of where he would go, Draco slipped out of the crowded, oppressive hall.

Maybe some fresh air will clear my mind....

~*~

Harry had never been less hungry in his entire life. He sat at the loud Gryffindor table, staring at his plate in mild disgust, while Ron and Hermione talked over his ducked head.

"Well," Ron grumbled thoughtfully. "Potions class is never boring, at least."

"How can you say that?" Hermione was evidently on the edge of hysterics. "It's pure insanity, forcing us to drink something like that, without even having the decency to inform us who got what!"

Ron smirked. "Didn't stop you from guzzling yours down, now did it, Herms?"

She tossed her head haughtily. "Purely scientific curiosity, of course."

"Of course," Ron agreed, in a tone that suggested he didn't quite agree.

Suddenly, Harry needed air. He needed space, he needed quiet. And he wasn't about to find it at the Gryffindor table during lunch. Abruptly, he pushed away from the table, getting to his feet.

"Here, Harry, what're you up to?"

"Not hungry," Harry replied shortly, finding his eyes wandering to the Slytherin table, and Malfoy's empty seat. "I'm going for a spin around the pitch." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

Over the years, Harry had found he was never better than when he was on his old Firebolt, flying nowhere in particular. His mind was at it's clearest and sharpest when the wind was whistling by his ears, he could figure problems out, he could relax. He could do anything. Be anything.

All that counted was the wind...

~*~

Without really realizing it, Draco found himself standing alone in the sweeping grass of the Quidditch pitch, broom in hand. In the breeze, pennants of the four Houses snapped and jerked above him. He allowed himself a brief and genuine smile. This is just what he needed: to be alone. No people, no noise, nothing to worry about.

Until one remembered that potion.

Malfoy, you're an idiot. You just had to be the first one to do it. What if you're the one who got it?

Resolutely, Draco told his mind to stuff it. One hour of no worries, that's all he asked, all he expected, before the potions kicked in.

Besides, he rationalized internally as he kicked off lazily from the ground, even if I'm not the one who got it--knock on wood--it's still going to be bloody difficult with all these prats running around, thinking they're in love.

It promised to be a very long week indeed.

Spiraling upwards, Draco let his gaze wander carelessly over the huge stone manse before him with its towers and turrets, the green lawns and the outbuildings, the dark and foreboding Forest - an involuntary shudder passed through Draco-- and finally the Quidditch pitch beneath him. Looking down from such an exhilarating height, he--

--He could see someone down there.

Fuck.

~*~

Maybe some fresh air will clear my mind, Harry thought hopefully, making his way towards the Quidditch pitch. Maybe once I'm up on my Firebolt, I can stop thinking about this day, this potion, Snape, Malfoy...

Ever since Snape had started talking about the amorelation elixir, Harry's heart had sunk lower and lower. It currently resided somewhere in the vicinity of his boots.

Love potions made him nervous, plain and simple. They tied and locked up something that should be boundless, put controls on something that shouldn't have controls, made a mockery of all that was true and pure. They produced a false emotion. Not just any emotion, either, one of the strongest human beings possessed.

Love.

Harry knew it sounded preachy, and it didn't help the whole Perfect Boy image but... well, damn. It just seemed wrong to him. Profoundly so.

Harry shuffled through the grass as the wind picked up around him, announcing with its chill that autumn was about to take over, oust summer from the seat it had held too long. Smiling to himself, enjoying the shiver that the wind sent through him, he leisurely made his way to the broom shed by the East wall. Already his problems felt a little further away, the weight on his shoulders a little lighter, as birds - and other creatures--made their existence known, their songs whistling up from the Forbidden Forest, a line of dark trunks bordering the sprawling lawns. His heart began to inch its way, hesitantly at first, out of his boots--

--Until he looked up at the Quidditch pitch.

There was someone there already.

Fuck.

~*~

This is the last thing I need, Draco thought as he circled above the red and gold- clad figure beneath him. A high and mighty Gryffindor come to do their best to kick me off the pitch. He angled lower, preparing to defend the pitch in the name of all Slytherin, mostly because he felt particularly like picking a fight, shedding some blood. I was here first, Gryff, I--

Damn.

A fight he could deal with. Any other Gryffindor, he could deal with. A whole pack of Gryffindors, he could deal with that too. Anyone but the owner of the shaggy black hair and round spectacles, anyone but the one with the bandage on his left shoulder from an earlier encounter with Draco on the pitch. Anyone but the one that had been on Draco's mind the most, recently.

Potter.

~*~

You did this on purpose, didn't you? Harry thought resentfully, glaring up at Malfoy as if, by the sheer force of will, he could force the Slytherin to hear his thoughts. You bastard, just when I wanted to be alone, you show up.

With an entirely internal shrieked profanity, Harry watched Draco glide by overhead.

That breaks it, I guess... I'll just have to find something else to do.

This sucks.

~*~

Draco stubbornly refused to show so much as the slightest sign that he had been looking down at Potter. He continued to glide in distracted circles, begging for some divine intervention that would cause Potter to turn away, to leave him alone, to stop watching him.

He raised his eyes anxiously, looking for something to distract him, to prove that he hadn't even noticed the stock -still figure beneath him exuding anger and resentment in almost physical waves. As his silver eyes ran restlessly, he began noticing things. Things that were quite unusual. The edges of everything he looked at seemed sharper, more defined, as if they had been cut and pasted into place. It was as though his sight had been heightened, every color was brighter, the shafts of sunlight seemed to be solid, palpable. All around him, the air, the grass, the stands of the Quidditch pitch, even the boy beneath him wavered and shuddered, as if seen through a wall of heat. The sun was sharp.

And then everything went abruptly, and entirely, black.

~*~

Harry's first reaction was to crow with triumphant laughter.

Hah! Take that Mr. I'm-So-Perfect-On-A-Broom.

His second reaction was to scream.

Instead, he ran as fast as he could, perfectly silent, to where Draco's limp body was falling.

This can't be good.

He came to a skidding halt just moments after Draco's body fell with a muffled thud. Dropping quickly to his knees, Harry looked at the motionless figure, hesitating suddenly.

What just happened?

He just fell from the sky, idiot. Help him!

Why?

He continued to hesitate while wind blew and birds sang, as if the entire world most certainly couldn't care less whether he helped or not, as if nothing else in existence was aware of the boy who fell, of the conflict in the one who kneeled beside the still form.

Well, bloody hell, Potter, do something!

Gingerly, Harry reached down and rolled Draco onto his back. The boy's hair fell in loose tendrils around his face, a bruise was swelling on one high cheekbone and the full lower lip was bitten and bleeding...

Where have I seen this scene before?

"Mal--" His voice cracked. Hastily, he cleared his throat and tried again, trying to sound as gruff as possible. "Malfoy."

No response.

Was he still breathing?

Fuck that, I'm not leaning close enough to see. No way.

Why not, Harry?

The words rang through his head: "You're quite insecure about your sexuality, aren't you, Potter?"

Harry stared down at the still face. Damn you, Malfoy.

Placing a hand lightly on Draco's chest, Harry glanced around nervously one last time, then leaned his ear close to the boy's mouth. The warm chest beneath his trembling hand rose and fell almost imperceptibly, and hot breath tickled his ear.

Alright, he's still alive.

Then why aren't you moving?

Experimentally, Harry spread his fingers over the flat chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath him, utterly intoxicated by being this close. He found himself studying the curve of the long neck, the angular chin, the china- doll smooth skin, the platinum eyelashes brushing perfect high cheekbones, the lips...

Harry suddenly realized how close he was to those lips. How close he was to kissing those lips. How close he was to pinning Draco down and never letting go.

Oh my god.

Hastily, Harry shoved himself away, sitting back on his heels and looking pointedly in another direction, trying to regain his steady breathing, trying to forget what the chest had felt like under his hand, the breath on his cheek.

"Oh, jeez..." he whimpered, running frantic fingers through black hair. "I can't do this."

You almost kissed Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, fuck..." Harry looked down at the calm features, the inviting lips, trying frantically to find some familiar thing, some vestige of the face he had once hated. All he found was a face he could love.

I need to get out of here.

I can't--I--

"Ohhhhhhh shit."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry took several deep breaths, attempting to calm his frantic thoughts.

Okay... one thing at a time. Draco fell off his broom.

Yes.

I ran to help him.

Yes.

And almost kissed him.

Yes.

-- No!

I was just checking to see if the fucker was still alive.

Taking your sweet time about it.

You enjoyed being that close.

Didn't you?

You did!

Harry groaned in torment and forced his eyes open.

Okay. We need to approach this situation as any sane person would.

You're obviously not sane at the moment.

Right--but I need to pretend I am.

Right. He falls. First reaction?

Kiss him.

No! Trying to be sane.

Right.

Um..

Madam Pomfrey!

Right, I need to get him to the hospital wing.

Finally, with a clear mission, something to think about, to set his mind on, Harry inched over until he was kneeling at Draco's head.

One thing at a time...

Carefully, Harry reached down and worked his fingers under Malfoy's broad shoulders, hooking his hands under the older boy's arms and pulling the unconscious Slytherin to a drooping sitting position. With a grunt, Harry repositioned his arms around Draco's middle and hoisted him up, titling himself backwards to keep Draco's feet from dragging on the ground. He walked thus for a few steps before unceremoniously dropping the Slytherin , with a muffled peal of hysterical giggles, into a heap at his feet.

Well, that didn't work.

He looked down Malfoy, still soundly unconscious despite everything, and sobered.

What am I doing? There could be something seriously wrong with him...

With that thought, Harry knelt hastily by the young Malfoy and rolled him onto his back once more, his green eyes dark with worry as they ran up and down the svelte figure, searching for some sign that something was amiss.

Oh... wrists aren't supposed to bend that way...

Harry eyed Malfoy's right wrist with growing anxiousness. Though the arm lay straight at his side, the hand was bent at a bizarre angle, fingers splayed awkwardly.

Bloody fantastic.

Harry winced in empathy as he gazed at the obviously broken joint.

"Glad you're unconscious for this, Malfoy," he murmured to the passive face. "Otherwise, there's no way I'd be doing this. No way you'd let me do this. You don't even have to feel me knocking you around. Hell, I probably made it worse..." Harry eyed the wrist again, considering moving it, possibly bracing it. Something. Anything.

"Well, if I didn't make it worse before, this probably will." With that, Harry leaned over Draco's chest and reached for the right wrist, with the simple thought of straightening it. Just as his fingers brushed the swollen joint, however, the form beneath him stirred. Harry froze. Draco rolled his head restlessly with muffled groan and frowned.

Harry's heart leapt and missed a beat as he pulled his hand away from the wrist and placed it instead on Malfoy's shoulder, shaking it gently. "That's right, Malfoy. Wake up. Come on, lad, if you're conscious you can save us both a lot of trouble. Come on, Malfoy. Wakey wakey." He tapped a cheek with the back of his hand, Malfoy frowned and groaned in response, like a tired child refusing to leave bed in the morning. "Oi, Malfoy. Come on, now, hear me. Wake up."

~*~

Pain.

Dark.

Ow...

Where was the pain coming from?

What hurt?

Why was he hurting?

What happened...

Blue sky. Flying. Harry Potter.

Harry Potter.

Falling.

Dark.

Pain.

Shit.

Draco Malfoy's mind processed the memories as his body reminded him that it still existed and was not enjoying itself. The smell of fresh air, the smell of grass, reminding him he was on the Quidditch pitch. Suddenly, a familiar voice was cutting through the haze.

"That's right, Malfoy. Wake up."

Sod off, let me sleep.

"Come on, lad, if you're conscious you can save us both a lot of trouble."

That voice.

Draco's mind struggled valiantly against the gray, swirling haze that threatened to sink its claws into him, drag him away from the world again-- down, down, deeper, darker--

"Come on, Malfoy. Wakey wakey." A sharp tap on his cheek, a groan clawed its way out of his throat, pain lanced through him again. Suddenly, he was aware of his body in its entirety again, the warm weight that held him to the Earth. More importantly, the pain. The persistent taps on his cheek. That voice.

"Oi, Malfoy. Come on, now, hear me. Wake up."

Draco rolled his head again in a feeble attempt to get away from the annoying flicks to his cheek. He ached all over. His wrist was killing him.

"P-Potter," he croaked, turning his face in the direction on the voice. "Fuck..."

A warm chuckle greeted his stuttered words. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"What happened?" Draco could feel the bright sunlight falling on his closed eyelids, the grass tickling his bare arms. The pain. He tried to move his wrist in an attempt to lessen the dull throb but succeeded only in transforming the dull throb to a sharp stab. "Feh... my wrist..."

"You broke it."

His eyes flew open in surprise. The words "what the fuck do you mean, I broke it??" died on his lips as he locked eyes with the young man leaning over him. Potter's hair was falling in his eyes again and the specs had slipped to the tip of his nose. He wore a hint of a smile, though his jade eyes were darkened with worry. Genuine worry.

For him.

Draco Malfoy.

"Shit, Potter..." Draco groaned, letting his eyes drink in Harry's face. "What're you doing to me?"

The black eyebrows jumped like a pair of excited caterpillars. "Me?"

A nearly hysterical chuckle bubbled up from Draco's lips. "Stop looking at me with those eyes."

"They're the only eyes I have."

"It's entirely unfair."

Those eyes were digging into him, boring into his very soul, digging around in dark corners where they shouldn't be. "Stop it."

Harry released his gaze, let it drop to Draco's wrist, then looked up at his face again, though he mercifully didn't meet his eyes this time. "I think you hit your head pretty damn hard, Malfoy." It was said with tired amusement, a gentle tease.

"I fell pretty damn hard, Potter." His head was clearing, the pain was back. With a frown, he shifted his weight again. Noticing his discomfort, Harry leaned back, letting bright sunlight spill over his shoulder, letting it tumble in warm cascades onto Draco's face.

"Here, we need to get you up."

"Don't touch me. I'm perfectly fine, right where I am."

An annoyed sigh met this last. Draco watched a late butterfly undulate through the air and smiled to himself, relishing the effect he was having on Potter.

"You need to see Pomfrey about that wrist."

As if on cue, pain lanced up his arm again. Hissing, Draco gritted his teeth and turned to look at Potter.

"Don't touch me."

Harry responded distractedly, looking down at him. "Uh-huh."

"I mean it, Potter." Even though Harry was looking away from his face, Draco found his eyes resting on Potter's, the way they flicked back and forth rapidly, betraying the way his mind was working wildly away, as it seemed to always be.

"Do you ever stop?"

The eyes stilled, then glided up to lock with his again, in an embrace Draco was starting to enjoy. "Stop what?"

"Thinking."
"Huh?"

"You're always worrying, Potter. Your mind is constantly jabbering away, always filled with what ifs and what abouts. Does it ever leave you alone? Can you ever just relax?"

For a moment longer, the green eyes met his. Then, as Potter shuddered, they dropped away. "No," he responded softly. "Not really."

Draco settled himself deeper in the grass. "Your mind can be your best friend, Potter." He watched the slack face carefully for a reaction. "It can also be your worst enemy."

Potter went perfectly still, even his eyes, which gazed unseeingly at the grass just beyond Draco's right elbow. For several long minutes, they stayed in this position, Draco never taking his eyes from Potter's face, Potter never raising his restless eyes from the grass.

Draco found himself studying the younger boy's smooth face. It wasn't an unattractive face, really. At moments like these, when it was open and slack, devoid of any emotion, it was quite easy to forget that Potter was older than twelve. His soft cheeks and pouty boyish lips, his wild hair and round, green eyes made him look like an innocent, like he had never had a trial in his life, as though the hardest battles he had ever fought were against the monsters under his bed. And yet, the jagged scar lacing down his forehead told otherwise.

A walking contradiction, this boy.

Draco blinked owlishly and forced every muscle in his knotted shoulders to relax, one by one. The pain was pulsing through his arm, seemingly in time with his heartbeat. Potter still wasn't moving. Experimentally, Draco pushed the knee that Potter was leaning against into the boy's thigh, trying for a response. None came.

Okay, so I gave that writhing mind something to chew on.

He cleared his throat, trying to rouse Potter. The eyes were still locked on the grass by his arm.

"Never knew you were so enthralled by grass, Potter," he drawled sardonically, hating the way his voice shattered the peaceful silence, but knowing he could do nothing else.

The dark eyes flew up from the ground and locked with his again. Inexplicably, Draco felt his heart skip a beat.

Slowly, as if he were really thinking about what he was saying, tasting the old, worn- out words as they rolled of his tongue, Potter cocked his head and said: "You're such a bastard, Malfoy."

Draco smiled, baring his pointed teeth. "Did my little insightful comment give you something more to worry about, Potter?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut on the verge of a retort and the green eyes hardened slightly. "Come on. You're going to Pomfrey." He held out his hand.

"Fuck you, I can get up on my own. I broke my wrist, not my legs."
Potter shrugged and got to his feet, standing over Draco and watching him work himself up, cradling his broken wrist in his left hand. Despite his care, Draco jarred the wrist roughly as he lurched to his feet. Blinding pain shot through him and he heard himself cry out involuntarily as the world pitched and heaved beneath him. Before Draco could make a move to stop it, Harry materialized beside him, slipped an arm around his waist and was supporting him, wordless. For a brief moment after the pain receded, Draco simply allowed himself to be supported, to lean against the warm and solid weight beside him. He was relishing the sensation of the strong arm gripping him against a firm body, when a small corner of his mind made itself heard, screaming "and just what the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" Roughly, he pushed away from Potter. "I can walk on my own," he informed the young Gryffindor haughtily.

Instead of replying with rage as he had expected, Potter grinned and cocked his head. "Sure didn't look like it."

"Maybe if you weren't so frantic to wrap your arms around me, I could walk like a normal human being."

Harry's countenance darkened briefly. "You're not a normal human being to begin with."

Draco snorted. "At least I don't have a horrendously scarred visage, O Boy Who Lived." He turned and walked away. Potter caught up with him and tossed his head with a cheery laugh.

"I'd rather have a horribly scarred visage than--" He eyed Malfoy with apparent disgust "--the alternative."

Draco felt himself smiling. "Quiet. You know I'm pretty." He tossed his head like an insulted lass, enjoying their back and forth.

Potter cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty--maybe. Handsome, no. At least I look like my sex."

"Oh, don't count on it. That long black hair of yours, the come- hither eyes, the pouty lips..." Draco trailed away, feeling real lust creep into his voice. Potter apparently noticed it as well, as his cheeks pinkened visibly, and he cleared his throat distractedly.

Bloody marvelous.

~*~

Hermione paced quietly down the sun- bathed halls of Hogwarts, clutching her Herbology books close to her chest. This had been a very long day. It wasn't even over yet.

Suddenly, a huge grandfather clock pushed against the wall chimed solemnly, announcing the end of lunch, cutting through Hermione's thoughts. She paused to look up at its face, not really seeing the time.

Lunch is over. That means it's been exactly two hours since we drank those potions...

She lowered her gaze distractedly and immediately saw Ron, standing a few feet in front of her. He wore a stunned expression, and was staring straight at her, apparently thinking exactly what she was. As one, they turned and looked at the clock.

Snape's voice echoed through her mind: "After those two hours of leeway, it will rapidly make itself known once you see another human being, be they male, female, friend or foe."

Their eyes locked again briefly before they both promptly found something more interesting to study, frantic to avoid eye contact. In Hermione's case, she bent all her attention on a cobweb, whereas Ron seemed to be particularly enthralled in a hairline crack lacing along the wall. Abruptly, Hermione turned swiftly on her heel, ready to disappear down the crowding hallway as students poured from the Great Hall and strolled to their next classes. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Though she dreaded the consequence, Hermione stopped and turned slowly to meet the large, anxious eyes of Ronald Weasley. He licked his lips nervously.

"This doesn't mean--" he began.

"I know, I--"

"Really, it--"

"It's nothing--"

They both stopped abruptly, staring at each other as though each expected the other's face to be greatly transformed somehow. The laughing, boisterous crowd around them thinned inevitably as students disappeared through doors and up stairs.

"I--we're late--" she began, wringing her hands nervously.

There was a loud crash and a muffled curse over Ron's shoulder. Both he and Hermione turned with relief towards the distraction, as Harry came striding purposefully into the emptying hall.

"Hermione! Ron!"

"There you are!" Hermione hissed. "Come on, we're late for Herbology--" She snagged Harry's wrist and started to pull him down the corridor, but the boy held firm, refusing to move as the words tumbled from his mouth.

"Herms, Malfoy fell on the pitch and broke his wrist and we can't find Madam Pomfrey and we need to repair his wrist for him so we can all carry on with our lives."

For a moment, Ron and Hermione simply stood, looking at Harry.

"Wait." Ron squeezed his eyes shut and frowned, as if the entire concept of helping a Malfoy was beyond his comprehension. "You want to help him?"

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Ron shook his head. "You want -us--" he placed one hand on his chest and gestured vaguely at Hermione with the other. "To help -that--" He pointed to the shadowy figure lurking sullenly in a nearby doorway.

Harry sighed dramatically.

"Why?" Ron exploded.

"Ron, he's in pain, and pain is pain, no matter who it is. He still bleeds like a human, even if he doesn't act like one."

"So do rats..." Ron snarled, eyeing the figure with pure hatred.

"You think I'm enjoying this, Weasel?" The voice was taught with anger and pain, sounding as though it belonged to someone on the verge of a breakdown of some sort or another. The figure pushed itself fluidly from the wall and strode forward, stopping just short of standing in a beam of sunlight. "I don't appreciate taking handouts from--" the silver eyes flicked, cold as ice, to Hermione. "--Mudbloods."

Hermione, who had stayed silent and still as a statue since Ron had pointed out the Slytherin slinking in the shadows, met Draco's eyes with the same icy gaze. "What do you expect me to do, Harry?"

Harry ducked his head. "Just fix his wrist."

Draco and Ron snarled as one.

The Slytherin looked like an ill-tempered dog that had been kicked one too many times. His hair was all out of place, his lip was cut, a bruise was swelling under his eye, and though his shoulders were hunched and he was tense with pain, the eyes that watched them burned with a cold, resentful fire, smoldering in silver embers.

Torn, Hermione looked to Harry, whose dark eyes were pleading silently with her. They were begging her, imploring her to do this for him. Why, she couldn't fathom.

She took a deep breath. "Alright." She saw Harry relax visibly out of the corner of her eye. "But I'm only doing this because Harry asked me to."
"Spare me," Malfoy snarled, baring his pointed teeth, every fiber of every tense muscle exuding pure hatred in palpable waves.

Abruptly, Hermione smiled cheerily. "Right, then. Good day, I'm late for Herbology." With that, she turned away with a flourish.

Ron watched with shock as Harry turned his green eyes to Draco. The glance he shot the young Slytherin was full of meaning, full of something that actually gave Malfoy pause, caused the sneer to falter. With a convulsive shudder and an expression suggesting he had just swallowed something particularly foul--His pride, Ron reflected--Draco ducked his head and growled out a single word.

"Please."

Hermione whipped around to stare in shock at Malfoy as Ron felt certain that his jaw would drop from his face.

"What did you say?" Hermione squeaked, her voice shrill with surprise and disbelief.

Malfoy raised his head, tossing it defiantly, as his silver eyes dared her to try to force the word from his lips again. "You heard me."

Hermione grinned maliciously. "Indeed, I did."

Malfoy squared his shoulders. "Just don't touch me."

With a haughty toss of her head, Hermione pulled out her wand and brandished it in Malfoy's general direction. "Resarcio ossisordentia" she hissed. With an audible grinding noise that made Ron pale and Harry flinch, the bones of Draco's wrist shifted visibly under his skin. The young wizard bit down on his already abused lip to keep from howling in pain. Once the bones had settled themselves, Hermione slid the wand back into her belt and trotted brusquely down the hall.

Relief etched on his thin face, Draco shook his arm experimentally. Then, with a sharp, cold smirk, he turned and slid through a nearby archway and down a shadowed passage, without so much as a nod of thanks. Harry watched him leave, and then, after offering Ron a shrug and an apologetic smile, strolled in the direction Hermione had taken.

Ron stood alone in the hall for quite some time, wondering just what he had witnessed.

~*~

Things are strange around Hogwarts this year, Hermione thought, perplexed. Imagine! Harry asking me to heal Malfoy's wrist. She eyed the Venomous Tentacula seedling she was repotting with apprehension as it strained against the bindings that held its long feelers bunched together. And then there are these Quidditch trials! You'd think that the moment Harry heard about them, he'd be eating, speaking, breathing and dreaming Quidditch, positively rabid to get on to the team, practicing every waking moment. And yet--She glanced over at the dark mop of hair bent over another tray of Tentacula seedlings--He hasn't seemed at all interested in the idea. In fact, he's been spending more time doing things that put him at odds with Malfoy than anything. As she watched, Harry turned to fire a look over his shoulder at Malfoy, as the Slytherin laughed loudly with Crabbe and Goyle, tormenting his seedling by tweaking its feelers. There was something about that look, it burned with something indefinable, something new. Is it possible that Harry hates him more than ever before? She considered this possibility in silence as she deftly switched the squirming seedling into the new pot, and as Professor Sprout's loud admonishes to Malfoy rang through Greenhouse four, causing Gryffindor and Slytherin alike to snicker. It's possible, she admitted. But... it doesn't seem quite the same. She snuck another glance towards Harry's table, only to find herself meeting Ron's wide, staring eyes.

Bugger. Promptly, she devoted all her concentration on the apparently pouting Tentacula. Then there's that little problem.. Carefully, she heaped warm, moist soil around the sprout. She hadn't spoken to him since their little episode in the hall.

With a self-depreciating sigh, she patted the last of the dirt into place. Maybe I'm thinking about things too much again. Maybe things don't run as deep as I seem to think. Maybe Harry's just as confused as I am. Maybe Ron is too. Glancing up covertly through a screen of hair that had fallen in her face, Hermione eyed the hunched shoulders of her two best friends as they struggled with their Tentacula seedlings. Judging from the yells, one had stolen Harry's glasses and another was eating Ron's quill.

Those two great oafs.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled.