Casualties of War

Remus awoke early, his limbs stiff and complaining. He dressed silently, ignoring a small twinge of guilt that passed through him as he glanced to Sirius, still sprawled over their bed, utterly asleep. It felt as if they had only nodded off minutes ago, when the sun had barely begun to peek its head through the half-closed window. Sirius had dropped into unconsciousness holding him close, and Remus had been unable to resist the urge to move quietly out of the smothering embrace. The sun had risen high in the sky now, and he guessed the hour was somewhere around ten o'clock.

He paused as he passed the second bedroom, cocking his ear for any noise inside. Harry had already been unconscious by the time they had gotten Draco sorted out and upstairs. The boy had been wary of sharing a room with Harry, but had reluctantly agreed once Sirius had transfigured a chair into a big, comfortable bed. All was quiet in the little room, but then again, he hadn't expected either of them to wake up so soon. He continued down the staircase, hand resting lightly on the banister, pondering. Dumbledore had briefed Sirius and him on what had happened to Draco in the minutes before they had joined the boys through the Portkey. It was worrying that Death Eaters had penetrated the Forbidden Forest, even more so that children were being forced to join their ranks, but what hit him the hardest were the atrocities done to Draco, the savagery of Pansy's murder. Remus didn't have to search his memories of Draco as a student to find sympathy; his heart went out to the boy. Who knew how Sirius and Harry would behave around him, and these next few days would be critical as he started to heal. Remus shook his head, his thoughts trailing off as he moved into the main level of the Farmhouse. Draco and Harry were safe as long as Remus and Sirius were watching over them, he knew, but he had to question Dumbledore's wisdom in throwing together a house of invalids and old enemies.

Remus took his time wandering from room to room, brushing his fingers lightly over his possessions, reaffirming that this was still, indeed, his space. He had moved into 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius nearly two weeks before The Capture, as his mind had labeled it, already beginning a process of disassociation. In the six weeks since he had last seen it, he had missed his home more dearly than he had realized.

The Farmhouse was the first home that Remus had ever owned. It had been his for more than five years. It had only been paid off fully a year past, with the majority of his wages from Hogwarts, but it had been his home from the time he had moved in. Every object in the Farmhouse was his, lovingly collected over his years of wandering. After Lily and James' deaths, he had accepted work as far afield as Hong Kong, and had never stopped moving. He had traveled the world over; his only regular contact was with the Werewolf Registry, as he was legally required to inform them of his movements and whereabouts. It had been beneficial for him as well, in some ways; they had put him in contact with safe places to transform - were-safe houses, he had dubbed them many years ago.

When he had finally stopped running, he had settled here, in the Isle of Eigg, formerly host to a were-safe house that he had been put up in the wilds of Scotland. The island was perfect for an itinerant werewolf, with a population of barely seventy people and a view to be wondered at. The Farmhouse itself looked over the ocean, hedged in by forests, and a little pond off to the side of the house completed the picture. It was Unplottable, had dozens of spells to make it undectable by Muggles, and the wards that surrounded the property were some of the finest and strongest that could be crafted. Remus had worked it over on a different level as well, giving the surrounding area a nice temperate feel to it, bringing the temperature to a more comfortable level year round. The adjusted climate allowed for a riot of flowering plants that had spread all over the unforested areas of his property, bathing the house in fragrance. Remus halted by the kitchen window and pressed his face to the glass, enjoying the feel of the cool surface on his skin. In a little while, he thought, he would go out into the garden and read for a bit.

He moved back into the living room, rummaging beneath papers and in drawers before coming up with a small sprig of tightly wrapped, dried white plants. He had just lit the ends when he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see Harry standing on the stairs, glasses held in one hand while he rubbed his eyes with the other. Remus' heart lurched. From the moment he had met Harry he had been struck with how incredibly like the James of his memories he was: young, messy and perpetually pushing his hair out of his face, and this was only reinforced as he and Harry simply looked at each other for a long moment.

Remus shook off the spell, hoping that his face hadn't shown any of his shock. "Good morning, Harry," he said neutrally. "I wasn't expecting anybody to wake up so soon. Did you sleep well?" Harry shrugged. Remus could see him fighting a smile, enjoying his ex-professor's full attention. Harry had always seemed to be a student - no, a boy who blossomed with a bit of extra consideration. Not so much in terms of additional help, but even a few minutes of one-on-one time changed the boy's entire attitude. It wasn't as if he had ever begrudged a few minutes of his time to somebody as engaging as Harry, at any rate.

Harry's eyes were following the burning herbs curiously. "What's that?"

"Sage," Remus replied. He slowly waved the herbs around the room, wafting the smoke into the corners. "It's for purification. I've been away from my home for a very long time."

"It smells nice." Harry followed him into the living room, staring carefully at the piles of books and scattered personal items. He looked for some time at a drawing of a grindylow that hung on the wall, which had been one of Remus' most treasured possessions over the past year. It had been a gift from a Gryffindor boy in Harry's year, a student named Dean Thomas whom Remus remembered quite fondly. The drawing, which was beautifully drawn and had obviously taken some time, had reached him by a small owl just as he was leaving Hogwarts' grounds. The timing of it - he had just been "ousted" by Severus, and the entire school must have known by then that he was a werewolf - had made the drawing especially meaningful to Remus.

"Professor Lupin," Harry began hesitantly. Remus looked to him, waiting expectantly. He noted with a bit of amusement that a touch of pink had appeared in Harry's cheeks. "When I woke up this morning, Malfoy was in my room." Remus grinned, bringing up his hand to cover it. He'd bet Galleons that Harry would have been complaining Sirius' ears off, if it had been Sirius he had encountered first.

"In your room?" he asked mildly.

"Yes, sir." Harry looked quite flustered. "You see, there was this bed and ..." He sputtered a bit, and trailed off helplessly.

"Was Draco in your bed, Harry, or your room?"

Harry's face flushed an alarming shade of red. "In the room." Remus smiled gently, hoping his amusement didn't show too plainly. It seemed there were indeed vast differences between James and Harry, if only in sense of humor; James would have taken a question like that and run with it.

"There are only two bedrooms at the Farmhouse. If it poses too much of a problem, I'm sure we can work out other sleeping arrangements for the two of you." Harry still looked a tad disturbed about the prospect of sleeping in the same room as a Malfoy, but only nodded, staring curiously at Dean Thomas' drawing of the grindylow before moving on to study the clutter that lined the shelves of the nearest bookcase. Remus laughed softly as Harry's attention was drawn to one item in particular: a small, rather unassuming wooden box that sat at eyelevel. It didn't surprise him that it drew the boy's eye, as it was beautifully crafted, with the phases of the moon delicately shaped from mother of pearl, encircling the round sides, but it was interesting that Harry would notice that box in particular. Remus moved to stand next to Harry, who looked to him curiously.

"Your mother made me this," he said. Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he looked back to the box.

"What is it?"

"It's a music box," Remus replied. He tapped the lid of the box with one finger twice, and then twice more, and it split open with a sigh as the soft tinkle of music began and the image appeared.

It looked to Harry as if he was watching a small television. Remus, who had not seen a television until he was twenty-five, had always thought of it as a sort of three-dimensional wizard photograph. Charms had been one of his strengths at Hogwarts, but he had never figured out how exactly Lily had made the music box. Any true curiosity to figure out how it worked was of course tampered by the fact that he'd have to take it apart to study it, and he would be loathe to destroy something that had been such a comfort to him in the years after Lily's death.

"Is that me?" Harry asked curiously, leaning forward to study the tiny figures more closely. Remus confirmed with a slight nod of his head; Harry was indeed a part of the peaceful scene that the music box displayed: a summertime nap on the couch with Remus, Sirius, and baby Harry sleeping quietly on Remus' chest. Remus hogged most of the couch; he still had a vague memory of claiming it supposedly to keep Harry comfortable, but mostly to ensure the way that Sirius had curled his body around Remus', his head resting just above Harry's.

"What's the music that's playing?" Harry was absolutely fascinated. Sirius and Lupin, looking young and healthy, that was a big one ... no gray in Lupin's hair, and Sirius' hair was short! He grinned at the grimace that Lupin made.

"That," Remus said primly. "Was your mother's idea of a joke. It's Led Zeppelin ... on a music box." She had laughed hard at his music purist horror at being presented with such a, well, a 'mockery of quality music' was how he had put it at the time. Zeppelin had been his favorite band for many of his Hogwarts years and afterwards, and similar tastes in music had been one of the first things that he and Lily had bonded over. The music box had been her birthday gift to him about a month after Harry's birth, given with a knowing smile. Her choice of song, "Whole Lotta Love," and Sirius' presence within hadn't been lost on him. "Lily just thought it was the height of hilarity. Your mother had a very sick sense of humor, Harry."

A small, private smile formed on Harry's lips, and he reached to touch the music box, lightly stroking the side where the moon vanished into the wood. Remus felt a strange tug in his chest. He knew that Hagrid had made Harry a photo-album full of mementos of Lily and James; he had donated quite a few photographs, in fact, but he had never really realized how little Harry must know of Lily, his own mother. Everything he had ever known of his parents was James this, and James that ... Merlin forbid Harry should ever find out what a horrid little bastard James was as a teenager. If truth be told, Remus had always liked Lily, and had gotten along well with her in their early years at Hogwarts, but Sirius ... Sirius had hated her. He had loved her like a sister, of course, when she and James stopped trading insults and started going together; Sirius was like that. She had always had a soft spot for Remus, though, and at times he had felt like it was only through her that he was part of the Marauders anymore, in the months before her and James' deaths.

Harry was looking at him quietly, and Remus smiled in response. Harry smiled back, and tilted his head slightly, as if he wanted to ask something, but kept quiet. Remus hesitated, uncertain of what he wanted to say, how much he wanted to explain. Remus had been very close to his own mother, before her death, and he had been very close to Lily. You should have known her. But that wasn't exactly what he wanted to tell Harry, and before he could think of what, exactly, Draco had come down the stairs and there was no more time for private talk, at least not between Harry and himself.

Draco was quieter coming down the stairs then Harry had been, but the hospital stink that had absorbed into his skin had alerted Remus to his presence the moment he had hit the first step. There was something else about the boy, a smell that lay faintly underneath the scent of antiseptic and Healing Charms, a whisper of scorched flesh and dark emotions, a whisper that bore watching.

He turned with a smile, and Draco froze on the step, eyes wide. Remus had heard about The Ferret Incident from Minerva (and what a state she had been in over that!) and Remus couldn't help but compare the boy's pale face with the animal that had caused such an uproar amongst the staff at Hogwarts: sharp features practically sniffing the tension in the air, gray prey animal eyes. How much the boy had changed, from the ruthlessly intelligent student that Remus had known only a year ago. It was hardly surprising, but it startled Remus just the same. How much of that change was from what had happened only days ago, Remus wondered, and how much was because Draco was simply a year older?

Draco's eyes twitched over Remus' shoulder and narrowed. Ah, this was where the fireworks would begin. He had seen them in action, of course, during his tenure at Hogwarts, though fortunately never in such close quarters as a classroom. It was a fairly simple procedure ... Draco would say something insulting first, usually some sort of racist remark, and Harry would respond, until it escalated into a fist fight or a duel. They didn't get into trouble for it as often as they should, in Remus' opinion; very few of the professors truly cared, after so long. Minerva and Severus were the only ones who bothered anymore. Remus himself had to admit to turning a blind eye more than once.

However, Draco wasn't saying anything, merely glaring. Harry remained silent as well, obviously waiting for Draco to make the first move. While rather puzzling, that was quite enough, thank you.

"Well," Remus said, moving between the two boys. "Good morning, Draco. I see you've found the clothing that I set out for you." Draco's mouth tightened, and he tugged at his sleeve with his uninjured hand. The sweater was thick and red and Sirius', who had put up no small amount of fuss at the suggestion of donation. The pants were Remus', and fairly hung off the boy, though Remus was not all that much taller; a Fitting Charm would take care of the cut, but Remus felt the inexplicable urge to feed him something. Anything. Just as long as he'd fit into those pants without another Charm. He looked around at the stacks of books that surrounded him, and a small, demented corner of his mind wondered if the boy would eat paper, as it was most certainly the most abundant material in the house, and possibly the only one available.

Stop it, he chided himself. You're going to be mothering them both next. You need to stop that immediately. He looked to the two boys, who were still quite occupied with glaring balefully at the other, and recalled hearing the complaints of several Hogwarts professors that the Gryffindor/Slytherin classes were the bane of their existence. "Breakfast time," he announced, clapping his hands as if trying to grab the attention of small children. Their eyes snapped over to him, startled, but they followed him into the kitchen docilely enough. He only hoped that there was, in fact, something other than paper to eat.

They were in luck. There was a note in the bottom pantry from Minerva's hand. I had to remind Albus to send this along, but I thought it might come in handy. He smiled in relief, looking at the supply that they had been left. Presumably house elves had been sent to deliver the food, but Minerva might have come to supervise. The food in Remus' pantry practically bore her stamp of approval. It was nutritious: apples, oranges, all manner of fruits and breads, but he was willing to bet that she had left them at least a few treats. She had teased him mercilessly about his sweet tooth while they had worked together. He set a few fruits on the counter and after a look through the ice box, a hunk of cheese. The boys looked distastefully at it, but Harry reached willingly for an apple. Draco turned his nose up, of course, but Remus could worry about that later. There were other, more important things to attend to before manners.

"Stay here," he said, and went back into the other room, to the voluminous chest that stood near the stairs, where he kept the majority of his potion and healing ingrediants. The murtlap essence was on the lowest shelf, right behind the Erumpent Fluid and next to the bezoar, in a small stone vessel. Another quick rummage produced a collection of small wooden bowls, and one was quickly filled with enough murtlap to comfortably soak a hand in. He'd have to wait to see how far up the burn extended before offering other treatments or any of the few decent large bowls that he used for cooking.

He brought the bowl of murtlap essence back to the kitchen. "You're to soak your hand in this once a day for a little while, Draco." He paused, waiting for Draco to ask what it was. The blond boy's eyes had fixed suspiciously onto the small bowl, but he remained silent. "It's murtlap essence, it will ease pain and lessen the severity of your burn, and it might help to ward off any spells that are left inside." Draco's eyes widened slightly. Harry folded his arms and leaned back against the countertop, watching the other boy's trepidation with interest.

"Let me see your hand, Draco," Remus said, carefully keeping any hint of gentleness or pity out of his voice, not wanting to injure Draco's pride to the point where he would refuse treatment simply to be spiteful. Draco's eyes flicked between Remus' face and the bowl of murtlap, and reluctantly stretched out his burned hand. Remus held it gently, and, setting the murtlap down on the table, dug his wand out of his pocket. "It will be more effective if we can get this bandage out of the way," he explained. "Evanesco." The wrappings vanished, and Remus sucked in a breath as he saw what was underneath.

It was worse than he'd expected. He had seen a good many magical and non-magical injuries in his time - some of the broken bones he'd woken up with after a full moon had been quite horrific to see - but he'd never seen anything like this. Even under a thick wrapping of bandages, magically kept sanitary, Draco's flesh had blistered and peeled back to reveal raw, oozing sores and large patches of charred, flaking scabs that used to be skin. The peeling layers of dead skin were segmented by pink bits of flesh that ran in ropey sections up his wrist and halfway to his elbow. It almost looked as if the skin had been torn away to reveal muscle that winked slyly up at him. Dimly he heard Harry make some sort of noise in the back of his throat, but his eyes remained on Draco's hand. The smell of Dark Magic was overpowering.

Harry watched, feeling a little sick despite himself. Was that what burned skin looked like? It wasn't what he had imagined, in any case. He hadn't thought it would be so many colors, that it would cease to look like anything human. Malfoy kept his head lowered, but his cheeks practically glowed. Harry could see the trembling in his arm as Malfoy tried to keep himself from yanking his hand back, or trying to move his fingers. God, but that was disgusting. He looked to Lupin, and then did a double-take as Lupin did something incredibly bizarre: bent his face over that charred piece of Slytherin flesh and sniffed. He was smelling it! Harry couldn't help himself. "Eugh," he said, his nose scrunching up in disgust. Malfoy's shoulders hunched together.

Remus ignored Harry, instead looking up at Draco. The boy's eyes wavered and then shut tightly, shame burning in his face. "Who cast the spell, Draco?"

Draco's eyes snapped open, shock written across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but simply left it there. That was alright; Remus knew what he was thinking. Knew the power of recognition. How could you know? It drove through Draco's defenses effortlessly. It had driven through Remus' as well, once upon a time, when his closest friends in all the world had sat him down and carefully explained to him that it was ok.

It took longer for Draco to come to him than Remus had immediately thought it would, but then, while Draco had been exceptional in Remus' class, he had never formed any sort of bond with the boy, the way he had done with Harry, Dean, and a few others. Remus was a patient man, however, and knew from the look on Draco's face that he would come to Remus; he wouldn't be able to help himself. Of course, one could chalk it up to the boy's undoubtedly Slytherin personality; he had to ally himself with someone in this miserable situation he had ended up in, but Remus didn't think that was the entire story. The look in Draco's eyes - You know. You know my secrets. And you understand - told him that it was more than that.

After breakfast, Remus had gone out to the garden, as he had wanted to, found his favorite spot by the pond to sit, and simply waited. Draco had to come on his own, and eventually, he did. He appeared suddenly, startling Remus, sat down gingerly beside him, and began to speak, without preamble or even a greeting. He told his entire tale, from setting out that evening with his father for Hogsmeade, to waking up in the Forbidden Forest with Pansy Parkinson's unrecognizable corpse for company. It was the first time he spoken of it; Remus knew most of the story because Dumbledore had been forced to use his Pensieve on the unconscious boy when Firenze had first brought him to the steps of Hogwarts, in order to find out what the hell had happened to his student, and even Severus had only gotten bits and pieces at St. Mungo's. He has to trust someone, Remus thought, and became aware of a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he hadn't encountered for a good many years: hot, blinding rage. He wanted to punish those men for what they had done, and punish them he would. He only hoped that he had enough time.

It was evening by the time Remus and Sirius had the time to discuss what had happened; the day had been full of activity. They had had to break up several fights between the boys; the lists of Where You Do Not Go and What You Do Not Touch were lengthy, directed at Sirius as well as Harry and Draco, and tended to follow this pattern:

Sirius: "Why shouldn't we touch this?" CRASH

Draco: "He's touching me; I think that shouldn't be allowed."

Harry: "I did not touch you! I'm halfway across the room from you!"

Draco had started talking again after he and Remus had finished their conversation, and Harry and Sirius were dismayed to discover that he remained as sharp-tongued and obnoxious as ever. Their first day as refugees from the wizarding world went about as well as Remus hoped it would, and he decided that the fact that there was no actual physical violence (although much was threatened) meant that it had been a good day.

They didn't get the chance to talk until the household had trooped up to bed. Sirius had whined, as expected, for the chance to stay up and play more games with Harry, and Draco had whined, as expected, at having to share a bedroom with Harry, but in the end the boys went to bed as told, and Sirius came dutifully up to bed behind Remus, hoping for affection but getting a serious conversation instead.

He didn't tell Sirius the entire story; Draco hadn't explicitly sworn him to silence, but he had a hunch that that was the case. Sirius knew, essentially, what had happened anyway, so there wasn't any reason to tell him everything. All he spoke of were the details, and Sirius listened with his head bowed, sitting with his legs crossed on Remus' bed.

"He doesn't know who cast the spells on him, but it was rather complicated. I've never even heard of any spells like this, but I'll ask Dumbledore to send us books that might help.

"Before Pansy was - killed, while they were being held on the ground, Draco's head was pinned down. That's how the bruising on his face came about." Remus demonstrated, splaying his fingers so that the ball of his hand rested on his forehead and his fingers were divided up between his cheekbone and lips. "A wand was held inches from one eye, then the other, and it was also forced inside his mouth. He told me that the same words were spoken in each place, but in a language he didn't understand, and he can't remember if anything happened - lights, sparks, anything like that - while the spell was being cast. I got the impression that he was in a lot of pain at that point. It was after that, that they killed Pansy."

Sirius' face was grim. "It sounds like the girl's death was part of the spell, if it was cast right before they killed her." He shook his head. "That kid could be a walking Skrewt, and we'd never know it. Merlin only knows how much Dark Magic has been stuffed inside him."

"He was looked over at hospital, checked for everything imaginable. There were a few tracking spells, common in all-wizarding families, and signs that he'd been under both Imperius and Cruciatus, but no evidence of curses, Charms, or anything that Dumbledore, Hestia or Severus knew of." Sirius flopped over onto his side, squirming closer to lay his head in Remus' lap. Remus twisted his fingers through Sirius' thick hair, scratching absentmindedly. Sirius' eyes narrowed into lazy, happy slits, enjoying a head rub as much as Padfoot would.

"I still don't trust this," he said, reaching up to stroke Remus' cheek. Remus leaned into the caress, breathing in Sirius' musky scent gratefully. Even this odd distance between them, a distance that he didn't even know if Sirius noticed, wasn't enough dispel the comfort that having his old friend near him automatically brought. There was simply too much history between them. Even after twelve years of believing that Sirius had given up their best friends to the enemy, even after years of suspicion between them after they graduated Hogwarts, the moment he had embraced Sirius in the Shrieking Shack, he had felt as though he was home. He considered telling Sirius who was going to be coming to visit in a few weeks, but as Sirius drew him down to stretch out on the bed and pulled him close, he decided that that news could certainly wait for a more appropriate time.

*************************************

It was well over a week before Harry and Malfoy spoke to each other beyond strained requests to pass the salt or butter, and it would have been even longer if it hadn't been for Malfoy's nightmare. Their days followed a rather predictable pattern. Their waking hours were staggered: first Lupin, then Harry, with Sirius and Malfoy trading off to be the last one up. It was likely as not that Lupin would nap through the day, but nevertheless, he seemed determined to rise with the sun. After breakfast - usually some assortment of bread, butter, cheese and apples - they'd pair off. Lupin and Malfoy would settle themselves outside, reading in silence for hours at a time or talking quietly. Sirius and Harry's activities varied; they spent days pawing through Lupin's dusty Farmhouse and the treasures scattered within. Most of it, Sirius explained, had been kept by Lupin's mother during their school days. "Remus was such a old lady. He'd collect so many useless things throughout the term that he'd barely be able to pack his trunk by the end of it, and every time he went home he'd dump it off with his mother and start all over."

There were boxes of old trinkets, beads and baubles and small magical toys, reams of paper with notes scribbled in class, books decorated in the cramped handwriting of four young boys, less sophisticated versions of the Marauder's Map (including one sheet of paper that simply insulted you, as the finished product had done to Snape during Harry's third year). In one box there was a long roll of parchment that had apparently been a rambling, collaborative story authored mainly by Messr. Prongs and Messr. Moony that told the grand adventures of someone named Mr. Pebbles, featuring appearances by Wonder Woman and six cowboys, in separate episodes. The mood was slightly spoiled on the second day of treasure hunting by the discovery of an entire carton of Wormtail memorabilia, but they made up for it later by burning everything it contained, piece by piece.

Harry's trunk and possessions joined them three days into his stay, and Harry and Sirius moved outside to stage endless rounds of two-man Quidditch, which mainly consisted of lobbing balls back and forth to each other. Sirius rode Lupin's broomstick, a frayed and tatty old thing that nevertheless managed to hold its own.

Harry and Malfoy avoided each other, for the most part; meals were lax, books at the table were acceptable, and Harry found plenty to do during the daytime with Sirius. The music box had made him suspicious, but not quite sensitive enough yet to see the looks exchanged between Sirius and Lupin, the sudden "private" talks. He knew that Sirius was jealous of Lupin's time spent elsewhere, but contented himself with knowing the fact that his own company seemed to keep Sirius happy.

Bedtime was awkward but passable. Harry, by habit a night owl, easily kept awake hours after Malfoy had fallen into deep slumber. They'd glare at one another for a few minutes, if it happened that they went to bed around the same time, and then one or the other would pointedly turn his back and go to sleep, or at least pretend to. It was as close as they would come to willingly speaking to each other all day. In truth, Harry found Malfoy's barbed silence a trifle unsettling. For five years, Malfoy had gone out of his way to torment, tease and tattle on Harry and his friends, and to be cooped up in a rambling farmhouse day after day with your worst enemy (after Voldemort, of course, he added as an afterthought), who does nothing more than stare at walls and monopolize the attention of one of your favorite teachers - well, it was flat out disappointing, to be honest.

Normally, Malfoy slept like the dead. He moved a lot in his sleep; Harry could watch as Malfoy moved through stages of unconsciousness by the way his angular body slowly uncurled itself from the protective ball he had fallen asleep in, the way he twisted the blankets around himself until he was nearly incapable of any further movement. It made Harry laugh, although he wouldn't have been able to say why. Maybe it was because in sleep, Malfoy's sharp features softened, he snored a little and pressed a fist up against his face like a little child. Maybe it was because Harry had never thought that such a ferret-faced, snobby, gloating, nasty little snot was capable of looking sweet in his sleep.

That night Harry had gone to bed long after Malfoy; Sirius had kept him up for hours playing Exploding Snap, and if it wasn't for Lupin, who fallen asleep on the couch shortly after dinner and who had woken up only to tell Harry to go to sleep and toddle off to bed himself, he'd probably still be down there, hearing tales of Master Padfoot and the Great Prongs.

As it was, he dismissed the idea of sleep when he got upstairs and got to work on his Transfiguration essay, propping his textbooks up in front of him as he settled cross-legged onto his bed. He was finally beginning to be a little suspicious of the blanket of silence that settled onto the second story of the Farmhouse at night, but after a long and rowdy day that had included the persuasion of Lupin into a lengthy Quidditch game, he found the quiet to be a relief. Normally, in his bedroom on Privet Drive, he'd be able to hear Dudley snoring or, god forbid, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon doing it in their room. Now there was only the scratching of his quill and the occasional lowing of those weird cow-things that Lupin kept, and he was able to throw himself fully into his essay - at least until Malfoy started making noises.

Harry was so engrossed in his homework that he barely heard the first moan, but the second made him look up from his work suspiciously. Not even Malfoy was perverted enough to have a wank while Harry was still awake - right? No, it didn't seem so; both hands were in plain view, one arm flung up over his head, clenching his pillow, and his face was pinched tight. Another groan escaped from Malfoy's drawn-back lips as Harry watched, and this time he could tell that it was not a noise of arousal.

For a moment, Harry was fascinated despite himself. He watched Malfoy twist with wide, nearly unseeing eyes, wondering what he could be dreaming about that was that terrible. Other than McGonagall's short explanation, nobody had told him anything about Pansy's death or what had happened that night, and in truth he had nearly forgotten about it. He hadn't been very curious; his hatred of Malfoy had overshadowed his hurt confusion over being ignored, and he had grown too used to thinking of the enemy as rather faceless. He hated Voldemort, or at least he believed he did, and Cedric's death - how shockingly sudden it was, those dead eyes staring up at him - had been horrible and still haunted him, but no matter how many Defense Against the Dark Arts classes he had taken, he had never come face to face with the depravity of true Dark Arts; death was still as simple and quick as 'Avada Kedavra.'

Harry uncurled his body slowly, laying his parchment and quill down against the bedspread as he moved across the gap that separated their beds, one hand outstretched, pausing over the pale boy's shoulder. "Malfoy," he said. "Malfoy, wake up. Malfoy! Wake up!" Oh man, I don't want to touch him ... He shook Malfoy roughly, marveling at how bony he was. Malfoy's eyes flew open immediately, almost as if he had been expecting the contact, and he made a sterling attempt to scramble away from Harry, impeded by the coils of blanket that he had wrapped around himself during the night.

"Potter!" he said in astonishment. They stared at each other for a long moment, unmoving, before Malfoy began to methodically untangle himself. Harry leaned back, uncertain.

"There's nobody else here, Malfoy, of course it's me."

Malfoy quit picking at his sheets long enough to shoot a nasty glare at Harry, who noticed with some distress that his hands were shaking, and badly. He didn't want to comfort Malfoy, didn't want to talk to him, didn't even want to think of Malfoy needing to talk after a nightmare. He allowed himself a cringe and settled onto the edge of his own bed. "Are you ... ok, Malfoy?" he asked awkwardly.

Malfoy glanced up and quickly away. "Keep your hands off me, Potter," he muttered thickly, finally pulling free from his blankets and pushing his back against the wall. He scrubbed roughly at his eyes with his fists.

"I wasn't groping you," Harry said, irritated. He shoved a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. "You were uh, having a bad dream."

"Don't be stupid." Malfoy lay back down, curling his body in on itself as he yanked the blanket close to him.

"Stupid? What do you mean, stupid? I saw you twitching ... I saw ..." Harry waved his hands in a helpless gesture. He wanted to punch Malfoy's lights out, he wanted to find out what the hell Malfoy was on about. For the first time all week, Harry began to wonder what had happened in the Forbidden Forest, what had happened to Pansy Parkinson.

"Saw what." Malfoy's tone was utterly flat.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he said quietly. Brutalized, McGonagall had said. Nearly killed. He hadn't believed her at the time: if that's his story.

"Was I crying, Potter? Was I calling out for Mummy?" Malfoy's voice was just as soft, his tone dangerous. Harry remembered the bruises that had decorated Malfoy's face that night in the hospital, bruises so dark that not even medi-wizards had been able to heal them completely. The cuts that had shown on the pale strip of belly flesh exposed when he stretched.

"I just thought that, you know, maybe ... you might want to be woken up or something. You didn't look very good." Looked like you were being tortured, actually. Woke up like you were expecting it, like you were expecting some kind of visitor in your sleep.

Malfoy laughed. "I'm so touched by your concern."

Harry shrugged again. "And I'm so scarred by your malice." He'd never seen Malfoy so ... brittle. Not after losing at Quidditch, not after being attacked by Buckbeak in their third year.

Malfoy turned to face him, then, his eyes glinting. "Fuck you, Potter." Harry glared right back.

"Do you want to talk about it or not? Because if you don't, just shut up. I need to sleep too, you know." Malfoy sat up, moving so that his face was only inches from Harry's. He could feel Malfoy's breath on his cheeks, and pulled away. Nearly killed, Merlin. Pansy Parkinson, dead like Cedric, only brutalized, Harry didn't know what that meant. The warm breath on his face made him want to throw up.

"Have a little heart to heart, you mean? How touching, Gryffindor sympathy." Harry rolled his eyes. They'd been trading that shit back and forth for nearly five years now, and not even the turn of his stomach - brutalized, what did that mean? -- could change House rivalries.

"How scathing. Slytherin sarcasm." They sat in silence for a few moments, staring each other down, and Harry was caught by the urge to lean forward, back into that warm breath. He almost felt like it would tell him something, answer the questions that he didn't have the courage to ask. "Well? What was your nightmare about?" Malfoy stood abruptly and reached for the long jacket that Lupin had loaned him, yanking it on and moving toward the door, his usual grace stripped away.

"Was it about Pansy?" Harry asked quietly.

Malfoy sucked in a harsh breath, and stopped, pausing with one hand on the door. He turned slowly, his eyes blazing.

"What does it matter to you, Potter?" His jaw tightened, his chin lifted, and the familiar, dreaded lip curl appeared. Snobbery dripped from every pore, and obscurely, Harry felt a twinge of relief. "She was only a Slytherin."

Malfoy slammed the bedroom door behind him, knocking a picture off the wall. The people scattered out of the frame, muttering angrily as they sought refuge from the broken glass. A second slam followed the first by moments as Malfoy left the house and headed outside. Harry sighed and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. He was too tired to even be bothered to clean up Malfoy's mess. He noted without really thinking the irritated lowing of the cows outside as they complained of Malfoy's presence in their garden, and thought of bruises on pale skin.

***********************

Harry slept late the next day, and drowsed happily for a while, enjoying the feel of cool sheets on his bare feet, the warmth of the sun on his face. He wasn't often a late riser, but he had lain awake for hours after Malfoy had left, unable to sleep or concentrate on his homework. He had fallen asleep before Malfoy had returned, though he had tried his best, and when he awoke Malfoy was already gone. Irritation and disappointment flickered through him. He fumbled for his glasses on the table that stood between the two beds, and swung his legs to the floor.

Putting on his glasses, he squinted at Malfoy's bed. The Slytherin's covers were always messy; he never made his bed, so it was impossible to tell whether or not he had come back during the night. Harry wondered if a Malfoy would deign to spend the night in a field of cow pies. He leaned forward, towards the window, squinting against the sunlight that poured in from outside. He saw Sirius standing next to the pond, Lupin sitting on the ground and ... there was Malfoy, sitting next to Lupin, his blonde hair glinting in the sun. He didn't look like he was in his pajamas, so it was a good bet that he had at least come back to the room to change his clothing.

Faintly, he could hear Sirius' voice, muffled by the windowpane and the distance. Lupin sat shaking his head; Harry thought he could see Lupin's lips moving, but then he stood up and stalked away. Sirius followed, leaving Malfoy sitting alone on the grass, and Harry saw his chance. He grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his trainers, and headed downstairs. He hit the bottom step of the stairs just as Sirius and Lupin exploded into the living room, Sirius trailing after Lupin in a fury. As Harry paused, his hand still on the banister, Sirius reached forward and grabbed Lupin by the wrist, spinning him around. They glared at each other for a long moment, and then Sirius reached a cautious hand up towards Lupin's face. Lupin frowned and batted the hand away as if it were an annoying fly. "Remus," Sirius said reproachfully. Lupin ducked his head, and that was when he caught sight of Harry. His eyebrows lifted, and he coughed softly, cocking his head to the side. Sirius turned a moment later, following Lupin's gaze, and his eyes widened when he saw Harry. "Morning, Harry," was all he said, and Harry took that as his cue to squeeze by the two of them and go out into the garden.

Malfoy didn't look up at Harry as he settled down next to the pale boy, keeping a respectful distance. They stared out at the pond for long moments, watching the cow-things amble across the field on the other side. Malfoy had settled down near a giant bush of lavender, and at some point in the morning had accumulated a large pile of fragrant purple stalks in front of him. Harry watched Malfoy's hands, stained purple, as they picked one up and began to mercilessly shred it. It was as unsettling to see those formerly impeccable, lily-white fingers stained as it was to see his hair hanging down in his face, longer than Harry had thought it would be. It was past his chin but not quite to his shoulders, and a large hank fell in front of his ear, unnoticed as Malfoy destroyed the surrounding vegetation. They sat in silence, and it nearly felt companionable, even considering who he was sitting next to. Harry lifted his face up to the sky, enjoying the warm sunlight, and had nearly forgotten why he had come out in the first place when Malfoy began to speak.

"Good detective work there last night, Potter. I bet you're more talented with Divination than you'd let on. Have you been taking private lessons from Trelawney? I bet you have, don't be coy. You can tell me. Listen, I'll tell you some of my secrets, you wanted to know what I dreamt about." His drawl was even thicker than usual, nearly to the point of parody; Harry could remember Ron sounding fairly similar on more than one occasion after an encounter with Malfoy's gang. He laughed, seemingly to himself, and rolled his eyes as if to say how ridiculous he found the entire situation; talking to Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake.

"I'll tell you all sorts of things ... if you think you can handle it. I'm a Death Eater now, though you can't see the Mark anymore. Here's another secret: Pansy wasn't. She never took the Mark, which I hope won't disappoint Granger too much; she always loved a reason to hate Pansy. She died with her arm unmarked - that's something, don't you think, Potter? Don't you think it will be enough to redeem her evil Slytherin soul?" Malfoy's drawl had faded to almost nothing as he said this, and it almost seemed as if he was honestly asking. He lowered his head and flung a lavender strand out into the pond. They watched it float serenely across the surface of the water, and Harry kept quiet, not knowing what to say, and wished he had a rock to throw, to upset the calm water, the softness of the plant against the surface. Knowing that if he spoke, it would break whatever spell compelled Malfoy to explain. When Malfoy spoke again, his voice was low, and angry. "No one deserved that, no matter what your filthy little friends might think ... you look as though you don't know what I'm talking about. Didn't my cousin fill you in?"

Malfoy smirked in the general direction of the pond, still steadfastly refusing to look at Harry. He didn't wait for a response, but continued on as if Harry had reacted, his drawl firmly back in place. "Oh, that's another secret. Black is my cousin. Does that make you and me cousins, I wonder? Not by blood, of course, but ... I wonder why nobody's told you why I'm here. Maybe they thought it would be too shocking for your tender ears, to find out how Pansy died. Well, I'll tell you; you're far too Gryffindor for my tastes, you need to be toughened up." He paused. It was difficult to gauge whether he was savoring the tension -- waiting until Harry was slavering, as if he would, to reveal his secrets -- or simply gathering his thoughts. Harry stared at the ground between his shoes. Brutalized. Pansy was brutalized.

"She burned, Potter. Oh yes. She wouldn't take the Mark. They beat us within an inch of our lives, and after they - defiled her, they held us to the ground and burned her alive. Didn't you wonder how my arm was burnt? Maybe it gets you excited, hearing about all this ... violence. Maybe I underestimated you. I doubt it. But here, I'll tell you anyway. I did dream of Pansy last night, just as you thought. She was alive, and we were walking in the gardens at my -- at Malfoy Manor. There was a party, you see, and I didn't want to go ... she came and found me where I was hiding, and tried to take me back. 'Don't be a baby, Draco. Your mother's looking for us, Draco. We need to go.' She took my wrist --" he held up his arm, swathed in bandages, his eyes tracking the movement of a bird across the sky. " -- and her hand left ... her hand was covered in blood. When I looked up, the gardens were all in ruin. Rotting away. And Pansy. Pansy was naked, and as she held her hands out to me ..." Malfoy closed his eyes, tilting his face up to the sky. He raked two fingers carelessly across his cheek, leaving a smear of faint purple marring his pale skin. "She bled, from a hundred different places ... all over her body, little wounds opening, like this. She bled fire."

"Brutalized." The word came out of Harry before he could stop it. Malfoy cocked his head.

"What?"

"McGonagall said ... that she was brutalized." He said the words to his feet. He didn't want to know anymore, didn't want to hear what he knew Malfoy was going to say next.

Malfoy clucked his tongue, and grinned slyly. "Brutalized?" he asked. "Is that what they're calling rape nowadays? What won't those Mudbloods think of next?"

Harry's eyes closed on their own. Hermione had been fond of referring to Pansy Parkinson as some sort of variety of troll. He didn't know whether he felt bad because he had laughed, knowing what a bitch she was to Hermione, or whether it was simple horror. He didn't want to think about it. Cedric's face, frozen in shock, smeared with dirt from the grave, rose into his mind and he hurriedly shoved it away. If just Malfoy's arm looks like that then what does she look like? He couldn't help picturing it: Pansy, laid out on scorched earth, limbs fused together from the fire, her body afforded a last bit of modesty in death because it was no longer recognizable as human. It was all Harry could do to keep from retching.

He combed his fingers through the grass at his feet, searching for a stone. He kept his eyes shut, feeling his way along the ground by touch, trying to push away all thought. The sun on his face, the wet dirt underneath the grass, the sounds of the animals and, faintly, Sirius and Lupin shouting at each other; that was all he could feel, all he knew. And then, something warm underneath his fingertips. He opened his eyes.

Malfoy recoiled as if he had been stung, yanking his bare foot away, and Harry looked at his fingertips, and then up into Malfoy's face. Their eyes met. Slowly, Malfoy reached down with his uninjured hand and rubbed at the place where Harry had touched, as if Harry had punched him smartly on the toes instead of brushed his hand against them, but his eyes ... they were unsteady as they looked at Harry, and his lip attempted to curl but ended up caught between his teeth instead. It wasn't the same expression that he had seen on Malfoy's face a week earlier, when Remus had taken that burnt hand between both of his and somehow stripped away all secrets, but it was close. Harry's breath caught.

It lasted only a moment. Malfoy's lips moved, ever so slightly, as if he was going to speak, and then his eyes were flickering up and over Harry's shoulder, and narrowing, the vulnerability that had been so visible only a moment before gone as if it had never been, and he was on his feet and moving away before Harry could even think to react. Harry's head whipped around in bewilderment, but when he saw Sirius moving towards him, a rather disgruntled expression on his face, he understood.

"What was that about?" Sirius asked as he hunkered down beside Harry.

Harry shrugged, and reached for the lavender shreddings that lay abandoned in the grass. He turned the largest between his fingers, staring fixedly at it. "Is it all true?" He could feel the tension ebbing out from between his shoulder blades, his confusion melting away, at least a little. Sirius was someone who he could trust -- who he could relate to.

Sirius grunted. "Depends on what he told you."

"He said you guys are cousins."

Sirius' face darkened, and shrugged. "On his mother's side, yeah."

"How come you never told me?"

"Well, it's not very important, is it? I didn't even think they'd still count me as family. I was disowned a long time ago."

"Oh." Harry was quiet for a few minutes. He sorted the lavender pieces into four groups and then scattered them again. "What about the rest of it?"

Sirius was silent, considering. They watched Malfoy's progress across the field opposite the pond as he headed towards the edge of the Farmhouse's protective wards. "Yeah," Sirius said at last. "It was bad enough that he wouldn't need to lie about it. They put his memories into a Pensieve - that's a sort of device - "

"I know what it is. I found one in Dumbledore's office last year."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Well, anyway, Dumbledore told Remus and me what they saw. The girl broke free when they were trying to put the Dark Mark on her, and ran to him." He jerked a thumb at Malfoy, who had reached the edge of Remus' property and was now apparently attempting to coax one of those miniature cows closer. Sirius continued, "They held onto each other through all of it, even when they burned her."

"That's what happened to his hand?" Sirius nodded. Across the pond, Malfoy let out a squeal as the cow licked his outstretched hand.

"What nobody's been able to figure out yet is why this happened. Voldemort and his little stoolies never did anything like this before, in the war. What was terrifying back then was how many people were getting killed, not ... not this."

They sat in silence for a long time. Sirius combed the blades of grass in front of him, picking and discarding several pieces before carefully fitting one between his thumbs, lifting it to his mouth and blowing. Harry laughed as Malfoy's head whipped up at the resulting honk, and his expression of complete bewilderment only made Harry laugh harder. Their eyes met across the pond, and they regarded each other for a moment. Malfoy's mouth twisted into a wry line, and he turned his back on Harry with a flick of his head that brought a prick of mingled irritation and amusement from Harry.

"Well, anyway," Sirius said. Harry looked back to his godfather. "I did come out here to tell you something important. I'm going on a mission for Dumbledore - going undercover as a loveable stray again. He wants me to check out a few places - old Death Eater haunts, mostly - to see if I can find any activity."

"Oh." Harry looked down at the ground, trying to hide his disappointment. What was he supposed to do if Sirius was gone? "How long are you going to be away?"

"Only a week or so, hopefully. I'll be back before the full moon, I've promised that much." Sirius rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, smiling. "I'll need you to look after old worry-wart in there, ok? Make sure he eats and bathes and all that. And keep an eye on that Malfoy kid - make sure he doesn't run off with the good silver or anything. Not that Remus has any good silver. If he did I'd make him sell it and buy himself some decent robes." Sirius grinned at him. Harry forced a smile.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight," Sirius replied. He stretched his arms above his head, scrunching his face up. "Cover of night and all that stuff."

"Oh."

Sirius frowned. "You'll be ok without me here, won't you? I'm sorry to leave you like this ... with that kid you hate and all that. I'll be back sooner than you know it, I promise." Harry shrugged.

"I'll be fine." Sirius nodded, looking unconvinced.

"Well ... I have to go apologize to Remus. I gave him a few minutes to calm down. He's just a tad upset about this, as you might have heard. We'll talk some more later, ok?" Harry nodded. Sirius reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, and then picked himself up to trot back to the house. He watched Lupin's blurry figure move close to the kitchen window, and open the door right as Sirius reached it. This time, when Sirius put a hand up to touch Lupin's face, it was not rejected.

"Dingwall Gins."

Harry jumped, and whirled around. He hadn't even noticed Malfoy circle back around the pond, but there he was, standing less than two feet away from Harry. Malfoy smiled winningly down at him, an expression that Harry found to be more than a little eerie. "What did you say?" he stammered.

Malfoy cocked his head and rolled his eyes, and all the while that smile remained on his face. Harry found himself getting a little nervous. "Dingwall Gins." He seated himself gracefully next to Harry, closer than he had been earlier. "That's what those things are called." He gestured with his bandaged hand. "Remus told me about them. They breathe fire."

"That's .... interesting," Harry replied cautiously. "I was wondering what they were. Why do they need to breathe fire?" The winning smile turned into a smirk.

"All the better to roast inquisitive minds like yourself."

"Why haven't you been roasted yourself then?" Harry shot back. Malfoy held up his arm and waggled his fingers to the best of his ability, which wasn't very much, and grinned. Harry felt his neck warming beneath his collar and felt color flush his cheeks. "Fine. But why haven't the cows gotten you, then?"

"Ah. That's another story entirely. You see, I'm simply not a very curious person. I have very few questions in life."
"Liar."

"Show-off."

"Prat."

Malfoy stuck his tongue out.

"Beat you," Harry said.

"Never. A Malfoy always has an insult ready."

"What, like Scarhead?"

"One of my finest," Malfoy replied indignantly. They sat in silence.

"Dingwall Gins, huh?" Harry asked. Malfoy nodded sagely.

"You know, I had wondered why they reminded me of a certain junior member of the Weasley herd." Harry looked at him. Malfoy pursed his lips and waved a hand across the pond at the Gins. "Well, look at them. It's that 'spitfire redhead' thing."

"Not to mention all the mooing noises," Harry said, and then felt rather shocked with himself. Malfoy looked shocked as well, and then he burst out laughing.

"My my, Scarhead, maybe you're not as nice as I thought."

"Speak for yourself, Ferret." Malfoy's eyes widened dramatically.

"You said the 'F' word! That's not fair!"

"Ferret. Ferret ferret ferret."

Malfoy pushed him over. Harry fell onto his side, laughing breathlessly. He grinned up at Malfoy, and Malfoy, bizarrely enough, grinned back.

"Harry! Draco!"

They turned as one; Remus was standing in the open doorway, gesturing for them to come inside. "Nobody's had anything to eat yet," he called again. "Come in now." They looked back to each other.

"Scarhead."

Harry laughed again, and pushed himself to his feet. Malfoy stared up at him with a bemused expression on his face. They studied each other silently, appraising, and then Harry stuck out his hand. "Come on, Ferret." Malfoy simply looked at it for a moment, and then took his hand, allowing Harry to help him up. He wiped his hand on his jeans, eyeing Harry carefully.

In what seemed a small gesture of truce, they crossed the threshold together.