Casualties of War

Harry Potter could not sleep.

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable - the Muggle tent that had been dug out of Remus' attic was not as spacious as the one the Weasleys' had brought to the Quidditch World Cup, but it didn't smell of cats, either. It wasn't noise, either: Seamus' snoring had dulled Harry's hearing over the years - Ron's snoring paled in comparison - and the occasional lowing of a Dingwall Gin in the fields outside was comforting. He was warm, he was full of cake and sweets, and yet he couldn't sleep.

He had been feeling odd all day. Malfoy's absence had nagged on him, of course, but he had been feeling uncomfortable and anxious for reasons he hadn't really wanted to examine. He hadn't done very well at faking enjoying the company of his friends, and every time he had gone to the loo or run upstairs to get a book, he had come back to find Ron and Hermione engaged in furious, whispered arguments - which they broke off at once, lapsing into a guilty silence.

If Harry had been left to his own devices that summer, it was likely that he would still be wrapped up in his own anger, ready to snap at anyone who came near him, as he had done to Ron and Hermione earlier. Living with Sirius and Remus, however, he had been engaged, entertained and made to feel ... well, like he was part of a family. Watching the way that Remus and Sirius edged around each other, how decades-old wounds still seemed fresh at times; watching the way that Remus seemed to be slowly wasting away, the desperation with which Sirius clung to him, Harry had begun to understand that there were much worse things than what he was going through.

Malfoy had challenged him almost from the beginning. At Hogwarts, he had been annoying and infuriating and hateful, but Harry had never really taken it personally. Malfoy was The Other, the personification of the House of Slytherin. Dean Thomas had compared him once to a yappy little dog that was always jumping up and down for Harry's attention, and although he had laughed at the time, he hadn't really understood it. Malfoy hated him, and that was why he was such an arsehole, right? Now, now that he actually saw Malfoy for Malfoy, as Draco Malfoy and not That Arsehole ... maybe now he understood what Dean had meant, just a bit.

Harry rolled onto his side, tucking a fist underneath his cheek, and sighed. It was sort of weird that he hadn't really thought about Voldemort recently. To say that he had been busy seemed vaguely selfish, but he supposed he had been.

He almost laughed. Maybe Hermione is right and Malfoy is Voldemort's secret weapon - he keeps everyone distracted by being an annoying prat, and Voldemort sneaks up and catches us unprepared.

But that was stupid. Even if Harry could believe that Malfoy would willingly allow his father's friends to beat him nearly to death, Curse him and kill his housemate, Malfoy wasn't distracting everybody, just Remus and Sirius and Harry - well, mostly just himself, he had to admit - all of whom wouldn't have been doing much if Grimmauld Place hadn't been destroyed. Sirius would have been stuck in that house Harry had been told was an absolute hell-hole (Sirius' phrase for it) and Harry would probably be nicking papers out of bins to see if Voldemort had begun attacking Muggles yet. Merlin only knew what Remus would have been doing. Hanging out with African headhunters and painting fantastic works of art, if any of Dean's theories could be believed.

Harry turned over onto his back again, staring up at the purple canvas over him. Beside him, Ron huffed and puffed and possibly choked on a small dead animal. Hermione's side of the tent, separated from them by a complex system of zippers, was absolutely silent. Harry traced the zippers' path with his eyes, listened to himself breathe, and decided that he couldn't take it anymore.

He unzipped his sleeping bag slowly, biting his lip. Ron didn't even stir as he swung his legs out onto the ground, fumbling for his shoes and glasses. He'd just go up and check, he reasoned. Just to make sure that Malfoy hadn't got himself lost or something, although he had seen Remus striding off into the woods earlier in the day, a robe tucked under his arm.

He tilted his head back as he walked, shivering slightly, towards the kitchen door. It had been raining steadily since early afternoon; winter was coming, and coming hard. Instead of dissolving as it hit the Farmhouse's protective shield, the rain almost seemed to cascade down it, creating shooting star streams that sparkled and danced above his head. His feet stopped moving by themselves, and for a long moment he only stood still, strangely secure in the darkness, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, staring up into the stars and the rain.

The house was warm, and the heated air wrapped around him like a cocoon. He sucked air into his lungs gratefully, padding through the kitchen. The sound of the rain was muffled in the house, a warm white noise that blanketed his mind as he moved up the staircase, sliding a hand along the grain of the bannister.

It was dark in the room, and Harry stumbled over a book that he had tossed on the floor earlier, eager to get it put away and get back to his friends. He pushed his glasses up with one finger, peering towards Malfoy's bed as he crept closer through the warm darkness

Malfoy lay curled on his side, his hands stretched out in front of him. It was too early for him to be as tangled in his bed sheets as he would become; the quilt was kicked down to the foot of the bed, and the sheet was wrapped once around his waist and twice around his legs. Harry sat down gingerly on the edge of his own bed, wondering if he should wake Malfoy up. He pulled his trainers off without looking down, his eyes on the rise and fall of Malfoy's chest.

Since the full moon, and their fight in the bathroom that night, Harry had been very confused about Malfoy. He felt sort of foolish for the way things had turned out that morning, when he had forgotten Malfoy's presence on the stairs and allowed him to interact with Ron without interference, but he hadn't thought all that much about it. The way that Malfoy had touched him on the stairs, those light touches along his shoulder blades had pretty much overpowered consideration of what Malfoy's side was. There was already a lot to consider, after all: why did Malfoy make him feel so weird sometimes? Did Malfoy look at him the same way that Remus looked at Sirius, the way Harry had looked at Cho during fourth year? Did Malfoy have a crush on him? Was that even possible?

And maybe the most important question of all: Did Harry like Malfoy back?

Well, Harry thought as he climbed into bed, pulling the covers over himself, maybe. He smiled as he shut his eyes.

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Harry gasped, jolted into consciousness by a sharp pain on his neck. He hissed between his teeth, blinking rapidly to try and clear away his confusion. Malfoy was standing over him, his face pink and eyes glittering.

"What do you think you're doing up here, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. "Did your lackeys kick you out of the tent for a bit of the old in-out?"

Harry gaped eloquently. "What?" he managed.

Malfoy leaned close, unsettlingly reminiscent of Snape's loom. Harry hunched his shoulders and didn't pull away.

"I said," Malfoy leered, enunciating each syllable carefully, "what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be down in that tent with your little friends?"

"Er," Harry said. He sat up. Distressingly, Malfoy didn't move back, but stayed where he was, too close for comfort. "I wanted to make sure you were alright," he said, which sounded completely stupid in the daylight.

Malfoy smirked. "Isn't that adorable."

Finally, he moved away, scooping his clothing up from where it was laid neatly over the back of a chair. He turned back to Harry, eyes hooded. He was wearing some sort of mouldy, threadbare robe over his pajamas, Harry noticed; there was a discoloured patch where the Hogwarts insignia usually went. As they watched each other, Malfoy drew his armload of clothes up tighter to his chest, seemingly unconsciously, and quirked an eyebrow.

"You're acting weird," Harry said warily.

Malfoy hesitated at that, his hand on the doorknob. Harry could see him suck in a breath and hold it, his bottom lip disappearing under his top in a way that made him look rather vulnerable. It was gone in a flash, and Malfoy beared his teeth at Harry in an eerie version of a smile.

"I'm flattered you noticed," he said, and was gone.

Harry allowed a cautious five minutes to elapse and then got dressed, shrugging on his thickest pair of trousers and a Weasley jumper for extra warmth. He didn't always need additional layers when in the Farmhouse, but maybe if Ron and Hermione stayed for a while today, he thought, he'd take them down to the shore. He listened to the bathroom door creak open and Malfoy's footsteps go past their room and down the stairs, and tried to bludgeon his thoughts into something that made sense.

Malfoy was acting really strangely, that was certain. Although he was fairly strange anyway, Harry thought, so how the hell was he supposed to figure out why Malfoy had suddenly decided to be all prickly? Maybe Remus had convinced him to be nice to Harry's friends, and just the idea of it had made all the friendly bits of Malfoy's brain explode.

He's probably just acting like a prat because he can, Harry decided sourly, and opened the bedroom door. He'd probably have to talk to Malfoy and see what was going on, although the thought made his stomach turn upside-down. Malfoy won't be honest with me anyway, he'll just be even stupider once he knows I want to -

Harry blinked. That uncomfortable feeling in his stomach was back. He grimaced and started down the stairs. He and Malfoy had been - weird as it was to say, or even think - friends for a month now. Maybe he'd be able to talk some sense into the other boy; maybe it wouldn't be as bad as all that. He fixed that optimistic thought firmly in his mind, and went downstairs to face the day.

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If Harry had ever thought that Draco Malfoy was an obnoxious, offensive little bastard before, he had been wrong. However annoying Malfoy had ever been at Hogwarts, it paled in comparison to the way he behaved on the day after Harry's fifteenth birthday.

Ron and Hermione had come into the Farmhouse about ten minutes after Harry had warily gone downstairs. He had come upon Remus, dead asleep in his armchair in the living room, his desk in a state of disarray. Remus still hadn't woken by the time Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen from outside, looking embarrassed and more than a little hurt by Harry's presence in the house, with Malfoy, rather than outside with them. In the light of day, faced with the hard glitter in Malfoy's eyes, Harry felt a bit of an idiot for having left the tent the night before, and explanations failed him as he looked at his friends.

Sirius stumbled down after they had finished breakfast - a cold meal of cheese, apples and bread, throughout which Malfoy had glared at everyone but said nothing - looking as befuddled as Harry felt. He stood at the kitchen door silently, looking long at each of them, and then turned and walked back into the living room. They listened to him rouse Remus: Remus' muttered protests and Sirius' soft tones.

When the two of them entered the kitchen a moment later, Remus looked as exhausted as Harry had ever seen, greeting his former students vaguely. His skin had a faint green cast to it, and while Harry and Malfoy politely ignored how much Remus was pretending not to lean on Sirius for strength, Hermione stared openly, quivering with the effort of paying attention to everything and still ignore the way that Malfoy was leering at them.

Sirius took a seat at the table next to Harry, and they exchanged weary glances. Remus floated past the table in the general direction of the tea kettle, seemingly oblivious to the stares of those seated, who anxiously watched his progress as though he was ready to fall at any moment.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made Harry jump, although it was only Malfoy, rising inexplicably to help Remus make tea, something he had never done before. He filled the tea kettle with water while Remus patted himself down for his wand, their heads inclined together as they spoke in low, inaudible voices to each other.

"Sleep well?" Sirius inquired, next to Harry's ear. Harry nodded, shrugged. He wondered if any of the stuff he had been thinking about last night would make sense to Sirius. He didn't want Sirius to think he was stupid or gross. He watched Sirius ask Ron and Hermione the same question, and Hermione bombarded him with questions about the Dingwall Gins and what Charms exactly created and maintained the atmosphere around the Farmhouse. Harry watched the way Hermione's hair bobbed around her face when she talked, watched Ron watch the way Hermione's hair bobbed around her face when she talked, and wondered what the hell was wrong with him, that his mind kept returning to the pale stretch of skin above Malfoy's hips. Sirius would definitely think he was disgusting, Harry knew, even if he and Remus were boyfriends or whatever they were. Harry sighed and put his face into his hands.

Sirius reached over and patted Harry's shoulder without a break in conversation. Harry raised his head, obscurely comforted, but when he looked around he saw that Malfoy was watching him, that odd, blank expression on his face. He looked away when Harry caught his eye.

Harry felt a nudge against his leg under the table, and looked over to see that both Ron and Hermione were looking at him, their expressions sympathetic and supportive. Malfoy was perched up on the counter, playing with a block of cheese, his eyes fixed once again on Harry and his friends.

Harry made an effort to collect himself. "Er," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, er, we've got a beach a little ways into the forest ... I thought it might be - "

Something hit Harry in the side of the face, and he paused, blinked. Slowly rotated his head to the left.

He was rewarded with another missile to the face. As it bounced off of his nose and into his lap, he realised belatedly that he was being pelted with bits of cheese. He looked back to where Malfoy and Remus were lounging against the counter. Malfoy's eyes glinted.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron demanded, his chair scraping noisily against the stone floor as he rose in Harry's defense. Malfoy shot him a sloe-eyed look and another bit of cheese bounced into Hermione's hair and stuck there. She made an angry noise and plucked it out, rising to her feet as well.

Harry found himself strangely unable to move. Part of him wanted to laugh. Two weeks ago, Malfoy had driven him insane for hours, flying around on his broom and flicking pebbles at Harry. Eventually he had taken to chasing Malfoy and throwing the pebbles back, which seemed to be what the Slytherin wanted, and they engaged in aerial rock fights until Harry had to draw the line at carpet-bombing a herd of Dingwall Gins that was gathered at the pond. He listened to Ron and Malfoy exchange furious and lazy, respectively, insults and struggled between laughter and outrage.

Sirius stood and attempted to intervene, shooting looks at Remus, who stood with his back against the counter next to Malfoy, hiding something suspiciously like a smile behind his tea cup. Harry watched Remus and felt the heavy gaze of Hermione on him. He picked up the bit of cheese that had fallen into his lap and carefully considered it.

It was faintly salty when he popped it into his mouth, and as Sirius finally succeeded in preventing violence between Ron and Malfoy, Harry wondered if maybe he was tasting Malfoy on it.

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Remus broke off a piece of Honeyduke's finest, carefully gathering the crumbly bits into his hand. Arthur had returned for his charges with gifts from Dumbledore: bottles of Firewhiskey for Sirius and a veritable feast of chocolate for Remus. This particular delicacy was a pure, creamy milk chocolate; chocolate with nuts, or dried fruit and crumbled Fizzing Wizzbees awaited him, but what could compare with the simplicity of the classic chocolate bar? Remus bit into the hunk of chocolate in his hand, not quite letting his eyes fall shut as flavour melted over his tongue. He hummed happily to himself as he took another bite, spreading the other bars on the table in front of him, admiring his hoard.

"Has anyone ever gotten you off," Sirius' voice drawled from behind him, "Just with chocolate?"

Remus pondered the question carefully, his eyes tracking Sirius as the other man moved carefully to face him. "Not that I recall," he replied loftily.

Sirius only looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Was I imagining things," he said finally, "Or were you encouraging that mess?"

Remus pursed his lips. They stared at each other for a long moment. "You know as well as I do that there are things between them that need to come to a head, and it will take them forever to get to it by themselves."

Sirius looked displeased. "How incredibly ... manipulative of you," he said, frowning

Remus shrugged and turned his attention back to his chocolate, popping another sizeable bite into his mouth. Sirius sat down on the couch next to him, and they stared at the fireplace in uncomfortable silence.

"The Remus that I knew," he said slowly, a crease between his eyes, "Wouldn't push two boys into fights simply because he thought it was taking too long for them to fight on their own."

Remus scowled, his gaze still on the fireplace. "The Remus that you knew," he said just as slowly. "That's an interesting phrase to use. I'm almost sorry that I can't say the same to you, because the Sirius that I know still behaves in the manner of the Sirius that I used to know, fifteen years ago. I was always especially fond of the way that the Sirius I used to know always compared me to James, and I'm so glad that that's a trait that the Sirius who lives with me now still has."

"James would never lie to me," Sirius said tightly.

"Well then it's a good thing that - "

Remus broke off mid-word, distantly feeling his muscles draw together, his body curling in on itself as it remembered, again, what they'd both lost. Beside him, he felt Sirius stiffen. He watched Sirius' fingers dig into the fabric of his trousers before Sirius could get a hold of himself. They sat silently, barely breathing, the warmth from Sirius' body leeching slowly into Remus' side. He could barely keep himself from leaning into it.

"I can't believe you'd -" Sirius said. " - How could you - Moony, why don't you just tell me the truth?"

Remus sighed. He put his chocolate carefully down on the table. It had turned to ashes in his mouth. "Sirius," he said, and hesitated. "Sirius, if I could tell you - I would have already. I can't."

"I'm just supposed to accept that?" Sirius said bitterly. "Moony, this is killing me. Please ... just tell me what's wrong with you. I know that you're sick. I know that you're mad about something. Is it me? Is it Harry?"

"Why would I ever be mad at Harry?" Remus said softly.

Sirius laughed coldly. "Then it's me, is it? Is there any reason? Just as a change of pace, that is."

Remus shut his eyes. "Sirius, I'm sorr - "

"It doesn't matter," Sirius mumbled, cutting him off. "Don't say you're sorry if you're not."

Remus shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked together, and he winced. He leaned away from Sirius' warmth deliberately, scooting away without responding to the other man. Sirius held still as Remus pulled walls around himself.

"You may not believe it, Remus, but I love you," Sirius muttered. "I would never keep anything from you. I wouldn't tell Snivellus my secrets and not my goddamn best friend and lover." His tone changed, becoming mockingly light and bitter. "But, of course, I wouldn't understand, would I? I'm too immature. I'm too - "

"Stop it, Sirius." Remus kept his voice low and even because he knew that it would anger Sirius nearly as much as what he actually said. "This isn't even about me - I've always been your complement, not your equal, not your co-conspirator. The only reason you care so much is because you thought you had lost me. If Grimmauld Place hadn't been destroyed, if I hadn't been captured, you'd be sitting around your mother's house bemoaning your fate, getting drunk and obsessing over James."

"That is not true - "

"I've never had a problem with it, Sirius. I know how you are. But please - please leave me alone. Go fixate on Harry or something."

Sirius blinked and stood. He stayed frozen for long moments, and Remus stared into the fireplace and wondered when he'd last cleaned it.

He pretended not to notice when Sirius stumbled away.

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By the time Ron and Hermione left, Harry had stopped being amused by Malfoy's behaviour. He was so angry he could barely see straight, which until now he hadn't actually thought possible. It wasn't that Malfoy wouldn't leave them alone no matter what kind of fight they had ended up in; it wasn't that he had called Hermione a mudblood several times over the course of the day; it wasn't that he had said farewell to Ron by saying, "Sorry to hear about your brother, Weasel. Sorry it wasn't you, that is," and it wasn't even that Harry was belatedly realizing that Malfoy was a human being (even if he wasn't acting like one) and he liked being with him.

Maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was that Sirius was too angry with Remus to talk to Harry. Maybe it was all the frustration at finding himself bored with his friends. Maybe it was Harry himself.

He stormed outside after Malfoy as soon as Ron, Hermione and Ron's dad were through the Floo. Malfoy was lounging around outside, staring out towards the pond with his hands in his pockets. He turned when Harry slammed the kitchen door and his eyes widened briefly before narrowing.

"You look upset, Potter," he remarked, and turned away.

Harry's hand flew up and wrapped around Malfoy's bicep , spinning him around almost before Harry knew what he was doing. It was only when Malfoy hissed in pain that Harry realized that he had grabbed Malfoy's injured arm. He released his hold on Malfoy abruptly, and they stared at each other silently for a long moment, disgust written across Malfoy's face.

"Why the hell were you acting like that, Malfoy?" Harry said angrily.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and studied the sleeve of his jacket critically, as if inspecting it for lint. "Like what?" he asked.

Harry took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to knock Malfoy across the face, make him look at Harry. Malfoy took a step forwards as well. They stood almost nose to nose, Malfoy's growth spurt in third year nearly matched by Harry's in fourth. "You know what," Harry growled.

Malfoy pursed his lips and pretended to think. "It's on the tip of my tongue, I'm sure of it," he mused.

Harry could have howled. "I thought we were getting along," he said tightly. "I thought you were finally acting like a normal person, so what the hell are you doing this for? Ron and Hermione didn't do anything to you!"

Malfoy's lip curled disdainfully. "As always, Potter, you see what you want to."

"I'm not an idiot, Malfoy!" Harry shouted. Malfoy snorted, and Harry glared at him. "Although I feel like one now. I actually thought you wanted to be my friend!"

"I have always wanted to be your friend!"

Harry stopped yelling, his mouth still open. Malfoy coloured. They reguarded each other warily, breathing hard.

"No you haven't," Harry said at last, blinking.

Malfoy looked disgusted. "You are so dense, Potter." Harry searched for a response and came up blank. Malfoy's expression was ugly. "I give up," he hissed, and turned away.

Harry stared after him, and it was a moment before his brain could convince his feet to move. "Don't walk away from me," he warned, reaching for Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy pushed his hand away. Harry pushed back.

Malfoy drew back, seemingly unconsciously. His eyes flashed. "I don't want to do this," he hissed. "I thought it would work, but I have since decided that you are simply too obtuse to see that anything anybody does could possibly be related to you fucking up. I am giving up on you, Potter, so leave me alone." He turned, and Harry grabbed his arm again.

"How," Harry growled, "Could you being the most awful arsehole in the history of the world be my fault? How could you say that about Ron's brother?"

Draco's hands came up and shoved Harry away, hard. Harry staggered. "How could you tell me to behave when Weasel started it?" he shouted.

"That has nothing to do with this!" Harry shouted back.

"You are so dense, Potter!"

"You don't ever make any sense, Malfoy!"

Malfoy shut his mouth hard, his lips pressed tightly together. Hectic spots of color had appeared high on his cheeks, and Harry knew that he was getting to Malfoy. He shielded his eyes, blinded by the sun on his face and the white-blond of Malfoy's hair, which fell into the other boy's face, lifting on a breath of wind. Malfoy stared at him silently, and Harry returned his gaze challengingly, his jaw set in a hard line.

"I don't know why I ever thought you were anything special," Malfoy said finally. His tone was spiteful. "You're just a stupid, useless child like me."

Harry stepped forward and grabbed Malfoy, hauling him close by the front of his jacket. "Then why bother being nice to me, Malfoy? Why pretend that you like me?"

"Maybe I really did like you," Malfoy hissed, and then looked furious with himself.

"I find that really hard to believe," Harry said. Even through the haze of anger, Malfoy's breath on his face -- still smelling faintly of toothpaste -- and the heat of him through his jacket was making Harry's stomach do flip-flops. "I'd sooner believe that you were a spy, like Hermione said."

Malfoy's hand came up and clenched around the collar of Harry's jumper. "How dare you?" he cried, and even as Harry's mouth ran away with his sanity he thought how oddly archaic it sounded. His fists tightened on Malfoy's jacket.

"Why not?" Harry shouted. "I've known all this time what a lousy person you are - ever since I met you in the robe shop I knew you weren't any good. And it's not like Pansy was your friend. People like you don't have friends, they have - they have minions."

Malfoy drew back and punched him square in the face. Harry's glasses slipped upwards on his face and caught on his left ear, hanging at an angle off of his head.

Insanely, he wanted to laugh. Instead he pulled Malfoy forward and then pushed him violently away. Malfoy went down, sprawling on the grass, and Harry followed, straddling Malfoy's chest and returning the favour of Malfoy's punch, bloodying the boy's nose.

"You hit like a girl," Harry hissed, and hit Malfoy again. Malfoy swung at him ineffectually, knocking the side of his head and making his ear ring, bucking to try and get Harry off of him.

"You bastard," he hissed.

"I'm not the one nancing about, pretending to be so traumatised," Harry shouted. Malfoy's good hand snarled into his hair and yanked visciously. His bandaged one knocked into Harry's throat, trying to wrap around and choke him but unable to move his fingers enough to do so. "I should have known all that hand-holding and being nice was complete shit - you couldn't ever behave like any other person, or get stupid crushes like - like any other person! I bet you planned it all out with your father, just like your stupid holidays - I bet you begged them to hit you, didn't you? You begged ..."

Harry felt his voice trail off into silence. His elbow was cocked back, his hand unsure of whether to hit Malfoy again or pull the other boy's hand out of his hair. Malfoy's face had gone white, completely bloodless; a thing Harry had always heard described in Aunt Petunia's romance novels, but never believed actually happened in real life. His mouth hung slack, his fist loose in Harry's hair, no longer pulling. Harry had the odd impression, frozen over Malfoy's unresisting body, that he could actually look through Malfoy's eyes; they were dead, opaque. He knew that he could hit Malfoy over and over and the Slytherin wouldn't raise another finger to stop him. He wondered if maybe Malfoy had looked like this after - after -

Oh, Harry thought. Oh god.

"Harry!"

Harry jumped, his hand closing into a fist automatically, and he came down heavily on Malfoy's stomach. Malfoy didn't move, and Harry rolled off of him, kneeling awkwardly in the grass. Remus stood at the doorway of the Farmhouse, one hand on the knob.

"What the hell is going on?" Remus asked, atonished. He took one faltering step forward, and then another, the look in his eyes anguished. Harry searched for words and found none. Malfoy lay unmoving behind him, his pale, unmarked left hand laying unclenched on the grass like a porcelin doll that had been left in the rain, just visible at the edge of Harry's vision. The sight of it made Harry want to throw up.

Remus stared at them, still some metres away, taking in the scene before him: Harry's red and scratched neck, the blood from Malfoy's nose, obscenely red against his skin. He seemed incapable of speech.

Malfoy sat up without a sound, stumbling to his knees with his good hand pressed protectively against his burned hand. He walked away slowly, mechanically, as though he knew that neither Harry nor Remus would follow him. His hair hung in his eyes and shielded it from view, his face still that awful bloodless colour. Harry and Remus watched him vanish into the trees without speaking. Slowly, as if the movement caused him pain, Remus turned his gaze back onto Harry.

"Harry," he said, and stopped. "What -"

Harry stared into Remus' eyes and couldn't bring himself to speak.