Seekers Play Rough

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

I woke up in a dream today
To the cold of the static and put my cold feet on the floor
Forgot all about yesterday
Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore
A little taste of hypocrisy
And I'm left in the wake of the mistake slow to react
Even though you're so close to me
You're still so distant
And I can't bring you back

It's true the way I feel
Was promised by your face
The sound of your voice
Painted on my memories
Even if you're not with me
I'm with you

You, now I see, keeping everything inside
with you
You, Now I see, Even when I close my eyes

Chapter 7:

Wake

Draco was trembling. Waves of raw emotion crashed over him and pulled him under, buffeting him about carelessly. He had come back to the castle in a frenzy, only to realize he had no where to go. Nowhere to hide.

What have I done?

He stumbled blindly through the halls, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the stunned boy he had left lying on the pitch as possible.

I kissed Potter

I--kissed--Potter!

He tripped and fetched up against a rough stone wall.

I just kissed Harry Potter.

Draco was not new to kissing. He knew a phenomenal kiss when it walked up and latched itself to his face. And that was definitely a phenomenal kiss. He was still having difficulty breathing. He had kissed many girls--and many guys--before, but none--none were like this. None had been so hungry to have him, none were tinged so deliciously with uncertainty, with fear, with hate, with lust, with anger. None had been so dangerous, or so wrong. Or so right. He could still feel Potter's quaking lips against his, the warm body under him, the sound of that heart, the look in those eyes--all left him aching, wanting--needing--more. Draco's knees buckled abruptly under him and he dropped heavily to the ground.

His head was splitting. His much- abused body was screaming out in torment. He couldn't get the taste of Potter off his lips, the sound of his heart out of his ears. He couldn't breathe, even though he felt light-headed. Draco curled against the wall, quivering inside and out.

The look in Harry's eyes when he had pulled away, the fear, the anguish--all because Draco had kissed him. That look was seared in Draco's mind, branded in place and burning just as painfully.

He hates you.

"Just go" Potter had said. "This never happened." Draco wanted to scream, he wanted to rip out his hair. He looked around, desperate for something that would break satisfyingly in his hands. Surging to his feet, he grabbed a glass wall sconce and flung it to the floor. It shattered with a gratifying scream of glass, but Draco did not feel relieved. The hissing voice refused to be quieted with violence, though Draco desperately wanted to drown the realities it whispered in his ear.

He hates you.

Draco heaved a chair that would normally be too heavy for him against the wall. The sturdy wooden legs splintered with a loud crash that ripped through the silence of the deserted halls.

He hates you!

Draco whirled, looking for something else to break. A whisper of noise behind him drew is attention. He rounded furiously and saw Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. He advanced on her, wanting to make something scream. She ran as he approached, disappearing down a set of stairs and the into shadow beyond. Strangely, this made him more furious. Nothing could stand him. He stalked down the stairs, into a dark, dank corridor of the dungeons.

The fear in his eyes when you kissed him. He was terrified. Because you kissed him.

Draco seized a marble bust of a past school master and hurled it at a wall, where it shattered violently, it's pillar following immediately after.

He hates you.

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco was staggering drunkenly down the hall again, gasping through clenched teeth. He flung a nearby torch to the ground, plunging his surroundings into darkness.

He hates you. Just like he always has.

Draco screamed, a croaking, pathetically pain- filled noise ripping it's way through his throat. No one would hear him. He was in a lower wing, near the dungeons, and in the dark. The stone was thick. He didn't care, anyway. He just wanted to escape. But he had no where to go, nowhere to hide. How do you hide from yourself? Half-sobbing, half-gasping, Draco braced himself against another wall. He felt like he had been walking for hours. How long since he had left Potter? Where was Potter now? Who was he with? Who was he telling?

Those eyes. He kept seeing the look in Potter's eyes after the kiss. The fear, the shock--the pain.

You're fucking up his life worse than yours

He hates you.

You hate him.

Fuck. I can't even pretend anymore.

I want him.

He wanted to scream it to the empty halls, to have the words that ultimately would mean his death echo endlessly around him.

I'm in love with Harry Potter.

Deliriously, Draco pictured him happily introducing his new boyfriend to his father. Happy family scene. Only with more blood and screaming than was usual.

Draco slouched against the wall, every muscle in rebellion, every nerve on fire. He was certain his vision was dimming.

I'm dying, he thought dazedly.

Get yourself together, the familiar dark voice hissed in his ear. For fuck's sake, you're pathetic.

Draco rolled his head limply, watching a nearby torch gutter. I know.

There's an easy way to end this. The voice was silken. Honeyed bad intentions.

Right. All I need to do is find a sharp object... that shouldn't be too hard. Suicide. The noble way out.

Suicide is a cowards escape! The voice spat angrily, the words echoing inside Draco's head, bouncing off his aching skull. An easy way to avoid your problems.

But, that's what you said. "An easy way to end this..."

Not suicide, you git.

Draco blinked lazily at the dying fire, quietly coming to grips with the fact that he was insane.

The antidote, the voice breathed.

Draco froze, eyes wide.

Snape's giving out the antidote tomorrow. He'll have to announce that it's you before the entire class.

I can't wait that long.

I can't be embarrassed like that.

Draco pushed himself from the wall.

I need that antidote. Now.

He made his way through the dungeons in a cold, dizzying fever, taking as many shortcuts and secret passages he could. When he finally arrived at the door to his Potions class he was still a little dazed, and surprised at how quickly he had made his way there. Tugging his wand out of his pocket, he tapped on the lock and hissed "Alohomora!", but to no avail. It only made sense, he supposed, that teachers have protections on their doors that the students couldn't break. Especially Snape. So, Draco found another way in.

Hoping no one was near enough to hear the crash as the door burst inwards, falling off it's hinges, Draco stepped over the splintered piece of wood and rubbed his shoulder, wishing fervently that he had an invisibility cloak. Actually, he wished fervently that he had Potter--

Fuck. Do not start that again.

Breathing quickly, Draco glanced around the dark room. Whipping out his wand again, he whispered "Lumos" and held it high above his head, letting the faint light illuminate the abandoned desks around him. He had to force himself to concentrate, to approach things rationally.

Now. Where would Snape hide a potion that's widely sought after by troubled--and slightly crazed--students? Draco slipped through the desks, pointing this way and that with his wand, poking it into dark shadows. He stepped up onto the low stone dais, gliding over to the large shelves that towered behind Snape's desk, filled to overflowing with oddities and potent ingredients. As he poked through them, grateful to have something else to concentrate on, Draco continued to sift through all he knew about the Head of his House, weighing the possibilities of where Snape might've put such a thing. He was just turning away from one immense set of shelves, when an errant beam of light slid across Snape's perfectly empty desk. Perfectly empty, of course, except for a single small bottle, set carefully in the middle, standing alone on the gleaming wood. Draco felt his heart leap. Of course. Of course Snape would leave it out. He knew that it was an inevitability that someone would come rifling through his things searching for it. Why risk having other important things discovered when you can just avoid the whole mess by leaving the desired object where it could easily be found?

Draco smirked slightly and approached the desk in one quick stride. He eyed the tiny bottle, standing bravely alone, apart from everything else in the room. This tiny thing was about to put an abrupt and merciful end to the pain he had been enduring for the past three days. He reached out for the squat, black bottle, then hesitated, his hand inches from the cold glass. There was a small piece of paper beside the antidote. Cautiously, Draco picked it up. There was one, simple question scrawled across it:

Are you sure?

For a moment, Draco stared incredulously at the three words.

Sure?

Sure I'm insane?

Sure I want this to end?

Fuck yes.

With a derisive snort, Draco crumpled the paper in one fist, while scooping up the cold bottle in the other. This is the end, he thought with finality, and no small amount of relief. Things can only get better after this. With a final gusty sigh, Draco popped open the bottle, feeling his headache abate for the first time in three days, feeling the knotted muscles at the base of his neck relax as tension drained away.

Goodbye, Potter.

He threw back his head and swallowed the entire contents of the bottle in one huge, thirsty gulp.

~*~

It was very cloudy.

No, no, it was--mist.

Yes. Fog.

It was very hard to see.

Harry whipped his head first to the right, then to the left. He was alone. Taking a cautious step forward in the grayness, he squinted ahead of him. Nothing but a uniform haze. But suddenly, a noise. Laughter. Swirling around him with the clouds, sounding first like it was miles away, then suddenly, right in his ear, then far away again.

"Hello?" Harry called, his voice echoing back at him: Hello? Hello?

"Hello, beautiful."

Harry whirled. Draco was behind him, arms crossed, smiling down at him from a pedestal. As Harry stared up at him, shocked, Draco began laughing again. It was smooth and silky, flowing out of him and surrounding Harry.

"What are you laughing at?"

Draco smiled down at him, still chuckling, eyes dancing. "You. You're lost, you know."

Harry looked around. Draco was right--he was in a maze. Low stone walls created corridors that zigzagged wildly away from him in all directions. Harry was in a dead end. Draco's pillar had gotten a bit taller, and he continued to look down at Harry with a superior smirk.

"Show me where to go," Harry pleaded desperately.

Draco stepped off his pedestal to balance on the top of one of the walls. He walked along it, holding out his arms with exaggerated care. "It's dangerous, you know, Potter."

"I know." Harry felt tears rising in his eyes. "Just tell me where to go."

Draco stopped and turned. He considered Harry for a moment. "Tell you where to go?" He bent at the waist, looking down at Harry from the wall. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

Desperately, Harry took a step towards Draco, but the closer he got, the higher the wall towered over him, until Draco was little more than a dark point high above him, almost lost in the mist, which had now turned a peculiar shade of faded lavender. "Why can't you tell me where to go?" he cried up frantically.

"Because," Draco's voice was soft in his ear. "I don't know myself." Then the laughter started up again. Wildly, Harry picked a hall branching off to his left and ran down it, wanting nothing more than to escape the sound of that laughter. He ran as fast as he could, mist parting before him and closing behind, rough brick walls speeding by. He randomly picked another path and took it, rounding a corner and skidding to a halt, barely avoiding tumbling headfirst into a huge black hole that gaped in the mist at his feet. It looked very deep. Driven by momentum that lingered on his heels and rebelled against the abrupt stop, he pinwheeled his arms wildly as he teetered on the edge.

"Draco!"

Draco was there immediately, materializing out of the lavender mist. He stood beside Harry, arms clasped behind him, gazing serenely at the black hole at his feet, apparently oblivious to Harry's struggles. "It's a long fall," he said quietly. He reached out a hand to Harry, who grabbed it gratefully, leaning precariously over the edge. Draco's silver eyes locked with Harry's. "But falling's half the fun." With that, he pushed.

Screaming, Harry fell. Down, down, faster, faster. He passed through layer upon layer of different color mist--pink, green, red, blue, yellow. White. Harry landed in a snow bank with a final panicked yell. He lay perfectly still for a moment, gasping for breath. The maze was gone. The mist was gone. He was staring up at a perfectly normal, albeit cloudy, sky. The stands of the Quidditch pitch towered over him. The only sounds were his ragged breath, wind passing through the tops of the trees nearby, and branches creaking under the weight of the snow. Harry gazed up at the delicate white flakes floating down, peppering his face and clothes. He wasn't cold. It was beautiful. Everything was so hushed, so peaceful. Harry felt no inclination to move. And yet, he couldn't resist. Something was compelling him to sit up, to look around. So he did.

He was alone in the middle of the pitch, as snow dropped around him, falling on his clothes, on his hair. He sighed deeply. Alone at last. Quiet, at last. But he wasn't alone.

Of course not. Draco was there. Draco was always there. The boy was standing stock still in the center of the field, head bowed as snow freckled his blonde hair, his shoulders. He looked as though he had been there for some time.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked him, getting slowly to his feet.

Draco raised his head and met Harry's eyes. "Waiting."

Harry looked around, confused. They were the only ones in the clearing. "For what?"

Draco didn't reply.

Harry looked around again. "What're you waiting for?"

Draco reached out a hand to Harry. "Come here, Potter."

Harry hesitated.

Draco smiled. It was a pained smile.

How odd, thought Harry. Smiles are supposed to be happy. Not sad.

"The walls are gone, Potter."

Harry looked around again. Draco was right. The stone walls of the maze were indeed gone. They had been for some time.

"They've been gone since I fell."

Harry frowned, confused. "You fell?"

"Well, you pushed me."

"What? No, you pushed me!"

Draco glanced around pitch, cold eyes taking in the frosted stands, the pennants frozen in place. "I've been waiting for a long time."

Harry licked his lips nervously.

"We both fell. Come here, Potter."

Harry took a small step forward. "The walls--"

"--will come back. If you don't hurry." Draco looked at him piercingly. "What's holding you back?"

Something was indeed holding him back. Harry struggled to take another step forward but his feet simply slipped in place, scuffing up the snow.

"I can't!" He called desperately. Something was gripping him from behind. He turned to see what it was, to free himself, and froze as a scream tore itself from his throat again.

He was staring at himself. Except this Harry had no facial features, only depressions where the eyes should be, a vague lump where the nose should be. A smooth, perfect mask. He had a death grip on the back of Harry's shirt and was holding him firmly in place. Harry struggled wildly against the iron first, pumping his legs like pistons.

Bitter laughter echoed through the empty pitch, bouncing off the stands. "It's no good, Potter. When you fight against yourself, you can only lose."

Harry looked up at Draco again. Rough brick walls were slowly building from the ground up, all around him. Harry tugged harder, willing for his shirt to rip, something--anything. Draco eyed him calmly as the bricks slowly stacked up, encasing him one by one.

"Draco! I--I can't!"

Draco smiled. "I know." And his face disappeared behind the last of the bricks.

"Draco!"

With a shuddering gasp, he was awake. Harry lay perfectly still for some time, panting for breath before he realized his face and his pillow were soaked. He had been crying in his sleep. He lay in stunned silence for a brief moment, before the memories of the night before returned to him.

Draco. Oh God...

With a tortured groan, Harry pushed his soggy pillow off the bed and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling in the gray morning light. The sun hadn't even reached over the mountains yet.

Something was tugging at the back of his mind. Harry wiped his face on the cuff of his pyjama- top, trying to remember. He had had a dream. Yes, that was it. A nightmare. Something about gray haze and... falling. And Draco had been there. Only, he hadn't. In his nightmare, Harry had lost him.

Fuck, even my dreams bow under the unavoidable facts. Harry drew in a long shuddering breath through trembling lips. I can't even fantasize properly.

He scrubbed his face savagely with the palm of his hand, willing his mind to stay blank, refusing to think about the past evening's events.

I'm not going to give into this.

Pushing his blankets aside, Harry strode purposefully over to his mirror, glaring at his reflection. His face was pale, his eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles. He had an angry bruise under his left eye, and his bottom lip was swollen. His hair was even more disheveled than usual, sticking out at the most peculiar angles.

In short, I look like utter shit.

For a brief moment, Harry allowed himself to wonder why Draco--why anyone--would be even the least bit attracted to him. Especially Draco, who was so utterly his opposite, so beautiful...

Denying the fierce stab of pain that thinking of the Slytherin caused him, Harry pulled out his wand and performed a simple healing spell on his face, then distractedly threw on a pair of rumpled robes and trudged downstairs.

He isn't attracted to you. You saw the look on his face after he kissed you. It's nothing but the potion.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Cullen cried cheerfully as Harry made his appearance. "How was practice last night?"

Harry stared at him blankly. He seemed to be reacting to a lot of things that way, of late.

Abruptly, he remembered that he had told his house he would go out to the pitch to practice after supper.

"Oh, you know." Harry flapped his hand flippantly and distractedly walked towards the portrait hole. "Same ol' same ol'. The usual boring practice."

Usual?

Boring?

Anything but.

"Here, Harry, wait up!" Ron was gathering his things to follow Harry out. Irritably, Harry slouched against the wall, arms crossed as Ron stumbled over to him.

"Alright, there, Ron?" he inquired without thinking, as the red- head blundered into place beside him and they turned together to step out.

"Oh, alright. And you?"

"Another rough night. Other than that though..."

I want to crawl into a dark hole and die.

"...things are peachy."

Ron smiled in obvious relief as they strolled aimlessly through the halls together, just like they used to. Just like the old days.

Before things got fucked up, back when "friend" and "foe" were clearly defined, with no skewed lines, no exceptions. When Malfoy was a git, and nothing else.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, pushing his dark thoughts forcefully away.

Ron became deeply entranced with his shoelace. The flush on his cheeks was painful to look at. "Dunno."

Harry sighed.

"She hasn't been to keen on... being near me, lately."

The last thing Harry felt like doing was listening to this rubbish again. "Ron, can you blame her? You've been acting like a prat ever since we got those potions, I mean, you're not even talking to her! You two used to talk all the time!"

"So did we, Harry," Ron muttered sullenly.

"Things will all get cleared up today, so just relax. You'll see you're not the one who got it, you're not in love, and we can put this behind us."

So can Malfoy and I.

"Who do you think got it, then?" Ron snapped suddenly.

Taken aback, Harry sputtered. "Well--ah--I dunno, Ron--really." He recovered himself and ended in an adamant tone: "But I know who didn't."

Ron snorted and tossed his head, red hair falling messily into his eyes. He looked supremely doubtful.

They walked on in silence, passing other early- rising students as they made their way through the halls, still hushed with the dim morning, still harboring corners of night the sunlight had yet to reach and clear away. Harry dearly wished Ron would say something, anything, as his own mind--now left dangerously to it's own devices--was returning to the night before. He kept remembering the way the soft lips had felt against his neck, the warm chest against his, the lips searing against his own--

Lust. It was nothing but lust.

On my end, at least.

As to Draco--well. He gets his antidote today.

Harry resolutely refused to think about it. In truth, he was surprising himself with his relative amount of calm. All he had to do was keep reminding himself that it had been nothing but the effects of the elixir, that Malfoy'd get his antidote today and--

--and I can start feeling normal again.

Harry sighed gustily and kicked a button someone had lost. It skittered across the cold stone floor, bouncing off a wall. He felt as though he hadn't slept at all; he was aching down to his bones with fatigue, and his stomach was constantly in cramps, wrapping itself around his spine and complaining bitterly whenever he tried to eat. His feet felt like lead.

"Ron," Harry said softly into the uneasy silence that had settled over them like a wet blanket. "Have you ever..." he trailed away, wondering just what the hell he was trying to say.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively.

He tried again. "Have you ever, y'know, figured that you had someone pegged. Only, then you found out... you didn't?"

Ron looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I dunno--I just--" He stopped talking abruptly, getting the distinct impression that nothing he could say would get it out quite right. There were simply no words.

Ron stopped walking and turned to look at Harry worriedly. "What, Harry?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly and kept walking.

"Here, Harry!" Ron reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around. With a snarl, Harry pulled his arm away. There was a brief moment of stillness as both stood in numb surprise to his reaction, before Ron continued doggedly on. "What's wrong?"

Harry opened his mouth and shut it several times, trying to find the right words.

Right words? To do what? To tell my best friend I've got the hots for my worst enemy?

"Look, Ron." Harry sighed heavily, putting his entire body into the fatigued heave. "Just... forget I said anything, okay?"

"Harry," Ron said earnestly, "you've been acting really strangely. Now you almost start a conversation, something that might give me a clue as to what's going on, and you shut down seconds later! I mean, what the fuck!" He was getting progressively angrier.

"It's nothing, okay? I'm tired. I'm stressed. Ignore me."

Ron curled his hands into fists. Then abruptly, the rage faded, replaced by sadness.

"You used to tell me everything, Harry."

God, I'm such a bastard.

He looked at Ron in silence. Guilt made his stomach knot, his head swim.

This is your best friend.

"You--you wouldn't get it, Ron."

Anger returned, making every one of Ron's muscles tense. His blue eyes glowered under the shaggy red bangs.

Harry look at him blandly, preparing himself to be punched again. It's all I deserve.

"Look," he said, as a last- ditch effort. "Everything will make sense after potions today, okay? I promise, I'll tell you everything then."

"Is that the best I'm going to get, then?"

Harry nodded tiredly. "I'm afraid so."

Ron turned and stalked brusquely down the hall, leaving Harry alone in the growing sunlight.

~*~

Draco Malfoy was not having a good morning.

He had woken feeling vaguely ill and unsettled, hours before the sun had risen. His first conscious thought had been about Harry Potter. His second conscious thought contained an expletive and a general air of disbelief. For the next two hours, Draco Malfoy had paced the cold stone halls of Hogwarts, wondering why he couldn't stop thinking about Potter. He was beginning to question the effectiveness of the "antidote" he had taken last night. As the sun finally began to break over the mountains, Draco found himself in an old abandoned tower of the Southern wing, sitting on a dusty window ledge after jimmying open a door that looked as if it hadn't been touched for several decades. He gazed out over the frosty morning irritably.

This isn't right.

Bad enough he had passed, during his aimless wanderings, the remains of his outburst the night before--shards of glass in a lower hall, a fallen torch, a shattered marble bust. Bad enough that it all served to remind of his loss of control. But now, things didn't appear to be changing.

Maybe it's a slow-working antidote, he tried to convince himself.

He stared out at the snow capped mountains, gilded with the golden sunlight of a perfect morning, and made a derisive noise deep in his throat.

You keep repeating that, Malfoy. Maybe it'll come true.

Restlessness surged through him again, directionless anger sending him to his feet to stalk out of the room and close the forgotten door, to send him pacing through the halls again with no destination.

As he walked, Draco shook his head in bafflement. How is this possible? He thought back to the moment he had drunk the antidote, the way the icy coldness of it had trailed through his veins, cooling the fires that had been blazing--some noticed, some not--vigilantly for the past three days. He thought back to the way he had staggered back to his Tower, the way he had collapsed, suddenly powerfully fatigued, into his bed and remained securely unconscious for the rest of the short night. No dreams. No nightmares. He had woken early, in the dim gray of dying night and had for a moment, been at perfect peace with himself, with the world. Then--

Potter lying beneath him, submitting perfectly to the kisses Draco was placing hungrily on his lips. Potter tensing. Potter staring at him in wide- eyed astonishment.

Pain.

From the moment the shard of memory had dug painfully into him, Draco had been in an angry, confused haze. At first, he had assured himself that, given the circumstances, it was only natural that he be thinking of Potter. It was only natural that he be worrying about the repercussions from his actions. It was only natural that he worry about the antidotes effects. It was only natural that he couldn't stop remembering the way Potter had felt beneath him, the way his lips had tasted, the way he smelled--

It was only natural that Draco wanted to kiss him again. And again. Consequences be damned.

And it was this, and this alone, that worried him.

Draco passed several yawning first- years and turned a corner. He scuffed a button on the floor with his toe briefly, then glanced down the corridor. And froze.

Fuck.

Harry Potter was standing alone in the echoing hall, watching someone walk away from him. His back was turned to Draco, and thus he, mercifully, didn't see Draco make a jittery stop, then turn and duck around the corner, only to peek around the wall a split- second later. Even as he hated himself for doing it, even as he feared the rush that it sent through him, Draco couldn't take his eyes off the form posed unconsciously in a beam of faint sunlight. Harry tossed his head in apparent irritation, blew his forelock out of his eyes, then bowed his head and began studying the scuffed stone floor. Draco suppressed a wild and ultimately dangerous urge to slink over and wrap his arms around Potter. To ask him what was troubling him. To then proceed to kiss it away. Instead, he strangled a snarl and fled--no, no. Never fled. Walked sedately away from--Potter.

Draco Malfoy was not having a good morning.

~*~

Harry staggered into the Great Hall for breakfast. Food no longer drew him to the hall. It was guilt. A sense of responsibility, that he had to show his face at mealtimes, to at least try to maintain the façade. It would only serve to make everyone else worry if he missed meals altogether.

Besides, hissed an amused voice in his ear, you never know when Malfoy will make an appearance.

When Harry approached the Gryffindor table, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting together. Hermione was looking supremely uncomfortable, while Ron was apparently trying to carry on a conversation with her. As Harry slipped into and empty seat beside Hermione, Ron flashed him a look that said plainly: "See? We're fine, we still talk." It also added, for good measure: "I told you so, you bastard."

Harry suppressed rolling his eyes in irritation and reached for a piece of toast as Ron continued to make polite, forced conversation with Hermione. Harry smeared butter on the cool piece of toast. Suddenly, Hermione turned to Harry, interrupting Ron in mid- sentence. "So, Harry. Who do you think got the potion?"

Harry chanced a glance at Ron. He was glowering at his porridge. Quickly, he cast about the table for a likely candidate and his eyes fell on Neville, who had fallen asleep on his pancakes.

"Uh... Neville?" he hazarded.

"Really?" She stared at him in surprise, then turned to look at Neville, who was still sound asleep despite the bacon mustache Dean was adhering to his upper lip with corn syrup. "Why?"

"Um." Harry floundered. Snickering, Dean was now placing two fried eggs over the closed eyes. "I saw him looking at Filch funny." Harry returned to busily buttering his toast.

If Hermione noticed the excess amount of butter on the battered piece of toast, she didn't comment on it. There was an uneasy lapse of silence between them.

"You okay?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm fine," he replied automatically, and tried to smile reassuringly at her. The lies were coming easier, lately. He slouched against the breakfast table. "I just didn't sleep well."

Hermione cocked her head and smiled blankly, piercing brown eyes traveling over his face, laying all his secrets bare.

Who are you kidding? She won't believe that. Hermione can read you like a book, she always has...

Harry felt his heart drop as a tiny smile spread across Hermione's face, a smile that said: "silly boy, you know you can't fool me, why'd you even try?" He looked away, ashamed that he had tried to deceive her, embarrassed that she could see what he'd been trying to hide so easily. Her smile turned dangerously impish as she leaned in her seat, tilting towards him in a conspiratorial manner. He tensed in anticipation, waiting for her to articulate the words that would crystallize half-formed thoughts in the back of his mind. Somehow, the thought of someone else knowing, someone else voicing the possibility that he loved Malfoy made it seem all the more real. More tangible than his own, worried thoughts. He chanced a glance at her, wincing as her brown eyes caught and held his gaze like nobody else's could. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for admission--

"You look like shit," she confided with a grin.

Harry's breath rushed out of him explosively. She smiled impishly at him again, wrinkling her nose with a giggle. He had expected her to berate him, he had expected her to accuse him of wanting to drag Malfoy off into a dark room, something, anything. He caught his breath and made an effort to look composed.

"Seems to be the consensus," he muttered, closing his eyes briefly. Dean had collapsed in hysterics because the still-unconscious Neville had begun to nibble on his drooping mustachios.

"Hey, Harry?" Hermione had lowered her voice. Tiredly, Harry forced his eyes open. She was looking at him intently.

"Yeah?"

"You know that if there's anything you need to talk about"--she looked genuinely worried--"you can talk to me about it, right?"

He smiled lazily at her, blinking bleary eyes, doing his best to look like just another tired student. "Yeah," he said softly. "I know." He felt like such a bastard.

She smiled at him, then returned her attention to breakfast.

Anything I need to talk about, he mused to himself. Anything but this.