Casualties of War

It was three days since the full moon, and Remus was feeling just fine, thanks for asking. Better than fine, in fact. Other than a slight stiffness in Sirius' behaviour during the last few days, everything was just dandy. He had woken up a few hours past sunrise, feeling better after a transformation than he had in years. It was more than the sex, more than the company, and Remus thought that perhaps it was, simply, sheer relief. He hadn't stopped believing that it would happen again - the halted change, the agony that made his usual transformations seem weak in comparison - that he would die this time, or worse, be left crippled and helpless. When he had woken up whole, the sun well above the horizon, the feeling had been indescribable.

Sirius hadn't felt the same way, it seemed. When Remus had come downstairs, feeling remarkably refreshed considering that it was early enough that Harry and Draco weren't awake yet, he had found Sirius sitting in the shuttered den, slouched low into the lumpy couch with the record player unravelling a spidery, haunting fairy tale.

"I didn't know you liked Tom Waits," Remus had said, sitting carefully down beside him so that their sides pressed together.

He had been too addled at the time to think anything of it when Sirius only pulled away and grunted, "I don't. Put it on because he looked like a crazy person, on the album cover."

In the days that followed, however, as Sirius kept pulling away and didn't touch him and shrugged more than he talked, it nagged in Remus' mind.

The sensible voice in his head bothered him when he didn't pursue the matter, didn't annoy Sirius into telling him what was wrong, barely even asked about it. The last time he had ignored Sirius acting weird, he had told himself that Sirius was just being an idiot and if something was on his mind he could bloody well say something. But Sirius never had, and Halloween of 1981 came and went, taking everyone that Remus cared about with it. Despite past experiences, Remus still found it easier to ignore that voice; to pretend that he was too busy with Harry and Draco, and the spell books that Severus had left him, to bother with Sirius' tantrums. He had his secret, after all, that he hid from Sirius, and whatever was bothering Sirius was most likely connected to that. Remus would gladly admit he was unwilling to be honest about ... that. And besides, he really did have his hands full with Harry and Draco, as he told himself time and again.

Remus couldn't help smiling as a pair of grey eyes followed him as he moved from one end of the kitchen to the other, melting cheese onto their sandwiches with his wand, gathering up tea bags and mugs and napkins. Draco was still damp from his shower, and looked quite young as he perched on the counter, perpetually in Remus' way, and watched him fix lunch. He had been following Remus around most of the morning, peppering him with questions, observations, and gossip about his classmates. In the space of an hour, Remus had learned that Blaise Zabini going out with a Hufflepuff, Terry Boot had smuggled Muggle cigarettes into Hogwarts and that two sixth-year Ravenclaws had gotten sick smoking them, and Millicent Bulstrode had had a crush on Snape since second year.

They took lunch outside. Draco flung himself onto the grass before Remus could summon chairs, so Remus levered himself carefully onto the ground, enjoying the feel of the grass on his ankles. He ignored the ache that sprang into his hips, a bit of fresh agony on top of the quiver in his torso, his system still recovering from a bout of sickness earlier in the morning, before anyone else had risen. Harry and Sirius' shadows dappled the long grass as they soared above it, chasing each other and floating bits of rock scattered in the air. He could hear Harry laughing, and when he looked up, Harry's head was thrown back, his teeth showing as he grinned, his words unintelligible to the two on the ground as he shouted to Sirius.

Remus looked back to find Draco also watching Harry. The boy's eyes flickered back down as he noticed Remus looking at him, and he flushed slightly. Remus smiled beatifically at him, and after a moment, Draco bit his lip and returned the smile.

"You're so weird, Remus," he said, and turned his attention to his sandwich.

Remus laughed, bringing his mug of tea up to his lips. "Well," he said, which really wasn't a response at all, but Draco's smile widened regardless.

Remus watched out of the corner of his eye as Draco ate. It would have been admirable, he thought, to see how well he's adapted to losing the use of an arm, except he shouldn't have lost it in the first place. When Draco had arrived at the Farmhouse, the burn had stopped about halfway up his forearm. Now that it extended far past his elbow, Draco had lost most of the ability to bend or flex his arm. It sat unmoving in his lap while he meticulously ate the crusts off of his sandwich.

"Are you still having nightmares?" Remus asked quietly.

Draco looked up, startled, and shook his head. "You?"

Remus nodded. "Sometimes."

"Does Sirius know?"

"I don't think so."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Draco picked his sandwich back up and began to nibble again, chasing his small bites with sips of tea.

"How are your fingers?"

Draco lifted his injured arm and held the hand out, palm up. His fingers trembled and slowly squeezed together. Draco's expression was pained, but he opened the fist back up grimly before settling it back into his lap.

The burn had grown significantly three nights ago, seeming to coincide with the stress of being attacked by a werewolf, coupled with whatever else had happened that night, which Draco refused to tell him. Maybe, Remus mused, whatever curse had seemingly wormed its way into Draco's system was encouraged by traumatic events or powerful emotions. He'd have to Floo Severus about it, he decided.

"Tell me the gillyweed story."

Remus choked on his tea.

He levelled a hard stare at Draco, who was beaming innocently at him, and suddenly Remus understood why so many his former students had believed that the young Slytherin was evil. Remus shook his head. "I don't think so."

Draco rolled his eyes, but seemed to take it in stride. "Potter really is an idiot, you know," he said conspiratorially. "He doesn't believe me about you and Sirius. After we went into your room the other night, he was wondering about why you hadn't transfigured separate beds."

Remus frowned. "Sirius hasn't spoken to him about it, then?" And then, "How do you know?"

Draco flushed, grinning. "I used to see you and Professor Snape together sometimes, during third year, and it seemed sort of obvious that there was something else between you, and when I came here ... and wasn't Sirius holding your hand in the hospital?"

"I can't really remember," Remus said absently, glancing up into the sky. Sirius spotted him and waved furiously. Remus lifted a hand in response, smiling, and then turned it around to crook his fingers in a 'come here' gesture. Sirius pulled up on his broom, nearly causing a collision as Harry barrelled towards him, diving into a Wronski Feint only at the last second.

Harry reached them first, tumbling off his broom, his colour high from the wind. He grinned madly at them, diving for the plate of sandwiches. Draco looked appalled as Harry pushed an entire half of a sandwich into his mouth. "Where did you learn a trick like that?" Draco asked icily. "I hope it was Weasley. Or are Muggles really that foul?"

Harry, his mouth full of sandwich, didn't bother with a verbal reply; he simply pushed Draco over. Draco sputtered. Sirius laughed, seating himself sedately on the ground next to Harry. He didn't look at Remus as he plucked a pear from the tray and studied it carefully.

"So what have you two been talking about?" he asked Draco.

"Remus was just about to tell me the gillyweed story," Draco answered promptly.

Sirius smirked. "Oh, I'm sure he was."

Remus coughed slightly. "Actually, there was something I've been meaning to do," he said, withdrawing a thin volume from his robe, noticing how Sirius avoided looking at it. The two boys regarded it with vague curiosity.

Remus had been surprised when Sirius had given him the spell book, and even more so when he had said it came from Snape, who had apparently appeared at the Farmhouse while Remus was sleeping the full moon off. Draco had confirmed this; Snape had woken him at sunrise and given him a scarf woven with tiny beaded Charms, presumably for protection. Harry, like Remus, had slept through the visit.

When Remus had realized what book Severus had brought, he had hidden it away from Sirius immediately. Severus had been right; it was exactly what he was looking for. And there was really no reason for Sirius to know why; it would only make things even more tense than they were already. He would tell Sirius when he was ready, when the time was right.

Draco reached for the book, but Remus pulled it out of reach without thinking. He smiled at Draco's confused frown, a little irritated with himself that he was defensive even with the boys. "I already know the spell, there's no need for you to look at it. All I wanted to ask is if you two would feel comfortable with ... a little extra protection."

"Protection from what?" Draco wanted to know.

Harry flicked him on the arm. "Voldemort, I'm guessing. Right, Professor?" he said, and then looked embarrassed that he had called Remus by his old title, again. Draco flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name.

Remus nodded, smiling. "He's been very quiet lately ... there haven't been any other attacks that we know of since he was ... resurrected, other than the one against you, Draco. However, obviously, we are still worried. So I was hoping that you two wouldn't mind if I put an extra protection Charm on you?"

They shrugged, nearly in unison.

Remus smiled. "Well, in that case."

He tapped his wand against his own chest, and then laid the point over his heart. "Mors Tutela," he whispered softly.

Harry and Draco watched silently. Their looks of mild fascination changed to amazement as Remus slowly, carefully pulled his wand away from his body, and strings of red light trailed afterwards. Remus gritted his teeth as he pulled them to arm's length, gathering the taffy-like strands of energy in his other hand. They coalesced slowly, spinning around his fingers until they formed a sphere that floated above his palm.

"Pretty," Draco said appreciatively.

Remus could feel Sirius' eyes, heavy upon him. He didn't look; couldn't look, for fear of Sirius being able to see the spell's true nature in his face. He studied, instead, the way that the light from his soul played over the faces of the two it was meant to protect. He smiled, and, raising the sphere level with his face, blew softly. Draco squeaked as the light coated them, and Harry laughed helplessly, as though it tickled.

Remus sighed, unconsciously rubbing at the spot he had just touched his wand to. It twinged, and it would probably be an annoyance for the rest of the day, but as the Charm took effect, the light vanishing into the boys' skin, he felt part of the weight on his heart lift, just a bit. No matter what would come, he had done this much at least.

By dinnertime, Remus and Sirius had at least managed to look each other in the eye a few times, mostly whilst cooly discussing what was going to happen tomorrow: whether the Floo had been hooked up as planned and whether Molly had bought what they had asked her to get. In truth, Remus couldn't bring himself to care very much about Sirius' emotional constipation, and as the day wore on they only became more and more irritated with each other, to the point that even Harry noticed, over dinner.

Harry kicked Malfoy's ankle underneath the dinner table. Malfoy, a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth, glared at him. He nodded in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner towards Remus and then Sirius, and Malfoy rolled his eyes at him and went back to eating. Harry kicked him again; Malfoy kicked back.

"Children, please," Sirius sighed heavily in a very put-upon tone, before taking the opportunity to kick them both. Remus put his face in his hands, shaking with silent laughter. Harry grinned while Malfoy took his revenge, trading kicks with Sirius under the table. For the first time in three days, when Harry had woken up to see Malfoy sitting up on his bed, fingering the Charmed scarf that Snape had given him while Harry slept, the air between all of them was comfortable. And, Harry recognized suddenly, he felt like part of a family. He could tell how stupid the smile that broke out on his face was by the look that Malfoy gave him, before he smiled back.

Harry and Malfoy had gone to sit outside after dinner, silently working on their summer essays. Harry could sense Malfoy sneaking glances at him from time to time, but only smiled to himself and kept working. Malfoy gnawed on his quill, his brow furrowed. Ink dripped unnoticed onto his hand. After a time, he set his books aside and wrapped his good arm around his knees, staring up at the sky. The moon was just beginning to show its face again, high above them, and Harry looked up too. A pair of Gins stood by the lake, looking mournfully at where they sat with fragrant mugs of cocoa and fruit that had been forced upon them when they had excused themselves from dinner. Harry ate an apple thoughtfully, counting the stars.

"Potter," Malfoy said, breaking the long silence. Harry looked over to him. Malfoy wasn't looking at him; his gaze was still fixed to the night sky. "What time is it?"

Harry set his quill down and pulled up the sleeve of his jumper to check his watch. "Er, wow. I hadn't noticed we'd been out here so long. It's a little after midnight."

Malfoy looked satisfied, for some reason. "That's what I thought." He turned to stare expectantly at Harry, who blinked.

Malfoy frowned. "You do know what day it is now, don't you?" he said slowly.

Harry rolled his eyes up, thinking. "No," he said at last.

"It's July the thirty-first," Malfoy said, his lip curling into something that wasn't quite a sneer.

Harry blinked again. "Oh." He blushed, looking down at his feet. "Oh yeah."

Malfoy huffed, but didn't say anything, and they sat in silence.

Abruptly, Harry felt something warm brush against his hand. He looked over at Malfoy, startled. Malfoy's expression was hidden behind his hair, but Harry could see those familiar hectic spots appear above his cheekbones. Slowly, cautiously, he felt fingers push in underneath his, curling around his palm.

"Happy birthday, you prat," Malfoy said in a low voice.

Harry shifted his hand so that their fingers laced together. "Thanks."

The morning of Harry Potter's fifteenth birthday dawned a dismal, wet grey. It was sunny in the Farmhouse's warm weather bubble, however, and Harry had nearly twisted off the bed in his sleep, trying to get away from encroaching sunbeams. By the time he finally awoke, his head was neatly wedged between the bed and the wall, and he wasn't entirely sure where his legs had ended up.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His limbs moved sluggishly to untangle themselves from each other, and he looked around in bemusement. Malfoy was curled into himself on the other bed, the sheets twisted around him as always, his face hidden behind the arm flung up beside it.

A year ago Harry had been at the Dursleys', waiting for owls from a godfather he barely knew, hiding his cakes and presents underneath the floorboards again. Who could have possibly imagined he'd wake up sharing a room with Draco Malfoy, of all people, and living with his godfather and the professor who had been so important to him in third year?

Harry slipped his glasses onto his face and pushed himself to his feet. One step, two steps, and then he was standing with his knees pressed up against Malfoy's bed, grinning down at the other boy's sleeping form and feeling like more than a bit of an idiot.

"Malfoy," he called softly, and reached down to tug Malfoy's ankle, which was pulled up nearly to his chest, back and forth. Malfoy tensed, but only grabbed his pillow with his good hand and shoved it over his face.

"Shove off, Potter," he growled.

"Get up, you berk. I'm hungry."

The pillow was peeled back slowly, revealing a tuft of mussed hair and a single, malevolent eye. "Make me my breakfast, and I'll get up."

Harry folded his arms and did his best to look unyielding.

"Make me some tea," Malfoy amended, his mouth quirked. "And let's play Quodpot today."

Harry beamed and stuck out a hand. "That sounds alright."

Malfoy allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, straightening his sleeves imperiously. "I need to get dressed," he said haughtily, and pulled his t-shirt off as if changing in front of each other was something they did normally.

All of the blood in Harry's body - except for a bit that we'll just ignore - rushed to his face, and he turned away quickly, hoping that Malfoy hadn't noticed. "G-good idea," he stammered, hunting around near his bed for his jeans and a clean shirt. Malfoy pushed his pyjama bottoms off and slid quickly into his trousers. Harry did his best not to look, pulling his shirt down over his head and hoping that his blush would be gone by the time the shirt was settled around his torso. It wasn't, of course.

Malfoy surveyed him silently, his hands on his hips. "You wore that shirt yesterday."

Harry rolled his eyes, obscurely relieved. "It's my birthday. I think I can have a little leeway on how clean my clothes are."

Malfoy shook his head decisively. "No. At least not around me. And I'm going to kick your ass at Quodpot."

He turned away and Harry nearly reeled, the strangeness of the moment over almost before it had began.

They left their room laughing, pushing a bit to see who went through the door first. Beauty before age, Malfoy said, until Harry pointed out that Malfoy was older than he was. This had earned him a light shove as he managed to squeeze past Malfoy and gain the hallway first. If either one of them noticed that Malfoy's hands lingered on Harry's shoulders a little longer than necessary as he jumped past Harry and onto the stairs, they didn't say anything.

"I've changed my mind. You're going to make me tea, and kippers and toast with strawberry jam and -"

Malfoy's breath cut off with a soft huff and Harry collided with his shoulder.

"Malfoy, what - ?"

That was when he caught sight of who was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" Ron and Hermione cried.

A warm glow flared inside of him at the sight of his two best friends, and he moved forward, grinning stupidly as he took the stairs two at a time. Hermione immediately threw herself onto him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat.

"Surprise," Ron grinned, when she released him. Harry couldn't stop smiling. "Sirius and Lupin arranged it."

"Harry, we've been so worried about you! I was so glad when Ron - Ron actually used the telephone correctly, did you hear? - called and told me that Professor Lupin was all right and that you were going to live with him and Sirius but then he was saying his dad had said that Malfoy was going to be there too and why would Dumbledore ever decide to - "

"What are you hiding there, Malfoy?"

Harry turned, momentarily mystified by Ron's sharp tone. Hermione was startled into silence, her monologue cut off so abruptly that Harry almost thought he heard her teeth click together.

Malfoy was still standing where Harry had left him, one hand on the banister, his right hand hidden behind his back. Harry's throat closed. Malfoy's face was perfectly expressionless, his silver eyes wide and blank. He blinked twice as Harry, Ron and Hermione's attention turned abruptly to him, and when his chin lifted Harry almost groaned with frustration.

"It's not money, Weasel," Malfoy sneered. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." His expression had transformed, and with vague alarm Harry realized that he recognized it, and could differentiate it from Malfoy's normal sneering demeanour. When Malfoy was feeling superior, when he had said something cruel that had really hit its mark, his upper lip curled and his eyebrows rose. As Ron called Malfoy a word he certainly wouldn't have used around his mother, Malfoy's nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, and suddenly Harry realized that this was Malfoy on the defensive.

"Ron," Harry said, and when Ron looked at him his mind went blank.

Unfortunately, Malfoy seized the opportunity before Harry could even begin to imagine a defence of Malfoy that Ron wouldn't recoil in horror from, mincing down the steps with his hand still behind his back, until he was only a few feet away from the trio. Hermione glowered at him.

"Don't worry, Potter," Malfoy said loftily. "I'm sure he wasn't going to say anything clever enough to actually hurt my ickle feewings."

Harry turned around to fully face Malfoy, stepping forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Malfoy's chin lifted, and he swayed forward, almost imperceptibly, and Harry caught the warm scent of him, of bedclothes and sleep and boy.

"Malfoy," he growled. "Behave."

Malfoy recoiled instantly, his cheeks flushing as if Harry had slapped him hard across the face, rather than say two short words.

"Don't - don't you dare," Malfoy hissed. "Speak to me that way."

To Harry's astonishment, Malfoy pushed by him roughly, hitting his shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him backwards, and passed by Ron and Hermione without even a second glance. Harry watched him go, feeling his mouth hang open but unable to really do anything about it.

"What was that about?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged.

"What happened to his hand?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry looked at her, and hesitated. "I think maybe we should go in the den or outside or something, before I tell you. It's a long story."

When Draco Malfoy stomped through the kitchen and out the door with hardly a pause, Arthur Weasley couldn't help but feel a bit concerned.

He had felt the tension in the household as soon as they had arrived at Remus' house, which had been connected to the Floo network for the next day or two. As soon as they had stood up in the cramped den, coughing the ashes from the rarely used Floo from their lungs, Arthur had noticed the hard look around Remus' eyes that signalled there was a problem.

Sirius had been as chatty and cheerful as ever, his laughter only a little bit fake as they arranged presents, enlarged the birthday cake and put up a little bit of bunting, but Arthur had been well-trained by Molly to pick up the most subtle of signals: the way Remus seemed to touch the things around him as little as possible, the way he made tea instead of conversation, even when Hermione Granger was fairly following him around, trying to engage him in conversation about some undoubtably enormous book of obscure dark spells that she had found recently.

"Has there been any word from Hagrid?"

Sirius's voice broke through Arthur's thoughts. Arthur lifted his chin and accepted his third cup of tea from Remus. "Hmm?"

Sirius repeated the question, and Arthur sighed. "It hasn't been going very well. They made contact with the Gurg, and negotiations were proceeding quite smoothly, but the last we've heard from Hagrid and Maxime is that there's already a new Gurg, and he isn't quite as friendly."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his expression impatient. "We should have known this was a bad idea. What else, is there anything new?"

Arthur looked from Remus to Sirius. "Well," he said. "There's a rumour at the Ministry that Dolores Umbridge might take the vacant Defence Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts this autumn." Remus made a soft growling noise between his teeth at this, and turned away abruptly to fix himself another cup of tea. "As far as You-Know-Who is concerned, nothing. No attacks on Muggles; no suspicious deaths. We think he may be lying low, trying not to draw attention to himself until he's built his army up again."

Remus nodded slowly, his thin frame - thinner than Arthur recalled - propped against the counter as he dropped a lump of sugar in his tea. He didn't look up when he spoke. "But Albus is still worried about the curse on Draco."

Sirius made an impatient noise. Arthur glanced out the kitchen window, where Lucius' son had vanished into the woods. "Of course."

"Albus wouldn't have placed him with us," Remus said levelly, looking straight at Arthur for nearly the first time since he'd arrived. "If he believed we couldn't handle Draco's ... situation."

Sirius straightened. "But Albus still doesn't know what's wrong with the boy, does he? It would be foolish not to be worried, especially since there hasn't been any activity from the Death Eaters."

Arthur cleared his throat, turning the teacup around and around between his fingers. He didn't want to get into the middle. He had always been perfectly content to leave the running of things and arguing to Molly; she was just so darn capable, it would have been silly of him not to. When he spoke, it was measured, careful, and above all, neutral.

"There were rumours that You-Know-Who was planning to break into the Ministry - into the Department of Mysteries," he said, giving them a significant look. "But now the situation seems to have changed, with the death of the Parkinson girl and Lucius' son ending up in our hands, which would be suspicious in itself, considering the boy's reputation and past history of supporting the Death Eaters - "

"He's barely fifteen -" Remus snapped, but Sirius cut him off before he could say anything else.

"Let the man speak."

Arthur blinked unhappily at them. "When Snape exposed himself by saving your life, Remus, we lost our only eye into You-Know-Who's operation. As far as the Order is concerned, we've already taken too many casualties to be acceptable. I've lost my son. They were able to destroy our headquarters only a few weeks before the rest of the Order would have taken up residence there. To concentrate not only the two of you, but Harry Potter as well, in one place with the child of one of You-Know-Who's most loyal supporters ... I'm sure you can understand why Albus considers this a very dangerous situation. He has begun to look for, well, other options."

He was met with silence. Not even Sirius looked happy at the idea of Draco being handed off to someone else. Remus, behind his tea cup, looked as though he had half a mind to march down to Hogwarts and tell Albus off directly for it.

Remus set his tea cup down on the counter top. He had never been one for slamming dishes, Arthur thought. "This is ridiculous to even discuss," he said, his voice flat. "Draco will be staying with us." With that he turned on his heel and stalked out the door, snatching up the small tent bag that had been brought down from Remus' attic the day before. The door shut firmly behind him, and Arthur and Sirius stared silently at each other for a long moment.

Sirius sighed. "It is a bad idea, you know. To take him away from the only people that he trusts - if for nothing else than the boy's own well-being." He paused, and added thoughtfully, "I never thought I'd be concerned about the well-being of someone related to me."

Arthur sipped his tea solemnly. "I'll talk to Albus about this. I have to be honest with you, Sirius, Draco Malfoy's presence here makes me quite nervous. I suppose only time will tell what's right, though."

Sirius' eyes were bleak. "I don't think we have that kind of time, Arthur."

When Mr. Weasley left, Harry, Ron and Hermione were shuffled out of the den by Sirius, given snacks, and sent outside with no explanation. Remus was standing in the yard, his hands planted on his hips, his face set in a hard line. Three Dingwall Gins, who had been considerably close to the house, fled at the approach of the teenagers, who sat on the ground when Remus refused their help with the pile of tent material he was glaring at. They were quiet; Ron and Hermione presumably considering the story that Harry had just finished telling them, Harry wondering where the hell Malfoy had gone. He scanned the edge of the woods and the other side of the lake anxiously, a stone in the pit of his stomach that he refused to believe was guilt.

Hermione set her mug of pumpkin juice on the grass decisively, and looked at Harry. "I still think it would be a bad idea to trust Malfoy." Ron nodded in agreement.

Harry stared at them both. "Why? I mean, what could he possibly do? You've barely seen him at all, but ... when he got here, he didn't even talk for a week. It took him forever to start making fun of me or ... or anything." The memory of Malfoy's hand in his made his face uncomfortably warm.

"Have you forgotten what he said on the train, Harry?" Hermione asked earnestly. She brushed a thick hand of hair out of her face distractedly, digging her toes into the grass as she spoke. Remus glanced over to them, his expression unreadable, and then looked back to the tent. Harry watched as Remus flicked his wand, the tents inflating and steadying themselves on the uneven ground.

" 'They'll be the first to go'," Hermione said, leaning forward.

"I know," Harry mumbled.

" 'Mudbloods and Muggle- lovers fi - "

"I know!"

Suddenly he was on his feet, his fists clenched, his faced suffused with blood. Hermione fell silent at the look on his face. Ron stared at him, agape.

"I know what he said, and I know how horrible he's been to us for so long but - but even after I tell you two what happened to him you don't seem to understand!" he said, the words tumbling over themselves in a rush to get out of his brain, his own confusion and indescribable emotions towards Malfoy pouring out of him and mixing with frustration. The feeling of unease that had been prickling at him the entire time Ron and Hermione had been sitting, staring, listening to his explanations and not hearing a word, increased desperately. "Anybody would be different after having something like that happened and - don't look at me like that! You've never had to face him, have you? It's like everybody think it's just about throwing some spells at him or getting lucky, but nobody even knows what it's like. Like the Death Eaters and Voldemort just go around and all they do is kill people, and that the worst thing you have to fear from them is being dead. But it isn't like that - you can't even think because they don't just kill people, they rape them and burn them alive, and you might be only a second away from being murdered, or tortured, and you have to watch your friends die - and I never even liked Pansy Parkinson - "

"All right, mate," Ron said, his face stricken. "We didn't mean anything. Honest." Hermione nodded vigorously. She looked on the verge of tears. "Look, let's ... er, there's presents, and cake and all, inside."

Harry blinked, still breathing hard. Abruptly, the last thing he wanted to do was fight with his best friends. He took a deep breath, pushing his anger away. "You guys brought a cake?" he asked, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice. What kind of cake?"

"Lemon," Ron replied.

"Oh good," Harry said. "My favourite."

Draco stood silently in the forest beyond the Farmhouse's protective weather bubble. His entire body trembled. He didn't flinch from the icy rain that had already soaked him nearly through. He stared, scowling, into the woods, his eyes unfocused and seeing nothing. His hands were balled into fists, which would have been agony in his burned hand if he were feeling anything at all.

Anger had, at first, consumed him. That idiot bastard Potter, siding with his idiot bastard friends again and again and again. But as the rain soaked through his clothes and matted his hair onto his face, anger had transformed itself into a nameless dread, a panic without any coherent reason or words. His head had begun to swim, his fingers and legs had begun to shake, and he had had to sit at the base of a tree before his body could collapse underneath him. Dirt had turned into mud on his jumper and trousers. He was nearly unrecognisable as the person he had been before, the Slytherin, the prat, the leader.

It was ridiculous, he had thought earlier, when he had been sitting, nearly paralysed under the tree. After everything he had gone through - and I got through it and I survived - and still a stupid dismissal from Potter could undo him, make him stomp away and run off to pout in the forest.

A low moan escaped his throat, surprising him, and he clapped a hand over his mouth before realising that there wasn't even a Dingwall Gin around to hear him. He lowered his hand slowly, noting without emotion the half-circle bruises that had formed on his palm, where his nails had bit into the skin.

Because he had failed. Because he hadn't really survived, not really. Not if this could still happen to him, that quick squeeze of panic around his chest and the dry sobs that he couldn't keep in forever. Not if he still couldn't think of Pansy without thinking of that husk in the forest, the beat of her heart against his chest as he failed her, failed Remus, failed his father and Professor Snape and while I'm blaming myself for everything, he thought, for failing Harry Potter. For not living up to his standards. For being the one that Harry Potter Doesn't Like, a threat that his tutor had used to keep him in good behaviour: Harry Potter wouldn't want to be friends with a boy who'd kill their Puffskein , would he? Harry Potter wouldn't like a child who said that word to his mother.

Pansy had told him to get over it, and had only sniffed and laughed when he had pointed out how much she liked to antagonize Granger. Pansy, who had never taken anything as seriously as he did. Pansy, who had taken honest delight in that stupid pink dress her mother had picked out for her last term. Pansy who could simply roll her eyes and make him laugh, no matter what sort of self-righteous fervour he had worked himself into.

Draco sank to his knees and let his head drop. His hair, already due for a trim before his father had taken him to the Forbidden Forest, fell forward into his eyes and it was almost enough, to be trapped behind white-blonde light and the sound of the rain dripping through the leaves. The rain isolated him, held him, and it was nearly an hour before he could unlock his legs and push the hair from his face, not knowing that he was strong enough to see the world again until he was standing on shaky legs.

Remus met him in the fields that edged along the forest, bearing a moth-eaten but dry robe. And if Draco notised that the discoloured patch on the breast was a Gryffindor emblem that had been Charmed away, he made no comment. He only leaned forward slightly as they blinked at each other, not quite daring to ask for comfort, not quite daring to cry when Remus hesitantly gathered him into a tight embrace.

Thank you was what he meant to say, but all that came out, tumbling over and over in meaningless syllables, was "I'm sorry."